Chapter the Fifth:

In Which Finrod Visits the Royal Kitchens and an Epic Battle Ensues

When they were finished with their lunch, after freshening up a bit, they made their way to the kitchen, Finrod leading with Glorfindel beside him. Vondo and his nephew trailed behind. No sooner did they cross the threshold than they were stopped by the Head Cook, who gave them all, even Finrod, a sour look, though his gaze was more on Vondo and Vorondil.

"You again," he snarled. "I thought I told you...."

"Excuse me, Master Isildil," Finrod interrupted coldly, his expression one that any of his former subjects would have recognized as ‘the-king-is-not-happy-look’, a very dangerous expression indeed but Isildil was unaware just how dangerous it was. "I understand that you summarily dismissed my agents without a proper hearing."

"I know who they are, Highness," the ellon said haughtily. "Troublemakers and thieves. While this one," he pointed at Vondo, "kept me occupied with specious questions supposedly from you, this one," now he jerked a finger at Vorondil, "would’ve been trying to sneak sweets or something."

Both ellyn looked affronted; Finrod merely looked imperious. "And you would have been wrong," he said. "They were here on a fact-finding mission concerning the wedding menu. My amillë asked me to consult with you as she was busy with other things and I would have gladly done so, but I had my own appointments and so I sent Lord Vorondil," — stressing the title — "and his nephew in my stead."

"Well, as it happens, Highness," Isildil said, giving them a smirk, "her Majesty already consulted me about the menu just a short time ago and everything is set, so your little... um... fact-finding mission is for naught."

Finrod blinked, his expression neutral. "I see," he finally said, silently cursing himself for a fool. "Well, in that case...."

"What’s on the menu?" Glorfindel asked suddenly, his expression one of curiosity.

"Will there be ginger biscuits?" Vorondil chimed in with a glow of anticipation in his eyes.

Isildil snorted, shaking his head. "The menu is my business and you will just have to wait and see."

"No, I don’t think so," Finrod said. "I would like to see what has been decided. I may wish to change one or two items."

"The Queen has already approved...." the ellon began, but Finrod, now getting angry, interrupted.

"The Queen is not the one getting married," he nearly yelled. "Now, stop stalling and tell me what’s on the blasted menu."

The room became very silent. Isildil turned around and growled, "Get back to work," and there was a sudden flurry of activity again. He turned back to stare at Finrod and the others for a long moment, taking their measure. Vondo and Vorondil he dismissed out of hand. The other ellon with the strange front braids he knew by reputation but, again, dismissed him as unimportant. It was Prince Findaráto with whom he must deal, yet, the royal kitchen was his demesne and even their Majesties were careful to stay on his good side. Arguing with him usually ended up badly for the other party, at least where their meals were concerned. He almost smiled at that thought. Instead, he gave a shrug.

"The Queen has approved the menu that I decided on," he said.

"And what did you decide?" Finrod asked in a steely voice.

"Well, if you must know, Highness, I decided on a five-course meal consisting of a mushroom soup in the first course...."

"My anatar doesn’t care for mushrooms," Finrod interrupted. "You’d better make it something else."

"If you wish," Isildil said, pretending to acquiesce to the prince’s orders, though he had no intention of doing so. Let the elfling think he’s got the upper hand and he’ll go away happy and leave him to do what he did best: cook.

"So what else is on the menu?" Finrod asked.

"Well the second course will consist of partridge...."

"Partridge!?" Finrod exclaimed in dismay. "My wife-to-be hates partridge. How could Ammë not remember that?"

"The Lady Amarië is not required to eat the partridge, Highness," Isildil said with a shrug, "and there will be other dishes...."

"No doubt," Finrod retorted. "I assume you have the menu written out. I would like to see it, please."

Now Isildil smiled, feeling on safer ground. "The list is here," he said, pointing to his temple, "and here it will remain. As I said, your Highness, the menu has already been approved and I have no intention of changing it. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a feast to put on and unless his Highness prefers to eat half-cooked meat and cold potatoes, I suggest you let me get back to work."

Finrod started to bristle at Isildil’s supercilious tone and he was about to lambast the ellon when someone shouted, "Hey! Put that back!"

Isildil snarled as he turned to see what the commotion was about. While he had been arguing with Finrod, Vorondil had sidled away from the confrontation, intent on snatching some strawberry and rhubarb tarts that were cooling on a tray. They weren’t ginger biscuits but they were fresh out of the oven and they smelled delicious. He surreptitiously removed a small cloth sack hanging from a peg on the wall behind him, intending on grabbing enough tarts for him and his uncle and Glorfindel and his master. He didn’t like the Head Cook and he decided the ellon deserved to have some of his food stolen. It would serve him right.

