I neither created nor own Middle Earth, Imladris, The Silvan or Noldo elves, Elrond, Erestor, Estel/Aragorn, Lindir, nor Glorfindel. Tolkien did, and I am eternally grateful. I did create Mellolaes and Idhrenohtar, however.

This piece is for entertainment purposes only. So please read and be entertained.

"I suppose you think it is better for you now that I have been left in charge instead of Elrond."

Idhrenohtar raised an eyebrow from where he sat before the Steward's desk. "Why should I prefer it either way?"

"You know how our lord feels about Silvans, and you know how 'I' feel about Silvans."

Idhrenohtar shrugged. "I know you will follow our lord's orders while he is away, same as I."

Erestor leaned forward, folded his arms upon his desk, and pierced the other Noldo with his gaze. His brows lowered in a dark V dividing his forehead. "Not only that, but I will defend and avenge her with all vehemence if anything happens, Idhrenohtar. If even the slightest thing happens to her in your presence, I will learn of it, and you will not escape punishment beneath my oversight."

Idrenohtar raised one brow slightly. "I will not harm one of Elrond's guests in his own valley and thus open our Lord up to suspicion and derision from any, especially the Silvans."

"And if anything happens to her 'outside' this valley, I will call thee to account for that too Idrenohtar, just like our lord."

"I never said I would harm her there either."

"See that you do not." Erestor then looked to the papers on his desk. "You may leave now."

Idhrenohtar rose and walked to the door. As the soldier reached for the doorknob, he paused and turned his gaze back to the steward. "For the record, it is truly her brother, father, and their fellow Silvan warriors who fought in the last war I have a quarrel with, not her."

Erestor nodded without looking up. "Good."

Idrenohtar straightened, raised an eyebrow, and turned back a degree more. "May I ask what the nature of 'your' quarrel with her is?"

Erestor raised his gaze to meet the other ellon's. "What do you mean?"

The soldier shrugged. "Everyone knows it. You are either hard upon or avoid her like she smells. What does she matter to you, even her Silvaness? You lost neither kin nor friend in 'that' battle."

Erestor's eyes burned as he stared into the soldier's. His fingers drummed once upon the surface of his desk. Then he tilted his head toward the door. "Get out, Idrenohtar."

The soldier turned, opened the door and stepped out closing it behind him. Erestor leaned down, rubbed his face with his hands, and then held his head in them.

. . .

Leagues away, a figure in a grey cloak left a house near the center of a farm. A donkey, cow, and scattered poultry looked up at his exit, but he had tended their needs for the last time. He bent his head, winced at the sunlight, and stepped out into it anyway. He did pull his hood well down and squinted his eyes nearly closed.

The man strode toward the one animal who hadn't looked up at his appearance. The horse continued to graze even as his master swung up upon his back. The rider did not bother to saddle his beast. The discomfort of riding bareback might keep him alert during the journey.

The steed ceased grazing when the man clucked to him. The horse then turned and ambled onto the road. The man sat a little taller and looked out calculating distance in his mind, making a check over the sensations in his body. He had cut it close.

The woman, children, and even man he'd left inside were well on their way to regaining their strength. He though, was well on his way to having a fever. He knew the best place to come down with a fever in Middle Earth ... if only he could reach it in time.

The woman, once so worried about him being in her house at all, who might have chased him off at his first appearance if she'd been able to lift her broom, had tried hard to convince him to stay. She was just firmly on the mend herself, though. Her children even less so. Her husband was not yet out of bed. He had assured her he had friends, learned, wise, gentle friends, very near to go to if he truly became ill. He would reach them long before there was any danger.

The man clucked again. His horse quickened his pace to a fast trot. The rider leaned over and cleared the tickle in his throat. His gaze pierced the horizon focused on his unseen goal. He hoped he had told her the truth.

. . .

"Erestor, Erestor!"

The ellon turned from his office door. Manling and Silvan had gone out to the steps of the main entrance earlier with pads of papers and sticks of charcoal. The manling now rushed him. Grey smudges and a large grin decorated his small face.

The boy carried a paper in his hands. When, he stopped at the ellon's feet, he lifted his work. "Look at this! I drew it!"

Erestor took the paper and looked. He was then glad he held the page in such a way as to hide his face from the artist. Estel's voice came from behind his masterpiece. "See, what it is?!"

Erestor schooled his voice before he replied. "Well … I see its something very … jagged-lined."

"Uh-huh."

Erestor glanced down at Estel. The boy grinned up still and stiff with sparkles in his eyes. Erestor looked back to the paper. "And the jagged lines seem … dark."

"Uh-huh."

Erestor pursed his lips together harder. Then a voice came from down the hall. "Have you showed Erestor your picture of the mountains around the great gate, yet?"

Estel spun around. His grin turned into a pout. He stomped a foot. "Ahhhhh … Melly! You told."

