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aglarienThe Sultry in September stories are up! Do go and read: http://archiveofourown.org/collections/2013_SiS/works?page=1
Stephanice,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lotrangel17, wrote a lovely little story for me here:
http://archiveofourown.org/collections/2013_SiS/works/946529
And this is mine, written for Mawgy, who requested a retelling of a fairy tale.
Title: The Inn Between Time
Author: Aglarien
Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel, Lindir, Mithrandir
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine. The great Master Tolkien's estate owns everything.
Beta: Phyncke
Written for Mawgy.
Author’s Note: My compliments to the Brothers Grimm, who I am quite sure never envisioned their “Briar Rose” retold in Elven Slash.
Erestor knew exactly the moment that Elrond’s little twins had tiptoed into his office. He carefully capped his ink and laid his quill down, protecting the document he had been working on. The two little elflings had materialized alongside his chair and stood, hand-in-hand, gazing up at him. “Hello, little ones,” he said, smiling down at the toddlers. “What brings you to see me? Should you not be with your mother?”
“Mama is sleeping,” Elladan answered in a whisper, as if afraid he would wake his weary parent.
“Should you not be taking a nap with her?” Erestor asked, reaching down and lifting the elflings onto his lap. These two frequently wore Celebrían out with their excess energy, and she undoubtedly was in need of a good, long nap.
“Not tired,” Elrohir answered for both of them, twisting around in Erestor’s lap to more easily see his favorite grown-up. “Tell us a story?”
Elladan nodded against Erestor’s chest. “Please, Erestor?”
“I think I can do that,” Erestor said, standing up with an elfling secure in each arm and heading to the long sofa in front of the fireplace. If he was going to be telling stories he might as well be comfortable, and Elrond and Celebrían knew to check his office whenever the little ones went missing. “What kind of a story will you have?”
“A prince!” cried Elladan, settling down next to Erestor on the sofa. “And swords!”
“And what about you, Elrohir? What would you like?” Erestor arranged himself comfortably and allowed Elrohir to climb onto his lap.
Elrohir thought for a moment, one fingertip placed on his chin like he’d seen some of the grown-ups do. “I know! Magic and spells and wizards!” He bounced excitedly on his elf cushion, making Erestor tense his stomach muscles in response.
“Very well,” Erestor said, knowing just the story they would like.
“Once upon a time, a very, very long time ago, there was a beautiful kingdom, high up in the mountains…”
“Was it as high up in the mountains as we are, Erestor?” Elladan interrupted.
“It was higher than Imladris. Now let me tell the story and don’t interrupt anymore,” Erestor said, but not unkindly, and gave Elladan’s head a gentle caress.
“Once upon a time, a very, very long time ago, there was a great Elven kingdom, high up in the mountains. It was a very large walled kingdom that was full of beautiful fountains and gardens, and the fountains would spray high up into the sky. Everyone in the kingdom was happy, for the king and the queen were kind and good rulers, and everyone had good food to eat and good clothes to wear. But the king and the queen were often sad, because they longed to have a child and had not been granted one.
One day as the queen walked in a beautiful garden, she saw a small fish that had fallen from one of the fountains, having been caught up in its spray. As it lay gasping and nearly dead, she lifted it carefully in her hands and placed it back into the fountain. She watched the fish in the fountain for a few moments, happy to see it swimming around. Just as she was turning to move away, she heard a small voice calling to her. “Your majesty,” it said, and when the queen looked, she saw that the voice was coming from the little fish she had saved. “Your majesty,” the fish said, “because of your kindness, your dearest wish will be granted, and you will have a son.” With that, the fish swam away to the other side of the fountain and was lost in the midst of all the other fish as the queen watched in astonishment.
What the fish foretold came to pass, and the queen bore a son. The little prince was so beautiful that the king doted on him and knew that his son would be the handsomest in his realm. The child’s hair was shining and golden, and the king named him Glorfindel. He called for a great celebration in honor of the child’s birth, and all of the nobles and their houses were invited.
There were wizards in the kingdom, and the queen insisted they be invited too – which is where the king and the queen ran into a little problem. There were seven wizards, but with all the nobles and their houses coming there was only room for six. With nothing else to do about it, the queen picked her six favorite wizards, and the seventh was left uninvited.
The day of the feast arrived and all the nobles and their houses came to the castle. The wizards came wearing their blue robes and blue peaked hats with wide brims, carrying their magic staves. There was music and dancing and a great feast, and then each of the houses of the kingdom presented the little prince with a gift. There were wonderful gifts of gold and jewels, and gifts of splendid armor and weapons that the prince would hopefully grow into one day.
When the king and the queen had received all of the gifts, the six wizards stood around the infant’s cradle to bless him. Ecthelion blessed the child with music, Galdor with strength, and Egalmoth with steadfastness. From Duilin, the little prince received the blessing of kindness, and from Rog the blessing of good judgment. But just as the wizard Penlod was going to give his blessing to the child, the seventh wizard, Maeglin, burst into the hall.
Maeglin was clothed in black, from the tip of his pointed hat to the tip of his black boot toes, and the staff he carried was black as coal, and when he saw the celebration he was very angry. “So, brothers,” he said, walking around the other wizards, “I see I was the only one of our number who was not invited to this little celebration.” Whirling around he pointed his black staff at the king and queen and cursed the child, saying, “This is my gift to the prince for your insult. On the day the prince reaches his majority, he shall prick his finger on a dagger and die!” With those words, he disappeared in a column of black smoke.
The king gasped and fell to his knees and the queen ran to her child. Taking the prince out of his cradle, she held him close to her chest and said to the wizards, “Is there no one who can help me? If there no one who can stop this curse?”
Penlod stepped forward and placed his hand on the child’s head. “I have not yet given the prince my blessing. I do not have the power to destroy Maeglin’s curse, but I will change it. On the day the prince reaches his majority, when the dagger pricks his finger, he will not die, but instead fall into a deep sleep.”
“And how will he awaken from this sleep?” asked the king, who was now standing with his arms around his wife’ shoulder.
“Magic has no power over love,” Penlod answered. “True love will awaken him.”
“I shall ban all the daggers from my realm,” the king declared,
“It will do no good, Sire,” Ecthelion said quickly, before the king could order everyone to give up their personal blades. “The curse is magic and there will be a dagger at the appointed time, whether or not there is one in this realm.”
“Then what shall we do?” cried the queen.
“We have blessed the child with many virtues,” said Galdor. “Now you must raise him and teach him to be a good and kind prince, and what will come to pass will come to pass. What happens after Maeglin’s curse and Penlod’s blessing, you must leave to us.”
The years passed and all the gifts the wizards had bestowed on Glorfindel were fulfilled, and he grew in strength and kindness. He was tall, and there was might in his arms, but gentleness in his hands, so that he was well loved by all the kingdom. Nowhere was there a more beautiful or virtuous prince, nor one more skilled in archery or wielding a sword.
On the eve of the day on which he would reach his majority, after dinner and an evening’s entertainment with his family, Glorfindel went down to the archery practice field, for he was too restless and excited about the morrow to sleep. It was summer and the days were so long that darkness was still hours off, for the kingdom was in the far north. He shot arrow after arrow, striking the center of the target with each one. It wasn’t long before he noticed one of his father’s guards at the target next to him but one, and the guard was throwing daggers at the target instead of shooting arrows. Such was the skill of the guard that he would hold the dagger by its blade tip, raise his arm over his head, and with a swift movement send the dagger into the heart of the target.
“How do you do that?” asked Glorfindel, amazed. “Will you show me how it is done?” His father had warned him that it was bad luck to touch a dagger on his begetting day, but there was no harm in it now, as his begetting day had not yet arrived.
“Of course, your highness,” answered the guard, pulling out a dagger from his belt and holding it out to the prince. “Come, take this dagger and I will teach you.”
Glorfindel laid his bow and quiver on the ground and hurried to the guard. He took the dagger by its tip and held it between his fingers as he had seen the guard do. As he did, the sharp blade sliced into his finger tip. The last thing that the prince saw was his red blood falling onto the green grass of the field, and then all was darkness.