Vorondil glanced about to see what the other cooks and kitchen helpers were doing. Most were busy with food preparation. The feast that evening was in honor of the Queen’s begetting day. Vorondil would be serving as his master’s squire and he was looking forward to that honor, for in previous years he had been too busy with his studies to be able to leave Lórien for the celebration. This year, though, Lord Irmo had allowed him to leave as a reward for his diligence. He’d already, with Uncle Vondo’s help, found an appropriate gift for the Queen. It was nothing expensive or fancy, just a small hairpin in the shape of a butterfly, but he was very pleased with it and was looking forward to giving it to his master’s ammë who always treated him with great gentleness, sneaking treats to him when Master wasn’t looking.

In the meantime, he was determined to have a bit of fun. He felt a momentary pang of indecision, wondering if his master would approve, but then dismissed the thought, deciding that whatever punishment Finrod meted out would be worth it, though he sincerely hoped the punishment did not include missing the feast.

No one was looking his way. He inched closer to the table where the tarts were cooling, trying to act nonchalant, sitting on the bench with his back to the tarts, plastering a bored expression on his face, so if anyone did notice him they would just assume that he was tired of listening to the grown-ups argue. When he was sure no one was looking his way, he turned quickly and grabbed a tart, forcing himself not to hiss in pain, for the tart was still too hot to handle without a mitt. He quickly thrust the tart into the sack, then turned back to face the kitchen, shaking his hand to ease the smarting. No one seemed to notice him.

So far so good. Only three more tarts to go.

He half-listened to his master explain how Lady Amarië did not like partridge, and shook his head. He rather liked partridge himself, especially when stuffed with a variety of fruits. Now lampreys... ugh! He gave a shiver of disgust at the thought. How anyone could eat them was beyond him. Oh well, there was no accounting for taste. He glanced around and saw everyone was busy. Master Isilidil blocked Vorondil’s view of Finrod, but he could see Glorfindel and Uncle Vondo and his uncle gave him a nod of approval while Glorfindel kept his eyes studiously upon Finrod and Isildil, but Vorondil did not doubt that the Balrog-slayer was well aware of what he was doing. Deciding he could risk it, he started to grab another tart, unaware that one of the assistant cooks had just turned around from stirring something on the stove and saw him. His shout alerted everyone else, including the Head Cook.

"Ah ha!" Isildil crowed, looking both smug and angry at the same time. "Just what I thought." He turned to Finrod, sneering. "So, this was all a ploy to get some sweets after all. I should have known. Take yourself and your thieving friends from here, Highness. I have better things to do than cater to you. Their Majesties will hear from me, I assure you." Then he stepped towards Vorondil who was sitting very still, clutching the sack with its single tart to him. The cook held out his hand. "I’ll take that and if I ever catch you in this kitchen again you young rapscallion I will tan your hide so you don’t ever forget."

"You’ll have to catch him first," Finrod told him with a grim smile. Then before Isildil could respond, the prince moved quickly, more quickly than any were expecting, towards one of the preparation tables where an apprentice cook had been busy peeling potatoes. He grabbed a handful of peelings, throwing them right into Isildil’s face, shouting, "Yrch erin hâr!"

Isildil shouted in anger and surprise, wiping potato peelings off himself. "Why you spawn of Melkor!" Then he lunged at the prince and before Finrod could move, he had him in a tight grip and was shaking him. "You’re the one I should thrash, you insolent...."

At once Glorfindel grabbed a nearby towel hanging from a wall peg and threw it over Isildil’s head, bringing a squawk of surprise from the ellon and causing him to loosen his hold on Finrod who pushed him away. Glorfindel grabbed the hapless ellon and sent him sprawling onto the floor as he shouted, "Belryg adel gi!"

Vondo wasn’t too far behind, leaping up on one of the other tables where loaves of bread were stacked ready to be cut, grabbing a couple in his hands and throwing them with unerring accuracy at the assistant cook who was attempting to help her master from the floor, causing her to fall back in surprise. Vondo shouted his own battle cry, "iNgoth am vîn! Berio i Aran!"

Now pandemonium broke out as the other cooks and kitchen helpers were being bombarded by loaves of bread from Vondo and potato peelings and other scraps by Finrod while Glorfindel joined him. Then about six or eight apprentice cooks and kitchen helpers rallied, grabbing up ladles and rolling pins and even a broom, but thankfully no knives, and began their own attack, rushing Finrod and Glorfindel and beating on them. The two ellyn managed to push their attackers away long enough for them to grab their own weapons: Finrod’s was a rolling pin, while Glorfindel chose a skillet.

"Gurth an Glamhoth!" Glorfindel yelled even as he swung the skillet, not meaning to hit anyone, but merely to force them to keep their distance. The two were fighting back-to-back.

"Vondo!" Finrod yelled. "Get Vorondil out of here."

