It was early yet, Erestor realised when he reached the door to the lady's chambers. Breakfast was not for an hour, and he had been so caught up in his thoughts that he had not noticed how far ahead of schedule he was. It was possible she had not even awoken yet, and he lingered in the hall momentarily, wondering if he should not busy himself elsewhere...
No. If she was not yet awake, she would need to be shortly, and his irritation would only grow if he came later to collect her and she was not ready.
Resolutely, he raised a hand and knocked firmly thrice on the door.
A few scant seconds later, it opened to reveal a maiden who looked as though she had indeed been awake for some time. She was dressed in what Erestor supposed was the traditional ladies' attire of her people: her gown was of lightweight silk, the colour of cream, and stitched with gold. Her feet were bare. Upon her head rested a thin circlet of gold.
Her expression was expectant, patiently waiting for him to speak. Erestor tore his eyes away from his examination of her appearance, and focused them upon hers, his jaw tightening to stave off a chill as he did so.
"Lady Gwelwen," he found his voice at last, "my apologies for the intrusion; I merely wanted to be sure that you would wake in time to break fast this morning."
Gwelwen gave him a small nod. "I am awake," she murmured, rising up slightly on her toes - a gesture of uncertainty, if Erestor was correct in his perceptions. "I have been so for some two hours now."
He frowned. "Was your bed unacceptable? If so, I can assure you that whatever the problem--"
"No," she interrupted him, a light flush creeping upon her cheeks. "I am sorry. My bed is perfectly acceptable - I was merely...restless. This realm and house are both very new to me, and I am afraid my slumber was light due to the unfamiliarity of my surroundings."
"Ah," Erestor offered lamely, understanding the underlying meaning of her words, but unwilling to actualise their entailment. He hoped that his feigned ignorance would deter her, and had even begun to turn to leave, but alas, such was not meant to be.
"I would like," she said imploringly, placing a hand on his arm and halting his departure, "to better familiarise myself with the beauty of Imladris, though I am wary of venturing its grounds alone, as I fear its residents would be equally wary of my presence." Her eyes flicked toward the guard still stationed at the end of the hall; obviously, she had discerned that he was there for her "benefit".
"...of course," Erestor relented, seeing no way out of agreeing to her request. In truth, he could have claimed politely enough that he had many important matters of an official status to attend to ere breakfast was served, but the part of his mind that was usually so adept at making such excuses appeared to be clouded by forces unknown.
Offering her his hand as he had the previous night, and taking note that her fingers were just as cool now as they had been then, they started down the hall, Erestor nodding once in acknowledgement at the hesitant-looking guard as they passed.
He led her first to the garden, deciding it best that they stay well away from the library and other like rooms, which were filled with priceless historical artifacts, maps and books whose secrets were better left precisely that. She seemed enchanted by the roses, and ran her free hand lightly along one small white bud.
"Have you not roses in Khand?" he enquired, seeking some break in the silence that had once again settled between them.
"O yes," she answered, releasing his hand as she bent down to better examine a pale bloom. "But they are never like this. The colours of the desert bleed into all of the flowers in Caras Hargil, and when they bloom they never appear so gentle. Their blossoms are as flames - beautiful in their own right, but sometimes as harsh to look upon as Anor itself."
Though her comparison struck a cord with Erestor, he held his tongue. His was not to charm her, nor even to desire to. "Then perhaps you would also enjoy the falls, as I cannot imagine there being many where you are from."
"No," she admitted, a small smile touching the corners of her lips. "No falls. But I would very much like to see the ones here. Have we time?"
He glanced up at the sun, frowning slightly. "It is doubtful. Even if we left presently, once we reached our destination there would be little time to appreciate its splendour."
"Mm," Gwelwen sighed, rising up to take his hand again as they continued on through the gardens. "Perhaps later, then."
"Perhaps," he agreed, sounding none too eager about the possibility. "If time permits."
"Do you not enjoy my company, Lord Erestor?"
"No," he said quickly, then caught himself and shook his head. "Yes. I...it is only that there is much to be done, and I cannot..."
She arched an eyebrow inquisitively, and finished for him, "Cannot be bothered to play nursemaid to a savage Haredhel?"