&&
The six good wizards stood in a circle around the stone table, watching the scene in the palantír, seeing the dagger cut into the prince’s finger exactly fifty one years after he had been conceived. “It is done then,” said Penlod, and he whispered an enchantment that sent Glorfindel into a deep sleep. The other five joined in the chanting, and together they wove a spell over the whole kingdom.
The flames in the fireplace in the room where the king and queen lay froze. The king fell asleep in the middle of speaking to his queen, and the queen’s hand stopped in mid-air on its way to scratch her nose as she fell into a deep sleep. The horses in the stable lay in their stalls and slept with the stable cat and her kittens. The guards in the courtyard sank to the ground and slept, and the guards in the barracks fell asleep in the middle of their game. Even the dice stopped in mid throw. The kitchen maid fell asleep in the middle of kneading the next day’s bread, and the upstairs maid slept in the middle of the linens she was ironing for the begetting day feast. Everyone and everything in the kingdom stopped…and slept.
The wizards called for their horses and rode in haste to the palace. They carried Glorfindel from where he lay in the field to his room high up in the king’s tower, and there they laid him carefully in his bed. They covered him with blankets shot with golden thread, and around the bed they caused golden flowers to bloom. “And now we must wait,” Ecthelion said. “Middle-earth must wait.”
“But first we deal with Maeglin,” Rog said. “No more waiting for that.” The others nodded.
And the centuries passed….
&&&&&&&&
“That’s odd,” Erestor said. “The closer we get to the mountains, the less we can see them. It’s as if they’re shrouded in mist.”
“Perhaps the mountains are stopping the clouds and there is a storm coming,” Lindir replied. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could find a nice little inn to get a good meal, a good fire, and a good bed for the night.” He shifted in his saddle. “I don’t mind saying I’m a bit tired of all this traveling and being away from home for so long. I long for my own rooms and my own bed.”
Erestor smiled at his younger brother’s fussing, but understood Lindir wanting his comforts. Erestor was equally as tired of being so long on the road but he wouldn’t admit it aloud. Elrond had sent the two elven lords out to explore the lands far north of Imladris, past the mountains of Angmar. Elrond claimed that he was anxious to know if an unseen threat might menace their valley refuge, but Erestor suspected there was more to the story. He was relying on his intelligence and knowledge of Elrond to know it when he saw it – whatever “it” was. According to Elrond, of all of the elves in the valley, only Erestor and Lindir combined the requisite abilities of quick intelligence to get out of tight spots, musical skill to supply their cover as traveling minstrels, stamina and cunning to survive weeks or months out in the wild on their own, and the highly honed skills of warriors to protect life, limb and each other. According to Erestor, of all the elves in the valley, only Erestor had the ability to figure out exactly what Elrond was doing sending them on this wild goose chase and Lindir had been selected to keep his brother good company.
“Perhaps there is a settlement of some kind nearer to the foothills. We will ride on for a ways, and if there is nothing, make camp for the night,” Erestor finally replied. “We have the rabbits we hunted this morning. They will make good payment for a meal or two if we find anyone nearer the mountains, or a meal if we find nothing.”
As they moved closer to the foothills, rising smoke was suddenly visible and the two elves could not resist telling their mounts to move faster, spurred on by the thought of a decent meal. A few low cottages lined a main street, along with what looked like a bakery, a general merchant, and a woodworking shop. Erestor wondered how the shops could stay open with so few houses, but perhaps there were more people in the surrounding area. The elves slowed their horses as they passed through the small village, heading toward a large two-storied wood frame building at the end of the street. Alongside the building, which they hoped was an inn, was a long, low building, presumably the stables. The courtyard was empty, but noise emanated from the interior and light shone warmly from the building’s many ground floor windows.
As the two elves entered the courtyard, a small lad, alerted by the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves, hurried out from the stables to take the animals. “You jus’ leave your horses wi’ me, Sirs, and go on in,” he said. “I’ll make sure they’re taken care of good an’ proper an’ given good grain to eat an’ fresh water to drink.”
Erestor and Lindir thanked the boy and removed their packs from their mounts before entering the inn. The establishment was crowded and the cacophony of boisterous voices, laughter, clattering dishes, chair legs scraping on stone floor, and ale mugs banged on wooden tabletops grated on Erestor’s ears. He was always surprised at the riotous noise to be found in the inns belonging to Men. “Let’s find the innkeeper and see if we can get a room,” he said. “Then we can get some dinner.”
They managed to find the innkeeper’s wife, a pleasingly plump, middle-aged woman with a ready smile, who showed them to a large room upstairs. When they had arranged for hot water and their meal to be brought up, Lindir closed the door behind the matron and looked around the room. “They always seem to know we’ve coin to pay,” he said. “This must be their best set of rooms.”
In addition to the bed chamber, there was a sitting room with a table and chairs, and a washing chamber where they could bathe in a large wooden tub. “It’s hard to hide the quality of our cloth, even as filthy as they are, and I do not begrudge having to pay for the luxury of this room after our weeks on the road.” Erestor said, looking down at his dust-covered clothes. “If the food and drink are good, and the beds are comfortable and free of vermin, perhaps we should stay an extra day or two and give the horses a good rest? Entertain the locals with our music and see what gossip is about and what tales we might hear?”
Lindir grinned. “I like that idea, brother.” He went to one of the beds and, with a fast flick of his wrist, pulled the bedcovers away and saw only snow white linens looking back at him. He leant down and sniffed, but discerned only the scent of fresh lavender. “Hmm. Now this is most strange. I really don’t recall ever being in an inn where the linen is so clean and the bed smells so fresh.”
Erestor raised an eyebrow, but just then a knock sounded at the door and a serving girl called out and entered, carrying two large pails of steaming water into the washing chamber. She was followed by a second girl who scurried to the hearth and quickly laid and lit a fire. Before the last girl left, Erestor pulled the sack that held the brace of rabbits from his pack and handed it to her. “Give these rabbits to your mistress for me. Perhaps they can go in tomorrow’s stew.”
“I thought we were using those in exchange for a meal,” Lindir said when the girl had bobbed a curtsy and was gone.
Erestor shrugged. “If we’re going to stay here for a few days to see what we can learn, mayhaps they will better serve us by assuring our hosts of our goodwill.”
A hearty dinner of large cuts of meat, greens and potatoes was followed by fruit and cheese, and when the elves had eaten their fill, they gathered Erestor’s lute and Lindir’s recorder and headed down to the common room. They found an unoccupied corner table and sat down, motioning to a serving girl to bring a bottle of wine to their table.
“A handsome wench,” Lindir said, his eyes following the girl.
Erestor raised a brow.
“What? I can still appreciate the charms of women even if I prefer a strong and virile lover.”
Erestor chuckled. Both he and Lindir were attracted to males and they had had some raucous times in their younger days. He looked around the room. “Lindir,” he whispered so only his brother could hear him, “do you note the clocks on the walls? There are so many and none have the same time.” Each wall held as many as 20 clocks of all sizes and makes, scattered over its surface, and each clock told a different hour.
“How very odd. And isn’t it strange to see so many people here? Most are dressed better than the common farmer or herdsman, and yet the countryside is oddly unpopulated, at least the area we passed through,” Lindir added. The common room was nearly full with only one or two empty tables, and there was none of the normal well-worn work clothes they were used to seeing in the inns of other small villages.
“Strange indeed. Let us play for a while and see what happens. I suspect there are tales to be told here once they warm to us.”
Erestor took up his lute and began a dance tune, lively but not too much so, and conversation in the inn quieted as Lindir’s mellow recorder joined in the music. They played several tunes, stopping occasionally to refresh themselves with the surprisingly good wine they had been brought. Many of the inn’s patrons gathered closer to the elves’ table, the better to hear the music. When the elves finally put their instruments down, there was a hearty applause.
“You have gifted us with fine music indeed,” the innkeeper exclaimed. “How would you wish to be repaid for this evening’s entertainment, good Sirs? I will do my best to see you satisfied!”
Erestor and Lindir bowed their head respectfully before Erestor spoke up. “A tale perhaps? Tell us of the mist that surrounds your village and what causes it, for we have never seen the like.”
