(no subject)
This is not exactly a speed-written exercise, but as a ficlet it is somewhat rougher and more pointless than my usual stories. Anyway, it's about my Glorfindel in Third (or Second?) Age Rivendell, and it will make the most sense to people who have read SF8.
"Ah, Glorfindel. I saw light under the library door, and thought it might be you."
Glorfindel closed his book and looked up at the speaker. "Erestor, good evening! I did not notice you enter."
"Well, you were very deeply engrossed in that history of Gondolin." Erestor gave one of his little knowing smiles. "Reading about yourself again?"
"I was not." Glorfindel knew he had not been very deeply engrossed at all. He had failed to hear Erestor's arrival only because of the way Erestor was dressed: dark robe and slippers, no boots, knife, nothing that could clank or jingle. Late-night clothes. "But I am sorry--am I in here too late?"
"Of course not. The Library of Imladris is always open to all those who wish to seek knowledge." Erestor's smile grew even more mysterious. "You should know, however, that the knowledge you seek is no secret. The books you consult tend to fall open at your favourite pages."
"Do they?" Glorfindel tried it with 'An Illustrated Military History', and, sure enough, found himself looking once again at the bright illuminations portraying the heroes of Gondolin. "I am not the only one shown here, you know. I like reading about my old friends."
"So late at night?" Erestor scrutinized him in what seemed a rather scientific manner. "Would you not prefer to spend this time with… new friends?"
"Oh, I do so, when given the opportunity. But the Hall of Fire is empty tonight, and, well…" Glorfindel shrugged.
"In that case," said Erestor, "perhaps I could offer you a drink in my rooms?"
The invitation surprised Glorfindel: they were not close. Did he seem so in need of charity? He said, "I would not want to impose-"
"A drink, and perhaps a game of chess. Do you play?"
"Actually, no, I do not."
"No? I am surprised. I am told it is a great way to brush up on tactics between military campaigns." Erestor smiled again. "I could teach you to play, if you like."
"Oh, I know the game. I just- I do not mean to be rude, but I do not care for it." The military metaphor was especially off-putting: Glorfindel did not like the idea of commanding troops from a point of safety without being on the battlefield himself.
"I see. Well, in that case, perhaps I could show you my personal collection of old manuscripts dating to the Years of the Trees? Some are rumoured to have come here through Gondolin."
Glorfindel felt intrigued. "That would be most kind of you."
---
The wine Erestor poured was probably very subtle, Glorfindel decided: he could not detect much of a flavour, or even of an alcoholic content. Still, he sipped it happily enough as he glanced around Erestor's main room, which was decorated in "Late Nargothrond" style: delicate carvings, and frescoes pretending to be windows looking out over the famed sights of the First Age.
"Ah, here we go." Erestor returned carrying a handful of scroll-cases, which he placed on his desk with great care. "Let us start with the oldest."
Glorfindel stopped studying a mountain that was almost certainly supposed to be the Thangorodrim and joined him in examining a worn piece of parchment.
"Now this," said Erestor, "is a first-aid guide. If you look carefully, you will notice that the sections on frostbite have been added later, in a different hand, suggesting that this scroll was altered on or after the Helcaraxe."
"Yes…" Glorfindel had not thought about the Ice in years. "Lady Nerwen had a group of healers working on new cures… But I suppose she can tell you that herself."
Erestor made a suppressed scoffing sound. "I would not want to bother the lady. But look here: this is a scroll of hymns praising the Valar in rather intimate terms, as if addressing them in person."
"You are right, that probably came over the Ice as well. I mean, it doesn't seem like a very Feanorian thing to keep, does it?"
They looked over more music notation, a recipe book, and a guide to practical hairstyles for miners. Glorfindel worked on his wine, and tried not to think about going back to the library. "I suppose," he said, "that these particular items have survived because they are all the sorts of thing people might carry around, and so accidentally bring out of a disaster."
"That is quite probable." Erestor reached into the pile once more. "But look here; this piece is slightly different…"
He unrolled a yellowed paper scroll. Glorfindel swallowed his latest mouthful of wine quickly, before he could choke on it; the pictures he saw looked incredibly familiar.
"I have shocked you, I see," said Erestor. "Not too unpleasantly, I hope."
"No… I mean…" Glorfindel reached to smooth out the paper, but stopped when he realized it would be a little like caressing all the little nude men drawn on it. "If I am shocked, it is only because I know this scroll used to be in our Healers' Library. In Gondolin, that is."
"Did it?" Erestor leaned it closer. "You, er, saw it there?"
"Yes, yes, I did. But the Library burnt down, I believe, so I cannot quite understand how--"
"Oh, as for that, it is no great mystery," said Erestor smugly.
"It is not?" Glorfindel stepped back to gaze at him. "You know who rescued it, then?"
"No, I suspect that it did burn. But I am quite convinced that the scroll you remember was not the only copy. Far from it. You see, as I look upon this work, my scholar's eye detects certain stylistic elements common to all Vanyarin erotic scrolls, and such works were usually copied and shared."
