keiliss | Fic: Life After - Gildor, Glorfindel, Erestor

Title: Life After
Part: 3/6
Characters: Gildor, Glorfindel, Erestor
Rating: R
Beta: Red Lasbelin
Timeline: some time after T.A. 1000.
Summary: life after rebirth - Glorfindel’s first year in Imladris.

LIFE AFTER
"Glorfindel was tall and straight; his hair was of shining gold, his face fair and young and fearless and full of joy; his eyes were bright and keen, and his voice like music; on his brow sat wisdom, and in his hand was strength."

Part Three
WINTER

It was a cold afternoon about three months after Glorfindel came to the valley. He was marking the perspective lines on a canvas and filing in outlines preparatory to painting. The subject was a view of the trees on the edge of the meadow, trunks bare and smooth, their branches leafless against a grey sky. He was wondering where best to add the touches of colour he had planned, hints of red and blue, traces of pink, when there was a knock at the cottage door.

Still dressed for patrol, his hair in a series of neat braids fastened at the nape of his neck, Erestor stood on the doorstep The north wind gusted in the door past him, stirring papers and making the cats look round disapprovingly. The dog hadn’t bothered to rise, Glorfindel thought they must have met before. “Erestor? Come in. Welcome back.”

Erestor smiled and entered, looking around. Glorfindel cautiously did the same, trying to see the room through other eyes, Gildor’s perhaps. It wasn’t that he was naturally untidy, just somehow since his rebirth his attention went more readily to a robin’s flight or the sunlight touching dew on a spider’s web than on the mundanity of housework. It was a point Gildor raised on a regular basis: in the House there would be cleaning staff, unlike the cottage where someone only came along once a week to scrub floors and dust.

“It’s a mess, I’m sorry. Let me clear these off here…” He made to remove a pile of books, newly collected from the library that morning, from the couch. Of the other chairs, one was occupied by the two cats who seemed to have called a truce on account of the weather, while the other had a pile of clean clothes brought down from the House a few hours ago. Glorfindel had no idea how they got things dry there, but he was immensely grateful.

Giving him an amused look, the Captain of Imladris pushed the clothing to one side, and sat. After a moment’s hesitation, Glorfindel claimed the couch. “Tea. Would you like some tea, perhaps?”

Erestor inclined his head slightly. “If you’ve a mind to it, although I won’t be staying long. I stopped by to make a – suggestion of sorts. Though I would enjoy a cup. This has been my first break for hours.’

Glorfindel went through to the kitchen, built up the fire in the stove and put the kettle in place while he found clean cups. There were also some little honey cakes begged from the kitchen, but they were yesterday’s and not what his mother would have called guest fare, so he left them be. He considered going back into the parlour while the tea brewed, but something about the easy way Erestor made himself comfortable suggested it might not be necessary to keep him entertained. There was something very agreeable about the thought.

When the tea was ready he took it through to find the dog had gone to lie at their guest’s feet, while Erestor was staring up at the top of the three shelf bookcase with its glass-paned doors. He rose to accept his cup. “An owl?” he asked, indicating the bookcase with a graceful inclination of his head.

Glorfindel shrugged, half laughed. “He found me. His wing was hurt and I started feeding him till he could hunt again and – somehow he moved into the cottage during the day.” Gildor had a strong division between outdoor and indoor animals and had been less than impressed when he refused to allow the owl to be persuaded outside onto the porch.

Erestor nodded. “He looks very at home. Do you still feed him?”

“Not now he’s able to fend for himself again. Gildor told me mortals like to hand tame birds, but it seems very wrong to me. No, he hunts – though he’s been known to hunt the dog’s food at times if I don’t watch him.”

“I wondered. Keeping a wild creature dependant on you – I’ve known it done but it has a wrongness to it.” Erestor sipped his tea, smiled quickly. “Tastes good. Having animals around, that’s important to you, yes?”

Glorfindel considered the question. “I’m – not sure? I suppose so? They’ve just all found their way here somehow. The dog lived with a couple who left to visit kin in Mithlond and will be gone beyond the animal’s lifetime and I offered him a place here, the cats just – arrived…”

“As cats will,” Erestor agreed with a laugh. They drank tea while he looked around the room some more. “Did you paint before? You have a very sure hand.”

Glorfindel was surprised by how ridiculously pleased he was at the compliment. “Only when I was a boy, longer ago than I care to count. Later my duties as my father’s son meant there was no time.”

“That’s a shame,” Erestor murmured. “The one you’re busy on, that’s the view from the corner, those trees just before you reach the door. “ His eye lighted on the boards stacked neatly against the wall near the bookcase. “More paintings? May I…?”

Gildor had stopped passing comment once he realised the aberration was there to stay for a while at least, which left Glorfindel with no experience in responding to queries and compliments.. “Canvas is scarce, so I only use it for more ambitious projects,” he explained instead. “And yes, of course. They’re just ---- attempts, the ones I want to keep. I paint over the others.”