“Bring Old Toby up,” someone cried, and an aged man with grey hair and bent back was escorted to the elves’ table and given a comfortable chair to sit in. The sounds of the inn grew hushed, and even the cooks in the kitchen ceased turning the spits with the joints hung on them; the servants ceased serving and cleaning, and all gathered around, for when Old Toby told a tale it was a tale indeed.
“It happened many a year ago, before my mother and her mother’s mother’s mother lived,” began the deep and sonorous voice, “when an evil wizard cursed the poor wee princeling.” Erestor and Lindir sat enraptured along with the rest of the listeners as the tale of the sleeping kingdom unfolded. “And there the kingdom sits to this very day,” Old Toby concluded, “waiting for Prince Glorfindel’s true love to find a way through the mist and awaken him.”
“Has no one tried to reach the kingdom,” Erestor asked. “Surely there must be a way through the mist.”
“All who have tried have been lost and never seen again. If you value your lives, do not attempt to go through the mist,” Old Toby replied. “To do so is surely folly.”
“What happened to Maeglin,” Lindir asked. “What did the other wizards do to him?”
“None know for sure, good Sir, but no one has seen nor heard of him since that fateful day. He walks this earth no more.”
&&
“Well that was quite a tale!” Erestor said when they were back in their room. “I wonder if that’s why Elrond sent us here?” He had barely seated himself in a chair in front of the fire when a knock came at the door. “Now who could that be?” He rose quickly and made it to the door before Lindir. “We are retiring for the night,” he started to say as he opened the door, but before him stood a very elderly looking man clothed all in grey with long, unkempt grey hair. His cloak hood was thrown up over his head, hiding his features, but the elf had no problem identifying their caller. “Mithrandir! You, here? Come in, come in!” He stood aside and motioned for the Istar to enter.
“Mithrandir.” Lindir greeted him warmly, taking the wizard’s age-beaten hands between his own smooth ones. Gandalf the Grey might look old and weary, but Lindir knew he possessed great strength of both mind and body. “What brings you here?”
“You do,” Mithrandir said, being his usual cryptic self. He threw open his cloak and let it drop onto a chair, followed by his hat and staff. “You heard the tale downstairs, I presume? I only arrived at the end, but Old Toby tells it well and I’m sure didn’t leave anything out.”
“Yes. We heard it all. Is this why Elrond sent us here?” Erestor asked.
Mithrandir nodded and walked to the window, throwing open the casing. “The tale is true. Somewhere in the mountains before us lies the hidden city. It is time for Glorfindel to take his rightful place, for Middle-earth has need of him. It is up to you, Erestor, to awaken him and bring him to Elrond in Imladris.”
“We were warned that all who go into the mist are never seen again, and – wait – Glorfindel can only be awakened by his true love, or so the tale says.” Erestor shook his head, as if to clear a notion from it.
“And the tale says true,” the wizard replied.
“Then that means….”
“Yes. You are Glorfindel’s true love.”
Erestor raised his eyebrows, looked at Mithrandir and then at his brother. “Are you sure it’s not Lindir?”
The wizard laughed. “Quite sure. Take a moment and let the idea sink in, but only a moment, mind you. We’ve things to discuss tonight.”
Erestor sat in the chair before the fire, staring into the flames, wondering if he was dreaming or if Mithrandir had lost his mind, while Lindir spoke quietly to Mithrandir. “How do we get through the mist if all of the others who have tried failed?”
“Erestor is Glorfindel’s true love, Lindir,” Mithrandir said, “and only he will be able to find the way to the secret passage through the mountains. Besides, all of the others were mortal men, so they were doomed to fail.” Lindir tilted his head in confusion. “Glorfindel is an elf,” Mithrandir said. “The sleeping kingdom is an elven kingdom. Of course his true love is an elf.”
“Ah. The men of this village are apparently unaware of that. How is it we never heard of this kingdom?”
“The Istari hid the kingdom and caused its existence to be all but forgotten, cloaking it in magic.”
“How is it, then, that the people here know of it?” Erestor asked, rising from the chair.
“Have you not realized where you are? Did you not notice how very strange this place is? Did you not see the name of the inn? I am surprised at you, Erestor. You’re usually sharper than that. And you, too, Lindir. The name of this village is Time. This is The Inn on the Edge of Time, and you are standing, here, between time. Between your time and the time of the hidden kingdom. The mist is the mists of time and you must travel through the mountains to find the hidden way into the kingdom. Only you can do this, Erestor, and your brother with you. Only you can save Glorfindel and bring him to Imladris. You must climb through time to get to Gondolin and save him.”
&&
“Why are we doing this again?” Erestor asked, shifting the pack on his back to his other shoulder. “Oh, yes. Elrond sent us on some made-up mission, we stumble upon a village lost in time called Time, and Mithrandir sends us through the mountains to find my true love. Got it.” He rounded a tower of rocks and came to a dead stop. “Did I ask for this? No, I didn’t. I was perfectly content in Imladris as Elrond’s chief counselor, thank you very much. If I’d wanted a lover I would have found one in Imladris, not gone after some princeling barely out of his nappies.”
Lindir came around the rocks and plowed into his brother’s back. “Omph! Why did you stop?”
Erestor nodded downward at a curious formation of rocks that seemed to tunnel into the earth. “Look, there. Do you suppose that is the hidden way?” They had been climbing the mountains for two days, their horses and most of their belongings left behind at the inn in the care of Mithrandir.
“Could be. Let’s see if we can tell where it goes.”
The two elves slid down the mountain slope to the rocks. As they got closer and could better see the opening, Erestor looked around until he found a hand-sized stone. He pitched it into the opening, and both elves listened. After a long moment there was a faint noise that was something like a plop, but not quite a plop. “Doesn’t sound like water,” Erestor said. “This could be it.”
“Let’s try it,” Lindir replied. “The hidden way has to be here somewhere, and I’d rather we didn’t risk missing it. Makes sense it wouldn’t be easy to find.”
The elves fastened their packs more securely and dropped through the opening. The drop turned into a slide, and they landed at the bottom, completely hidden from the outside world. Before them there stretched a path, although it could better be described as a high-ceilinged tunnel. “Well,” Erestor pronounced, an eyebrow rising. “I would wager we’ve found it.”
“I wouldn’t bet against you, brother. Shall we go?”
The two elves proceeded cautiously down the tunnel, their senses alert for danger. After an hour had passed, they came to what was once a wooden gate, but was now just piles of sawdust and metal hinges fastened into the stone walls. “How long has it been?” Erestor mused in a whisper. “The wood is completely crumbled.”
Further on they could see there had been a second gate that had been made from stone, but it stood no longer. “Even the stone has crumbled,” Lindir remarked as they stepped carefully over the rubble.
They traveled deeper into the hidden way and more gates made of other materials followed: bronze, now green with age and hanging loose on its hinges; iron, burst open and standing wide; silver, tarnished black and so soft the elves could easily tear it from its hinges; gold, covered in dust and laying on the tunnel floor; and finally steel, standing open to reveal the city beyond.
Erestor and Lindir stood side by side, looking in wonder at the sight. The city lay before them, and such a city it must have been! Fountains, now dry, were everywhere, along with grand houses and high towers, now all covered in dust and creeping vines. “There,” Erestor said, pointing. “That must be the king’s tower Mithrandir said to look for.” The tower rose high above the city, and from its upmost window, vines spread down, but vines that were different from the ones that covered the city. From these vines bloomed golden flowers. “Come on,” he said, starting to run.
When they reached the base of the tower, they circled around it before finally locating the door hidden underneath the vines. They slashed away the vegetation with their swords and found the door unlocked. “It’s almost as if we are expected,’ said Lindir. “Just like the gates. This is almost too easy, don’t you think?”
Erestor nodded and led the way up the winding stairs until they reached the uppermost room, where they stopped at the closed door. “I am hoping it is the Istari who have made our way easy. No one has said anything of any evil remaining here, and Mithrandir has not warned us, so it is logical to assume that it is safe.”
“Erestor, stop.” Lindir put his hand on his brother’s arm and pulled Erestor around. “How can you be so calm? If what Mithrandir says is true, there is an elven prince behind this door whom you are destined to awaken, though how you will do so I cannot imagine. And how can you be so serene about having all this thrust upon you?
