Archive of Our Own

The view from the watch station was impressive with snow-decked mountains in all directions and far in the distance the light sparkling on the sea. The air was clean and very cold with a sky the pale shade Erestor always associated with mountains. He was not necessarily happy to be here, however, good view or not. He had somehow been volunteered to join Elrond for a small tour of the watch stations that controlled the main passes into Lindon, the idea being to make sure morale was all it should be and the supply situation in some way approximated what the commissary had down in its records.

This mainly involved talking up commanders and their wives, bored, cold, and far from home, and being discreet about looking for discrepancies or hints of dishonesty. 

There were two more stops before the station at the highest point of the Ered Luin, after which they would circle down to the lower road and make their way back home. Elrond had wanted to travel on foot like a common soldier, taking in the sense of the world around him and ‘know’ what it was like to be stationed up there. Erestor would have flatly refused had Gil-galad not intervened and said they’d like the report before the turn of the century, if that was all right with Elrond, and please to just take horses.

Erestor was on his second horse now, the first had gone lame two stations back and had to be replaced by a mount usually reserved for the messenger service. The horse was grey, fidgety and liable to start at anything: a flock of birds, an owl hooting, a tree branch that he suspected had looked like a snake – airborne, but reptilian. It worked well enough though; he just assumed the insane beast would try and throw him off at any opportunity and took nothing for granted.

There was nothing left for him to do now the inventory check was finished – so many arrows, so many communal shields and swords, so many sacks of grain and barrels of wine. Elrond was interviewing the command structure – all three of them – and needed no help, so Erestor was free to wander around and soak up the atmosphere, or would had there been any.

The watch station, one of the oldest of a string dotting the Ered Luin, controlled one of the most frequented passes into Lindon. Merchants from places to the south and east came through here, even occasional traffic from Ost-in-Edhil. There was very little to see. The main building, set up against the mountain, was an uncompromisingly plain structure made of big blocks of grey stone. There were stables, something resembling a tavern that made its money off travellers coming down the pass and wanting a hot meal and a cup of something more substantial than water, and a communal trough and pump for horses.

Across from the military quarters was a tax office. Everything coming into Lindon had a tax levied on it, as did every wagon over a certain size, to go towards the upkeep of the road. Considering the state of said road in places, Erestor conceded this was probably the bloody liberty he had heard more than one Silvan elf accuse it of being.

He walked from one end to the other of the square that defined Mithlond’s border authority, stopped on his way back at the stables to see if the grey was behaving – she wasn’t – and was thinking about risking his digestion in the tavern when he became aware of movement towards the pass. First he saw single warriors and a couple of the non-combatants, then small groups, talking quietly. There was no rush or sense of alarm, but something was happening and those who could were making an effort to go and see it.

Erestor, who hated not knowing what was going on almost as much as he hated getting rained on, ambled casually in the general direction taken by everyone else. He noticed he wasn’t the only one trying to look studiedly unexcited, though in his case that was due to a lack of information. He slowed down past the main building’s entrance, but there was no point in interrupting Elrond, it would only keep them there longer.

The road to the top of the pass was barely wide enough for a good farm cart. Mostly there was no view at all save of the mountain walls around them and permanently snow-capped peaks  – no sea, no foothills down into Eriador. At some point he registered what seemed to be singing, muffled by rock and possibly wind direction, coming from up ahead. Rounding the last bend, he almost ran into a group of off duty warriors. They stood their ground for a few moments, then someone realised he was with the Herald’s party and they parted for him. The icy courtier look probably helped.

The singing, louder now, came from a broad, flat area further down the road where groups of wagons often stopped to await safety inspections or stayed overnight rather than start the downhill journey late in the day. The camp site was full, but not with the accustomed trader’s transports. Instead, a little village was being assembled: small bright tents with silk banners and awnings, a larger framework woven with flowers – they could hardly be real flowers, Erestor decided, but must be like the artificial ones used at court during midwinter – and a central pavilion hung with violet and gold cloth.

The work was being done by cheerful elves, many with flowers or leafy garlands about their heads. There was a great deal of tinkling and jingling coming along on the breeze and from somewhere the chimes sounded of the wind singers that the Sindar liked to hang in their windows or outside on a companion tree. As he watched, a couple met in an open space and began dancing together, twining around one another in a billow of light cloaks and unbound hair. Erestor blinked and wondered how far that was likely to go; he’d seen something similar in the far south, and they’d ended up doing things best kept from innocent eyes.

There was shuffling behind him and the warriors, who had also been speculating about the couple, lowered their voices. A company captain who looked as though she’d seen her share of action and had no doubts about her authority went past him and up the steps of the small brick structure that served as the military check post. She stood and stared at the activity in the campsite for a few minutes with her hands on her hips, then raised her voice. “All right then you lot, there is nothing going on here that’s anything to do with you. Get back down to your stations, we’re on standby alert and you’re out of place.”

There was muttering, but muted: Erestor took that to mean he had assessed the captain correctly. For a moment it seemed no one would argue out loud. There was always one though...

“But sir, shouldn’t we go down and inspect their camp? In case, I mean?”

