A Prank on Glorfindel

A Prank on Glorfindel

Chapter 1 – Uruin

The Lord of Imladris gazed across the table at his young sons, holding up a crystal decanter with a clear liquid in it.

“I want your full attention for a moment…Elrohir?”

“Yes, Ada.”

“Elladan?”

The dark-haired elfling kept stirring the herbs in his silver bowl with a look of deepest concentration written on his face.

“Elladan, I would like you to put your spoon down,” the Elf Lord entreated.

A shove from his twin made the 12-year-old elfling look up. He had been totally engrossed in his work, proud as he was to be helping his father to make remedies and potions for use in the healing rooms.

Elrond briefly raised his eyebrows at his inattentive son before he placed the decanter on the table.

“This decanter contains Uruin extract,” he explained, giving both of his sons an encouraging nod. “After you have strained the contents of your bowls, you will add ten drops of Uruin extract to each vial before you fill them with your potion. You will securely close the lids and slowly turn each vial upside down a few times. This will allow the Uruin to mix with the rest of the herbs.”

Two identical heads nodded in unison.

“Uruin is a herb which, when properly used, will ease the pain of burns and strong itches,” Elrond instructed.

“However…”

Elladan was reaching for the decanter, but a sidelong glance from his father stopped him.

“…your mother has asked me to impress on you that a single drop of Uruin is enough to leave lasting stains on your clothing. Therefore you will put on old tunics before you continue.”

Elladan sighed and made a face, but he obediently jumped off his stool and walked to the door where two old tunics were lying on a chair. He scowled indignantly as his small, nimble fingers undid the laces on his dark blue sleeves. Elrohir, however, stared thoughtfully at the decanter.

“Ada…how can a clear liquid leave stains? It looks like water.”

Elrond smiled. His observant elfling already had a mind that could rapidly spot things that others didn’t.

“Uruin, Elrohir, has no colour of its own as long as it is kept in a glass container. However, if it is poured onto elvish cloth or fabric, it will turn blood red.”

Elladan’s face appeared above the neck of his old tunic, awe and enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes. He tossed the other tunic to his brother and hurried to tie his laces, eager to finish the potion so he could witness the miracle of Uruin for himself.

O-o-O-o-O

When the potions were strained and the vials ready to be filled, Elrond took two small pipets and filled each of them with Uruin from the decanter. The Elf Lord couldn’t help but chuckle as he saw the curious, expectant looks on his sons’ bright faces. Smiling indulgently, he pulled out a strip of white cloth and demonstrated the ‘Uruin-effect’.

The twins’ eyes opened wide when they saw the colourless liquid transform into a bright, bloody red as soon as it touched the fabric.

“It looks so real!” Elladan gasped.

“Like real blood!” Elrohir goggled.

Both elflings suddenly clenched their fists under the table, resisting the urge to exchange exhilerated glances. They knew better than to look at each other with their Ada around, lest they should give themselves away. But a pair of delighted, mischievous minds already worked out worlds of wonderful pranks that could be played with the help of Uruin.

“Make sure not to spill it,” Elrond cautioned. “For even if the Uruin dries up before you touch it, it still causes stains, and…”

With a bang the door to the apothecary flew open and Glorfindel burst in, holding an unconscious, bleeding warrior in his arms.

“Elrond, quick! He was caught in a rockslide.”

The Lord of Rivendell immediately rose to his feet and hurried after the Balrog Slayer into the healing rooms, calling rapid orders to the healers and apprentices that were rushing to his aid. At the door he rounded on his two elflings and raised his eyebrows. “Stay here. Do not touch anything. Wait until I come back.”

The door closed with a soft thud and the twins were left alone in the silence of the apothecary.

O-o-O-o-O

Elladan glanced at the two pipets that lay brotherly on the table. Elrohir’s keen gaze went out of the window to check if any Elf in the yard would be able to see them in here. Elladan quickly walked to the door and looked into the hallway. “No-one,” he whispered, quietly closing the door again. He rushed back to the table and looked around for the strip of cloth his father had demonstrated the Uruin on.

