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A birthday gift for Perelleth with her Erestor and my Rostaro 

Career Day

It was inevitable, Erestor oft admitted to himself, that he would end up working in academia in some capacity or other, and he enjoyed his intermittent job.  It was important and slightly more despotic than bureaucratic, requiring an even-handedness few possessed.  He always looked forward to being called back to it.  Since he got to travel a bit, and an expense account was provided.

It had been soon after landing in Eldamar with the Ringbearers’ that he started what had come to amount to a second profession.  At the time, Elrond was either in Estë’s care or staying with his in-laws.  Fortunately, this job appeared and was just the thing to keep himself busy during long years of waiting for his lord and friend to find healing.

Getting along with the Powers or the Noldorin royalty had not been the cause of his leaving Elrond’s side.  Rather, as seneschal and councilor, he had no duties while his lord had none.  Which was certainly fine for the short term for he also needed a rest.  But, the former Lord of Imladris’s prolonged recovery completely suspended the need for any sort of secretary when Erestor was anxious for something useful to do.

However, an agenda of activities was simply not conducive to Elrond’s healing.  The elven-ring bearer was still in the throes of resolution – his children’s absence, Vilya’s demise, reunion with his wife.  Contact with people, other than Celebrian, greatly burdened his nerves.  Of course, as with most healers who themselves become ill, he was a difficult patient.  He protested against being coddled and believed he knew what was best for his ailments.  His wise counselor however agreed that the proscribed isolation was indeed the wisest course of treatment.  Erestor’s temporary absence would help keep his friend from thinking about any responsibility beyond recovery.  He knew that further along the road, Elrond would – and did – take charge of his own cure.  When he had regained enough strength to again conduct a public life was when Erestor rejoined him and Celebrian.

In that long meanwhile and here after, Erestor pitched-in as an admissions proctor for the Associated Academies and Colleges of Elvenhome.  Rescued from idleness back then, he would never say no to a request by the Board for his assistance.  Actually, he would not have minded working as an accreditation officer as well.  But, because of his advocacy of subjects, which were not in favor with the commissioners, to be made part of the standard curriculum, it was not likely he would ever be invited to be part of the Commission.

An admissions proctor’s basic responsible was to assess candidates after written examinations and place them in the proper secondary school or college of study.  With the wide range of  affiliates, just about everyone could be fit into a mutually beneficial situation.  The student  anticipated garnering the regard bestowed by matriculating at a prestigious, certified institution.  The Association taught the best and brightest.

Exam results were important for continuing students, but for new students, what counted was their entire admission portfolio.  Unlike other discriminating organizations, an important goal of the Association was to uplift deserving students who lacked the means to pay tuition by providing subsidizing grants.  To make sure applicants were indeed deserving, besides the prerequisite scores, participation in civic activities or in public service was more then encouraged.

Many could not come up to scratch, and rejection could be heartbreaking for a student unable to continue on into higher education without financial aid.  Rich sponsors were not that easy to find without good family connections.

The stringent conditions were exactly why Erestor had been recruited, practically courted for the job.  He had experience in the teaching and guidance of both youth and adult.  He understood institutional procedure, how to use rules wisely, and the necessary adherence to a policy.  He knew how to counsel students of all ages in their careers and how to help the rejected deal with their disappointment.  All that, and he was also Umanyar.  Even the public had come to see the difference he had made within the Association, and he was proud that he was the first of his kindred asked to join.

The small village where he getting ready for the day’s interviews was the first stop in an itinerary of five, and his roster was full.  The number of names on his list was really not that surprising.  The final exam to be given in this rural region for the next decade had closed a week before, and all the scores were in.  This round held a variety of ages and proficiencies.  All would be leaving home; some for the first time.  A side-effect expected and desired.  Most rural applicants saw education as an opportunity to leave their small hometown for a sojourn into the wider world.  But for others, it meant advancing their studies in hopes of a career, instead of going into the fields for the rest of their lives.  That was how it was with the first applicant, a young nér living quite nearby.  After reading through his dossier, Erestor had moved him up to the head of the schedule.

