The scent of frying onions and something spicy permeated the air when Erestor opened the door. He sniffed appreciatively; his brother was home early and doing one of his special dishes by the looks of it. He did not recognise the aroma, though, so Cambréthil would be trying out something new with his precious collection of herbs and spices. Erestor yawned, taking off his cloak and hanging it on a peg on the wall, relishing the warmth of their cottage after the chilly autumn air. Sitting down, he tugged off his boots when a small shape ambled over and rubbed his head on Erestor's knee in greeting.
"Hullo, Duron! Did you miss me?" He ruffled the fur of the black cat, scratching it behind the ears and smiled at the loud purring he got in return. The cat wound around his legs when he got up and padded, on stockinged feet, into the main room of their small cottage, which served as kitchen, dining, and living room.
Cambréthil looked up from his chopping board. "'Evening, Resto. You are late, had a bad day?"
Erestor yawned again and flopped down onto a chair. "Do not ask. I needed to finish a particularly tricky bit of soldering, and it would not take. And when I thought I had it finally done, it came off again at cooling."
"Did you manage?" Cambréthil stirred something in a large pan, added a couple of handfuls of chopped greens, and stirred again.
"No, I have to start again tomorrow."
"Tough luck."
"Hmpf."
Duron came in and jumped on Erestor's lap, starting to purr again when his belly was dutifully rubbed.
"I think he missed you," Cambréthil remarked with a nod towards the cat, before turning to a shelf full of small jars and boxes. He opened one, sniffed, closed it again, and repeated the process until he had selected three. "He has been between my legs since I came home, giving me reproachful glances each time I looked."
"Did you now, my little furball?" Erestor smiled at the small black face with eyes closed in bliss, while the lithe body stretched out on his knees.
Cambréthil snorted. "It has been some time since that one was little!"
"Do not heed him," Erestor told his cat. "He never complains about your size when you are snuggling up with him in bed!"
Steam rose with a loud hiss when Cambréthil poured some liquid into his pan, stirred again, and then covered it with a lid. The brothers' eyes met, drawing comfort from their easy understanding and the familiar harmony underlying their friendly banter.
"Can you lay the table? Dinner is almost ready."
"Of course."
Erestor yawned, set Duron down after a last pet, and went to wash his hands. Opening the top cupboard, he asked: "Do we need plates or bowls? Whatever you are making smells divine, and like something I should know, but I cannot identify it."
"Bowls, please. Cauliflower and greens in a spicy sauce, after a recipe from Khand. I do not have all the ingredients for the original recipe, and added Umbar parsley instead, but I think it tastes fine even so."
Erestor took out two flat, wide, bowls, glazed in warm shades of red and orange, and carried them over to the table.
"Sounds yummy. Have you made this before?"
Cambréthil shook his head. "No, but I think you are remembering the Palak Paneer of a few weeks ago, which is somewhat similar."
Setting the bowls on their placemats, Erestor went back for cutlery, napkins, and two mugs of similar making, but with a lighter orange-yellow hue. They usually had tea with any Far-Harad food, and their large, bright-red teapot already sat on the table, steam rising from the spout. Erestor sniffed and recognised mint and something lemony, his favourite.
With a contended smile, he laid the places, and gave the napkins a neat little fold. As much as his brother enjoyed cooking and baking, Erestor enjoyed the small, beautiful, items that made a house a home. It was he who had chosen the crockery and sewn the matching placemats, napkins, and seat cushions, as well as most of the curtains and cushions around their cottage, and he was particularly proud of the delicately wrought cutlery of his own design and making. He was a prentice of the Mírdain and an accomplished silver-smith already, but what he most loved was creating beautiful and practical items for everyday use. The coaster on the table, made to protect the wood from the hot teapot, was one of his favourite pieces, wrought of thin iron strands in intricate knotwork patterns that looked like a cat curled up for sleep. It was one of the work pieces required for his fellow's assessment, and he was proud of the high honours he had received for it.
Duron came over and wound between Erestor's legs, expecting and getting more pets. Then he hopped onto the bench which stood against the wall, laid down onto his own cushion alongside Erestor's place, and started to groom. Erestor joined him on the bench, pouring himself a cup of tea, and resumed the petting, which earned him an occasional lick as a thank-you. Cambréthil was puttering around, cleaning up his work space while waiting for the food to be done, while Duron finished his own cleaning-up and was now purring and kneading Erestor's thigh.