He stared at her seriously, seeing his own half-exasperated, half-apologetic countenance reflected in the paleness of her eyes. "I do not think you savage, my Lady," he said softly, and her face betrayed neither anger nor satisfaction at his confession.
"But I am," she murmured, the sound of her voice almost a quiet hiss. "I hunt on the backs of Mûmakil, and dance naked beneath the light of Ithil with the spawn of Ungoliant; I invoke the wicked song of Melkor, and enslave the sickly Men with my voice; I command the scorpions that infest my desert realm to seek out my enemies, slip within their beds and blacken their dreams with a poisoned sting. All of these things you have heard before, have you not?"
Her face was very close to his, and Erestor could feel her warm breath on his cheek. He tried in vain to swallow, but found his mouth suddenly dry as the desiccated lands of which she spoke. Not trusting his parched voice, he only nodded an answer, for he could find no point in lying to her. He did know the rumours well, but by her face and voice alone he could not discern whether she was scorning them or threatening to prove them facts.
"And you believe them, do you not?"
At this prompting, Erestor somehow managed to find his words again. "I believe that which is true, my Lady."
She would not desist. "And what is true to you, my Lord?"
"That which can be felt with my own hands," he replied. "That which can be heard with my own ears, and seen with my own eyes."
Gwelwen laughed. "If you will pardon my temerity, my Lord, that is a silly thing to say. What believe you of the Valar you do not see? Or Ilúvatar Himself whom you cannot touch? Indeed all of history, by your bounds, could be labelled as non-existent!"
"But history does not exist," he countered. "It existed, and the rules that hold fast the past and present are vastly different and cannot be likened in most respects. And can I not touch Ilúvatar? He is found in all earthly life. I run my hand along a riverstone, dip my feet in cool water, inhale a breath of air, and I feel Him."
"And what of the Valar?"
He smiled, and hummed a small sound of amusement. "All arrogance has a point where it must cease, and content itself with what lowly wisdom it possesses."
"A leap of faith, then?" she surmised.
"A leap? Nay." He shook his head. "It takes but a step."
"And your faith in the civility of my people, how wide a gap must you leap across to reach it?"
His eyes darkened, and he turned away from her. "I have not the foresight to say, and regardless it is not I who guides the faith of Imladris in others. That burden falls upon Lord Elrond's shoulders."
"A burden that you have been appointed to help carry," she persisted, and he held up a hand to silence her.
"My Lady," he said lowly, "you presume too much. If you would seek to argue for peace between our peoples, speak not to me forthwith and save your words until you are invited to council, for only then will I or anyone else pay them any heed. The future relations between our respective realms will be given due discourse, I assure you, but now is neither the time nor the place for it."
She stiffened at his reprimand, and focused her eyes upon her feet as they walked. "Forgive me, my Lord," she muttered, quelling whatever acid remark Erestor could sense lingering on the tip of her tongue. "I forgot my place."
They traversed to the dining hall in silence.
Having never been one to be vague about matters of great import, Lord Elrond brought the first of doubtless many meetings into commencement quickly and directly:
"What say you of peace, Lord Lithir?"
And though the Haredhel did not seem at all taken aback by the Lord of Rivendell's lack of pleasantries, he nevertheless appeared reluctant to speak. He stared down at his hands, which were splayed on the table in front of him, for some moments, and when he at last met the other Elf-lord's gaze there was something not wholly unlike guilt dulling his eyes.
"Alas, Lord Elrond," he said dourly, "though you have been very tolerant, and kind in excess, and we do all appreciate that kindness, I fear we have not been...completely truthful...in regard to our reasons for being here. But please," he quickly added, "I pray thee, hear our explanations, for we wish no ill upon your house, nor upon any who reside herein."
The Half-elf's expression did not waver from its stern impassiveness. "Go on," he quietly ordered, lacing his fingers together and pressing them to his mouth as he always did when in wary thought.
"Forsooth, we seek more than peace: we...we require aid, my Lord. We wish to move west, out of the shadow of Mordor, and we cannot do it alone. An alliance with Imladris would greatly improve our political standing with other realms, both Elven and Mannish, and mayhap it would afford us a chance to settle and prove our intentions are good." He paused, and a pregnant silence filled the council room until Lord Elrond prompted him to speak further. Lord Lithir's face reddened slightly, and he closed his eyes as if gathering his courage to give his as yet unspoken words a voice.