“Gail,” he called; finally settled at his desk and ready to start.

His lovely young daughter came into the small office they had set up together on the upper floor of the inn.  Neither of them had wanted her left behind at home to kick her heels while on a long semester break, so she was accompanying her father as his assistant.  Ideal since she would get paid and it would add points to her resume.

“Indómelya, Atto?”  He gave her a stern look.  “Áni apsenë!  Ñolmo Erestor.”  His stare did not change.  “Oh, Papa!”  She was exasperated at him, not at herself.  “You’re the boss; I’m the assistant,” she recited with childish rote.  “You are Master Erestor; I am Miss Gail.”

But, his real gripe – and she knew it – was not her unconscious slip into the familial, but into Quenya while in that homey frame of mind.  Erestor wanted his children to inherit a legacy from their parents, and he wanted that to be the oral traditions of the Nandor.  True, he and his beloved wife were Sindar.  But, he had been born Laegrim, and appreciated his birth-folk along with their culture.  At home, they would speak Nandorin as well as Sindarin.  However, the hope that his eldest offspring, although born in Aman, would also treasure her tawarwaith roots, at least enough to preserve them, had significantly faded since the end of her childhood; a time when everything her Papa would tell about his own youth was magically exotic and of infinite wonder to her.

“You may send the first one in.  He is going to take some time, so no interruptions please until he leaves or I call you again.”

“He had only just come in when you called!  Oh but, he is a handsome one,” she said with a twinkle.  “And you are not going to believe – “  His stare, more stern and at the same time more incredulous, cut her off.  “Sorry!”  She rolled her eyes and sighed, before pointedly putting on a professional mien.  “Yes, sir.  I shall send him in right away.”

What in all Arda has gotten into that elleth? he wondered, not for the first or last time.  Maybe his mother’s often repeated prayer that his children wear him down the way he wearied her into early fading had ultimately been answered.  He sighed and prayed that Gail’s silliness was just another phase, as his wife claimed, and that the best thing to do was be patient and let her grow out of it.  He would readily confess that he did not understand females as well as he understood males.

Just as he was beginning to wonder if ‘right away’ meant the same thing to her as to him, there was a knock on the door.

“Enter.”  The door opened only wide enough for the young nér to side-step inside.  He closed the door and remained standing by, hands drawn behind his back.

Astonishingly, the tall youth was not dressed for the interview that could change the course of his life forever.  He wore farm clothes and had washed-up, but not bathed.  His golden hair was coming loose from pulled back, and rather sloppy, braids; still damp from being quickly slicked down.  If he had not read the file in front of him, Erestor would have thought the fellow a thorough hayseed instead of a dedicated scholar.

Yet, there was an... awareness... in the nésë that compensated for his inattentive attire and hinted at depth of character.  That – or he was incredibly confused and trying not to show it.  Erestor quietly heaved a resigned sigh.  Without a doubt, Gail had had a direct hand in straightening up the lad’s appearance.

“Come, sit down.”

But, the youth did not move.  Erestor had to repeat himself as well as gesture at the chair in front of him before the nésë did as he was told.  Which irritated as much as this recalcitrant getting his daughter’s personal attention. 

“Quenya, Telerin, or Sindarin?” he asked.  No response.  “In which language do you prefer to conduct this interview?”  Is this nerves or contrariness? he wondered.

“Quenya.”  An interesting choice.  Sindarin was listed in his dossier, which was why Erestor had offered that option.

“You must already know that I am Sindar.  Why not try to impress me with your language skills?”  Where his personal appearance had not and his conduct certainly not.

“I would not impress.  I understand Sindarin far better than I speak it.  You may speak it, if you are not proficient in Quenya.”  This was said in such an equivocal manner that Erestor was unsure whether or not he had been intentionally insulted.

“Nandorin would be my choice,” he replied in the same tone, “if you understood that tongue.”

A light sprang up in the youth’s eyes; the excited interest once seen in the eyes of his little daughter.  Erestor got a vague impression he had gone up a notch in the young Amayar’s estimation.  What an odd feeling that was.

