Lindir's Adventurers 31
Venestir’s charms were delightful. Erestor held him lightly, sleeping as he was. Not in the mood for reverie himself, Erestor stared up at the receding branches, blowing the occasional leaf off his face, counting stars as they played hide-and-seek between the shifting boughs.
He was trying not to wish the elf in his arms was a rather more sober blonde back in Imladris. Lorién entertained warmly and he was grateful for it. Even so, he knew better than to expect the sense of hope departed to change. The hole it left inside him hurt.
“Ah, Erestor, I’m sorry to disturb you…”
Barely had Erestor turned on hearing Amroth’s address before other voices interrupted.
“This is he,” the Laiquendi agreed together before politely accosting him, “Excuse us, of your kindness, there is one who seeks you out; we could take you to him?” They smiled and nodded to the recumbent Erestor, now trying to disentangle his unclad limbs from Venastir’s tranquil, limp embrace.
Behind the gentle forest elves crowded a bunching mass of intruders less exquisitely polite and less steady on their feet: Orophin, comet-like, drew his cronies in his train, inseparable as ever (except when truffle-hunting. Orophin’s penchant for nosing out the fragrant delicacy in earthy holes tended not to attract company for some reason .)
Unfortunately, unlike a comet, he did not pass by but came to an unsteady halt.
“Look at him. He’ll break the harper’s heart, the cad,” cried Orophin’s point scout.
“Yes, look at him,” sighed another of the hangers-on in altogether different tones.
“Never mind looking at him,” objected Orophin, “it’s talking we’re here to do, not looking. Erestor, it’s too bad of you - ”
The elf he rebuked closed his eyes obediently and his friend elbowed him helpfully. “That’s not what he meant...”
The prince, as the most unexpected and august of this otherwise incontinent influx of - not so much visitors as accosters? Haranguers? - should by rights have the first word. However, each time Amroth opened his mouth to speak someone else piped up.
The effect was remarkably fish-like, thought Erestor, just as he freed his left foot, sadly to no avail for Venastir promptly mumbled something and flopped over on top of Erestor as boneless as a dead fish. At least the prince looked very much alive, if taken aback.
“Oh, never mind.” With a huff and a shove, Erestor emerged from below Venastir’s limp weight.
Venastir promptly gathered their discarded raiment into a loving embrace, smiled enchantedly and rested his cheek on his new captives. He snored delicately while Erestor finally climbed upright to face his audience.
“Amroth, good evening my lord, and to you too - ah?” he started, courtesy incarnate and naked as the day. The Laiquendi, whom he did not know, bowed. He bowed back.
“Ooh,” began one of Orophin’s mates who happened to be behind Erestor.
Amroth lowered himself to shoot a look at them.
The elf muttered, “Well, so, you have to admit that’s quite a sight.” His version of sotto voce carried across clearing and created a momentary hiatus as everyone sized up Erestor’s attractions.
“Erestor,” began the prince again with a distinct ‘Harumph’, and “Erestor,” the Laiquendi petitioned simultaneously.
“I have come - ”
“We have an embassage to deliver from - ”
“Erestor, it’s no good standing there all attractive trying to avoid the issue.” Orophin’s stern rebuke in his fine clear tenor supported by enthusiasm for his theme was the clear winner in the contest.
“That elf of yours is pining away and here you are, living it up with not a stitch on. I thought better of you, I did indeed! Venastir is not the only one who wants to lounge around with you with no clothes on, you know. I never thought you selfish but I’m beginning to change my mind, I’d have you know!”
All three of the other parties stared at Orophin. Erestor by prior acquaintance was resigned to the change of subject. Amroth did not quite roll his eyes over this lowering of the tone, long inured to Orophin’s starts and besides too well-bred. The Laiquendi gazed inscrutable of face but still wide-eyed - though whether this was in astonishment at the clamor or surprise over its content was anybody’s guess.
“Well said,” chorused Orophin’s oblivious tribe of reproachful backers. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.” “I’ll second that!”
Orophin took a bow.
“It’s been on my mind, you see,” he confided to the prince. “And that song of Lindir’s - that’s another thing,” he complained, warming to his grievances. “He won’t leave it alone and it’s getting longer and longer. No singing for us at all. And it curdles the dye…”
“Turns the wine blue,” agreed a complainant. “Thought we should do something about it, don’t you know…”
“Doesn’t know nearly enough about fungi either,” said someone, in wise accents.
“Enough!” roared Amroth.
Venastir jumped, woken so energetically. “Never enough of you, Erestor,” he mumbled. “Just having a little rest. You’ve worn me out. He poked the clothes. “You should have something to eat, you’ve lost weight.” He subsided once more, oblivious to the dead silence that followed this.
Erestor rather envied him.
He had gathered three things. Amroth wanted speech with him, Orophin was as enthusiastic and confused as ever between his wine, his peripatetic interests, a good heart and his lusty approach to life, and the gentle Laiquendi seemed more fascinated by these Noldor and Sindar and the carryings-on than troubled.