Seemingly taking pity on his lord's unwillingness, Anorast stood, and unlike Lord Lithir, there was nothing in the pale-haired Elf's face and movements that indicated he was even the least bit loath to address whatever troubles plagued the Haredhil of Khand.
"Even if an agreement of unquestionable peace was reached, my Lord," said he to Elrond, "we would still be unable to move West alone. You above all should be knowledgeable the perils that haunt our arid lands. Caras Hargil is far from a tranquil city; constantly we are under threat of attack by Mordain forces. Variags, Orcs and Haradrim line our borders under the command of the Black Captain. The Nine grow ever restless, and their armies of creatures better left dead expand in number with each passing day. We have not the resources or the strength to fight Mordor and, if you deny us your sanction and assistance, Gondor and Lórien and Mirkwood as well, should they decide that our steps sully the northern lands."
"You exaggerate," said Glorfindel, and Anorast, who had been pacing, stopped, indignation briefly flaring in his eyes. "The realms you speak of have their own difficulties that demand their attention," Glorfindel continued. "If your forces are truly as weak as you claim, what leads you to believe that northern rulers would focus their attention on the migration of your people?"
"They would focus their attention," Anorast growled through clenched teeth, "if they believed the Haredhil to be a threat - and you cannot deny that they do see us as such, and you cannot tell me with honesty that you would not sooner crush a sapless enemy than allow it to prosper and gain potency."
"And what ensurance have we that you are not our enemy, other than your pleas for help? What proof have we that you will honour the peace you so fiercely vie for, that you all but demand of us?!" Glorfindel rose suddenly in anger, nearly knocking his chair over in his haste. "A wounded enemy's greatest weapon can be the compassion given to him by those he would slay once well again!"
Anorast leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table, his voice a deadly hiss. "Dishonour me or mine with anymore of your lies and the very quickness with which I kill you will be the last act of compassion you will ever know!"
"Anorast, sit!" Lord Lithir commanded, his shout impressive for one so subdued. "Whatever dishonour we have suffered this day has been at your foolish hand," he muttered darkly as Anorast slowly lowered himself back into his seat. "My Lord Elrond, I apologise for my advisor's...vehemence. He means Lord Glorfindel no ill. Do you, Anorast?"
"Nay," the pale-haired Elf mumbled, lips twisted in an ironic smirk, and bowed his head in a way that could not be described as anything less than mocking. "One thousand apologies, Lord Glorfindel. I was impassioned, and spoke without thought."
"I accept your apology," Glorfindel replied in a tone that clearly said the opposite, "and offer one of my own in return."
The situation handled with as much grace as was possible, Anorast nodded, and Lord Elrond stood to address them all.
"Despite the restored civility of this discussion, it is my ruling that we adjourn for now to better cool our tempers and--" his gaze moved briefly over Anorast, "--collect our thoughts. We shall meet again in one hour's time."
"That may well be the wisest thing that has been said all morning," Lord Lindir agreed, rising from his chair. The two Haredhil left silently, and in their absence Lord Elrond allowed himself a moment's discomposure, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.
"That could have gone better," he sighed, and sank back down in his seat.
"It went no worse than a council with Dwarves," Glorfindel pointed out, and Elrond shot him an admonishing glare.
"And you failed to help matters any. I realise you do not trust Anorast, my friend - in all honesty, neither do I - but quarrelling will solve nothing. Do not allow your judgement of many to be clouded by the actions of one."
"I realise, my Lord," Glorfindel ruefully conceded. "I am sorry."
"Bah!" Elrond waved his hand as if to clear the matter from the air. "You are forgiven. It is Lord Lithir that concerns me most."
"Lithir?" Erestor questioned, the first he had opened his mouth since the meeting had begun. "I thought you believed his pleas sincere?"
"I do," the Lord of Rivendell affirmed. "It is not his honesty I doubt, but his ability to uphold that which he seeks. Peace made is all well and good, but it means little if the one whom you make peace with is not the one in control."
"Not in control? He managed to restrain Anorast well enough, it seemed." Glorfindel did not even attempt to conceal his smile at the memory of the Haredhil counsellor being cowed like a common hound.