Erestor sighed and leaned against the stone wall beside the door. “I think a part of me doubts the tale is true and hopes we find the room empty. Another part of me asks, what if it is true, and in that room really is my true love, the elf who will love me until the end of Arda? And then there is a third part of me who wants to run away from the slightest possibility of being tied down to someone I’ve never even met.”
Lindir chuckled at the last part of his brother’s answer. “That sounds more like the brother I know.”
“Well, let’s get this door open and find out what’s going to happen.” With that, Erestor turned to the door. Placing his hand on the handle, he found it unlocked, and he opened the door wide, only to gasp at the sight. The floor of the room was covered in a carpet of gold flowers. Across the room, by the window, was a bed, and on the bed lay an elf, a beautiful elf, with golden hair as rich as sunshine.
Lindir stepped around Erestor to enter the room and stopped, understanding why his brother hadn’t moved. “Is he real?”
“He breathes,” Erestor whispered. “He is beautiful.” He dropped his pack and weapons to the floor and walked toward the bed.
“The flowers you are crushing under your feet are opening again behind you,” Lindir said as he saw the golden flowers spring back to life behind Erestor’s steps.
Erestor took a few more steps, craning his neck to look behind him and see the flowers again as if no foot had touched them. “This place is bewitched,” he whispered. He continued walking slowly over the flowers and finally reached the bed, where he stood looking down at the slumbering form.
“Are we sure it’s the prince?” Lindir asked. He had finally followed his brother and came to stand beside him. “What happens if it’s not him and you wake someone else?”
“It has to be him. Just see how beautiful he is! All the golden flowers – this has to be Glorfindel.”
“How will you wake him?”
Erestor had no idea how he was supposed to wake the prince, but he wasn’t about to voice that thought aloud. He knelt beside the bed and his hand hovered over the slumbering elf for a moment, as if afraid to touch so exquisite a creature. Erestor finally placed the hand on the prince’s shoulder, shaking him gently. Nothing happened. He shook harder. Nothing happened. “Glorfindel,” he called out loudly, “awake!” Nothing happened. He sat back on his haunches and looked at the prince. He was at a loss. The prince really was beautiful. He could only hope Glorfindel’s nature was as beautiful as his face. The last thing he would be able to abide was to be bound to someone who was beautiful outside and ugly inside, but he had to believe that Mithrandir and Elrond wouldn’t do that to him. They would never have sent him here if Glorfindel was an evil elf. But what if they didn’t know? The story said he was kind and just, but did anyone really know? He reached out and gathered a handful of the golden locks, letting them fall through his fingers. The elf’s hair was feathery soft. He looked at Glorfindel’s mouth and wondered if his lips would be as soft as his hair. Suddenly overcome with a desire to taste that full mouth, he leant over and angled his mouth over Glorfindel’s in a gentle kiss. Yes, his lips were as soft as his hair.
Before he had time for another thought, Glorfindel moved and emitted a soft moan – and then his eyes opened, and eyes as blue as a cloudless summer’s day searched around the room before fastening on Erestor’s.
In the next moment, the flames in the royal bedroom suite flickered to life, the king resumed speaking his sentence, and the queen’s hand reached up to scratch her nose. The horses in the barn stood and began to munch their feed and the stable cat awoke and washed her kittens. The guards in the courtyard yawned and rose to their feet, wondering how they could possibly have fallen asleep on duty, and the dice that had stopped in midair in the barracks dropped to the table. The kitchen maid resumed kneading the bread, and upstairs maid picked up her iron. The vines that had crept through the kingdom retreated and the fountains came to life, water shooting up to the heavens.
Only Lindir heard the stirrings coming from below, and he quietly left the room to investigate.
All of that happened the instant Glorfindel awoke, but he had no awareness of it, for his eyes were fixed on Erestor’s. “Who are you?” he asked in a whisper, his voice a bit dusty after so many centuries.
“My name is Erestor, and I came to wake you from your sleep.” Erestor’s fingers continued to weave through the soft golden locks.
Glorfindel raised a hand and stared at his fingers. “There was a dagger and my blood was in the grass.” His forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember.
“Yes, but that is over now and you are safe.” Erestor smiled down at the prince, drawn in by the melodic sound of his voice, even as disused as it was. He drew Glorfindel’s hand into his own and the two of them remained like that for a long time, watching each other and smiling.
&&
Lindir found the king and queen as they were hurrying to their son’s room, realizing it was broad daylight and the last they remembered was talking the night before. After hearing Lindir’s story, they crept to Glorfindel’s door and looked in, delighted to see their beloved son alive and well. Erestor was now lying on the bed alongside Glorfindel, and holding the prince in his arms as they talked quietly.
“He seems to care for our son,” the queen said. Like all mothers, she was most concerned that her child would be happy with the mate that had been chosen for him. “He is quite handsome, is he not? I hadn’t imagined our son with a male, let alone one with such dark hair and striking features, but Glorfindel seems quite content to be with him.”
“Who is this elf again?” the king demanded of Lindir. “Where do you come from and what is his station?” Like all fathers, he was most concerned with whether his child’s potential mate was worthy of him.
“Erestor is Chief Counselor to Lord Elrond of Imladris, Sire. He is a formidable warrior as well.” Lindir had neglected to tell the king and queen that they were to take Glorfindel back to Imladris with them, and reckoned there was no use in delaying that piece of news. “We are commanded by the Istari to take Glorfindel back to Imladris with us, but all we were told is that he has a great part to play in the future and Middle-earth has need of him.”
“The Istari,” the queen murmured. “The wizards.” She took a deep breath and looked at her son, and then her husband. “Then we must allow him to go, husband,” she said firmly. “We owe our son’s life to the wizards, and we must honor that debt.”
The king nodded and turned to Lindir. “And what of Maeglin?”
“He walks this earth no more, Sire.”
“Good.” The king’s eyes returned to his son and Erestor. So wrapped up in each other were they that they had not even noticed the other three at the door. His eyes softened as he watched Erestor gently smooth Glorfindel’s hair from his eyes and place a gentle kiss on his son’s lips.
“Erestor, you are smitten,” Lindir said to himself. “I believe I have lost a brother.” He stopped and frowned and shook his head. “No, I have gained one.” He smiled and turned to the king and queen. “Perhaps we should leave them for a while and go somewhere where I can tell you all about Imladris?”
&&
“And did Erestor and Lindir have to fight to get Glorfindel away?” Elladan asked.
Drat. Erestor had forgotten that Elladan had wanted a story with swords. “The king and the queen realized that Glorfindel had to leave them, so they didn’t have to fight anyone in Gondolin, but on the way back to the inn, they were set upon by huge, wild wolves! All three elves fought valiantly, and killed many of the awful creatures.” He sincerely hoped Elladan didn’t ask for the gory details.
“But what happened, Erestor?” Elrohir pleaded. “How does the story end?”
“Well, little one,” Glorfindel said, walking into the room from the doorway where he had stood listening, “Erestor and Glorfindel fell in love and were married the very next day in the court of his parents. There was a great celebration and everyone in the kingdom rejoiced, and then Glorfindel went with Erestor and Lindir to the inn in the village of Time.”
“And all the clocks were running and had the correct time when they returned,” Lindir added, for he too had been standing just outside and listening. “They were lucky the magical inn did not disappear!”
“And then what?” Elrohir prodded.
“And then they all returned to Imladris with Mithrandir,” Erestor said, “and they live there till this very day!”
The elfling clapped and giggled.
“Ah, there you two scamps are! Your mother is looking for you,” Elrond said, sweeping into the room. He scooped his sons up from Erestor’s lap, gave his counselor a wink, and carried the two toddlers away.
Lindir chuckled. “What do you suppose they are going to say when they find out that the story is really true? I’m glad that won’t be for a good many years yet.”
Glorfindel looked down adoringly at Erestor where he still sat on the sofa. “I love you just as much all these years later as I did the day you woke me and I fell in love with you.”
Erestor pulled Glorfindel down to sit beside him, wrapping his arms around his beautiful mate. His lips hovered over Glorfindel’s and he whispered, “And they lived happily ever after.”