Glorfindel could not decide how to respond to that. He remembered drawing the pictures quite clearly, in spite of all that had happened since.
"Yes." Erestor smiled as if in response to something, and Glorfindel realized that he had been smiling a little, himself. "Of course, now it is the only remaining copy… But it is quite safe, here in my private collection."
"Private?" Glorfindel frowned. That had not been his plan at all. "But did you not say that such works were meant to be shared?"
"I could not share such an important historical artifact with just anyone! But, as you can see, I am only too happy to share it when the occasion demands, as I have shared it with you."
"Because I am a historical artifact myself?"
"I would not say that." As if to prove his point, Erestor's smile grew less and less scholarly. "I just thought you might be interested."
"I am." Glorfindel let his eyes fall to the scroll. Looking down at the pictures, he could not help feeling even more nostalgic than when he looked in the history books. Lonely, even. But perhaps Erestor could help him with that?
Oh Eru. Things certainly felt more complicated during this, his second life. What he was about to do made him feel really rather guilty.
"In your detailed study of history," he said, "you must have heard about Ecthelion."
"Of course." Erestor looked insulted. "But then, so has any functionally illiterate Mirkwood Elf. After all, his name is a battle cry--"
"I know. I meant, have you heard about Ecthelion and me?"
"Ah." Erestor's face became very still. "You mean-- I had heard some rumours, but then one hears rumours about Maedhros and Fingon, too, and Eru knows those have been disproved."
"Well, anyway, the ones about us are quite true."
"What?" asked Erestor incredulously. "All of them?"
Glorfindel gave this some thought. What could these rumours say? "Probably. We had a few good centuries, you know. But," he pressed on, "just in case there are inaccuracies… I suspect that, as a scholar, you would be glad to have them straightened out."
"Yes, why not." Erestor regained his poise. "In that case, let us move to my couch: we will be far more comfortable talking there."
"Very well." Glorfindel picked up the wine bottle and refilled both their glasses. "That does seem best, since--if you do not mind--I really would very much appreciate the chance talk about Ecthelion for several hours."
"Of course." Erestor led the way across the room. "I quite understand. It can be difficult to find people to confide in."
"Thank you! Yes, that is it, exactly. There is so much I want to speak of, every day… But, really, I am sure I would be happy enough," he said with as much bright-eyed innocence as he could muster, "with just a few hours of Ecthelion-themed conversation each week."
"Just a few hours of…"
"Not necessarily all at once, of course."
"Of course." Erestor sighed, and tossed back his wine, before sitting down. "All right then. Begin."
Glorfindel joined him, and began.
"Ah, Glorfindel. I saw light under the library door, and thought it might be you."
Glorfindel closed his book and looked up at the speaker. "Erestor, good evening! I did not notice you enter."
"Well, you were very deeply engrossed in that history of Gondolin." Erestor gave one of his little knowing smiles. "Reading about yourself again?"
"I was not." Glorfindel knew he had not been very deeply engrossed at all. He had failed to hear Erestor's arrival only because of the way Erestor was dressed: dark robe and slippers, no boots, knife, nothing that could clank or jingle. Late-night clothes. "But I am sorry--am I in here too late?"
"Of course not. The Library of Imladris is always open to all those who wish to seek knowledge." Erestor's smile grew even more mysterious. "You should know, however, that the knowledge you seek is no secret. The books you consult tend to fall open at your favourite pages."
"Do they?" Glorfindel tried it with 'An Illustrated Military History', and, sure enough, found himself looking once again at the bright illuminations portraying the heroes of Gondolin. "I am not the only one shown here, you know. I like reading about my old friends."
"So late at night?" Erestor scrutinized him in what seemed a rather scientific manner. "Would you not prefer to spend this time with… new friends?"
"Oh, I do so, when given the opportunity. But the Hall of Fire is empty tonight, and, well…" Glorfindel shrugged.
"In that case," said Erestor, "perhaps I could offer you a drink in my rooms?"
The invitation surprised Glorfindel: they were not close. Did he seem so in need of charity? He said, "I would not want to impose-"
"A drink, and perhaps a game of chess. Do you play?"
"Actually, no, I do not."
"No? I am surprised. I am told it is a great way to brush up on tactics between military campaigns." Erestor smiled again. "I could teach you to play, if you like."
"Oh, I know the game. I just- I do not mean to be rude, but I do not care for it." The military metaphor was especially off-putting: Glorfindel did not like the idea of commanding troops from a point of safety without being on the battlefield himself.
"I see. Well, in that case, perhaps I could show you my personal collection of old manuscripts dating to the Years of the Trees? Some are rumoured to have come here through Gondolin."
Glorfindel felt intrigued. "That would be most kind of you."
---
The wine Erestor poured was probably very subtle, Glorfindel decided: he could not detect much of a flavour, or even of an alcoholic content. Still, he sipped it happily enough as he glanced around Erestor's main room, which was decorated in "Late Nargothrond" style: delicate carvings, and frescoes pretending to be windows looking out over the famed sights of the First Age.