The brothers’ eyes sparkled with excitement as Elrohir carefully picked up one of the pipets and dripped some Uruin onto the cloth that Elladan held out to him. A new bright red stain appeared on the white fabric.

“Wonderful!” beamed Elladan. He took the stained cloth and pressed it against his arm.

Suddenly a pained expression clouded his face. “Ouch! Oh, Elrohir! Fetch Ada! Quick!” he wailed. “I have been stabbed! I’m bleeding!” The dark-haired elfling giggled as he doubled over in ‘pain’, demonstrating just how badly he had been hurt.

“Give it to me!” Elrohir urged. He took the cloth from his brother and added a few more drops of Uruin. Then he pressed the cloth firmly against his forehead, making sure the bloody stains were clearly visible to Elladan.

“Brilliant!” gasped his twin. “It looks just like you have a real head wound! Even Ada will not see the difference at first glance! You have to moan a little bit, El. Otherwise no-one is going to believe you are hurt.”

Elrohir let out a pityful moan and pretended to stagger. “Perfect!” giggled Elladan. “They will believe that the blow to your head has given you a concussion as well!”

Elladan reached for the second pipet and was about to drip some of it onto his arm, when his brother’s hand stopped him.

“What?” he asked impatiently.

“What if it won’t come off?” Elrohir hinted with a knowing frown. “Your arm will be red a long time. Naneth won’t like it.”

Elladan shrugged. “If I put it on my body it will look far more real than on a cloth. I want to see!” He pulled his hand free from his brother’s grasp and dripped some Uruin on the bare skin of his arm.

Nothing happened.

“It doesn’t turn red!” Elladan looked puzzled. “Look, El, it’s still clear!”

“I can see that!” bristled Elrohir. “I am not blind!” He rubbed his forehead. Valar! Elladan thought him so stupid sometimes!

“Why do you think it doesn’t turn red?” Elladan demanded, feeling frustrated. He wanted to have a real-looking wound! Not just a bloodstained cloth that would reveal healthy skin when removed. He dripped a little more Uruin on his arm.

“Come one! Bleed!” he urged.

Suddenly he became aware that his arm was itching unbearably. He used his sleeve to wipe off the residue of Uruin and scratched his skin with his nails, but it only got worse. Then he glanced at Elrohir, who was fervently scratching his forehead.

“El? Wasn’t Uruin supposed to stop the itching?” he asked uncertainly.

“Maybe Ada was mistaken,” Elrohir gasped, desperately raking his fingers across his brow. “Oh El! The itching gets worse! It burns!”

But Elrohir did not need to tell Elladan that the itching was rapidly turning to burning. The two sons of Elrond ran to the jugs of water by the sink, alternately helping each other to pour water over Elrohir’s forehead and Elladan’s arm.

When the alarmed Elf Lord entered his apothecary only five minutes later, Elrohir’s hair and tunic were soaking wet, the floor was awash and both his elflings were howling in pain.

“Stop it, Ada! Stop it!” they pleaded. “Make the pain go away!”

One glance at his sons’ pitiful state and the way they groped at their skin – not to mention the near-empty pipets on the table – told Elrond what had happened. He rushed to his cabinet and crushed some pain-relieving herbs into two cups. With one hand he poured hot water on the herbs to make a tea they could drink, with the other he pulled a small jar with cream from a drawer.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked Elladan, kneeling down beside his sons. Elladan weakly pointed at his arm, whimpering as he lay doubled up on the ground in pain. Elrond smeared the cream onto the now badly scratched, raw skin on the elfling’s arm.

“Let me look, Elrohir,” Elrond urged, gently prying his son’s desperate hands away from his forehead. “Show me where it hurts, ion nín.” He applied the salve to Elrohir’s forehead and briefly placed a soothing hand on each of his children’s cheeks. Then he quickly walked back to his cabinet to fetch the tea cups.