Slate grey eyes scanned the growing crowd and settled unerringly on the speaker who was trying to make himself invisible behind a larger companion. “If I want that camp inspected, I will tell you to inspect it. Until such time, or until dawn rises in the Void, you’ll get back to your post and not waste my time with stupid ideas. Are we clear?”

“Yes sir. Going, sir.”

“Good. That goes for everyone. Come on, get along. We’re done here.”

Erestor moved towards her. “Captain? A question? Who are they, what’s going on down there?”

She turned to glare at him, then he saw her assess and quickly place him. He would mention her to Elrond, her career might be worth tracking. “Afternoon, sir. Down there? That’s one of those so-called Wandering Companies, sir. At any rate that’s how they set up their camps. But the big pavilion… I’d say they’re not just looking to entice a couple of our younger recruits into joining them this season - which happens. No, the pavilion’s new. I’d say that new teacher we’ve heard talk of is with them. Annatar they call him, the Gifter.”

-----o

He had to wait for Elrond to finish the day's business before he could explain the scene at the campsite and what he had been told. They were talking about it in the tavern over a bottle of lamentable wine when a flustered-looking officer came hurrying in to interrupt them.

"There's a messenger," he said, as though the words were twisting and confusing him with their meaning.

"From Mithlond?" Elrond asked. It was a reasonable question, but the answer was less so.

"No sir, not from home. From -- over the pass, sir. From that crowd camped there."

"If they want entry into Lindon, the answer is no," Elrond said at once. "I wouldn't have the authority to give them permission anyhow, we have rules about such things."

"What does their messenger want?" Erestor asked before Elrond could confuse the officer further.

"Sir? They want someone to deliver a message from their leader. To the king, sir. We explained the king's many days ride from here, then someone – the captain - suggested we had representatives from court here and..."

"And now they want to speak to someone they think might have the king's ear?" Erestor asked, pretending not to see Elrond roll his eyes.

"That would be about the size of it, yes sir. So Captain Sorna, she said to come and tell you direct, not go through the Commander, he’d just say the same."

"Chain of command..." Elrond began.

"We're further up the chain of command," Erestor said. "Well you are anyhow. Me, it depends who you're talking to. So one of us had better go and talk with whoever this is and find out what their leader wants. It can’t do any harm, at least it gives this stop a bit of variety.  Where is he, at the tax office?"

The officer shook his head. "Absolutely no, sir. They're none of them allowed across the border. Half those Wanderers are Silvan troublemakers, the rest are from good Noldor homes but flighty, sir. Talk a lot of nonsense about freedom from outdated rules and such. They stay on that side unless we find a reason to let one past to go and visit family. No sir, the messenger’s waiting at the border crossing."

They exchanged looks, then with a sigh Elrond pushed his bench back and got up. Gesturing at Erestor with a jerk of the head he said, "You needn't think I’m doing this on my own. Come along. You like new things, they give you something to talk about with Gil, you always say it keeps the relationship fresh."

"Whatever." Erestor finished the wine, even though it left a lot to be desired, and got to his feet. "And I suppose I should do the talking really, not you. Sending the king’s heir out to deal with an unknown’s messenger gives it more credence than necessary. What's the name of the leader or whatever he is again?" he asked the officer. "I was told but it's gone out of my head."

"Annatar, sir," the officer replied, his face expressing relief that this was about to be taken off his hands. "Annatar, the Gift Giver."

"I like gifts. Wouldn't mind a new horse. All right, lead the way."

-----0

It was dusk and lanterns were being lit around the square when they left the tavern and followed the road Erestor had taken earlier in the day. The same captain was standing outside the border station, her arms folded, scowling in the general direction of the singing. Someone down there was building a bonfire, they could smell the smoke and see the tongues of flame leaping up towards the purpling sky.

"Evening sirs," she said. She looked refreshingly unimpressed to be addressing the king's herald. "Inside the office. I thought that a safer place. They wouldn't be the first to slink off down the road and into Lindon to find work or long-lost family."

"Do you want to come in and just let me ask the questions, or...?" Erestor asked Elrond who shrugged but followed him up the shallow steps.  He also liked to know what was going on - it was not the full basis of their friendship but was certainly one of the things they had in common.

They entered a room identical to others they had seen during their inspection tour with stone flagged floor, rough painted walls, and a high wooden table with seats behind for two officials. Facing this was a plain slatted bench. A dark skinned elven woman sat on the bench radiating calm, her multicoloured robes falling neatly to the floor, her hair covered by a spangled blue scarf.  Erestor hesitated and glanced back but the captain had not followed. The only other person present was a warrior behind the table, clad in standard military garb. He rose as they entered and caught their eye, nodding towards the woman.

“Our guest, sir.”

Erestor gave him a nod and approached the bench, Elrond stayed by the table. "Well met, my lady. Can I be of service? My name is Erestor, a member of Gil-galad's court and on his personal staff." This was one way of putting it - some people, like Círdan, were less polite.

The woman rose and inclined her head.  She was very tall and slender, almost as tall as Elrond. "I am Tse-te of the House of the Oryx, daughter of Kor, out of N’Koto. Our Teacher asks that someone take a message to your great king, to ask that we be given entry into Lindon. He brings many gifts and talents with him which he would be happy to share with the land where he settles."