"Yes..." Elrond murmured, idly twisting an invisible band around the middle finger of his right hand. "But when abashed, he allowed Anorast to 'roam free', as it were, and Anorast does not strike me as one who is wholly tamed."
"You fear he will grow to resent being alternately chained and wild," Erestor supplied, frowning at a random knot in the wood of the table top as his mind continued to sort through all he had observed thus far. "That one day he will return to his master's call only to bite the hand that feeds him, so to speak."
"And Anorast seems quite capable of feeding himself, master or no master," Glorfindel concluded, and for a short time, all were silent with deep thought. "What of Lithir's daughter?"
Erestor's eyes immediately snapped to the golden-haired Elf. "What of her?"
"Her purpose here," Glorfindel explained. "She seems to have none. According to Anorast, it is a perilous journey to cross the borders of Khand and ride freely through foreign lands. It is likely why they came but three strong - a smaller travelling company would be able to more easily slip through undetected. But why would Lithir risk his daughter's life at all, when he could have brought a warrior for more protection, or a second advisor to better smooth over the rough patches forged by Anorast? What purpose serves she in being here?"
"Ah, yes," Lord Elrond agreed. "I have been wondering the same, but have not yet had a chance to enquire of the Lady Gwelwen's presence."
"Mayhap you could employ Lady Celebrían or Lady Arwen to discover it?" Glorfindel suggested. Elrond looked uncertain for a moment, before his eyebrows rose in a sudden epiphany.
"Or mayhap someone who is on more informal terms with the lady could easily discern her reason for being in Imladris," he said, and glanced pointedly at the dark-haired advisor seated next to him. "Erestor, did my aged eyes deceive me, or did I glimpse you and Lady Gwelwen strolling through the gardens early this morn?"
Erestor averted his gaze, and decided that he did not like where this conversation appeared to be headed. "You did, my Lord. But I assure you it was quite innocent. She requested a tour of Imladris, and I could not in politeness refuse her wish. I am no more well acquainted with the Lady Gwelwen than Lady Celebrían is." He looked to Glorfindel, hoping for perhaps some sort of support for his claim, but his loyal "gwador" only offered him a small shrug.
"Nonsense," Lord Elrond scoffed. "What is the problem, Erestor? Did you not enjoy the Lady Gwelwen's company?"
"It was...tolerable." In truth - though a truth Erestor yet refused to admit even to himself - he had enjoyed the Haradhil maiden's company far more than he should have. It had been needlessly rude of him to end their conversation as curtly as he had, but at the time he had thought it the best course of action. If she thought him abrasive, she would not seek out his companionship, and with her absence from his life - as much of an absence as the current situation would permit - his mind would be free and he could put an end to this...this uncharacteristic distraction of his before it became any worse than it already was. It had been a good strategy.
Lord Elrond obviously did not share Erestor's opinion of it.
"Then you will tolerate it further," said the Peredhel, invoking just enough authority into his voice to let it be known that there was to be no argument of matter, and Erestor breathed a quiet, dubious sigh.
"According to your wish, my Lord."
It appeared as though time would permit them to view the falls, after all.
eneg - 6 ;)
To Píp: Thank you much, and there will definitely be some elaboration on the Khandian "wildness" in future chapters. :)
To Woman of the Dunedain: A sweet, hyper Erestor...oh I do love that mental image. *grins* I have two of him myself - poncy!Erestor and serious!Erestor. But both are slightly-ego-centric brains that abhor getting dirty. ;) Thanks for reviewing; I hope you continue to enjoy this!
And to morchaint: Nazgûl, yes (bloody typos). And augh, I always get the Valar mixed up...feh. Thanks for the corrections, I've got them all fixed now. :) But the Anor's right, since I'm using Sindarin, not Quenya. No worries there. And rock on with the Erestor love. Rock on. He's my favourite in the HoE, too, though I still haven't been able to figure out exactly why. Oh well. Ours Is Not To Question Why. I don't plan on making Gwelwen a Mary Sue (somebody please inform me if I do, so that I may flog and punish and rewrite), and I definitely don't plan on making Erestor a villian (it's unfathomable in my head, really). The worst he'll be is a bit of an occasional prat. Again with the hoping that you'll continue to enjoy this, as we Erestwhores (tm) must stick together. ;)
Thanks for reading, all who've scrolled this far. :)