The elleth paused before him and raised her eyebrows. "Did I?" Then she continued her approach and knelt down before the boy. "I'm sorry, Estel. Do you forgive me?"

Estel huffed. His shoulders sagged. "Okay …" He turned a grin back up to Erestor. "Do you want to keep it? Melly says you love to draw!"

Erestor stiffened. From the main doorway, Lindir turned his head and stared. Melly froze, bit her lip, and looked up at the steward herself.

The Noldo's brows drew slightly together, but his voice came out low and soft. He held the drawing back out to the boy. "Estel, why don't you go show your exquisite piece of art to Lindir. He is, after all, quite fond of the arts."

Lindir's eyes widened as his face turned grey. He froze as the manling jogged up to him. Mellolaes rose from the floor and began to walk after her charge. Erestor's tone stopped her. "Will you please accompany me into my office?"

The Silvan swallowed, turned, and followed the ellon. Erestor stepped aside, waited for her to pass, and shut the door. Then he walked behind his desk, turned, sat down, and steepled his fingers before resting his chin upon them. "Where did you hear I loved to draw?"

Mellolaes looked down to the floor, clasped her hands before her, and shrugged. "From someone who knew?"

Erestor raised an eyebrow. Then he leaned back into his chair and stared at the elf-maid. After a moment, his eyes widened slightly and then narrowed as his voice came forth with a growl. "Glorfindel …"

Mellolaes' mouth twisted. Erestor's scowl deepened. "How much did he tell you?"

Mellolaes lifted her long eyelashes to look back at him from beneath them. She shrugged. "Just … some things … like, your fondness for drawing."

"I have drawn nothing but diagrams since the second age."

"Oh …"

"What else did he tell you?"

Mellolaes shrugged again. "Just ... that ... you were the youngest in your family."

"And?"

"And ... you aren't a kin-killer."

"And?"

Her shoulders sagged. "And you came here following a friend … and that friend died …"

Erestor raised another eyebrow and tilted his head. "Did Glorfindel tell you the manner of that death?"

"He said he was pulled from his horse by orcs."

Erestor leaned back in his chair. His face going lax. He drew his steepled fingers toward himself. A knock sounded from the door. Erestor looked to it. Mellolaes turned toward it as well. A voice came piping through the wood. "Erestor, Melly, I've finished telling Lindir about my drawing."

Mellolaes looked to the Steward. He nodded. "Let him in, but …"

Mellolaes had been reaching for the doorknob, she turned back to meet Erestor's gaze. He continued when she did. "Do not tell anyone else I like to draw, or about my friend's death. Especially Estel."

The elleth nodded. Then she turned back and opened the door.

Estel rushed in holding his drawing over his head. The paper bent back in the breeze he created. The boy stopped before Erestor's knees. "Do you still want it?"

Erestor pulled the manling up into his lap, took the paper, and stared at with a serious gaze. Mellolaes stood by the door, hands folded before her again. Finally, the ellon handed the paper back to Estel. "I think your first such great work should go in your adar's office. Otherwise, I would be honored to have it."

Estel grinned. "Alright, for ada. When he gets back!"

Erestor nodded, but added, "Why don't you hang or prop it up in his office now so he can see it there the day he returns?"

Estel nodded again. "That's a great idea, Erestor!" He flung himself forward, gripped the neck of the elf in a skin-changer hug, and then snatched the paper back before bouncing down. Once on the floor he strode toward the door. "Come on, Melly! Let's go hang this up in ada's office!"

Mellolaes stepped after her charge, closing the door behind her. She smiled and winked over her shoulder at the steward while she did. He raised an eyebrow, but did nothing else at this.

. . .

Lindir sighed in relief as the excited voice of the child faded away from the top of the stairs. The child was certainly not "bad," but there was always the possibility he would do or say something wrong to make the manling cry, or shout, or worst of all accidentally hurt himself. Then, not only his lord, but his sons, the steward, "and" the head of Imladris' guard would be angry with him. Then there was the child's nurse herself. Who knew what "she" would do? The elleth was a Silvan. No one could predict them.

Lindir sighed again. Then a trumpet blast sounded through the air, long, bright, and expectant. The door-ellon straightened, looked in the direction of the gate, and frowned. Someone approached the valley, someone coming like he knew where he was going, someone who was not one of their own people, let alone their lord, his sons, or Captain Glorfindel. The length of the trumpet-note told Lindir whoever approached would not be there for some time, but Lindir began to stride inside anyway. He hammered upon the office door near the bottom on the stairs. "Steward Erestor! Steward Erestor!"

Soon the head of the servants himself opened the door with a slight scowl. Lindir gave a swift step back and a bow. "Forgive me, my steward, but someone is approaching the valley. Apparently seeking lodging or refuge. The blast indicating so was just sounded by the watcher upon the gate."

Erestor froze and raised both his brows.

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God Bless

ScribeofHeroes