He tried smiling at them, the only tranquil folk present apart from blissful, snoring Venastir at his feet. They beamed back and bowed again, cautiously giving precedence of speech to the prince after his rare show of ire.
Taking advantage while no-one rushed to speak, Erestor ruthlessly deprived Venastir of a random handful of the clutched bundle and cast on a mismatch of garments. However, his partner’s green tru’s would not be persuaded to play the part of his own green shirt.
Through knots of silk obstinately swaddling his head, he gleaned from Amroth that while the prince was also concerned about Lindir on his own account, his father had despatched him to address the lament their visitor was spinning in dramatic crescendo under the royal talan.
Much like the ascent to a mountain’s height, beyond each forte of lament there lay another peak and another rising up beyond. The king Had Had Enough. Besides, Amdir did not like to think of people unhappy in his realm. He wanted it Sorted Out.
“I’ll see what I can do,” promised Erestor, concerned but muffled and slightly short of breath. “Just - let - me sort out this demonic garment...”
With a tug and a grunt, Erestor wrenched his head free of the unfortunate trousers to hear the Laiquendi’s support for the same errand: they had offered to fetch him to Lindir who had expressed a desire to find Erestor or one of his party.
Heartlessly he dragged his own shirt from under Venastir’s smiling, unconscious cheek while he learned from Orophin and co. - not a great deal, but not for lack of trying on their part.
Earnestly they persisted in a tangled farago about a lengthy song, blue wine and not enough sex. The coda about fungi seemed bizarre even for Orophin and the chorus of confirmation and dissent by turns only added to their story’s opacity.
Wisely, Erestor refrained from any attempt to understand them, as at last he unearthed his second sandal by playing simultaneous roly-poly and dodge with Venastir’s barely conscious octopus affections.
Panting slightly with exertion he shod himself then raised a triumphant, rueful brow over the ruckus at the prince in statement of his readiness. They all trooped in the wake of the Laiquendi, except Amroth: the prince had never trooped anywhere in his life. He proceeded with a stately dignity all the more impressive in company with Orophin’s unsteady declamations of ‘Teaching youngsters about fungus!’ and ‘Shame on you, Erestor.’
The latter would have been more convincing had he not been holding himself up on Erestor’s arm (smiling in friendly fashion as only Orophin could), innocent as the day he was born of his impact on the world around him.
Erestor diligently tried to unravel what further sense he could from whomever could get in an intelligible word. In this he was largely unsuccessful: the irrepressible drinkers had not remained quashed for long, Amroth had given up hope of overriding them and the Laiquendi were too polite to interrupt.
Erestor determined to rely on Lindir for better clarity, only to be disappointed.
He had arrived too late. Lindir was gone.
He was trying not to wish the elf in his arms was a rather more sober blonde back in Imladris. Lorién entertained warmly and he was grateful for it. Even so, he knew better than to expect the sense of hope departed to change. The hole it left inside him hurt.
“Ah, Erestor, I’m sorry to disturb you…”
Barely had Erestor turned on hearing Amroth’s address before other voices interrupted.
“This is he,” the Laiquendi agreed together before politely accosting him, “Excuse us, of your kindness, there is one who seeks you out; we could take you to him?” They smiled and nodded to the recumbent Erestor, now trying to disentangle his unclad limbs from Venastir’s tranquil, limp embrace.
Behind the gentle forest elves crowded a bunching mass of intruders less exquisitely polite and less steady on their feet: Orophin, comet-like, drew his cronies in his train, inseparable as ever (except when truffle-hunting. Orophin’s penchant for nosing out the fragrant delicacy in earthy holes tended not to attract company for some reason .)
Unfortunately, unlike a comet, he did not pass by but came to an unsteady halt.
“Look at him. He’ll break the harper’s heart, the cad,” cried Orophin’s point scout.
“Yes, look at him,” sighed another of the hangers-on in altogether different tones.
“Never mind looking at him,” objected Orophin, “it’s talking we’re here to do, not looking. Erestor, it’s too bad of you - ”
The elf he rebuked closed his eyes obediently and his friend elbowed him helpfully. “That’s not what he meant...”
The prince, as the most unexpected and august of this otherwise incontinent influx of - not so much visitors as accosters? Haranguers? - should by rights have the first word. However, each time Amroth opened his mouth to speak someone else piped up.
The effect was remarkably fish-like, thought Erestor, just as he freed his left foot, sadly to no avail for Venastir promptly mumbled something and flopped over on top of Erestor as boneless as a dead fish. At least the prince looked very much alive, if taken aback.
“Oh, never mind.” With a huff and a shove, Erestor emerged from below Venastir’s limp weight.
Venastir promptly gathered their discarded raiment into a loving embrace, smiled enchantedly and rested his cheek on his new captives. He snored delicately while Erestor finally climbed upright to face his audience.
“Amroth, good evening my lord, and to you too - ah?” he started, courtesy incarnate and naked as the day. The Laiquendi, whom he did not know, bowed. He bowed back.
“Ooh,” began one of Orophin’s mates who happened to be behind Erestor.
