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There was a hush over the valley. Still and soft, the snow sifted down, a fine powder that clung to everything in its path. Erestor curled a leg under him, leaning a little to look out the window, watching the reunion below.
For reasons unknown to them all, a great host of elves from Valinor had come crossing the sea to settle in Imladris. Led by one Ecthelion of the Fountain, the members included in the train was Lord Fingon, the brothers of Galadriel, and every single son of Fëanor. All of them. Even the ones thought lost. There were others in the train as well, councilors and nobles and elves Erestor had never heard of. Of them all, the reunion between Glorfindel and Ecthelion was a sight to behold. The two of them met in the courtyard, arms tight around each other as they fell to their knees in joy. It was touching.
Erestor wanted to cry.
In the long years of his position as Chief Councilor to Lord Elrond, Erestor had grown...accustomed to Glorfindel's presence. He may have...relied on it, just a little. Glorfindel was a steady, cheerful presence, who had a solid head for tactics but also some sense of humor left in him. Erestor had spent many an evening talking to his...his friend, both in the Hall of Fire and in their respective offices. There had been so many conversations where they had ended up in tears of laughter, both of them sprawled out on the couches, trying to catch their breath. Erestor had thought...well. They all suspected that Glorfindel's heartsong was Ecthelion of the Fountain but there had been times...times when Erestor had been laughing so hard his hair had fallen across his face and Glorfindel had reached out to brush it out of his eyes and. Well.
Erestor had maybe. Perhaps. Just a little. Hoped.
But that hope was now dashed, seeing his – seeing Glorfindel wrapped around Ecthelion of the Fountain. Erestor studied them and had to admit that Ecthelion was superior in all categories. Taller. Fitter. A warrior and a musician. A titled noble of Gondolin. An elf with a family rich with history and service to the great kings of the First Age. An elf that was held in great regard by many, including Lord Elrond, for his deeds in the defense of Gondolin. Ecthelion would never have to resort to blackmailing Thranduil to behave during his visits to Imladris. Ecthelion would never have ink smeared across his cheek during an emergency meeting of the noble elves left in Arda. Ecthelion probably rolled out of bed put together and perfect, a far cry from Erestor's need of three cups of tea and silence for half a mark before he felt ready to face the day.
Erestor compared himself to the elf he had considered his opponent and found himself...lacking. In all ways.
“Erestor? Whatever are you doing up there?”
Erestor looked down to see Bilbo standing by one of the long shelves of books. Erestor felt his face heat as he looked around, knowing that few knew of his habit of crawling into the high windows of the library to look out over the valley. It had been one of the few places the twins had never looked, so therefore Erestor had been safe from the little weasels and their pranks. He slid down from his perch and brushed off what little dust remained on his robes with an absent hand. “Forgive me for not seeing you enter, my friend. How may I help you?”
The look that earned him was enough to make Erestor look down at his toes. “I think I'd like a spot of tea,” the old hobbit said, with both hands planted on his cane (that he did not need, but liked to use for 'effect' as he called it). “Do be a dear and help me with the kettle, would you?”
Bilbo led the way to Erestor's office, where an entire tea service was set by the door. Erestor felt his chest hitch at the sight. It had been a midwinter gift from Glorfindel the season before. Erestor had hoped...it had seemed such a particular gift, a thoughtful one, that many had whispered may have been the prelude to courting gifts. But then in the spring letters had come from great shining swans that told of the return of elves from Valinor and Glorfindel's... attentions had been drawn elsewhere.
And rightly so. The return of an elf's heartsong was all one could hope for when two had been separated by death or grief. Erestor knew Elrond still yearned for Celebrían, even after so many years apart.
“Erestor?”
He blinked out of this thoughts and hurried to help Bilbo with the tea. The steaming kettle was set aside, the motions of making tea so ingrained that Erestor could do it in his sleep. Had in fact done it in his sleep at least once, but thankfully only Bilbo knew that secret. He felt the old hobbit's eyes on him, but Erestor couldn't meet that knowing gaze. He just focused on the tea until two cups were perfect and set in front of each of them.
“You won't feel like this forever,” Bilbo said with a sigh and picked up his tea. Erestor just stared at his. “It feels like a knife in your lungs, I know. But soon it won't hurt like an orc lance in the side. More like a tree branch. Then that will fade too, and it'll feel like a graze. An ache. Something you're able to bear and not break from.”
Erestor glanced at his friend. Bilbo was staring into the fire, tea forgotten in his hands. “Did you ever...”
A sour smile twisted Bilbo's mouth but he nodded, gaze never leaving the flames. “I'm sure you suspected.”
“I thought you and Thorin were great friends.”
“Well, I don't know about great friends,” Bilbo's laugh sounded a touch forced. “But by the Carrock, I'd thought...well. I'd thought a lot of things by then, being a very silly fellow. It felt as though I was finally accepted by the Company. I thought...well. I thought many things,” he shook his head. “But I soon found my feet swept out from under me at Beorn's.”
“How so?”
“Thorin had been...quite attentive, during that time. I was over the moon, of course, and trying not to be a fool of a Took over it. I'd made a flower crown,” he snorted, the smile on his face thinning to a flat line. “I'd meant to present it to Thorin. I found him in a field with Dwalin, instead.”