“What is your name?” he asked, only because he was required to do so before they talked further.

“Is it in not in my file?”  Erestor almost blinked.  What was this nésë’s game?  Was he arrogant or just naive?  A ready reprimand was held back only because of curiosity.

“Yes, but you must prove your identify.  Therefore, I ask.  Make the mistake of lying, and I know you are impersonating the applicant.”  An unvarnished answer had the effect of loosening the nér’s guarded facade.  Which Erestor took as a promising sign.  With a little effort, it could be entirely chipped away and the true personality beneath revealed.  “So,” he said, with a querulously raised eyebrow.  “Your name?”

“Rostaro.”

“Rostaro... son of?”  Having already shared a hearty laugh with his daughter at the funny name combination, it was easy for Erestor to keep to a straight face now.

“I have no family.”  There was a mulish pull to the lad’s mouth.

“Really?”  He relaxed his authoritarian pose.  “Everyone has someone they at least consider family.  Or once considered family.  Just give me the name from your application.”  Bureaucratic ambivalence worked; Rostaro was pleased to explain to someone who did not outright condemn his statement.

“Very well.  My foster-father’s name is Taltaro.  I have ceased using it as part of mine for obvious reasons...”  The confession of vanity came with a chagrined smile and a shrug.

“Why not go by your father’s or mother’s name?”  He was pleased with the opportunity to ask.  That information was missing in Rostaro’s dossier, which Erestor had thought just a stupid oversight on the part of a clerk.

“I do not know their names.”  That was not a lie, which surprised him.  But, why was there a hint of pride behind that sad circumstance?  Aman or Ennor, in the countryside, it was not uncommon, when there were too many mouths to feed, for a child to be fostered out to kin.  But, to not know his parents’ names?  Was there a scandal behind this best left alone? 

He looked into Rostaro’s sky-blue eyes, surreptitiously bending questioning thoughts towards the youth; who looked straight back at him, a blank slate providing not a clue to any question.  So, he tried an old trick of averting the mind’s eye to better see the ever-present emanations of the faer.

What?  He sat back, almost in shock.  The poor lad was a reborn babe?  That had not been in his dossier either!  Suddenly, a great many things made perfect sense.

“When did you leave your foster-home to live at the seronopéle?” he asked, fascinated by Rostaro’s peculiarities.  How had he died at such a very very young age?

“When I came back from boarding away at school for the second time.”  The lad’s expression told him that few of his classmates had bothered to understand him, as an orphan or reborn.  It was an old but sad truth that children could be cruel to those who were different.  Rostaro seemed to sense his genuine sympathy with that sort of treatment at the hands of one’s peers.  “I never really fit in with my foster-family.  They took good care of me, but I was a responsibility, not a member.”

“When did you decide to stop using your foster-father’s name?”

“That I decided only last week,” he said with a thin smile and resettled himself in his chair.  “A great many people get by on just one name.”  There was self-medicating pride in his voice.  However, Erestor knew a name, an anessë especially, was a bankable accolade that only the nonpareil could afford to carelessly discard.

“People who have earned a singular reputation perhaps.  Which I must point out, as of yet, you have not.”

“Well... I will someday.”  Definitely said with more blind conceit than confidence. 

“Then, why ruin your chances for a good start by flaunting disrespect to the one organization that seeks to aid you in your quest for renown?”  He expected his barbed remark to deflate the youth’s ballooning haughtiness, but it did not.  Therefore, he pressed.  “You are not properly dressed.  You made no effort to get cleaned up.  Instead of humility, you present yourself as an... “  He waved a hand over Rostaro’s person in emphasis.  “... arrogant hick.”

The youth stiffened; an angry retort barely held in check.  But, not for long.  Which Erestor found informative of his character.

“Sir!  I was not prepared for this interview because I did not expect this interview – this morning, tomorrow morning, not today or any day.  I was at work, and a messenger came and told me I was supposed to be here when it was already too late for me to be on time.  But, I came because I had promised my Amillë to try my best to get into a new school.  I came, figuring I would be passed over for being tardy and would go home.  I meant only to keep my word, not to impress you!  But, you yourself were running late, and I was forced to come in.”