~The End
Stephanice,
lotrangel17, wrote a lovely little story for me here:http://archiveofourown.org/collections/2013_SiS/works/946529
And this is mine, written for Mawgy, who requested a retelling of a fairy tale.
Title: The Inn Between Time
Author: Aglarien
Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel, Lindir, Mithrandir
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine. The great Master Tolkien's estate owns everything.
Beta: Phyncke
Written for Mawgy.
Author’s Note: My compliments to the Brothers Grimm, who I am quite sure never envisioned their “Briar Rose” retold in Elven Slash.
Erestor knew exactly the moment that Elrond’s little twins had tiptoed into his office. He carefully capped his ink and laid his quill down, protecting the document he had been working on. The two little elflings had materialized alongside his chair and stood, hand-in-hand, gazing up at him. “Hello, little ones,” he said, smiling down at the toddlers. “What brings you to see me? Should you not be with your mother?”
“Mama is sleeping,” Elladan answered in a whisper, as if afraid he would wake his weary parent.
“Should you not be taking a nap with her?” Erestor asked, reaching down and lifting the elflings onto his lap. These two frequently wore Celebrían out with their excess energy, and she undoubtedly was in need of a good, long nap.
“Not tired,” Elrohir answered for both of them, twisting around in Erestor’s lap to more easily see his favorite grown-up. “Tell us a story?”
Elladan nodded against Erestor’s chest. “Please, Erestor?”
“I think I can do that,” Erestor said, standing up with an elfling secure in each arm and heading to the long sofa in front of the fireplace. If he was going to be telling stories he might as well be comfortable, and Elrond and Celebrían knew to check his office whenever the little ones went missing. “What kind of a story will you have?”
“A prince!” cried Elladan, settling down next to Erestor on the sofa. “And swords!”
“And what about you, Elrohir? What would you like?” Erestor arranged himself comfortably and allowed Elrohir to climb onto his lap.
Elrohir thought for a moment, one fingertip placed on his chin like he’d seen some of the grown-ups do. “I know! Magic and spells and wizards!” He bounced excitedly on his elf cushion, making Erestor tense his stomach muscles in response.
“Very well,” Erestor said, knowing just the story they would like.
“Once upon a time, a very, very long time ago, there was a beautiful kingdom, high up in the mountains…”
“Was it as high up in the mountains as we are, Erestor?” Elladan interrupted.
“It was higher than Imladris. Now let me tell the story and don’t interrupt anymore,” Erestor said, but not unkindly, and gave Elladan’s head a gentle caress.
“Once upon a time, a very, very long time ago, there was a great Elven kingdom, high up in the mountains. It was a very large walled kingdom that was full of beautiful fountains and gardens, and the fountains would spray high up into the sky. Everyone in the kingdom was happy, for the king and the queen were kind and good rulers, and everyone had good food to eat and good clothes to wear. But the king and the queen were often sad, because they longed to have a child and had not been granted one.
One day as the queen walked in a beautiful garden, she saw a small fish that had fallen from one of the fountains, having been caught up in its spray. As it lay gasping and nearly dead, she lifted it carefully in her hands and placed it back into the fountain. She watched the fish in the fountain for a few moments, happy to see it swimming around. Just as she was turning to move away, she heard a small voice calling to her. “Your majesty,” it said, and when the queen looked, she saw that the voice was coming from the little fish she had saved. “Your majesty,” the fish said, “because of your kindness, your dearest wish will be granted, and you will have a son.” With that, the fish swam away to the other side of the fountain and was lost in the midst of all the other fish as the queen watched in astonishment.
What the fish foretold came to pass, and the queen bore a son. The little prince was so beautiful that the king doted on him and knew that his son would be the handsomest in his realm. The child’s hair was shining and golden, and the king named him Glorfindel. He called for a great celebration in honor of the child’s birth, and all of the nobles and their houses were invited.
There were wizards in the kingdom, and the queen insisted they be invited too – which is where the king and the queen ran into a little problem. There were seven wizards, but with all the nobles and their houses coming there was only room for six. With nothing else to do about it, the queen picked her six favorite wizards, and the seventh was left uninvited.
The day of the feast arrived and all the nobles and their houses came to the castle. The wizards came wearing their blue robes and blue peaked hats with wide brims, carrying their magic staves. There was music and dancing and a great feast, and then each of the houses of the kingdom presented the little prince with a gift. There were wonderful gifts of gold and jewels, and gifts of splendid armor and weapons that the prince would hopefully grow into one day.
When the king and the queen had received all of the gifts, the six wizards stood around the infant’s cradle to bless him. Ecthelion blessed the child with music, Galdor with strength, and Egalmoth with steadfastness. From Duilin, the little prince received the blessing of kindness, and from Rog the blessing of good judgment. But just as the wizard Penlod was going to give his blessing to the child, the seventh wizard, Maeglin, burst into the hall.
Maeglin was clothed in black, from the tip of his pointed hat to the tip of his black boot toes, and the staff he carried was black as coal, and when he saw the celebration he was very angry. “So, brothers,” he said, walking around the other wizards, “I see I was the only one of our number who was not invited to this little celebration.” Whirling around he pointed his black staff at the king and queen and cursed the child, saying, “This is my gift to the prince for your insult. On the day the prince reaches his majority, he shall prick his finger on a dagger and die!” With those words, he disappeared in a column of black smoke.
The king gasped and fell to his knees and the queen ran to her child. Taking the prince out of his cradle, she held him close to her chest and said to the wizards, “Is there no one who can help me? If there no one who can stop this curse?”
Penlod stepped forward and placed his hand on the child’s head. “I have not yet given the prince my blessing. I do not have the power to destroy Maeglin’s curse, but I will change it. On the day the prince reaches his majority, when the dagger pricks his finger, he will not die, but instead fall into a deep sleep.”
“And how will he awaken from this sleep?” asked the king, who was now standing with his arms around his wife’ shoulder.
“Magic has no power over love,” Penlod answered. “True love will awaken him.”
“I shall ban all the daggers from my realm,” the king declared,
“It will do no good, Sire,” Ecthelion said quickly, before the king could order everyone to give up their personal blades. “The curse is magic and there will be a dagger at the appointed time, whether or not there is one in this realm.”
“Then what shall we do?” cried the queen.
“We have blessed the child with many virtues,” said Galdor. “Now you must raise him and teach him to be a good and kind prince, and what will come to pass will come to pass. What happens after Maeglin’s curse and Penlod’s blessing, you must leave to us.”
The years passed and all the gifts the wizards had bestowed on Glorfindel were fulfilled, and he grew in strength and kindness. He was tall, and there was might in his arms, but gentleness in his hands, so that he was well loved by all the kingdom. Nowhere was there a more beautiful or virtuous prince, nor one more skilled in archery or wielding a sword.
On the eve of the day on which he would reach his majority, after dinner and an evening’s entertainment with his family, Glorfindel went down to the archery practice field, for he was too restless and excited about the morrow to sleep. It was summer and the days were so long that darkness was still hours off, for the kingdom was in the far north. He shot arrow after arrow, striking the center of the target with each one. It wasn’t long before he noticed one of his father’s guards at the target next to him but one, and the guard was throwing daggers at the target instead of shooting arrows. Such was the skill of the guard that he would hold the dagger by its blade tip, raise his arm over his head, and with a swift movement send the dagger into the heart of the target.
“How do you do that?” asked Glorfindel, amazed. “Will you show me how it is done?” His father had warned him that it was bad luck to touch a dagger on his begetting day, but there was no harm in it now, as his begetting day had not yet arrived.
“Of course, your highness,” answered the guard, pulling out a dagger from his belt and holding it out to the prince. “Come, take this dagger and I will teach you.”
Glorfindel laid his bow and quiver on the ground and hurried to the guard. He took the dagger by its tip and held it between his fingers as he had seen the guard do. As he did, the sharp blade sliced into his finger tip. The last thing that the prince saw was his red blood falling onto the green grass of the field, and then all was darkness.
The six good wizards stood in a circle around the stone table, watching the scene in the palantír, seeing the dagger cut into the prince’s finger exactly fifty one years after he had been conceived. “It is done then,” said Penlod, and he whispered an enchantment that sent Glorfindel into a deep sleep. The other five joined in the chanting, and together they wove a spell over the whole kingdom.