They ended up sitting together on the floor and finished their tea with Glorfindel’s work of the past few months propped against wall and furniture. Erestor had been interested in everything, asked questions, and was not slow to offer criticism where it was warranted. Glorfindel wondered aloud if he also painted in his spare time, but Erestor laughed and said he could barely draw a straight line, which was probably one of the reasons he had so much respect for those who could bring a scene alive through line and colour.

Eventually, sitting with arms clasped about up-drawn knees, his eyes on a series of sketches of the owl, Erestor said, “I can understand wanting to get in touch with this place inside yourself after so long. It’s always sad when talent has to make way for more immediate needs. In fact, that was the point of my visit.”

Now we’re coming to it, Glorfindel thought, bracing himself for the request to take his ‘rightful’ place amongst the warrior class. Erestor favoured him with an amused look, however, that implied he knew exactly what Glorfindel was thinking and was about to prove himself less easily predictable.

“They say strange things are moving in the quiet corners of the Greenwood, with the Lady cautioning vigilance from the Wood. And Elrond’s foresight, which I’ve learned to place faith in, says we need to make ready for the storm. I know you want time to paint and read, you made that very clear from the start. But I watch you spar with Gildor and your skill far surpasses anything Imladris has to offer now that so many have sailed.”

A smoothed board and a stick of charcoal lay atop a pile of books beside the couch, and Glorfindel picked them up almost without thinking. Holding the board in his lap he started sketching while he listened, trying without much hope to capture the slant of an eye, the fingers of a gesturing hand.

Erestor began playing idly with the dog’s ears, and the animal looked immensely contented with life. “My job is more organisational than about riding out after stray brigands,” he continued. “Mainly it’s about making sure we strike a good balance between action and training. What I need most isn’t another warrior, no matter how experienced. What I lack is someone to help train the younger ones who have never seen anything more threatening than a stray orc or misplaced Easterner. I came to ask if you would consider helping me with this.”

“As an – instructor?” Glorfindel was surprised and intrigued.

“Exactly. I thought to present it as an extra option, beyond the standard training. Your reputation will make them want to be part of any class you offer, and your knowledge will keep them coming back. A few mornings a week, nothing too time consuming. Come with me once or twice first, watch how they’re trained and then you can think what to add and how. If you’re willing, that is?”

Clear eyes, almost the shade of Gildor’s dwarf brandy, studied his face seriously. Glorfindel wondered for a moment if this was a ploy to tempt him back into the fold. He could picture it, one small step followed by more until he found himself armouring up and riding out with one of the patrols that ceaselessly covered the countryside three, four days’ ride beyond Imladris. But there was no guile in the captain’s face or in that steady look, and everything in their interactions suggested Erestor accepted the way he chose to live his new life.

“A few mornings a week could be interesting,” he declared at last. “I want to help here, I was sent back to do my part, whatever that might seem to be. If I have something to add to the training, then I’d be happy to try.”

~*~*~*~

Winter settled in around Imladris, wrapping the valley in rain followed by snow that sat heavy and full on the trees covering the slopes. The cats claimed a corner near the fire, and because hunting seemed scarce Glorfindel fed them alongside the dog with scraps begged from the kitchen. The dog had an ambivalent attitude towards snow, happy to go out and run but less pleased to be wet. The owl lived as owls do, although he slept more than before.

One day they woke to find the snow half way up the front door, and Gildor had to climb out the window and go round to dig them out. When he was done they stood looking at the snow with cups of hot tea that Glorfindel had made while his prince worked.

“Might want to think about moving up into the main building for a while,” Gildor suggested, leaning against the doorpost and surveying his handiwork.

It had become a half-humourous battle of wits between them. Glorfindel shook his head, unbound corn-gold hair shifting and rippling with the movement. “No, I think not. Though next time it’s my turn to dig. I doubt it will get much worse than this, and it’s nowhere near as cold as it was in Gondolin in midwinter.”

Gildor’s forehead creased momentarily, then he tried another approach. “Much easier over there. No need to find our way home in bad weather after dinner.”

“Well, if it got really bad I’m sure Elrond wouldn’t mind finding one or both of us a room for the night,” Glorfindel replied mildly. “Though this far it’s not been impassable, we’ve just got a little wet. Soon dried off.”

“You don’t want to leave your paints behind, do you?” Gildor asked with laughing exasperation, gesturing into the parlour as he spoke. It had been Erestor, not he, who had sorted out the chaos of Glorfindel’s eclectic lifestyle by the simple expedient of providing a table for his art paraphernalia and temporary loans from the library, and sending two of his men over to build extra book shelves. Once everything had its place, Glorfindel found it easier to keep things in order.

He shrugged, half smiling. “There are no blizzards in the valley, I’ve asked. The snow might be high, as it is today, but there is no reason to move up to the House. I’m – happy here, Gildor. Perhaps when spring comes I’ll be ready to have people close about me all the time, but not yet, it’s too soon. Now I need to dress. I have a class today.”

part four - spring, summer