“What made you think the Association would not offer you placement?”

“What offer?  To call the sheriff if I did not leave the exam?”

“You did not receive your official notice?”  But, there was a copy of the same, and dated, in his file.

“No, sir.  The only communication I have received was the message this morning from your assistant.  At the exam, the proctor said I had cheated, and I was lucky not to be charged and detained.  I thought that was the end of it for me.”  Eyes narrowed in anger, he asked,”Was that not in my file?”

“No, tell me about it.”  Although, Erestor had his own guess what had happened at the examinations and after.  Rostaro was taken aback at being asked for his side of the story.  As a result, his explanation was sparse.

“Proctor Telumon said I cheated.  I did not, and tried to say so.  But, talking is not permitted, and he had me leave.  He threatened me with arrest, then just let me go.”

“I have seen your written answers.  You finished earlier than everyone else, even with taking every section.”  The core exam for any level was difficult.  The subsequent parts for the different major concentrations were rigorously designed to pinpoint potential.  And this nésë had taken them all.  With every one of his answers correct.  The exam proctor was right to be suspicious.  However, after looking over his dossier and his original entrance essay, Erestor knew that Rostaro had honestly passed.  And at the same time, had cheated.  “You had no wrong answers, something almost impossible.  Which tells me that you should have taken the next higher level.  What you did was not fair.”

“I tried to go higher!”  The youth almost leapt out of his seat, becoming animated in his defense.  “I was not allowed because of my age!”

“Well, I think that happened because you have no one but yourself to act as your advocate.  Calm down, Rostaro, and let me help you.”

The lad instantly quieted; he believed that Erestor wanted to right the wrongs done.

“Your letters of recommendation are few but notable.  Ñolmo Yulindo, Perelleth the Wise, Toron Nasaril, and Lady Miluinn... whom I know personally and whose opinion I greatly value.   Why are none of these people your sponsor?”

“I do not need anyone telling me what to do with my life.”  That snappish answer might have thrown off another person, but Erestor caught on to the real problem.  Rostaro was yet in his callow youth; better able to hide his motives from himself than an objective stranger.

“Do you not mean another like the... your... Amillë, who expects you to become a brother servant of the Valar?  Rostaro, try to assess your own actions as you would another’s.  You did not pursue justice for yourself.  You did not petition to be given the test again.  You asked no one to be your sponsor because you could not misrepresent yourself to those whom you respect.  You did not want financial aid that would commit you to follow in your Amillë’s footsteps.”

The young nér, who obviously thought himself forthright, was dumbstruck with the sudden realization that his misfortunes were intentional without his intending them.

“You had trouble at your past schools because, contrary to all appearances, you did not want to be there.”

“Aññolë... ”  The crude interjection was muttered under the breath and certainly not meant to be heard.  Erestor turned necessarily stern.  Rostaro’s impulse to speak, before he thought about whether or not he should, would continue to ill-serve him, if he did not learn to control it.  And there was nothing like the present to start making small corrections in order to change the entire course of this deserving lad’s life.

“You need to watch your tongue, vinyamo,” he sharply warned him.  “It reflects badly upon you and your Amillë.”

“I apologize, sir.”  Amazingly, Rostaro did not resent being enlightened about his short-comings.  In fact, he looked desperate for more guidance.  “You have seen what even she has not.  ‘Tis true, I am not sure of my vocation.”  He became bewildered.  “I do not know what I should do.”  The fair head dropped, dragging the shoulders down with it. 

“But, you have aspirations, do you not?”  At least, that was somewhere to begin.

“I have no worthy goal.”

