An Irrevocable Condition

Chapter 5

Erestor appeared to be the love child between Snape and McGonagall. Not in looks, no. Erestor was as handsome and ethereal as any elf in Rivendell with his long, dark hair and glittering grey eyes. But his demeanour was such that Harry couldn’t help be reminded of his two former professors.

“I have managed to clear my very busy schedule to teach you Sindarin,” Erestor announced while Harry sat down at a small desk across from Erestor’s own desk in his study off the library. “Though Eru knows it’s probably a waste of my time because usually by the time the second born truly master Sindarin they are old and die.”

Harry clenched his jaws and kept a polite smile on his face. He’d survived six years of classes with Severus fucking Snape, a man who truly despised him on a personal level, so he could most certainly survive one language course from a snooty, condescending elf.

Was that what Glorfindel was hoping for, that Harry lost his temper or would storm off in a childish huff? Harry was about to show that elf how good of a student he could really be even in the face of an undesirable teacher.

“We start on page one.” Erestor gestured at the book he’d placed in front of Harry, together with a piece of slate and a length of chalk. Erestor stepped in front of the blackboard that hung from his wall and picked up a piece of chalk while he gave Harry a pointed look to get going.

Harry quickly opened the book and saw hand written writing and hand drawn pictures. Very simple pictures. The book they were using was clearly meant for children, but that didn’t put Harry off one bit. He’d go with the flow and learn this language as best as he could.

The Sindarin alphabet was truly beautiful, it had to be said. Bilbo had made an effort to teach Harry how to write Westron, and Harry had made a bit of progress with that, enough that he knew the entire Westron alphabet and could read and write at least the more popular words in that language. But the Westron alphabet was clunky and rough compared to the Sindarin words Harry saw on the page.

The first word he learned was the Sindarin word for mountain, which was amon. Erestor wrote it on the blackboard and Harry copied it carefully on his piece of slate. Then Erestor had Harry repeat the word amon many times until he seemed satisfied with Harry’s pronunciation. Or as satisfied as an elf like Erestor could ever really be.

The second word was forest, which was eryn. Then came star, which was gil. And then came a few more words while Erestor kept a careful eye on Harry’s piece of slate and his admittedly poor writing of the Sindarin words. It just took some getting used to, especially writing with chalk on a piece of slate.

Once Erestor gave Harry his twentieth disapproving look at his poor writing, Harry sighed, picked up his backpack and fished out the notebook and self-inking quill he’d been using for Bilbo’s Westron lessons. Without saying anything, he opened it up to a clean page and quickly wrote down the Sindarin words he’d learned so far, with both the English and the Westron words behind them.

Erestor stared at Harry in absolute horror, as though he was seeing him transform into an orc in front of his eyes. “Why are you wasting paper like that?”

Harry blinked and looked up in confusion. “I write better with a quill,” Harry explained, unsure why Erestor was looking at him like that. “And this way I keep a book of what I learn and I can read it again. I did the same when Bilbo was teaching me Westron.”