“Drink this, my sons,” he coaxed. “It will relieve the pain a little.”

The Lord of Imladris had never seen his elflings drink such a bitter tea so fast. He scooped them up in his arms, ignoring the wetness seeping into his robes from Elrohir’s tunic, and carried his children into the healing room.

“Aelin, would you please summon their mother?” he asked one of the young healers quietly. The young Sindar nodded and left at once.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond sat on a bed with his crying sons on his lap, waiting for the light footfall of his beloved.

“Your naneth will be here soon, little ones,” he crooned, planting a kiss on the top of Elladan’s head. His oldest was clinging to him as though his life depended on it, sobbing desperately in his Ada’s shoulder. Elrohir sat with his back against his father’s chest, struggling against the firm grip that Elrond had on his hands.

“It hurts, Ada! It hurts!” Elrohir bawled.

“I know, Elrohir,” Elrond soothed, tightening his grip on the tiny wrists. “I will hold you, ion nín. You must not scratch yourself. Rubbing and scratching will make the pain worse.”

A streak of silver hair shot into the healing room and in a flash Celebrían was pulling her children into an embrace. Elrond still held Elrohir’s hands, but when the blubbering elfling frantically tried to rub his forehead on his brother’s shoulder, the Elf Lord lovingly pulled his youngest back into his lap.

“Why doesn’t it stop, Ada?” Elladan wailed.

Celebrían’s worried eyes found Elrond’s.

“What…?” her eyebrows asked.

“Uruin,” Elrond mouthed softly. He nodded towards the curtain that shielded the unconscious warrior from view. “When Haldan was brought in, I left them on their own.”

Celebrían understood at once. She knew her husband well enough to know he would have forbidden their sons to touch the Uruin. However, she also knew her sons. They were old enough to obey their father and to be trusted with some responsibility. But the mischievous, impish streak they had so obviously inherited from their mother – and their grandfather, she thought with a wry smile – was proving far too strong for her little ones to resist at times.

“When will the pain go away, Ada?” Elrohir sobbed.

Elrond closed his eyes, steeling himself for what he would have to say.

“It will last a few hours, my sons,” he admitted with regret in his voice.

A small wail escaped from Elladan’s throat. Elrohir dug his fingernails into his father’s robes, tossing his head backwards in an attempt to shake the pain from his searing brow.

“Alas, ion nín, there is no remedy against the burning of Uruin,” Elrond apologized. “The extract of Uruin is able to heal burns and to soothe many itches. But on healthy skin it burns like fire.”

Elladan’s pleading eyes met his father’s. “Is there nothing you can do, Ada?” he begged.

“The tea I gave you should ease your pain a little, Elladan,” Elrond promised. “As should the cream. But I regret to say that the burning will still be far from gone, tithen pen. You have no other choice but to wait a few hours until the Uruin’s poison wears off.”

“And we will be right here with you while you do,” Celebrían reassured her sons. “We will not leave you.”

O-o-O-o-O

From a distance, Aelin watched as the Lord and Lady of Rivendell softly sang songs for their crying children, holding them and comforting them through their pain. He knew how much the Uruin hurt – having accidentally spilled some on his hands a few hundred years earlier. He grimaced. It had been sheer agony.

However, he also knew that within three or four hours the pain would begin to wear off. The sons of Elrond might be tired from their painful experience by then. But Aelin was sure that before the day would end, the Last Homely House would be filled with the cheerful banter of two happy, mischievous young elflings again…

TBC

ada – dad(dy)

naneth – mother

ion nín – ‘my son’, or ‘my sons’

tithen pen – little one

AN: ‘Uruin’ is a non-existing plant that I made up. I created the name by putting the Sindarin words ‘Ûr’ (fire, heat, to be hot) and ‘Ruin’ (‘red flame’ or ‘fiery red’) together.