Vondo, however, was still busy throwing things and wasn’t paying much attention to anything or anyone else. When he ran out of bread he jumped off the table in search of more ammunition, and began lobbing potatoes that were in a pile waiting to be peeled. Most of the potatoes seemed to be aimed at the Head Cook who had thrown off the towel and was now screaming for his people to subdue Finrod and the others. He was too busy dodging potatoes to do anything himself. Not all the potatoes were aimed at him, however; Vondo was happily throwing them at the other kitchen staff who tried to get too close. In his excitement, though, his aim was sometimes off and one of the larger missiles slammed into a cask holding the wine for that night’s feast, some of Lord Nolondur’s best red wine. The cask broke open and the wine poured out onto the floor.

Finrod saw that and yelled, "Ai! Arnad nîn as sûl!" as he dodged one of the younger apprentices coming at him with a ladle, throwing the hapless ellon over his shoulder, at which Glorfindel, still swinging his skillet to good effect, retorted, "Ú-ârig arnad."

Vorondil, meanwhile, was busy stuffing the sack with as many tarts and other sweets as he could fit in it.

"Oh no you don’t!" he heard someone exclaim, and then Master Isildil was grabbing him even as he was picking up another tart. Without thinking about it Vorondil twisted slightly to his left and pushed the tart into Isildil’s face, forcing the cook to stumble back in surprise. Without waiting to see what was happening, Vorondil started running towards the back door leading out to the herb garden, but he did not reckon on the bench that was in his way or the sticky floor where the wine continued to pour out and tripped over the bench, landing in a puddle of wine.

Vondo just happened to see his nephew fall and land in the wine, the red liquid splashing about and suddenly, he was no longer in the royal kitchen of Tirion but in the forests of the High Faroth overlooking Nargothrond and it was his brother he saw falling. "ALDUNDIL! NO!" he screamed and then without conscious thought he was attacking Master Isildil who had just managed to wipe the sticky tart filling out of his eyes. Vondo tackled the poor ellon, all the while screaming, "I’ll kill you, you filthy orc! I’ll kill you!" and then he was doing his level best to strangle him.

Immediately, what had started out as a game (neither Finrod nor Glorfindel were taking the battle at all seriously) now turned deadly. Finrod yelled at Glorfindel, "Knife!" even as he ran to Vondo and started pulling him off Isildil. The kitchen staff stopped their own attack to watch in horror as Vondo continued screaming in a mixture of Sindarin and Quenya, all the while keeping a stranglehold on Isildil’s throat while Finrod tried to loosen the ellon’s grip. Glorfindel, meanwhile, dropped his skillet and picked up the first knife he could find and ran over to help. Finrod was practically rolling on the floor with Vondo and Isildil.

"Hold him down!" Finrod cried and Glorfindel, sticking the knife between his teeth, attempted to do just that.

And at that precise moment, the King walked in.

"What the....?"

"Blood trance!" Finrod screamed as he continued trying to get Vondo to loosen his grip on Isildil’s throat.

Without bothering with an explanation, Arafinwë immediately went to the floor next to Glorfindel, much to the shock and dismay of the onlookers. "I’ll hold him, you cut him," he said as he grabbed the cook’s right arm and pulled it down. Glorfindel just nodded, took the knife and rather ruthlessly sliced through the tunic and into flesh. Isildil gave a gurgled scream, but no one paid any attention to him. Finrod forced Vondo’s head down toward the blood now welling up and then the ellon was growing still, his grip on Isildil’s throat loosening.

Finrod pulled him off immediately and, heedless of the fact that he was sitting in wine, cradled the now quiescent Reborn, gently rocking him and crooning something soft and soothing while Glorfindel and Arafinwë helped Isildil up, the ellon cursing a blue streak. Vorondil, dripping with wine, was now kneeling beside Finrod, gently stroking his uncle’s hair, while Vondo blinked away the memories of his last moments before death had taken him.

"Feeling better?" Finrod whispered in his ear.

Vondo nodded, looking about, trying to put his memories in perspective. He finally noticed Arafinwë standing there looking down at him, his expression totally unreadable. Vondo gulped and then blurted out the first thing that came to him, his thoughts still wavering between past and present, "Did... did we win?"

****

Words are Sindarin:

Yrch erin hâr: ‘Orcs on the left!’

Belryg adel gi: ‘Balrogs behind you!’

iNgoth am vîn. Berio i Aran: ‘The enemy is upon us! Protect the king!’

Gurth an Glamhoth: ‘Death to the Din-horde!’ Tuor’s curse and battle-cry [Unfinished Tales].

Ai! Arnad nín as sûl: ‘Oh! My kingdom for a goblet!’

Ú-ârig arnad: ‘You don’t have a kingdom’.