The noise, which bore a strong resemblance to the dying screams of a most unfortunate cat, grew louder and louder the closer John got to the wing in which it came from. The door leading into the guilty room was wide open, and the windows inside the room were open as well to subject the rest of Rivendell to such auditory torture.
The room itself appeared to be part sitting room, part laboratory, with tables stacked high with all sorts of books, papers, and glassware carrying various bits of things John would rather not know the names for. A hearth sat to the left of the room, with a giant map of Arda above the mantelpiece and a skull on it. There was a low coffee table, two chairs sitting across from each other in front of the hearth, and a low couch on which a certain dark-haired ellon perched, dragging a bow along the strings of a fiddle at random and seemingly unaware of the effect he was having on the sensibilities of all others around him.
"You know, based on that I wouldn't have called you much of a musician," John called into the room. Sílchanar snorted, and continued to wrest horrendous notes out of his poor instrument. "Your torture of that poor fiddle must be damaging the ears of everyone else in Rivendell."
"Serves them right," sniffed Sílchanar, but he stopped playing all the same. "You would think a couple hundred years of this would desensitise them, but no…"
"I didn't see you for the past few days," John remarked as he hovered at the doorway a moment longer. Sílchanar harrumphed, placed the fiddle and bow on the coffee table, and flopped onto the couch in a decidedly ungraceful manner.
"You can come in, you know," was all he would say.
John sighed, and entered the room, closing the door behind him. He strode over to one of the chairs and took a seat, facing Sílchanar.
"Is that a skull behind me?" he asked.
"Mm, yes. Another friend of mine, term used loosely." Sílchanar sighed and stretched out on the couch.
John nodded, fighting the impulse to inspect the skull a bit closer. They sat there in an awkward silence for a moment longer before John asked, "Where were you the past few days?"
"Bored," replied the elf.
"Bored?" echoed the hobbit.
"There's absolutely nothing to do here."
"And no one's offered you a case, I presume?"
"Lestedir, after I delivered the report on the last one. This one's not worth my time."
"You have plenty of time. You're an Elf."
"Who craves mental stimulation that can't be provided by dull cases."
"That still doesn't answer the question of what you were doing."
Sílchanar put his hands over his eyes. "Does it matter to you?" he complained.
"Actually, it does, because apparently I'm important enough to you for you to give me your Cilmessë yet not important enough for the details of your past."
At that, the ellon sat bolt upright, eyes flashing almost like lightning over a stormy sea. "Elrond told you?" he breathed.
"Not of your past," John replied, crossing his arms.
"It really is none of your concern."
"He seemed to think it was important."
"I think not." Sílchanar's voice was dangerous. "Whatever happened before I met you is irrelevant." And with that, he turned around and curled into the foetal position, evidently intent on ignoring John for possibly the rest of the day.
"Fine," huffed John, getting up from his seat. "All right. Be an elfling about it." He stormed out of the room to the sound of more cacophonies from Sílchanar's fiddle, only to collide with an elleth dressed in blue who was preoccupied with the book in front of her.
"Ah, sorry!" squeaked the hobbit as he backed away from her, eyes widening as she briefly looked up from her book to assess him with calm grey eyes.
"Hanncome Watson?" she asked.
Did everyone know his name at this point? John felt a bit light-headed.
"Er, yes. That's me. At your service, my lady."
She smiled condescendingly. "Someone wants to see you." With that, she turned around and walked down the hallway, obviously assuming that he would follow.
He did.
"Er, what's your name? I mean, it'd only be fair, since you know mine –"
She pondered this for a long time. "Eithril," she said after a moment, in a voice brisker than her walk.
"That's not your real name, is it?"
"No."
It was odd, how Eithril was able to navigate the halls while totally focused on the book in her hands. John chalked it up to Elven senses of direction or something of the sort. Eventually she led him out along a bridge to a small gazebo, ringed on three sides by trees and surrounded by the babbling brooks with their small waterfalls. A bird chirped not too far away.
And seated on a bench in the gazebo was the ellon from the first night in the Hall of Fire.
"Hello again, Master Hanncome."
"I was hoping to continue our discussion from the first night," admitted the ellon as John stepped into the gazebo. "Have a seat."
John shook his head. "I'm fine with standing."
"You do not fear me," remarked the ellon.
"You're not very frightening," bluffed the hobbit. What was he saying? Of course the ellon was frightening; he was probably twice his height! At least with the ellon seated their heights were levelled somewhat.
"The stout heart of the Hobbit," sneered the ellon, smirking. "But strangely, even with such hearts your kind aren't exactly known for being renowned in battle or wisdom –"
"What exactly are we going to discuss here, or am I free to leave and spare you from talking ill about my people?" John snapped, crossing his arms.
