-Note- Again, I apologize for the delay. I don't think weekly updates are going to work- it will be catch-as-catch can from here on. Don't worry; I've already got Chapter 11 halfway done. Thank you so much for your patience!
-Disclaimer- Please see Chapter 9.
A Letter
Because he had nothing better to do, he decided it was time he visit the art museum. It was fairly crowded, and he wandered through rooms of tapestries and small, carved figures before he found them, sitting on a wooden bench before a floor-to-ceiling Monet.
Elladan saw him first.
"Is this one of ours?" he asked.
"What do you think?"
He paused. "I can't see Lindir- or anyone else- painting with...dots. It is beautiful, in spite of it."
"Not all fair things are Elven," said Glorfindel, sitting beside him.
"That's true," said Elrohir. "Men are capable of so much beauty. So much darkness."
"We all are."
"Aye."
Silence. A man passed through, carrying a briefcase. He saw them, paused only briefly at the painting, left.
"How long have you been here?"
"A few hours. We were about to go, but we'll stay if you like."
"No," said Glorfindel. "What would an old warrior know about art?"
Elrohir looked skeptic. "Well, you've done a nice job of covering your apartment with it..."
Glorfindel sighed. "I'll stay, you go. Will you be coming to dinner?"
"Maybe."
He shrugged. "You're welcome to stop in."
They stood, he embraced each of them.
"See you later," said Elrohir, picking up his coat.
"Aye, later."
He watched them go, spent the rest of the afternoon moving slowly through the cavernous, marble halls. When he had had his fill of abstract, realism, and sculpture, he left. It was time to go back, and make dinner.
(l)
The twins didn't come back that evening.
He didn't admit to himself that he was waiting for them, but it was with reluctance that he locked the door for the night and went to bed. When he woke early the next morning, the apartment was still empty- apart from himself and a sleeping dog.
He sighed, fixed breakfast for himself and Alyaran, skimmed over the morning paper with disinterest. He finished, discarded the remaining oatmeal, set out for the morning walk.
It was a week day; more cars were on the streets, even at this early hour. It was colder than it had been the day before; in spite of himself, he blew at his hands and fastened the buttons on his cloak. He returned to the apartment, traded his old coat for his blazer, girded himself for the office. Briefcase under his arm, he took the elevator to the parking garage, retrieved his car; the valet would not arrive until late morning.
He arrived early enough to avoid the traffic and be one of the first in the building, relaxed until the cubicles began to fill, then began to work.
He signed papers, answered phone calls, read tax reports. By the time he left his office, the paper cut he had gotten halfway through a very dull acount of sales was the only part of his day he remembered clearly. He had wrapped his finger in a tissue before his secretary had arrived at his door, presumably to ask a question. Helen saw the makeshift bandage, blushed furiously and disappeared. Moments later, she returned, bearing a box of Band-Aids.
He took one, feeling foolish, and watched her leave. Had he said too much, last Friday? He wondered, but he did not know. She was the sort who would keep any doubts to herself, and he knew he needn't worry. Such a long conversation- long, in relative terms- had probably frightened her more than anything else.
Of course, by the time he was back in his hallway, the cut had scabbed over, making the purchase of further bandages unnecessary. All the same, he made a mental note to keep a box in his desk.
Alyaran rushed to greet him, threads of slobber flying sideways as he charged around the corner from the kitchen. Glorfindel petted him mildly, hanging his coat on the stand. He made his way- carefully, lest he trip over the madly excited dog- to his overstuffed chair, to rest before he summoned the will to heat up dinner.
There was a sealed envelope laying peacefully on the arm, addressed to him. He didn't notice until later that it was not in Elvish- both he and the twins had become accustomed to other languages less conspicuous.
Glorfindel,
Thank you for allowing us to bother you. By the time you read this, we'll be gone- we knew you'd be at work, and we figured it was best if we didn't interrupt. We'll send word when we get to wherever it is we're going to, you needn't worry.
We ought to meet more often. At any rate, we all know that the days are few for us now.
El & El
Glorfindel sighed, folded the letter. Perhaps it was for the best, he thought. Long goodbyes had never suited him or the twins. It was for the better. For the better.
He put the letter back in its envelope, rose, put it in the cutlery drawer with the twins' phone number. Reaching into the freezer, he took out a jar of leftover sauce, and from the refrigerator, a bowl of noodles, and set about fixing himself a plate of leftover spaghetti. He dropped a forkful of noodles into Alyaran's dish, watched him eat frantically.
"Just you and I, now, pup," he sighed.
It was all for the better, really.
(l)
Thank you for reading! Review Responses:
Dark Borg Drone: Here's more! :P Thanks for reviewing "One White Tree"! It's very nice to hear from older stories. Thanks again!
Chronicles Bailey: Thanks! I'll look into that! I've been trying to find my friend- who's Romanian- for a few weeks, but it's been difficult, as we have conflicting schedules this year. 'Kitty' is just fine! :D
Neoinean: If only we could have them cooking our breakfasts! :P They're very nice Elves- they look after their Glorfindel just like he looks after them.
Stuntz: Yes, there will be more. I predict another 3-5 chapters, unless some rabid plot bunny attacks me. I'm thinking of taking him to see Celeborn- in another story, set before this. Very, very tentative, though.
Kazbels: I'm afraid I didn't spend too much time at the art museum- I have a hard time imagining Glorfindel there. As for a visit to Celeborn, I was thinking of putting that in another story, taking place before this one- work is really piling up, and I think it would be easier for all of us (especially my sanity) to put it in a separate story. What do you think?
Noldo: I can definitely see that happening. There are many places people would like to visit- but few we'd like to live in. Congratulations on the MPA nomination- "Rantings of a Harassed Advisor" is my favorite! Best of luck to you!
Saturn's Hikari: Marching band! That's great! I myself am an orchestra person- one in school and one extracurricular- I can relate to the time crunch! What instrument(s) do you play? (I'm not telling who the Elven artists are- I ruled out impressionism during the chapter- but it's up to you to decide what paintings and styles look Elvish)