The flames in the fireplace in the room where the king and queen lay froze. The king fell asleep in the middle of speaking to his queen, and the queen’s hand stopped in mid-air on its way to scratch her nose as she fell into a deep sleep. The horses in the stable lay in their stalls and slept with the stable cat and her kittens. The guards in the courtyard sank to the ground and slept, and the guards in the barracks fell asleep in the middle of their game. Even the dice stopped in mid throw. The kitchen maid fell asleep in the middle of kneading the next day’s bread, and the upstairs maid slept in the middle of the linens she was ironing for the begetting day feast. Everyone and everything in the kingdom stopped…and slept.
The wizards called for their horses and rode in haste to the palace. They carried Glorfindel from where he lay in the field to his room high up in the king’s tower, and there they laid him carefully in his bed. They covered him with blankets shot with golden thread, and around the bed they caused golden flowers to bloom. “And now we must wait,” Ecthelion said. “Middle-earth must wait.”
“But first we deal with Maeglin,” Rog said. “No more waiting for that.” The others nodded.
And the centuries passed….
“That’s odd,” Erestor said. “The closer we get to the mountains, the less we can see them. It’s as if they’re shrouded in mist.”
“Perhaps the mountains are stopping the clouds and there is a storm coming,” Lindir replied. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could find a nice little inn to get a good meal, a good fire, and a good bed for the night.” He shifted in his saddle. “I don’t mind saying I’m a bit tired of all this traveling and being away from home for so long. I long for my own rooms and my own bed.”
Erestor smiled at his younger brother’s fussing, but understood Lindir wanting his comforts. Erestor was equally as tired of being so long on the road but he wouldn’t admit it aloud. Elrond had sent the two elven lords out to explore the lands far north of Imladris, past the mountains of Angmar. Elrond claimed that he was anxious to know if an unseen threat might menace their valley refuge, but Erestor suspected there was more to the story. He was relying on his intelligence and knowledge of Elrond to know it when he saw it – whatever “it” was. According to Elrond, of all of the elves in the valley, only Erestor and Lindir combined the requisite abilities of quick intelligence to get out of tight spots, musical skill to supply their cover as traveling minstrels, stamina and cunning to survive weeks or months out in the wild on their own, and the highly honed skills of warriors to protect life, limb and each other. According to Erestor, of all the elves in the valley, only Erestor had the ability to figure out exactly what Elrond was doing sending them on this wild goose chase and Lindir had been selected to keep his brother good company.
“Perhaps there is a settlement of some kind nearer to the foothills. We will ride on for a ways, and if there is nothing, make camp for the night,” Erestor finally replied. “We have the rabbits we hunted this morning. They will make good payment for a meal or two if we find anyone nearer the mountains, or a meal if we find nothing.”
As they moved closer to the foothills, rising smoke was suddenly visible and the two elves could not resist telling their mounts to move faster, spurred on by the thought of a decent meal. A few low cottages lined a main street, along with what looked like a bakery, a general merchant, and a woodworking shop. Erestor wondered how the shops could stay open with so few houses, but perhaps there were more people in the surrounding area. The elves slowed their horses as they passed through the small village, heading toward a large two-storied wood frame building at the end of the street. Alongside the building, which they hoped was an inn, was a long, low building, presumably the stables. The courtyard was empty, but noise emanated from the interior and light shone warmly from the building’s many ground floor windows.
As the two elves entered the courtyard, a small lad, alerted by the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves, hurried out from the stables to take the animals. “You jus’ leave your horses wi’ me, Sirs, and go on in,” he said. “I’ll make sure they’re taken care of good an’ proper an’ given good grain to eat an’ fresh water to drink.”
Erestor and Lindir thanked the boy and removed their packs from their mounts before entering the inn. The establishment was crowded and the cacophony of boisterous voices, laughter, clattering dishes, chair legs scraping on stone floor, and ale mugs banged on wooden tabletops grated on Erestor’s ears. He was always surprised at the riotous noise to be found in the inns belonging to Men. “Let’s find the innkeeper and see if we can get a room,” he said. “Then we can get some dinner.”
They managed to find the innkeeper’s wife, a pleasingly plump, middle-aged woman with a ready smile, who showed them to a large room upstairs. When they had arranged for hot water and their meal to be brought up, Lindir closed the door behind the matron and looked around the room. “They always seem to know we’ve coin to pay,” he said. “This must be their best set of rooms.”
In addition to the bed chamber, there was a sitting room with a table and chairs, and a washing chamber where they could bathe in a large wooden tub. “It’s hard to hide the quality of our cloth, even as filthy as they are, and I do not begrudge having to pay for the luxury of this room after our weeks on the road.” Erestor said, looking down at his dust-covered clothes. “If the food and drink are good, and the beds are comfortable and free of vermin, perhaps we should stay an extra day or two and give the horses a good rest? Entertain the locals with our music and see what gossip is about and what tales we might hear?”
Lindir grinned. “I like that idea, brother.” He went to one of the beds and, with a fast flick of his wrist, pulled the bedcovers away and saw only snow white linens looking back at him. He leant down and sniffed, but discerned only the scent of fresh lavender. “Hmm. Now this is most strange. I really don’t recall ever being in an inn where the linen is so clean and the bed smells so fresh.”
Erestor raised an eyebrow, but just then a knock sounded at the door and a serving girl called out and entered, carrying two large pails of steaming water into the washing chamber. She was followed by a second girl who scurried to the hearth and quickly laid and lit a fire. Before the last girl left, Erestor pulled the sack that held the brace of rabbits from his pack and handed it to her. “Give these rabbits to your mistress for me. Perhaps they can go in tomorrow’s stew.”
“I thought we were using those in exchange for a meal,” Lindir said when the girl had bobbed a curtsy and was gone.
Erestor shrugged. “If we’re going to stay here for a few days to see what we can learn, mayhaps they will better serve us by assuring our hosts of our goodwill.”
A hearty dinner of large cuts of meat, greens and potatoes was followed by fruit and cheese, and when the elves had eaten their fill, they gathered Erestor’s lute and Lindir’s recorder and headed down to the common room. They found an unoccupied corner table and sat down, motioning to a serving girl to bring a bottle of wine to their table.
“A handsome wench,” Lindir said, his eyes following the girl.
Erestor raised a brow.
“What? I can still appreciate the charms of women even if I prefer a strong and virile lover.”
Erestor chuckled. Both he and Lindir were attracted to males and they had had some raucous times in their younger days. He looked around the room. “Lindir,” he whispered so only his brother could hear him, “do you note the clocks on the walls? There are so many and none have the same time.” Each wall held as many as 20 clocks of all sizes and makes, scattered over its surface, and each clock told a different hour.
“How very odd. And isn’t it strange to see so many people here? Most are dressed better than the common farmer or herdsman, and yet the countryside is oddly unpopulated, at least the area we passed through,” Lindir added. The common room was nearly full with only one or two empty tables, and there was none of the normal well-worn work clothes they were used to seeing in the inns of other small villages.
“Strange indeed. Let us play for a while and see what happens. I suspect there are tales to be told here once they warm to us.”
Erestor took up his lute and began a dance tune, lively but not too much so, and conversation in the inn quieted as Lindir’s mellow recorder joined in the music. They played several tunes, stopping occasionally to refresh themselves with the surprisingly good wine they had been brought. Many of the inn’s patrons gathered closer to the elves’ table, the better to hear the music. When the elves finally put their instruments down, there was a hearty applause.
“You have gifted us with fine music indeed,” the innkeeper exclaimed. “How would you wish to be repaid for this evening’s entertainment, good Sirs? I will do my best to see you satisfied!”
Erestor and Lindir bowed their head respectfully before Erestor spoke up. “A tale perhaps? Tell us of the mist that surrounds your village and what causes it, for we have never seen the like.”
“Bring Old Toby up,” someone cried, and an aged man with grey hair and bent back was escorted to the elves’ table and given a comfortable chair to sit in. The sounds of the inn grew hushed, and even the cooks in the kitchen ceased turning the spits with the joints hung on them; the servants ceased serving and cleaning, and all gathered around, for when Old Toby told a tale it was a tale indeed.
