Maeglin requested Erestor and how he might have come to serve on the White Council.
They were Elrond's two supports, black and gold, night and day. Once, they'd been a set of three, but silver had departed, and mourning hung heavy over Imladris.
But the White Council must still meet. Erestor, ever Celebrían's steward, put himself at the disposal of Imladris's new lady, leaving conciliar concerns to Glorfindel.
Elrond, however, was otherwise minded than his counselors.
“I, my lord? Attend the Council?” Erestor asked, standing shocked in his master's day room but days before the guests' arrival. “But what of Glorfindel? My wisdom is of smaller realms, and nearer lands than all of Middle-earth!”
Elrond in his window looked long to the west. “The small and the near must be dear to us as well,” he said, then finished flatly: “And he is too much the light of other lands. You will serve.”
The light of other lands.
“My lord,” Erestor said, then, quietly, “I will serve, but if I am to counsel you, then hear the first words of your advisor.”
“And they are?”
“That I alone cannot suffice you.”
There was thunder in those grey eyes when Elrond turned to him, as rarely there had ever been, yet Erestor stood unmoving and unmoved as the moments stretched like spidersilk. At last:
“It is a wise counselor, who knows his limits – and his lord's. Very well.” Elrond inclined his head. “You will both serve.”
This time, Erestor bowed low. “Gladly, and with all my means!”