Her accent was unusual, hard to place, but her introduction proclaimed her as the first-born daughter of one of the southern Avari clans. Erestor made a small bow in acknowledgement of her bloodline and gestured for her to sit. "Gifts and talents? Interesting. Where is your... Teacher from, what kinds of talents does he offer?"

Her expression was coolly disdainful. "These are matters for the king's ear, not for general gossip. Annatar is a smith of great renown but also a teacher who speaks of peace and the unity of souls. In his generosity he wishes to share these teachings and his craft knowledge with the greatest elven kingdom in Arda. But I am no smith, it is not my place to speak further of these things."

"It's not our place to petition the king to let any and everyone cross over our borders either," Elrond said quietly, now standing just behind Erestor.

Her eyes raked him dismissively. She would have no idea who he was, and Elrond had just enough of the build and colouring of his mortal kin to confuse strangers and make them doubt his status. "This would be to the benefit of all of elvenkind in the Kingdom of Lindon. Would you gainsay it?"

"I would need more information than this," Erestor said firmly. The woman made him edgy, she had a strange, knowing aura about her, a self-containment that verged on arrogance. "I cannot go to His Majesty and tell him an unknown person has something to share with us so we'd best let him and his followers in."

She gave him a searching look then held out a small bag made from some heavy fabric with a sheen like eastern silk. "This is for your king, a small token of the skill offered to Lindon. My Teacher and lord comes from afar and stayed when his yellow-haired kin returned home.  He is fair of face with a voice of melody and learned in wisdom and smith craft from the Mighty themselves. More than this I may not say. To learn the rest of his story, you must convince your king to come and meet with him. He says that until then, we will wait."

-----o

“So let me get this right. There are elves up near a border post in the Ered Luin carrying flowers and – bells? – and various musical instruments and singing about the coming of bliss to Arda?”

“Something like that, yes.” Elrond was trying not to look embarrassed, but Erestor knew he would have liked to sink through the floor.  Gil-galad sat in a chair by the window of his private office, the light streaming in and catching the red glints in his hair. He had his elbows on the chair arms, his fingers steepled thoughtfully, and was watching Elrond like a heron eyeing a fish. A desk set diagonally across a corner of the room was piled as high as any scribe’s with documents, scrolls, parchments, wood-strip notes and a small model of a cow which Erestor decided not to ask about.

Gil-galad raised a kingly eyebrow and then did what Erestor had hoped he wouldn’t, he turned to look at him. Quizzically.

“Look, I know it sounds ridiculous…” Elrond began, only to be silenced by a small but unmistakeable hand gesture. Erestor took up the story.

“Annatar. Lots of young, bored, impressionable followers, split off from one of those Wandering Companies, we think. Fresh out of who knows where to come and make your acquaintance.” He shrugged, spread his hands. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. The little present he sent you is remarkable in its own way. Yes, of course I looked, Elrond. I’d hardly hand something over to the High King without first checking for poisoned blades or whatever. Which there was no sign of, but I had no desire to wake up next to a corpse. I’d probably get the blame.”

“This Annatar didn’t even try and speak to you personally?” Gil-galad asked, picking the bag up from the arm of his chair and hefting it in his hand, estimating its weight.

“No, he just sent the woman Tse-te. He probably didn’t think we were worthy. He couldn’t have known who we were, just two officials from Mithlond doing an inspection, not of a rank to negotiate with potential guests.”

“There was something just – off about the whole thing,” Elrond said. “The messenger was polite enough and from one of the high clans but Ery’s right, I know about the Wanderers but I’ve never seen or heard of anything like this.”

“And he has seen and heard of all sorts of weird things,” Erestor murmured. Elrond glared at him.

Gil-galad examined the bag, then opened the drawstring and let the contents slide into his hand. Scarlet and gold sparkled and shone in a strange unfamiliar shape, neither oval nor round, with barely hinted at whorls like a seashell. Depending on the light, it seemed to twist and roll in on itself. He frowned at it, turning it. “Odd, very odd. Did you at least get a look at him?”

“No, how could we…?” Erestor started.

“I didn’t mean you, I meant Innocent over there pretending to be invisible. Well, did you?”

Elrond pulled a face. “I wasn't ready to talk about it, the whole thing was too strange. Yes, I got a look at him.”

“How did you manage that?” Erestor stared at him. “You must have snuck out in the dead of night. And you never said a word.”

“I missed dinner, remember, checking those final figures? I got that very useful Captain Sorna -  you’re right, she’s worth keeping an eye on – to watch my back while I slipped over the border and lost myself in the dark… well, not dark really, not with all those bonfires and lanterns and the rest. They must have gone on singing and dancing till dawn.” He hesitated a moment, looking wistful. “I never got to do that when I was young, Maglor wouldn't have stood for it. Anyhow, no one knew who I was so it felt safe enough. I just wandered around a bit till I saw him at a distance…” He stopped, and Erestor saw him shiver.

Gil-galad was also watching him, the scarlet trinket in the palm of his hand temporarily forgotten. “Are you all right?”

Elrond shrugged. “Yes, I’m fine. Just remembering.”

“I thought he was supposed to be beautiful... what did Tse-te say - fair of face and with a voice like melody?" Erestor had mentally rolled his eyes at the time, but it had been said with great sincerity.