So in my modest attempt at Sindarin, ‘Ûr-Ruin’ made ‘Uruin’ (Red Fire).

Poor little elflings… I do feel terribly sorry for putting them through this ordeal. They will suffer no more from the burning of Uruin, I promise! However, despite a painful introduction to its properties, this plant has far from lost its attraction for the twins. No, they will not be sadistic. But there is a certain golden-haired warrior that they would love to play a good prank on. And Uruin turns out to offer more opportunities than they thought…

Esteliel

A Prank on Glorfindel

Chapter 2 – The task

Two little elflings lay in their beds, unfocused eyes staring up at the ceiling, where the reflection of Anor’s first rays in the bedroom mirror was creating dancing spots of golden light that merrily chased each other across the elaborate carvings.

One long, wide yawn preceded the rising of a large lump under one of the blankets, when Elrohir’s legs started their usual morning ritual of slowly kicking and moving the sleep out of his body. Eyes still unfocused, a pair of small hands found their way from under the blankets to the elfling’s fair cheeks, rubbing sleepily.

In the bed beside him, two grey eyes gradually focused on the dancing lights above. As Elladan slowly became aware of his surroundings, the sound of Elrohir’s feet shoving and kicking the sheets told him that his brother was drifting to wakefulness, too. He turned to see Elrohir tossing and turning, hands over his eyes, struggling to ward of the alluring relaxation of the realm of waking dreams.

A bright smile appeared on Elladan’s face. He sat up, tossed his pillow to his brother and jumped out of bed. “Come on, El!” He hurried to get dressed, but stopped when he realized that only his leggings were lying on his chair. Where was his tunic?

With a pang he remembered the events of the day before and the resulting red stain on the sleeve of his old tunic. He had not stopped to think when he had wiped the Uruin from his skin – and now the garment was ruined. He felt relieved that Naneth had given them old clothes to wear, for Ada had cut off the sleeve before he had been allowed to strip off his tunic. Naneth had then thrown both the sleeve and the tunic into the fire.

“That stain would never have come out,” Nana had told them. “Besides, you do not want to burn yourself on the Uruin again.”

Elladan shivered at the memory. The afternoon had already been growing into evening when the pain of the Uruin had finally subsided. He and El had both been exhausted, drained of their energy from the hours of unbearable hurt. Erestor had come with bread and bowls of broth, which Naneth and Ada had spoon-fed their shaking sons.

But like all elves and elflings, the sons of Elrond and Celebrían had not needed long to recover. When Glorfindel looked in on them a mere hour later, he found the twins giggling in delight about a story from their Naneth’s childhood. They had pulled the Balrog Slayer onto the bed between them – and when the Chief of Defenses finally left the healing room, it had been with two cheering elflings on his back as he galloped away from Elrond’s admonishing shushing.

A sudden blow to his head made Elladan spin around. Behind him stood Elrohir, with a second pillow in his hand, grinning broadly. Elladan Peredhil did not need another invitation, and soon the two brothers were in the midst of a ferocious pillow fight. Their clear voices and high-pitched giggles sounded into the hallway, mixed with dull thuds as the pillows slammed home. Rapid elvish feet ran around and over the beds, nimbly jumping back to the ground and spinning as the elflings attacked and avoided each other’s blows.

In the silence of the adjacent room a silver-haired elleth smiled into her husband’s chest. “Of all the possible ways to be woken too early, this is my favourite,” she confessed. Elrond’s clear laughter filled the room while he gently pulled her body against his own, breathing deeply of her dazzling scent and relishing the beguiling warmth of her smooth skin. “Yes, meleth-nín, hearing our sons so happy is like music to my heart,” he mused into the silver-blond hair, softly kissing the nape of her neck. He touched his nose to her ear. “Although I could think of other enticing reasons for waking up early...” Celebrían gasped as his hand travelled across her skin…

O-o-O-o-O

“This morning you will be helping me clean up the apothecary,” Elrond informed his sons over breakfast.