Erestor looked away. “I am sorry, my friend.”
Bilbo waved one hand, the tea in the other sloshing near the rim. “It turns out that Thorin and Dwalin had been considered married for many years. Decades, even. Balin told me later that night. I think he suspected. Everyone but Thorin had seen me making the flower crown. I went back and made more for the entire Company, after. Different ones, that didn't mean...I didn't...didn't want anyone to know . But I suspect Balin did, at least a little.”
Erestor curled his fingers around the fine porcelain cup that was decorated with tiny purple and blue flowers. He too had made a gift for Glorfindel. He'd meant to give it at the summer solstice, so that they might bind their hands together and leap over the bonfires lit at midnight. But the letters had come by then and the binding ribbon stayed hidden in a trunk, decorated with bright golden flowers and tiny blue and purple buds.
“Did you ever speak to him about it?”
Bilbo shook his head. “No. No, I'm afraid I was too much of a coward. Thorin was still...attentive, which was strange, but I figured I was simply...reading too much of hobbit ways in a dwarf. Even Dwalin had been kinder to me there, making sure I was getting enough sleep for the next stage of the journey. Then the nightmare of Mirkwood happened and then the gold sickness...” Bilbo trailed off, a pained expression crossing his face. “After I was banished from Erebor I never went back. Not even when Thorin and the boys survived and Thorin was crowned as King. I had left for Gondor by then. I've never been back.”
“Did they ever apologize for their actions?”
“Perhaps? I do not know. For years after I returned their letters, unopened. After a while they stopped coming. Balin visited once, but I heard Lobelia chased him off. I gave her two of my silver spoons for it. I felt bad,” he looked down into his tea. “Balin didn't deserve whatever scolding Lobelia gave him. I received one letter after that from Balin, stating that he apologized for his offense and that I would not hear from them again.”
Erestor sat for a moment, a strange breathlessness in his chest. “Do you regret it? Not speaking to them again?”
Bilbo did not answer for a long time. Then, “Yes and no. A hobbit does not dally in another's marriage, Erestor. It simply is not done. Not even if the other party is interested and sends courting gifts. Marriage is a contract between two folks and hobbits take their contracts very seriously. Dwarrow are even more strict about it. Thorin and Dwalin were married. Dwalin became the Consort Under the Mountain and Captain of the Guards. What place did I have there? None. So I do not regret leaving. I do not regret guarding my heart against that loss. But I regret the missed chance, the maybe I could have had with Thorin. I suppose. That, yes, I do regret.”
“And Dwalin?”
“That dwarf couldn't stand the sight of me for most of the journey,” Bilbo laughed and shook his head. “I had earned enough respect for saving Dwalin's husband and that was it. He was a good enough sort. Rather gruff. I probably drove him right up a tree with my fussiness.”
Erestor thought of the letters he exchanged with the dwarrow of Erebor. Of how Balin had asked about Bilbo since the hobbit had taken up residence in Imladris. Of how Fíli had taken over that duty when Balin and his group had gone to Moria to reestablish a colony there. There had even been a note attached occasionally, in a different, rougher hand, asking about Bilbo and how he was doing. It hadn't been the penmanship of a King. Rather more like a soldier. Or even a Captain of the Guard.
“All that to say my friend, is that I understand a body needing to...to guard itself from harm. From hurt. And I just wanted to tell you that while it will hurt, for a good long while, that pain will fade with time.”
“And distance?”
Bilbo nodded, gaze still on the fire. “And distance, if you need it.”
Erestor joined his gaze to the fire as well. “I have no where to go.”
“Don't you?”
“I have no wish to see Valinor just yet.”
Bilbo tapped his fingers against his cup. “You know they're talking about taking my little ring to that dreadful place to destroy it, right?”
Erestor blinked and turned his gaze to Bilbo. “You know of that?”
“I'm old, Erestor, not deaf.”
“Then...”
“Perhaps you're in need of an Adventure.” Bilbo drew his gaze from the fire to finally look at Erestor. The old hobbit had held his years well, claiming the line of Bullroarer Took had always aged at a slower pace. “Would you like to come with an old hobbit on one last trip across this great land?”
Erestor stared at his friend for a long moment...and then nodded. “It would be my honor.”
Bilbo's smile was brief, but true. “Then let's go tell these great stuffy idiots to stop blathering on about this group or that. I found the dratted thing. No one else can seem to touch it. So I might as well be the one to get rid of it.”
Erestor raised his cup. “Perhaps after one last refreshment? To let the...reunions play out by themselves?”
Bilbo laughed and clinked their cups together. “After this cuppa, then. Come, tell me about what maps you've been looking up. Don't tell me you haven't. You knew your Glorfindel was going to volunteer for this trip, you were planning on it.”
Erestor blushed but did not deny it. He outlined the maps he had drawn from the archives, sketching out the many ways to Mordor they could go, cups soon set aside as they bent over parchment and quills, making their own plans in the quiet peace of his office. The snow still sifted down, soft and silent as the sun set over the valley. Erestor and Bilbo were so absorbed they never saw the two shadows that had been standing by the office door, listening. For how long, they would never know.