“It happened many a year ago, before my mother and her mother’s mother’s mother lived,” began the deep and sonorous voice, “when an evil wizard cursed the poor wee princeling.” Erestor and Lindir sat enraptured along with the rest of the listeners as the tale of the sleeping kingdom unfolded. “And there the kingdom sits to this very day,” Old Toby concluded, “waiting for Prince Glorfindel’s true love to find a way through the mist and awaken him.”
“Has no one tried to reach the kingdom,” Erestor asked. “Surely there must be a way through the mist.”
“All who have tried have been lost and never seen again. If you value your lives, do not attempt to go through the mist,” Old Toby replied. “To do so is surely folly.”
“What happened to Maeglin,” Lindir asked. “What did the other wizards do to him?”
“None know for sure, good Sir, but no one has seen nor heard of him since that fateful day. He walks this earth no more.”
“Well that was quite a tale!” Erestor said when they were back in their room. “I wonder if that’s why Elrond sent us here?” He had barely seated himself in a chair in front of the fire when a knock came at the door. “Now who could that be?” He rose quickly and made it to the door before Lindir. “We are retiring for the night,” he started to say as he opened the door, but before him stood a very elderly looking man clothed all in grey with long, unkempt grey hair. His cloak hood was thrown up over his head, hiding his features, but the elf had no problem identifying their caller. “Mithrandir! You, here? Come in, come in!” He stood aside and motioned for the Istar to enter.
“Mithrandir.” Lindir greeted him warmly, taking the wizard’s age-beaten hands between his own smooth ones. Gandalf the Grey might look old and weary, but Lindir knew he possessed great strength of both mind and body. “What brings you here?”
“You do,” Mithrandir said, being his usual cryptic self. He threw open his cloak and let it drop onto a chair, followed by his hat and staff. “You heard the tale downstairs, I presume? I only arrived at the end, but Old Toby tells it well and I’m sure didn’t leave anything out.”
“Yes. We heard it all. Is this why Elrond sent us here?” Erestor asked.
Mithrandir nodded and walked to the window, throwing open the casing. “The tale is true. Somewhere in the mountains before us lies the hidden city. It is time for Glorfindel to take his rightful place, for Middle-earth has need of him. It is up to you, Erestor, to awaken him and bring him to Elrond in Imladris.”
“We were warned that all who go into the mist are never seen again, and – wait – Glorfindel can only be awakened by his true love, or so the tale says.” Erestor shook his head, as if to clear a notion from it.
“And the tale says true,” the wizard replied.
“Then that means….”
“Yes. You are Glorfindel’s true love.”
Erestor raised his eyebrows, looked at Mithrandir and then at his brother. “Are you sure it’s not Lindir?”
The wizard laughed. “Quite sure. Take a moment and let the idea sink in, but only a moment, mind you. We’ve things to discuss tonight.”
Erestor sat in the chair before the fire, staring into the flames, wondering if he was dreaming or if Mithrandir had lost his mind, while Lindir spoke quietly to Mithrandir. “How do we get through the mist if all of the others who have tried failed?”
“Erestor is Glorfindel’s true love, Lindir,” Mithrandir said, “and only he will be able to find the way to the secret passage through the mountains. Besides, all of the others were mortal men, so they were doomed to fail.” Lindir tilted his head in confusion. “Glorfindel is an elf,” Mithrandir said. “The sleeping kingdom is an elven kingdom. Of course his true love is an elf.”
“Ah. The men of this village are apparently unaware of that. How is it we never heard of this kingdom?”
“The Istari hid the kingdom and caused its existence to be all but forgotten, cloaking it in magic.”
“How is it, then, that the people here know of it?” Erestor asked, rising from the chair.
“Have you not realized where you are? Did you not notice how very strange this place is? Did you not see the name of the inn? I am surprised at you, Erestor. You’re usually sharper than that. And you, too, Lindir. The name of this village is Time. This is The Inn on the Edge of Time, and you are standing, here, between time. Between your time and the time of the hidden kingdom. The mist is the mists of time and you must travel through the mountains to find the hidden way into the kingdom. Only you can do this, Erestor, and your brother with you. Only you can save Glorfindel and bring him to Imladris. You must climb through time to get to Gondolin and save him.”
“Why are we doing this again?” Erestor asked, shifting the pack on his back to his other shoulder. “Oh, yes. Elrond sent us on some made-up mission, we stumble upon a village lost in time called Time, and Mithrandir sends us through the mountains to find my true love. Got it.” He rounded a tower of rocks and came to a dead stop. “Did I ask for this? No, I didn’t. I was perfectly content in Imladris as Elrond’s chief counselor, thank you very much. If I’d wanted a lover I would have found one in Imladris, not gone after some princeling barely out of his nappies.”
Lindir came around the rocks and plowed into his brother’s back. “Omph! Why did you stop?”
Erestor nodded downward at a curious formation of rocks that seemed to tunnel into the earth. “Look, there. Do you suppose that is the hidden way?” They had been climbing the mountains for two days, their horses and most of their belongings left behind at the inn in the care of Mithrandir.
“Could be. Let’s see if we can tell where it goes.”
The two elves slid down the mountain slope to the rocks. As they got closer and could better see the opening, Erestor looked around until he found a hand-sized stone. He pitched it into the opening, and both elves listened. After a long moment there was a faint noise that was something like a plop, but not quite a plop. “Doesn’t sound like water,” Erestor said. “This could be it.”
“Let’s try it,” Lindir replied. “The hidden way has to be here somewhere, and I’d rather we didn’t risk missing it. Makes sense it wouldn’t be easy to find.”
The elves fastened their packs more securely and dropped through the opening. The drop turned into a slide, and they landed at the bottom, completely hidden from the outside world. Before them there stretched a path, although it could better be described as a high-ceilinged tunnel. “Well,” Erestor pronounced, an eyebrow rising. “I would wager we’ve found it.”
“I wouldn’t bet against you, brother. Shall we go?”
The two elves proceeded cautiously down the tunnel, their senses alert for danger. After an hour had passed, they came to what was once a wooden gate, but was now just piles of sawdust and metal hinges fastened into the stone walls. “How long has it been?” Erestor mused in a whisper. “The wood is completely crumbled.”
Further on they could see there had been a second gate that had been made from stone, but it stood no longer. “Even the stone has crumbled,” Lindir remarked as they stepped carefully over the rubble.
They traveled deeper into the hidden way and more gates made of other materials followed: bronze, now green with age and hanging loose on its hinges; iron, burst open and standing wide; silver, tarnished black and so soft the elves could easily tear it from its hinges; gold, covered in dust and laying on the tunnel floor; and finally steel, standing open to reveal the city beyond.
Erestor and Lindir stood side by side, looking in wonder at the sight. The city lay before them, and such a city it must have been! Fountains, now dry, were everywhere, along with grand houses and high towers, now all covered in dust and creeping vines. “There,” Erestor said, pointing. “That must be the king’s tower Mithrandir said to look for.” The tower rose high above the city, and from its upmost window, vines spread down, but vines that were different from the ones that covered the city. From these vines bloomed golden flowers. “Come on,” he said, starting to run.
When they reached the base of the tower, they circled around it before finally locating the door hidden underneath the vines. They slashed away the vegetation with their swords and found the door unlocked. “It’s almost as if we are expected,’ said Lindir. “Just like the gates. This is almost too easy, don’t you think?”
Erestor nodded and led the way up the winding stairs until they reached the uppermost room, where they stopped at the closed door. “I am hoping it is the Istari who have made our way easy. No one has said anything of any evil remaining here, and Mithrandir has not warned us, so it is logical to assume that it is safe.”
“Erestor, stop.” Lindir put his hand on his brother’s arm and pulled Erestor around. “How can you be so calm? If what Mithrandir says is true, there is an elven prince behind this door whom you are destined to awaken, though how you will do so I cannot imagine. And how can you be so serene about having all this thrust upon you?
Erestor sighed and leaned against the stone wall beside the door. “I think a part of me doubts the tale is true and hopes we find the room empty. Another part of me asks, what if it is true, and in that room really is my true love, the elf who will love me until the end of Arda? And then there is a third part of me who wants to run away from the slightest possibility of being tied down to someone I’ve never even met.”