Amroth lowered himself to shoot a look at them.
The elf muttered, “Well, so, you have to admit that’s quite a sight.” His version of sotto voce carried across clearing and created a momentary hiatus as everyone sized up Erestor’s attractions.
“Erestor,” began the prince again with a distinct ‘Harumph’, and “Erestor,” the Laiquendi petitioned simultaneously.
“I have come - ”
“We have an embassage to deliver from - ”
“Erestor, it’s no good standing there all attractive trying to avoid the issue.” Orophin’s stern rebuke in his fine clear tenor supported by enthusiasm for his theme was the clear winner in the contest.
“That elf of yours is pining away and here you are, living it up with not a stitch on. I thought better of you, I did indeed! Venastir is not the only one who wants to lounge around with you with no clothes on, you know. I never thought you selfish but I’m beginning to change my mind, I’d have you know!”
All three of the other parties stared at Orophin. Erestor by prior acquaintance was resigned to the change of subject. Amroth did not quite roll his eyes over this lowering of the tone, long inured to Orophin’s starts and besides too well-bred. The Laiquendi gazed inscrutable of face but still wide-eyed - though whether this was in astonishment at the clamor or surprise over its content was anybody’s guess.
“Well said,” chorused Orophin’s oblivious tribe of reproachful backers. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.” “I’ll second that!”
Orophin took a bow.
“It’s been on my mind, you see,” he confided to the prince. “And that song of Lindir’s - that’s another thing,” he complained, warming to his grievances. “He won’t leave it alone and it’s getting longer and longer. No singing for us at all. And it curdles the dye…”
“Turns the wine blue,” agreed a complainant. “Thought we should do something about it, don’t you know…”
“Doesn’t know nearly enough about fungi either,” said someone, in wise accents.
“Enough!” roared Amroth.
Venastir jumped, woken so energetically. “Never enough of you, Erestor,” he mumbled. “Just having a little rest. You’ve worn me out. He poked the clothes. “You should have something to eat, you’ve lost weight.” He subsided once more, oblivious to the dead silence that followed this.
Erestor rather envied him.
He had gathered three things. Amroth wanted speech with him, Orophin was as enthusiastic and confused as ever between his wine, his peripatetic interests, a good heart and his lusty approach to life, and the gentle Laiquendi seemed more fascinated by these Noldor and Sindar and the carryings-on than troubled.
He tried smiling at them, the only tranquil folk present apart from blissful, snoring Venastir at his feet. They beamed back and bowed again, cautiously giving precedence of speech to the prince after his rare show of ire.
Taking advantage while no-one rushed to speak, Erestor ruthlessly deprived Venastir of a random handful of the clutched bundle and cast on a mismatch of garments. However, his partner’s green tru’s would not be persuaded to play the part of his own green shirt.
Through knots of silk obstinately swaddling his head, he gleaned from Amroth that while the prince was also concerned about Lindir on his own account, his father had despatched him to address the lament their visitor was spinning in dramatic crescendo under the royal talan.
Much like the ascent to a mountain’s height, beyond each forte of lament there lay another peak and another rising up beyond. The king Had Had Enough. Besides, Amdir did not like to think of people unhappy in his realm. He wanted it Sorted Out.
“I’ll see what I can do,” promised Erestor, concerned but muffled and slightly short of breath. “Just - let - me sort out this demonic garment...”
With a tug and a grunt, Erestor wrenched his head free of the unfortunate trousers to hear the Laiquendi’s support for the same errand: they had offered to fetch him to Lindir who had expressed a desire to find Erestor or one of his party.
Heartlessly he dragged his own shirt from under Venastir’s smiling, unconscious cheek while he learned from Orophin and co. - not a great deal, but not for lack of trying on their part.
Earnestly they persisted in a tangled farago about a lengthy song, blue wine and not enough sex. The coda about fungi seemed bizarre even for Orophin and the chorus of confirmation and dissent by turns only added to their story’s opacity.
Wisely, Erestor refrained from any attempt to understand them, as at last he unearthed his second sandal by playing simultaneous roly-poly and dodge with Venastir’s barely conscious octopus affections.
Panting slightly with exertion he shod himself then raised a triumphant, rueful brow over the ruckus at the prince in statement of his readiness. They all trooped in the wake of the Laiquendi, except Amroth: the prince had never trooped anywhere in his life. He proceeded with a stately dignity all the more impressive in company with Orophin’s unsteady declamations of ‘Teaching youngsters about fungus!’ and ‘Shame on you, Erestor.’
The latter would have been more convincing had he not been holding himself up on Erestor’s arm (smiling in friendly fashion as only Orophin could), innocent as the day he was born of his impact on the world around him.
Erestor diligently tried to unravel what further sense he could from whomever could get in an intelligible word. In this he was largely unsuccessful: the irrepressible drinkers had not remained quashed for long, Amroth had given up hope of overriding them and the Laiquendi were too polite to interrupt.
Erestor determined to rely on Lindir for better clarity, only to be disappointed.
He had arrived too late. Lindir was gone.