“Rostaro, raise your head and listen.  I shall give you my knowledgeable opinion.  You have been learning practically on your own for quite some time, and you are not aware how far advanced you are for your age.  Your past problems in school stemmed from boredom and a resistance to regimentation.  You keep happily busy your own or with a tutor, but few of your teachers have ever comprehended the degree of instruction they should apply.  On the other hand, all this personal study has left gapping holes in the fabric of your broader knowledge.  You have become scattered; catering to your own interests and lacking true discipline.  You did well on the exams because you were motivated.”  There was a confirming nod from Rostaro, who was listening and analyzing what was being said about him.  “I wager you had difficulty attending classes on any subject that did not kindle your curiosity.”

“But, I always went to class and did the assignments – and still got reprimanded.”

“I did not say you skipped class.  I am saying you were a ‘disruptive influence’ as reported because you disregard your classmates, who must work harder and cannot come up to your level.”

Clearly, this too had never before occurred to Rostaro.

“You look fit.  Is that from sports or farm work?”

“Farm work.  Who has time for games?”  There was that prideful defensiveness again.

“Not a team-player, eh?”  The young nér did however run and swim as recreation, though not in competition, according to his dossier.

His blush told Erestor that the lad had never thought of himself as unsociable.  Because he had always interacted well with many different kinds of people.  Only not in what, outside a seronopéle, would be considered a normal, everyday situation.

“How long have you been helping your Amillë with her guests?”

“She would tell you as soon as I could walk.  When actually I started after I was allowed to go out from home on my own, without supervision.  My foster-parents’ still kept tabs on me,” he was quick to add.  “I always seemed to end up at the guesthouse.”  Understandable, he appeared reluctant to talk about what happened inside those high walls.  An indication that he could curb his tongue concerning other things, if he would try.  Erestor veered the conversation back to the tender subject of family.

“Why do you not feel that those who raised you are your parents?”

“The only person I love as a parent is the one who loves me as a son.”

“You have not searched for your birth-parents?”

“No, and I never will.”  This was said with complete conviction.  “I do not want to know who they are, what they did or do, or what has become of them.  I am happy with the way things are.”

Erestor could not readily dismiss this statement as mere resentment at being orphaned.  A normal person is born with the imperative to define themselves; their parents being the root of their new growth.  But being reborn so very young... was Rostaro all that normal?  In addition, it might be that an Amillë’s love overwhelmed other emotions, especially in a babe.  If this nésë was ever to find himself, it was time for him to be far away from Aramillë Ulbanís.

“Rostaro, I have decided to offer you a place in an academy that I know can address your special needs and prepare you for the best colleges.”  He held up his hand to halt Rostaro’s ready questions.  The certificate was in the file folder, already prepared; the school’s name and the conditions already filled out.  Only Erestor’s signature and official seal remained to be added.  At the beginning of this interview, he had become worried that he had mistaken the outcome.  To see that his judgment was correct was a relief.  Taking the certificate out, he set it before the youth for him to read.  Rostaro’s face flushed, then paled.

“Sir!” he said in a shocked whisper.  He looked up at Erestor, almost gaping.  “You mean it?”

“Yes, there it is in writing.”  There it was indeed.  A full scholarship for one of the most elite academies in all of Aman.  “You need not worry about anything, but your studies.  Your room and board, supplies and clothing, plus a small – very small – stipend, will be paid by the Association.”

“But... “  The lad’s humility was touching.  “But... it is the foremost seminary for brother servants.  And as I told you, I am not sure... I would not want to take away another’s place.”

“There are secular students there too, and this slot has been set aside for a scholar, toron-to-be or not.  The academy will help you decide if holy orders is what you want, while giving you the challenging curriculum you need.  The Association will not make you to follow your Amillë’s wishes.  To be in Their service always should and always will be your choice alone.  When you graduate, we expect our investment will be returned two-fold to the people of Eldamar.  Do you understand what I mean?  Do you know your true obligation in return for accepting this gift?”

Rostaro’s eyes sparkled with sincere gratitude.  He did understand that Erestor was giving him a vocational option that did not take away his freedom and offered him unexpected independence.

“Yes, sir, I do.  I receive this knowledge and training for the good of others.  I must use my acquired wisdom in the service of everyone.”

“You will help the helpless, without hesitation?”  A bit of dramatics would better imprint Rostaro’s commitment upon him.