Lindir chuckled at the last part of his brother’s answer. “That sounds more like the brother I know.”
“Well, let’s get this door open and find out what’s going to happen.” With that, Erestor turned to the door. Placing his hand on the handle, he found it unlocked, and he opened the door wide, only to gasp at the sight. The floor of the room was covered in a carpet of gold flowers. Across the room, by the window, was a bed, and on the bed lay an elf, a beautiful elf, with golden hair as rich as sunshine.
Lindir stepped around Erestor to enter the room and stopped, understanding why his brother hadn’t moved. “Is he real?”
“He breathes,” Erestor whispered. “He is beautiful.” He dropped his pack and weapons to the floor and walked toward the bed.
“The flowers you are crushing under your feet are opening again behind you,” Lindir said as he saw the golden flowers spring back to life behind Erestor’s steps.
Erestor took a few more steps, craning his neck to look behind him and see the flowers again as if no foot had touched them. “This place is bewitched,” he whispered. He continued walking slowly over the flowers and finally reached the bed, where he stood looking down at the slumbering form.
“Are we sure it’s the prince?” Lindir asked. He had finally followed his brother and came to stand beside him. “What happens if it’s not him and you wake someone else?”
“It has to be him. Just see how beautiful he is! All the golden flowers – this has to be Glorfindel.”
“How will you wake him?”
Erestor had no idea how he was supposed to wake the prince, but he wasn’t about to voice that thought aloud. He knelt beside the bed and his hand hovered over the slumbering elf for a moment, as if afraid to touch so exquisite a creature. Erestor finally placed the hand on the prince’s shoulder, shaking him gently. Nothing happened. He shook harder. Nothing happened. “Glorfindel,” he called out loudly, “awake!” Nothing happened. He sat back on his haunches and looked at the prince. He was at a loss. The prince really was beautiful. He could only hope Glorfindel’s nature was as beautiful as his face. The last thing he would be able to abide was to be bound to someone who was beautiful outside and ugly inside, but he had to believe that Mithrandir and Elrond wouldn’t do that to him. They would never have sent him here if Glorfindel was an evil elf. But what if they didn’t know? The story said he was kind and just, but did anyone really know? He reached out and gathered a handful of the golden locks, letting them fall through his fingers. The elf’s hair was feathery soft. He looked at Glorfindel’s mouth and wondered if his lips would be as soft as his hair. Suddenly overcome with a desire to taste that full mouth, he leant over and angled his mouth over Glorfindel’s in a gentle kiss. Yes, his lips were as soft as his hair.
Before he had time for another thought, Glorfindel moved and emitted a soft moan – and then his eyes opened, and eyes as blue as a cloudless summer’s day searched around the room before fastening on Erestor’s.
In the next moment, the flames in the royal bedroom suite flickered to life, the king resumed speaking his sentence, and the queen’s hand reached up to scratch her nose. The horses in the barn stood and began to munch their feed and the stable cat awoke and washed her kittens. The guards in the courtyard yawned and rose to their feet, wondering how they could possibly have fallen asleep on duty, and the dice that had stopped in midair in the barracks dropped to the table. The kitchen maid resumed kneading the bread, and upstairs maid picked up her iron. The vines that had crept through the kingdom retreated and the fountains came to life, water shooting up to the heavens.
Only Lindir heard the stirrings coming from below, and he quietly left the room to investigate.
All of that happened the instant Glorfindel awoke, but he had no awareness of it, for his eyes were fixed on Erestor’s. “Who are you?” he asked in a whisper, his voice a bit dusty after so many centuries.
“My name is Erestor, and I came to wake you from your sleep.” Erestor’s fingers continued to weave through the soft golden locks.
Glorfindel raised a hand and stared at his fingers. “There was a dagger and my blood was in the grass.” His forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember.
“Yes, but that is over now and you are safe.” Erestor smiled down at the prince, drawn in by the melodic sound of his voice, even as disused as it was. He drew Glorfindel’s hand into his own and the two of them remained like that for a long time, watching each other and smiling.
Lindir found the king and queen as they were hurrying to their son’s room, realizing it was broad daylight and the last they remembered was talking the night before. After hearing Lindir’s story, they crept to Glorfindel’s door and looked in, delighted to see their beloved son alive and well. Erestor was now lying on the bed alongside Glorfindel, and holding the prince in his arms as they talked quietly.
“He seems to care for our son,” the queen said. Like all mothers, she was most concerned that her child would be happy with the mate that had been chosen for him. “He is quite handsome, is he not? I hadn’t imagined our son with a male, let alone one with such dark hair and striking features, but Glorfindel seems quite content to be with him.”
“Who is this elf again?” the king demanded of Lindir. “Where do you come from and what is his station?” Like all fathers, he was most concerned with whether his child’s potential mate was worthy of him.
“Erestor is Chief Counselor to Lord Elrond of Imladris, Sire. He is a formidable warrior as well.” Lindir had neglected to tell the king and queen that they were to take Glorfindel back to Imladris with them, and reckoned there was no use in delaying that piece of news. “We are commanded by the Istari to take Glorfindel back to Imladris with us, but all we were told is that he has a great part to play in the future and Middle-earth has need of him.”
“The Istari,” the queen murmured. “The wizards.” She took a deep breath and looked at her son, and then her husband. “Then we must allow him to go, husband,” she said firmly. “We owe our son’s life to the wizards, and we must honor that debt.”
The king nodded and turned to Lindir. “And what of Maeglin?”
“He walks this earth no more, Sire.”
“Good.” The king’s eyes returned to his son and Erestor. So wrapped up in each other were they that they had not even noticed the other three at the door. His eyes softened as he watched Erestor gently smooth Glorfindel’s hair from his eyes and place a gentle kiss on his son’s lips.
“Erestor, you are smitten,” Lindir said to himself. “I believe I have lost a brother.” He stopped and frowned and shook his head. “No, I have gained one.” He smiled and turned to the king and queen. “Perhaps we should leave them for a while and go somewhere where I can tell you all about Imladris?”
“And did Erestor and Lindir have to fight to get Glorfindel away?” Elladan asked.
Drat. Erestor had forgotten that Elladan had wanted a story with swords. “The king and the queen realized that Glorfindel had to leave them, so they didn’t have to fight anyone in Gondolin, but on the way back to the inn, they were set upon by huge, wild wolves! All three elves fought valiantly, and killed many of the awful creatures.” He sincerely hoped Elladan didn’t ask for the gory details.
“But what happened, Erestor?” Elrohir pleaded. “How does the story end?”
“Well, little one,” Glorfindel said, walking into the room from the doorway where he had stood listening, “Erestor and Glorfindel fell in love and were married the very next day in the court of his parents. There was a great celebration and everyone in the kingdom rejoiced, and then Glorfindel went with Erestor and Lindir to the inn in the village of Time.”
“And all the clocks were running and had the correct time when they returned,” Lindir added, for he too had been standing just outside and listening. “They were lucky the magical inn did not disappear!”
“And then what?” Elrohir prodded.
“And then they all returned to Imladris with Mithrandir,” Erestor said, “and they live there till this very day!”
The elfling clapped and giggled.
“Ah, there you two scamps are! Your mother is looking for you,” Elrond said, sweeping into the room. He scooped his sons up from Erestor’s lap, gave his counselor a wink, and carried the two toddlers away.
Lindir chuckled. “What do you suppose they are going to say when they find out that the story is really true? I’m glad that won’t be for a good many years yet.”
Glorfindel looked down adoringly at Erestor where he still sat on the sofa. “I love you just as much all these years later as I did the day you woke me and I fell in love with you.”
Erestor pulled Glorfindel down to sit beside him, wrapping his arms around his beautiful mate. His lips hovered over Glorfindel’s and he whispered, “And they lived happily ever after.”
~The End
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Date: 2013-09-04 02:09 am (UTC)*hugs*
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Date: 2013-09-04 02:49 am (UTC)*hugs*
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Date: 2013-09-04 10:35 pm (UTC)I especially liked this line: “Bring Old Toby up,” It made me laugh out loud! Loved it!
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Date: 2013-09-05 01:51 am (UTC)*hugs*