Erestor sighed with contentment: this was his favourite time of the day. Home after the end of the day's work, surrounded by his favourite people, and relaxing in the cosy comfort of their own home. Any demands or obligations had been met and answered until the next day, and all he had to do was to enjoy what the remainder of the day would offer. Not that he needed much in that regard: company, a good dinner, and perhaps a book or some music later was all he wanted.
As if on cue, Cambréthil brought the pan with its fragrant content over and sat down. While he filled their bowls, he said: "Gildor is back."
Erestor looked up. "Is he? I had not heard."
Cambréthil nodded and held his cup out for tea. "He came to the Healing Halls, helping a friend who had been injured on their journey."
"Uh-huh." Erestor poured the tea and pretended to not be interested, although he doubted he could fool his brother.
Still, he would rather not talk about the exotic Noldo who regarded himself as their friend since that delivery incident last spring. They had met again for a drink once or twice during Gildor's stay in the city, and after that, small parcels had arrived on occasion, containing some unusual ingredients or spices and a note by Gildor with a fun tale of how he had acquired them. Erestor had kept in the background during all of their encounters, too shy for more than the occasional answer to a direct question, and also convinced that the handsome Noldo sought the company of jovial and outgoing Cambréthil, and not his clueless brother. It was no use anyway; Gildor was far out of their league, and Erestor was best advised to keep any admiration for a well-defined body, a sensitive mouth, and a pair of clear grey eyes to himself.
"You should have invited him," Erestor said, trying to sound casual. "He would have enjoyed this dish, and we still owe him a dinner as delivery payment."
Cambréthil grinned. "Actually, I have, but he was already bespoken for tonight. But he is coming tomorrow, and hopes to see you, too. He particularly inquired about you, you know."
Erestor blushed. "I am sure he is just being polite."
"If you say so."
~ oOo ~
Later, a couple of Cambréthil's friends came over, bringing a harp, a lute, and lots of merriment. This was a common occurrence, for his brother had many friends, and Erestor always enjoyed those evenings of music and storytelling, although he preferred to sit and listen and politely declined when asked to share a story or a song himself.
"Suilad, Resto! How did that soldering go?"
A dainty girl with curly black hair plonked herself down on the settee at Erestor's side. She was a fellow Mírdain as well as an accomplished lutenist, and Erestor was quite sure she was secretly in love with his brother. He grimaced.
"Badly. The base came apart again when cooling off, so all of my today's work was in vain."
"Oh dear, that is tough luck!" Laerneth patted his knee comfortingly before she started to unpack her lute.
The others were already tuning their instruments, while Cambréthil reappeared from the pantry with a plate of snacks and a jug of wine. Once everybody had helped themselves to some refreshment, the conversation drifted towards music and the newest song popular in the taverns, and soon Ivordir plucked the melody on his harp, trying out some variations, encouraged and accompanied by the others.
Erestor had got out his knitting and let his thoughts drift while his needles were busy. He enjoyed the cheerful, companionable atmosphere, finally able to let go of the day's work and worries and relax. Now and then he joined into the conversation, like when Arthon, the third visitor, thanked him for the music stand Erestor had made for him, and accepted a refill of his glass. The next song Laerneth stroke up caught his attention.
This time, the harp started with the first notes, quickly joined by the lute and Cambréthil's flute, and Arthon's soft tapping of a contrapuntal rhythm on his small drum, before he began to sing the first line.
Over the mountains
And over the waves,
he sang, looking at Laerneth who took over,
Under the fountains
And under the graves;
now it was Ivordir's turn,
Under floods that are deepest,
Which Ulmo obey,
and finally, Cambréthil put down his flute for the last line:
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.
The song was new to Erestor, and he blushed deeply at the implications of the last line, trying to avoid everybody's glances, for he was sure this was meant particularly for him. But his brother caught his gaze, grinning openly and winking conspiratorially at Erestor.
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Notes:
For culinary purposes, I'm loosely equating Khand with Indian and Umbar with Chinese/Thai cuisine, regardless of any other known or fanon cultural references of these parts of Middle-earth. Likewise, "Far harad-something" is used as a common denomination for anything that would be "Oriental and Asian" in modern Western culture.
Therefore, Umbar parsley would be coriander, also called Chinese parsley.
Written for B2MeM 2018 for the initial prompt no.3 (prompt set 1), which is the song used in the story, by Anonymous, 17th century. I replaced the original "Neptune" with "Ulmo", though.