“Oh yes, I’m sure he is though I didn’t get to see him up close. He’s tall and has hair almost as fair as Galadriel's, just a bit more bronze to it.”

There was silence. Eventually Gil-galad pushed, because he could. “All right, what happened?”

“He sensed me. Turned and looked straight at me. That’s the only thing I can think, because I was being careful and no one went over and spoke to him.”

Erestor blinked. “Did he raise the alarm?”

"He's unharmed, right?" Gil-galad pointed out. "So I’d say not."

Elrond shook his head slowly. “No, he didn’t have to. It was as if my stomach was about to turn inside out. I just stopped myself from throwing up everything I’d eaten all day. I went back over the border, it was all I could do to walk normally and not run. Just - something very not right there, Gil."

-----o

They rode up into the mountains with an armed escort this time, the King of Lindon's banner carried before them. It was not the leisurely inspection pace either, Gil-galad liked to get things done, not mess around. Overnight stops were reduced to extended breaks while the horses rested and people had something to eat and could stretch their legs.  Erestor, for reasons he could not have pinpointed, kept the skittish grey. She and Gil-galad's horse even developed a relationship of sorts, based on a mutual dislike and lack of respect. It made riding anywhere near the king an adventure in its own right.

During those evening breaks that were long enough for a meal and a rest, Gil-galad’s tent was the first to be set up so that he would have somewhere to withdraw to. Erestor found him there, lying on the bed, holding something up to the light.  He glanced up at the sound of footsteps and grunted. "Told them I didn't want to be disturbed. Not you though, doesn't apply."

"Your tent is my tent, yes I know," Erestor said pulling off his boots and removing the winter-weight tunic. "If we ever slept, this is where I would sleep. Are we stopping for long? The horses would like that."

"I suppose they would." Gil-galad continued, turning his hand; the light caught scarlet and gold, slid off the smooth surface.  "I just have a - feeling - we need to do this quickly, not let it hang in the air."

"What are you doing with that?" Erestor came over to lie beside him, propping himself up on an elbow.

"Trying to work it out," Gil-galad told him, dropping the object into his hand. "Take a look. It seems to be blown glass and yet I doubt it, more like a crystal of some kind that's been... reshaped, perhaps? Can't make up my mind. If this is a sample of what he can do..."

Erestor also held it up to the light. The surface was glass smooth, neither warm nor cold. Glass, logic told him, would have been cooler. Crystal too. "It's almost like there are droplets inside. I never looked at it this closely, just made sure it couldn't kill you."

"Because you're conscientious that way, yes. I know," Gil-galad said, grinning.

Erestor gave him a deadpan look. "Oh yes, you're my king after all. And as I think I said before, I have no urge to wake up next to a corpse that spent the best part of the night expiring while I slept."

"Pure self-interest." Gil-galad reached over and tugged at his hair.

"Me summed up in two words, yes. Or two and a half, depending on how you write that." He frowned. "There's a tiny streak of silver at the heart. Could that be mercury?"

"How the hells would I know? I'll remember and ask him. Isn't that poisonous?"

"Only if it gets out," Erestor assured him, still looking.

Gil-galad retrieved the novelty - no one had worked out what else to call it - and put it on the low table beside the bed. "We have a bed and relative privacy. There's better things to do than try and analyse this would-be paperweight."

Erestor put a restraining hand over Gil-galad's, which was busy trying to unbutton his shirt. "Aren't we leaving soon?"

Gil-galad pushed his hand away. "Probably. Can't leave without me though, I’m the king. Come on, help me get my mind off this. I don’t like sudden instincts. Next thing you know, I’ll end up with a case of my Aunt Galadriel's Sight." It was almost a point of honour with Gil-galad that the family's more esoteric gifts had passed him by.

"One in a family is more than enough." Erestor agreed. "If I'm very distracting, do you think we could spend the night here? That horse and I need a break from each other."

-----o

A pavilion had been erected on the far side of the border, a sturdy but beautiful creation of colourful silks and ribbons that filled the road, a point of rich sunset warmth against the grey mountain backdrop and the green-brown of the slope down into Eriador.

"She said the Teacher would meet you there when the Dusk Star – her name for Gil-estel - appears in the sky," Erestor told Gil-galad. He had spoken with Tse-te shortly after their company rode into the watch station. It was as though she had been expecting them, though if she was impressed that they had managed to bring the king she gave no sign. "A place outside of the bounds of Lindon but not so far it would seem strange that the king would make the journey. Her words, not mine."

"Not sure what else he could do," Gil-galad said. "I'm not inviting him over here on principle till I find out what this is all about, but I'm not going down to that camp like a supplicant either. At least he saw that. This will do. Think we're up to supplying wine and some finger food or whatever here? I see there's a tavern."

Erestor and Elrond exchanged a glance. "We ate at the tavern," Erestor said. "Their catering might be seen as a deliberate insult. We have wine with us, maybe just keep it at that. Anyhow he invited you, he should supply the refreshments."

"I wouldn't eat anything they served in there," Elrond said very seriously. "You might eat something and, and find you're pledged to stay with the Wanderers for a portion of every year."

They both stared at him.

"I've read about such things," Elrond said defensively.