Elladan’s face fell, but Elrohir’s face lit up. “No lessons with Erestor today?” the youngest Peredhil asked hopefully.

The Seneschal gave an amused snort while the clear baritone of Glorfindel and Celebrían’s tinkling laughter resounded through the dining room.

Elrond briefly looked down at his plate to keep his composure. “Alas, Elrohir, you will not be excused from your lessons. You and your brother did not heed my clear instructions not to touch anything. You paid for it in a way that will hopefully not ever be repeated. But this does not mean that you will be excused from your responsibilities.”

Both elflings meekly looked up at their father.

“Your lessons with Erestor have been moved to the afternoon. Your archery lessons have been cancelled.”

Elladan’s eyes grew large and he seemed to want to protest, but when Elrond raised his eyebrows, he quickly closed his mouth. Elrohir glanced from his father to his brother, weighing his chances.

“But Ada…”

“No buts, Elrohir,” the Lord of Imladris chided gently. “You and Elladan disobeyed me, and you ignored all necessary caution around a herb of which you did not yet fully know its properties and effects. I fully intend to have a word with you before the morning is over. You will both clean up after yourselves in my apothecary and you will meet with Erestor after lunch.”

Celebrían smiled as her elflings hung their heads, their cheeks turning slightly pink.

“Eat, ion nín,” she reminded them. “You will have a long morning.”

As the elflings continued to pick at their breakfast, the older elves exchanged amused glances across the table. Glorfindel grinned at Erestor, wordlessly reminding him of the impossible task to keep the twins’ attention when they would rather be outside on the archery fields.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond opened a drawer in his cabinet and pulled out three pairs of soft leather gloves. His sons were dressed in long-sleeved winter tunics and identical sturdy riding pants. They both gazed around the apothecary in obvious wonder.

“But Ada, the room is already clean!” Elladan grinned.

“No, Elladan,” Elrond contradicted. “The apprentices may have mopped up the flood of water you left on the floor here yesterday, but the herb you have been playing with was Uruin. What do you know about Uruin, ion nín?”

Elladan exchanged a puzzled glance with his brother.

“It causes red stains on elvish fabric, burns on healthy skin and it can ease the pain of burns and itches,” the Elf Lord began. “What else?”

Elrohir shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “We don’t know Ada. Will you tell us?”

Elrond handed the twins a pair of gloves each. “Uruin,” he explained, “contains a substance that remains on the surface even after the liquid of the extract has dried. It is invisible to the eye, but when touched it still causes stains, and it burns severely on healthy skin.”

He picked up his own pair of gloves and put them on.

“So what happens, my sons, if the two of you spilled some Uruin on the table and someone were to work here today?”

“They would touch it and their hands would burn,” Elrohir whispered, mortified.

Elladan winced when he thought back of the pain on his arm. He would never wish such pain on anyone!

Elrond pointed at the table where they had played with the pipets. “Can you see any Uruin on the table?”

The twins curiously edged closer. The table looked as pristine as ever.

“Put on your gloves first,” Elrond cautioned. He moved his hand across the surface of the table and showed them a barely visible, powdery substance on the tip of his finger.

“Is that Uruin?” Elladan asked.

Elrond smiled. “It could be. It may be dust. It may be some left over powder from another herb or remedy. How will we know?”

Elrohir’s face screwed up in concentration, but then it brightened. “Because your glove doesn’t turn red!” he exclaimed triumphantly. His father shook his head.

“No, Elrohir. Uruin does not cause stains on leather, nor will it do so on skin, on wood, on metal or on glass. Uruin only stains on cloth.” Elrond looked at his sons expectantly. “So how then will we know if there is Uruin on this wooden table?”

Elladan glanced around and spotted some strips of white elvish linen lying on the cabinet. He took one and carefully dabbed the linen on his father’s gloved finger. It turned bright red.

“Oh…” the twins gasped in unison.