"Ah, here we go." Erestor returned carrying a handful of scroll-cases, which he placed on his desk with great care. "Let us start with the oldest."
Glorfindel stopped studying a mountain that was almost certainly supposed to be the Thangorodrim and joined him in examining a worn piece of parchment.
"Now this," said Erestor, "is a first-aid guide. If you look carefully, you will notice that the sections on frostbite have been added later, in a different hand, suggesting that this scroll was altered on or after the Helcaraxe."
"Yes…" Glorfindel had not thought about the Ice in years. "Lady Nerwen had a group of healers working on new cures… But I suppose she can tell you that herself."
Erestor made a suppressed scoffing sound. "I would not want to bother the lady. But look here: this is a scroll of hymns praising the Valar in rather intimate terms, as if addressing them in person."
"You are right, that probably came over the Ice as well. I mean, it doesn't seem like a very Feanorian thing to keep, does it?"
They looked over more music notation, a recipe book, and a guide to practical hairstyles for miners. Glorfindel worked on his wine, and tried not to think about going back to the library. "I suppose," he said, "that these particular items have survived because they are all the sorts of thing people might carry around, and so accidentally bring out of a disaster."
"That is quite probable." Erestor reached into the pile once more. "But look here; this piece is slightly different…"
He unrolled a yellowed paper scroll. Glorfindel swallowed his latest mouthful of wine quickly, before he could choke on it; the pictures he saw looked incredibly familiar.
"I have shocked you, I see," said Erestor. "Not too unpleasantly, I hope."
"No… I mean…" Glorfindel reached to smooth out the paper, but stopped when he realized it would be a little like caressing all the little nude men drawn on it. "If I am shocked, it is only because I know this scroll used to be in our Healers' Library. In Gondolin, that is."
"Did it?" Erestor leaned it closer. "You, er, saw it there?"
"Yes, yes, I did. But the Library burnt down, I believe, so I cannot quite understand how--"
"Oh, as for that, it is no great mystery," said Erestor smugly.
"It is not?" Glorfindel stepped back to gaze at him. "You know who rescued it, then?"
"No, I suspect that it did burn. But I am quite convinced that the scroll you remember was not the only copy. Far from it. You see, as I look upon this work, my scholar's eye detects certain stylistic elements common to all Vanyarin erotic scrolls, and such works were usually copied and shared."
Glorfindel could not decide how to respond to that. He remembered drawing the pictures quite clearly, in spite of all that had happened since.
"Yes." Erestor smiled as if in response to something, and Glorfindel realized that he had been smiling a little, himself. "Of course, now it is the only remaining copy… But it is quite safe, here in my private collection."
"Private?" Glorfindel frowned. That had not been his plan at all. "But did you not say that such works were meant to be shared?"
"I could not share such an important historical artifact with just anyone! But, as you can see, I am only too happy to share it when the occasion demands, as I have shared it with you."
"Because I am a historical artifact myself?"
"I would not say that." As if to prove his point, Erestor's smile grew less and less scholarly. "I just thought you might be interested."
"I am." Glorfindel let his eyes fall to the scroll. Looking down at the pictures, he could not help feeling even more nostalgic than when he looked in the history books. Lonely, even. But perhaps Erestor could help him with that?
Oh Eru. Things certainly felt more complicated during this, his second life. What he was about to do made him feel really rather guilty.
"In your detailed study of history," he said, "you must have heard about Ecthelion."
"Of course." Erestor looked insulted. "But then, so has any functionally illiterate Mirkwood Elf. After all, his name is a battle cry--"
"I know. I meant, have you heard about Ecthelion and me?"
"Ah." Erestor's face became very still. "You mean-- I had heard some rumours, but then one hears rumours about Maedhros and Fingon, too, and Eru knows those have been disproved."
"Well, anyway, the ones about us are quite true."
"What?" asked Erestor incredulously. "All of them?"
Glorfindel gave this some thought. What could these rumours say? "Probably. We had a few good centuries, you know. But," he pressed on, "just in case there are inaccuracies… I suspect that, as a scholar, you would be glad to have them straightened out."
"Yes, why not." Erestor regained his poise. "In that case, let us move to my couch: we will be far more comfortable talking there."
"Very well." Glorfindel picked up the wine bottle and refilled both their glasses. "That does seem best, since--if you do not mind--I really would very much appreciate the chance talk about Ecthelion for several hours."
"Of course." Erestor led the way across the room. "I quite understand. It can be difficult to find people to confide in."
"Thank you! Yes, that is it, exactly. There is so much I want to speak of, every day… But, really, I am sure I would be happy enough," he said with as much bright-eyed innocence as he could muster, "with just a few hours of Ecthelion-themed conversation each week."
"Just a few hours of…"
"Not necessarily all at once, of course."
"Of course." Erestor sighed, and tossed back his wine, before sitting down. "All right then. Begin."
Glorfindel joined him, and began.