"This is - some kind of mortal folk tale, isn't it?" Erestor asked. He was usually diplomatic with Elrond, who liked finding out about and sometimes experimenting with mortal customs and traditions. It kept him in touch with his roots and in a strange way, Erestor thought it probably brought back Elros too.  "I don't think it would apply to one of us. Anyhow, you don't have to eat while you're there, that'll be fine," he added quickly.

"I'm not going." Elrond’s voice was flat.

Gil-galad frowned at him. "What do you mean, you're not going? You're here aren't you? There was a reason for that. Of course you're going. This isn't something I plan to weigh alone, believe it or not. I want other opinions. Therefore, you two. My Herald and current heir and my - whatever Erestor's calling himself this week."

"They have a lovely title in Khand, Grand Vizier," Erestor said, fluttering his eyelashes.

"Don't be ridiculous, all right?” Gil-galad glared at him. “And yes you are going, Elrond."

Elrond shook his head so hard his web-fine hair floated loose from its constraints and haloed his head. "The time when he saw me in the dark with no warning was enough. He's wrong, I don't need to assess further. Take my vote as it stands. I'll be sitting this out in the main building with a drink and a good book."

-----o

"I do not want to be here," Elrond muttered as they approached the pavilion.

There had been time to wash off the dust of the journey, change into the good though not strictly formal clothing Erestor had made sure was brought along, and generally sort out their appearance. They also had a light meal, provided by the commander's wife who showed good nerves in throwing together a meal for the king with precious little warning.

"No one wants to be here," Erestor told him low-voiced. "We want to be home listening to the bells signalling dusk and the end of day singing and getting dressed for a proper feast. Or whatever. But here we are."

"Would you two be quiet?" Gil-galad growled. "This is not the impression I want to give."

The entrance curtain was looped open and they went in to find the pavilion empty. There were expensive-looking rugs covering the ground, four delicately carved chairs, a low table where their wine jug and cups had been placed, and a couple of floor cushions. A brazier burned near one corner, scented smoke wafting from the coals, tiny flames flickering around the edges. A low rectangular table with a brushed metal frame and wooden top stood beside it.

Erestor opened his mouth to say it wasn't traditional to keep royalty waiting when the fabric on the far side wavered and then opened narrowly. Tse-te entered, gave them an impassive stare, and then held the cloth aside for her Teacher.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, an elf with the fair skin and golden hair of the Vanyar though his eyes were unexpectedly dark, and his presence seemed to fill the available space. Erestor had heard all Vanyar had grey or blue eyes but then enough myths had crossed the sea to have taught him a degree of cynicism. Those dark eyes swept over them and then he bowed his head to Gil-galad.

"I am honoured you chose to meet with me, your grace," he said in a voice rich and warm, and his smile pure charm.

No stranger to charm himself, Gil-galad smiled back and inclined his head. "I was curious," he said. "It's not every day Lindon gets offered access to new and impressive skills."

"Indeed," Annatar said and looked pleased. "It seemed a logical choice." He turned his attention to Elrond then and bowed again. "Son of Eärendil," he said politely. "We are well met. And...?" he looked at Erestor, an eyebrow slightly raised.

"Erestor," Erestor said. "Advisor to the king."  For once there was no temptation to describe himself as the king's folly just to see the reaction. Not that he had ever done this, although it was a common enough description of him at court, but the urge to devilment was often there. There was something about those eyes though: despite the charm, the smile, the inviting voice, that told him their owner had no true sense of humour.

For a moment Annatar's expression was speculative, then he nodded and turned his attention back to Gil-galad. "Shall we sit, your grace?"

"From afar, your messenger said?" Gil-galad asked, after choosing and getting comfortable in the central chair. "From Aman and here since the time of the War then? Unless there’s a far off elven realm I know nothing about."

Annatar raised an eyebrow minutely. For a moment there was a hint of gold to his eyes, a strange glitter, and then it was gone. "I am from many places, your grace, and have travelled long roads to reach this one.” He sat diagonally across from Gil-galad and raised a hand. “I have many things to show your grace. Tse-te, if you would pour the wine? And then I think we can start with the jewellery."

And there were indeed many things, each carried in by Tse-te and then placed on the table near the brazier after they had been examined or explained. There were cunningly carved gems, exquisitely set jewellery, an engraved dagger with a lapis-inlaid hilt, figures cast in silver, in gold, even in mithril...this last was a ring set with a tiny lion with garnet eyes, wonderfully detailed. The mithril, Annatar explained, had been a small gift from the dwarves in return for a favour he had in turn done them. There were implements for craft work and for smithing of a fineness almost unknown. Each item Annatar introduced and shared a little about the work involved in its creation or use.

And then there was the science. Artefacts like the flat framework of polished silver that, when tilted, filled with light and when placed vertical became a mirror, or the shapes akin to the one Gil-galad had been gifted that shifted and twisted of their own volition and clung together when placed close enough. There was even a variation on the already known Fëanorian lamp, the property only of the crown and the very rich. There were some in the palace, including two in Gil-galad's private rooms, and Galadriel had Fëanorian lamps in her Harlond house, unless she had taken them along with her to Ost-in-Edhil.  The lamp they were shown gave off a warm white light rather than the traditional blueish tint and filled the tent with the brilliance of the sun at midday.