“I will.”

“Even at a cost to your own livelihood?  Perhaps even at the cost of your life... ”  That gave Rostaro pause, but only momentary.

“Yes, Master Erestor.”  The lad certainly did not lack courage.

Erestor had felt all along, just from what he had read about him, that the young nér had a true vocation.  But, it was more expansive a cloistered life like his Amillë’s.  Rostaro had the potential of becoming as great a loremaster as Rúmil.  Like that genius, this young nér also had an adventurous heart that would not be confined by convention.  Right then and there, Erestor decided, if the lad made it through to graduation, that college would be the new progressive university on Tol Eressëa, founded by Pengolodh and Rúmil and where Rostaro might possibly study with one of them personally.  And if the Association balked, he would arrange the funding himself from among friends and colleagues.

“See?” he smiled.  “No need for vows or oaths or taking up orders.  Your word is good enough.  However, I do have a personal request to make.”  Rostaro nodded eager to please his benefactor.  “Promise me you will make some friends at the seminary.  At least, one real friend.”

“I will, sir.”  Rostaro’s voice was thick with feeling, his eyes glittering stars.  “I know it.”  He swallowed down his emotions and took a deep breath.  “Amillë will be so glad I am not stuck here like we thought I would be.”

“Oh, I doubt that.  But, I am sure seeing you do well, wherever you are, will always make her very happy.”

He then took the certificate back and carefully signed it, afterwards applying the seal that guaranteed adherence by the members of the Association, whether disapproving or supportive of the award.  Rostaro sat, enraptured by the miracle that had been bestowed upon him.  After blowing to dry the new ink, Erestor rolled the document up and slipped it into one of the tubes that sat in a round tub beside the desk.  He capped the ends and placed it at the edge of the desk in front of Rostaro; offering it to him with an open-handed gesture.

“Congratulations, Rostaro.  Take good care of that, son.”

Rostaro picked it up and clutched it to his chest with both hands.  The life he wanted to live had not only been magnanimously saved, but made purposeful.  He could follow his calling to learn and to serve and in his own way.  He rose from his chair and looked at Erestor.

“Thank you,” he said with great earnestness.  A brilliant smile blossomed over his face; heart open, spirit unguarded.

His radiant joy caught Erestor unawares.  He had been a stranger.  Now, he was a friend; honored with unreserved trust.  And he instantly forgave Gail her earlier lapse of decorum; understanding how her budding maternal instincts had been brought to the fore, if Rostaro had smiled for her like this.  Perhaps some of every childhood should be spent with an Amillë, if this was the effect on an innocent child’s innate grace.

He forgot to wish Rostaro farewell before he was gone out of the office.  Not that the elated young nér would have heard him anyway.  I shall have to tell this tale to Elrond and Celebrían, he decided.  Leaving out the student’s real name, of course.  He was obliged to protect the privacy of all parties.  One day though, when Rostaro was a famous ñolmo, he might introduce him to them.

Gail came in several minutes after the door shut behind the future loremaster.  Her father did not begrudge her taking time to find out from Rostaro how things had gone.  She was pleasantly cheerful again and all smiles.  It was definitely a good thing the lad was going off to the seminary and would not encounter his daughter again until she was past her current silly phase.

“You may send in the next applicant.”

“Be iest gîn, Ada!”

- = -

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Indómelya, Atto? – Yes (Your will), Dada? Quenya

Áni apsenë! – Sorry! (Forgive me!) Quenya

Be iest gîn, Ada! – As you wish, Papa! Sindarin

Aññolë – Sh*t – a very strong smell Quenya

vinyamo – kid (youngster, boy) Quenya

amillë – mater/mother Quenya

toron – frater/brother Quenya

anessë – given or added name

seronopéle – guesthouse seron friend(peaceful person) opéle house(walled house/compound) Quenya

ñolmo – wise person or loremaster Quenya

nésë/nésa – male/female youth Quenya

nér/nís – male/female elf Quenya

ellon/elleth – male/female elf Sindarin