The ellon's smirk only grew wider. "You met Lord Elrond today, didn't you?"
"Is that any of your business?"
"My business is anything that has to do with Sílchanar Eregnirion, and I have it on good authority that that was the topic of your discussion with him. I did not manage to ask you this question last time: what is your connection to Sílchanar Eregnirion?"
"I…" John paused, licking his lips. "I, uh, barely know him. Just met him. So I'm nobody."
"A nobody who was escorted to Rivendell by him and given his Cilmessë within the span of a week. Is it not odd that he should show such favouritism to a Halfling from the Shire?"
John's mouth fell open. "What exactly are you trying to imply?"
"That he is holding you in a very strange position. I believe he is withholding his past deliberately from you. However, it's not my place to divulge."
"And having your assistant abduct me is within your bounds? Who are you?"
"An interested party," replied the ellon smoothly.
"Right, I guess as his archenemy you would be." John sighed. "What exactly do you do?"
"I believe I am the one who is supposed to be asking questions." The ellon smirked again. "Do you plan to continue accompanying Sílchanar?"
"As much as you think your business is anything to do with him, I think that that particular question would be out of bounds. It's none of your business whom I associate with."
The ellon's smirk merely widened as he took out a slip of parchment. "But if you do continue to associate with him," he drawled, "even if you find yourself returning to the Shire, I would be more than happy to pay for your travel expenses on cases with him –"
"Why?"
"Because even with the Green Dragon family business I can tell you aren't a wealthy Hobbit."
"In exchange for what?" John shifted a bit, unsure of how the ellon managed to figure that out.
"Information. Nothing indiscreet, I assure you. I would just like to know what he is doing when he is out of Rivendell."
"Why?"
"I worry about him." There was a certain threatening tone in the ellon's voice at that. "Constantly."
John sighed. He wasn't sure why everyone he had met so far was trying to dissuade him from associating with Sílchanar Eregnirion. From Sally Brunheather at the Prancing Pony to Lord Elrond, everyone seemed determined either to bring up the hidden aspects of the dark-haired ellon's life and character or to turn the Hobbit into some sort of spy against him. Surely this grey-clad ellon who exuded the same sort of power and mystery as that of Lord Elrond – the sort that could only come with knowledge and experience – had other spies that would work twice as well as a Hobbit?
"Birds I may use, but Sílchanar does not interact with birds very much unless he is asking favours from them."
John blinked, unsettled at how the ellon seemed to have read his mind.
"So you're looking for a spy that can interact with him."
"In a way, yes. And if you do agree, I would prefer to let my concern – or my involvement at all – go unnoticed, for there has been some sundering of close bonds between us, and the chasm between our interests in these closer years has grown wider and deeper."
John shook his head. "I won't do it."
The ellon said nothing for once, only arched an eyebrow. John shook his head again and laughed.
"No, I simply can't and won't. It's not how things are done where I come from, after all."
"Surely that may be the case amongst you Hobbits who have no significant rivalries or enmities –"
"Oh, we have plenty of neighbours gossiping about each other," muttered John darkly. "But what I mean to say is that I won't do it because I won't stand for that sort of thing."
"You show remarkable loyalty towards someone you've only barely met."
"No, I'm just not interested."
"I see." They lapsed into a temporary silence, as John noticed the lengthening shadows around the gazebo and his companion tapped at the floor. His assistant was nowhere to be found.
After a moment the ellon spoke up again. "I'm sure many people, from that barmaid at the Prancing Pony to Lord Elrond himself have warned you to stay away from Sílchanar, but your very presence here suggests that you won't."
John scowled. "Why would you say that?"
The ellon shot him the grandmother of all condescending smiles. "Hobbits do not try to travel out of the Shire, yet you did so, to go to Bree. And when Sílchanar suggested you come here, you agreed instead of taking the sensible route and going home. You did what you had to do in one night at Bree, yet you stayed for another to help Sílchanar with his case."
"How in Arda do you know all of that?"
"I have my ways." The ellon smiled. "When you walk with Sílchanar Eregnirion, you will never miss an adventure. They say Hobbits are not folks eager for such, yet you, Master Hobbit, crave it."
John felt as if all of his breath had been stolen out of his lungs. For a moment, he could only sit there, blink, and try to remember how to breathe. The ellon had just told him everything that he had been fearfully turning over and over in his head for the past few nights, in the wee hours when he could not sleep and the moon outside seemed far too bright. Sílchanar had said that he was here for adventure. John hadn't realised how true that was until now.
"Lord Elrond may have whetted your curiosity about Sílchanar's past this morning, but that is only because he believes that separating you from an ellon as dangerous as Sílchanar will be for the best. I, on the other hand, think not." The ellon smiled, and got to his feet. "Welcome home, Master Hanncome."