"These," Annatar explained, gesturing towards the collection, "are but a sample of the skills I can share, plus a chance for the like-minded to join me in my scientific experimentation. There is so much that I would like to explore further in the right company, concepts that could benefit the whole of Lindon. These are simple examples, a taste if you will. There are other potentials I explore - for weapons, for instance, for raising and focusing power in ways barely known, even in the West. All I ask is that you allow me to bring these ideas - and a few of my followers of course, to help in the work - to your capital, which I imagine is where the most skilled of your smiths reside?"

Gil-galad got up and crossed the tent, then added the scarlet object he had carried from Mithlond to the others resembling it on the table. There was a strange, complicated twist and blur as it joined them, becoming part of the loosely connected grouping. He stared at it a moment longer, ran his eye over a few other items, paused at the mirror, and then turned back.

"So. I give you space and permission to work and you bring your students with you and start creating… items that will benefit Lindon, I think was how you put it? I'm curious. Other than somewhere secure to stay and set up work, what do you get out of it? Also, your go-between there referred to you as their Teacher – would you seek more students to share those teachings if I gave you leave to settle in Lindon?"

Annatar smiled. Erestor felt he smiled too much, but then he was trying to sell his wares and that's what peddlers did. "The teachings are simple, about the oneness of elvenkind, the possibility of creating a way of life equal to that known in the Lands of Bliss. My thoughts on that are open to all and attractive to many. As for what I would gain from this… The pure pleasure of scientific research with those who share the joy of discovery? Freedom to explore concepts without worrying about getting involved in the kind of intercity wars that are so common in the south? The privilege of sharing my discoveries with the High King himself?"

Erestor decided he wanted the mirror.

Gil-galad looked down, thoughtful, then almost imperceptibly he signalled them to rise. "I need to go and consider all this," he said. “Not the matter for a spur of the moment decision.”

The shimmer appeared in Annatar's eyes again momentarily and then he nodded, inclined his head. "I am at Your Majesty's service, of course. Tse-te will await your answer, which I trust will be favourable. After all, where else does all this knowledge belong if not in the strongest elven realm in Arda. I am sure Elrond Eärendilion will agree."

Elrond gave him a flat stare. "Whatever the king thinks best," he said shortly.

Erestor preceded them out, before Annatar had a chance to canvass his opinion as well.

-----o

The commander gave up his bedroom for the king even after Gil-galad told him firmly that he was more than happy to sleep in a tent again. Elrond and Erestor were assigned corners that may or may not have been sleeping spaces at some point, everyone else was accommodated in the barracks.  Gil-galad went up to his room almost at once and his reluctant advisors trailed along behind.

"There's nothing to talk about," Elrond said once the door was closed. "He makes my skin crawl. I already told you on the way here, Gil, and I haven’t changed my mind."

"He's a smith. No one turns smiths away. Most of the good ones died in Gondolin."

"I don't care, there's something not right about him. Did you not see his eyes?"

"Um, they were brown?" Erestor said. "I know that's unusual but still..."

"They were red."

Erestor, sitting on the end of the bed with his knees drawn up under his chin, stared at Elrond. "They were brown. With a weird hint of gold maybe. But not red. I would have noticed red. They weren't red, right Gil?"

"Gil was so busy looking at that lamp he'd not have noticed if they turned purple." Elrond could be stubborn when the mood took him and usually Erestor didn't waste time arguing. This was different.

"Look, I know he unsettled you that time when he saw you in the dark and I respect that, but he looks normal.  Very blond, but normal. You're building this up in your mind."

"Eönwë's eyes were purple," Gil-galad said, pacing over to the window to look down at the lamp-lit square. "No idea if that's normal. Might be a Maiar thing."

Elrond looked serious, all traces of his usual good humour gone. "Both of you, there is something very wrong with that person. Call it paranoia, call it a weird upbringing, hells, call it my Maia-sense if you like - I know you like teasing me with that, Ery - but  I know soul deep that something is wrong and we should have nothing to do with him."

Gil-galad pursed his lips, gave him a good long look, then turned towards the bed. "Erestor? Your thoughts?"

"His eyes are brownish."

"Not about his eyes."

Erestor shook his head. "Everything he showed us was amazing, I've seen some really good jewellery and some fascinating artefacts - I used to watch Celebrimbor work when I could sneak into the forge back on Balar without being noticed - but everything he has is somehow different. There's an edge. I was not comfortable with the way he glossed over where he came from though and why he was here."

"I didn't push that, wanted to see if he'd volunteer anything more," Gil-galad said.

"Which he was careful not to.” Erestor slid down onto his stomach, elbows propped, chin on hands. “I really liked the mirror. Just saying."

"That's typical," Elrond muttered. "You're always after shiny new things."

"And I can afford to pay for them, so there’s nothing wrong with that," Erestor retorted. "Tse-te made me a little uneasy too. I wonder if her clan knows where she is. She seems very - focused is the wrong word. Devout?"

"She’s not really a good fit for the Wanderers," Gil-galad remarked. "The Avari don’t tend to get mixed up with them. She might have followed him from wherever he was before this, not been one of them at all. Do you know anything about her clan?"

Erestor shook his head. "Not really. You'd need to ask Gildor, he has the right connections. How much does it matter if Annatar's a bit vague about where he comes from? For all we know he really did stay on after the War and it’s against the rules so he’s being discreet. And as for coming here - I mean, where else would he go? The woodland realms aren't interested in smith-craft."

"I don't know where else he might go," Gil-galad said. "Back to where he came from? To one of the southern states after all? Somewhere in the Harad? The main thing is, do we want him in Lindon? I have a whole kingdom's safety to consider, not just whether I want to buy my boyfriend an unusual mirror. And the mirror part is purely incidental by the way. That thing has other uses, I could feel the energy rolling off it."

"Just say no," Elrond insisted. "And if you don't, at least watch him carefully. There's more to this than shows on the surface."

"I don't agree about the eyes," Erestor said, "but watching him? Yes, I'm all for that."

They both turned to Gil-galad expectantly, but he was distracted, casting his gaze around the room. Finally his eye lit on the carafe on the dresser. Going over he sniffed the contents and nodded satisfaction. "No consensus," he said. "Why am I not surprised? This is what my job is all about. We'll decide in the morning. You get some sleep, Elrond. I need a drink."

-----o

Elrond might or might not have managed some sleep, but there was none for Gil-galad, which meant there was none for Erestor. He lay in the commander's ample bed and watched as the King of Lindon paced up and down the room, glass in hand, now clad in an immodestly short sleep-shirt, a concession because Gil-galad had learned the hard way that nakedness while sleeping away from home wasn't always a good idea.

"Why don't you sleep on it, like you told Elrond to?" Erestor asked at last. "I know you like being able to move around while you think but I’m tired watching you. It's late, we had a long ride getting here..."

"Feel like there are things just out of reach that I'm not seeing," Gil-galad said, turning on his heel at the window and pacing back. "And this damn room isn't long enough for a proper pace either. Just --- things out of reach that are important. I have to decide whether to let this smith into my kingdom, and that means it's my responsibility if that's the wrong choice. Either way. Not letting him in might be as wrong a choice."

Erestor watched him make another circuit. He paused at the dresser, considered the wine, but instead put his glass down and moved on, this time punching his closed fist into his cupped hand every few steps. The candles flickered, throwing massive, wavering shadows on ceiling and walls, leaching the colour out of the room and replacing it with a strange orange tint in the areas that weren't wholly dark. The room was cool without being cold, the windows were double shuttered against the mountain chill and there were adequate blankets on the bed plus a heavy fur draped across the end. Erestor had slept in worse places. Therefore it was with a heavy sigh that he finally got up and went to get his clothes, folded atop the chest at the foot of the bed.

It took Gil-galad a moment to realise what was happening. "Where the hells are you going?" he demanded, coming to a halt in the middle of the room.

"Us, not me. Get dressed."

"That's not what you're meant to say in a bedroom. Where are we going?"

Erestor pulled the fine warm tunic on over his shirt and began bunching his hair up on the back of his head. "We can get undressed again later. If you're feeling better, maybe you can even undress me. Right now though, we're going out."

The stairs creaked a bit but not badly. The member of the King’s Guard who was on duty at the foot of the stairs looked confused at the sight of them, then pulled himself up straight and prepared to follow. Gil-galad glanced at Erestor who shrugged and shook his head. The sentry went with them to the front door anyhow and took up a position just outside, which gave him a full view of the square and on down the road.

The commander's house was on the side of the watch station furthest from the border. They crossed the square and Gil-galad followed Erestor up the road he had taken on his first visit. They walked briskly to counter the cold, although they were both booted and cloaked against the chill wind that whistled down the pass. Gil-galad had left his hair loose and wore the casual silver circlet he favoured during what he termed the business part of the day to suggest his rank in case someone stopped them. Erestor had a dagger or two, one at his waist, the other tucked into his boot, but figured they were safe enough: it was a small area so a good shout should rouse the whole post.

There was no moon and it was dark between the rock walls of the pass. In the distance, eerie in the dead of night, faint voices could be heard raised in song . Finally, walking in silence, they reached the top. The border post seemed deserted, clearly no one was expected in either direction so late at night.

"Invisible line," Erestor said pointing. "We are about to leave Lindon. It's so strange, an unseen line across a road deciding how far your writ runs."

"Right across to Eregion, despite what they think down there," Gil-galad muttered eying the unlit military post. "Why is no one on duty there?"

"No idea? Probably too late at night."

"I'll have answers about that in the morning," Gil-galad said grimly. "Where are we going? Over the border to...?"

"I thought you needed a proper walk but also I wanted to show you something. It's not far."

The camp was still there, obscured earlier by the pavilion which had since been dismantled. Fires burned amongst the tents, one central bonfire leaping high and bright. The singing was louder though not as raucous as it had been before. Gil-galad was about to walk nearer but Erestor put a hand on his arm, pointing to a tumble of rocks with some scrubby green stuff growing between them. "Over there," he said quietly. "We can watch without getting close enough to be seen."

The night was punctuated by occasional shouts and bursts of laughter, filled with voices raised in different songs that every so often coalesced into a chorus Erestor had never heard before. The wind played around their rocky shelter, gusting fitfully. Gil-galad put an arm around Erestor's shoulders and they watched the fire and stars and the deeper darkness beyond that was Eriador. Finally Gil-galad broke the silence.

"It's just - this is my responsibility. Everything anyone can teach you about leadership, taking decisions, it all comes down to the fact that you have to decide for everyone, and they have to live or die by your choices."

"That's why you have a council," Erestor reminded him, resting a hand lightly on his thigh. "And us, me and Elrond. For what that's worth. So you don't really have to carry it alone."

The king shook his head. "No, that's the whole point. You and El can give your opinions. So could the Council if I wanted to go back home and ask them. Or my aunt if I wanted to write to her. Or Círdan - I know what he'd say at least. Might be the only time in the last couple of yeni that he and Elrond agreed."

"You don't think Círdan would let him in?"

Gil-galad laughed briefly. "My foster-father is not a trusting soul by nature. There is nothing he would like about any of this.  And in the end, doesn’t matter who I ask, not everyone will agree, and then it remains my decision, my responsibility. The price for being the person in charge. My job, for want of a better word. You're undecided, aren't you? Good instincts and all, you're not quite sure?"

"There's a lot that makes me uncomfortable, but I think it would be a pity to pass by the promise of so much."

"One way of seeing it, yes." He fell silent, watching the sky. Then he kissed the side of Erestor's head, just above the temple. "That sums up how I was feeling while he showed us all those hints at what might be possible. Two things I didn't like though. No, three. The first two were the way he casually dropped the mention of weapons in right at the end there. And I really did not like the way those bits of shaped glass curled in together like living things. "

"And the third?" Erestor asked, leaning in against him. Gil-galad was big and solid, he radiated warmth, a shield against the wind and the chill mountain air.

"Just... the way he felt. There was something behind those eyes - not red as El insisted, though I wouldn't put it past him to see something we missed. And it's not the colour either. Not heard of a brown eyed Vanya but you have brown eyes and they're beautiful so it wouldn't put me off.  Just seemed like everything was a mask for something deeper. And he smiled too much."

"He was selling himself remember, not just his wares."

"He was. And again, I'm not clear why. If he'd come along quietly with just one or two assistants and said he was from Ost-in-Edhil or further east in one of the woodland realms no one would have questioned it much. We like artisans and scientists here. But he showed up with that crowd, like some kind of travelling court, and made a point of wanting to meet with me personally."

The wind rose again abruptly and he drew Erestor closer. "He wanted to stand out, earn your personal attention? Arrogance? Or – perhaps this is just how he is?"

"Maybe."

Someone at the camp had been feeding a colour substance to the flames, which suddenly leapt up blue and cerise. There was a cheer and voices began singing in chorus. Someone was shouting something with the cadence of a chant and there were more cheers.

"I think we ought to leave, Gil," Erestor said, moving to get up. "I don't know what that's about, but..."

"It's all right, no one would hold you responsible,” Gil-galad said with a grin. He rose to his feet but caught Erestor's wrist and stayed watching.

"Gil, come on!"

Gil ignored his protest. "The way he felt. I don't have the Sight like some of my family. I'm never sure where my gifts are, if I have any outside of things I've been trained in, like fighting and law and leadership, but my gut says something is wrong with this. And yes, he had a lot to offer, skills the like of which I've not seen -- those little balls curling up, that was like nothing I've heard of."

He watched the fire leap, now in a rush of emerald green, and almost shuddered. “I had one of those things with me for days…”

Erestor could see movement around the fire, people gathering together. He tugged Gil-galad's hand. "Time to go," he insisted.

"Things I've never heard of and the promise of more," Gil-galad went on, still watching the fire. Erestor wondered sometimes how he managed to survive with no sense of personal danger. "And there might be huge benefit to Lindon in all kinds of ways... but I don't know where it comes from. And if I don’t know where it comes from, and if it includes some kind of – philosophy – that carries followers across the empty spaces of Eriador, then everything in me says I don't want that loose amongst my people."

“We go now?” Erestor asked, appealing where demands had failed. “It’s cold up here.”

Gil-galad looked down at him, hesitated and then nodded. “I’ve seen all I need to see, yes. We go now.”

Captain Sorna and two of her men were waiting across the road, well beyond the invisible line where Lindon ended, fully armed and watchful. Erestor hastily slid his hand free from Gil-galad’s. He was glad she was there though, proving he had been right in singling her out.

They stood back for the king to pass, half their attention on whatever was happening down at the camp site. "Good job, Captain," Gil-galad said as they passed her. "I didn't like to think the post was deserted."

"No one comes through this time of night, Sire," she said. "This is when it stops being a tax station and becomes a guard post. We stay in the shadows and make sure nothing tries to creep past."

"Good." He glanced back over his shoulder towards the flames. "You can take that instruction a step further for now. Close it off, shut them out. Including their leader, the one who came calling earlier. We have no need of what they're offering in Lindon. Annatar can go peddle his gifts somewhere else."

"Probably Eregion," Erestor hazarded. 

The king snorted as they crossed back into Lindon. "Not likely. My aunt will see him off even faster than Elrond wanted to. And if not, Celebrimbor definitely will. He's too much like his grandfather to risk being outclassed in his own forge."

Somewhere in Valinor, near her husband’s Halls, Vairë chose thread and began work on a new tapestry.