Elrond raised his eyebrows at them. “So how do we make sure that there is no spilled Uruin left in this room?”

Elrohir picked up a strip of linen like his brother and pointed at the table. “We wipe the cloth across the table and if it turns red, there is more. If it does not, then it is gone.”

“Very good,” the Elf Lord nodded approvingly. “But how will we know that there is no Uruin in the rest of my apothecary?”

Elladan cocked his head and frowned. “El and I only played at this table, Ada. We did not take it anywhere else.”

Elrond gazed at his son. “Can you be absolutely sure that you did not spill any on the floor?”

Elladan thought back of the Uruin he had put on his arm. He realized that it was rather possible that some drops would have fallen to the ground. “Then we’ll wipe the floor around the table as well,” he offered.

Elrohir scowled. He’d rather be outside, playing in the trees.

But their Ada had not yet finished.

O-o-O-o-O

“Think hard, Elladan, Elrohir,” the Elf Lord encouraged. “Think about what the floor looked like when we left here yesterday.”

“It was wet,” Elladan murmured.

“Could the Uruin have been in the water?” Elrond asked.

Elrohir nodded slowly.

“And why is the floor no longer wet?” Elrond helped.

“Because the apprentices have mopped it up,” Elrohir replied dutifully, fumbling with his gloves.

“So where is the Uruin now?” Elrond asked patiently.

Both elflings looked up at him, stricken.

“Ada, do you mean to say that the Uruin may have been spread all over the floor?” Elladan exclaimed incredulously.

“Yes, Elladan,” the Lord of Imladris nodded. He crouched down in front of his sons and made them look into his eyes.

“When the apprentices noticed that some of their mops turned red, they immediately came to see me. Elladan, even the smallest amounts of Uruin can cause stains and burning. Although the few drops you spilled were diluted by much water, the powder can nonetheless remain behind after the liquid has dried.

“Therefore, after the floor had been mopped dry, there was still no telling if a small residue of unnoticed Uruin powder might have been left behind on the floor. What do you think this means?”

Elrohir blanched, guessing the answer.

“Someone will have to take a piece of cloth and check every square inch on the floor with greatest care,” Elrond said sternly, standing up. “An arduous task, which will take time and requires great caution so as not to get hurt by the Uruin again. Do you think I assigned this task to my apprentices, who had no hand in the spilling of the Red Fire?”

Elladan blushed while Elrohir hung his head. “No, Ada,” they mumbled docilely.

A highly uncomfortable feeling spread in the two elflings' stomachs. So this was what Ada had in mind for them this morning.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond slipped out of his robes and hung them on a peg beside his cabinet. “Come, ion nín,” he directed, taking a piece of linen in his glove. The elflings followed him to the far corner of the apothecary.

“Remember,” Elrond cautioned. “The Uruin does not stain on leather, so if you touch the floor and there is Uruin on your glove, you will not see. Do not wipe your forehead or try to wipe your hair from your face. Do not scratch your nose or touch any part of your skin with your gloves, lest the burning starts anew. If you must do so, use your sleeves.”

“But Ada,” Elladan chipped in. “If we kneel down and there is Uruin on the floor, it will stain our clothes!”

“Yes, it will,” Elrond acknowledged wryly. “Your Naneth had her reasons for dressing you in these old clothes today. Let us hope that they will remain unblemished.” He pulled out two leather bands and started to braid his sons’ hair to keep it out of the way while they worked.

“Ada?” Elrohir asked hesitantly. “What if the Uruin does stain our clothes? Will it burn us again?”

Elrond tied off his son’s braid and shook his head. “The fabric of your riding pants is of such strong material: even if it gets stained, the Uruin cannot possibly reach your skin. Your winter tunics will protect your arms. As long as the fabric of your clothes is thick enough, you will be safe.”

He smiled encouragingly and placed a warm hand on his children’s cheeks. “Remember not to touch the stains, though. But I doubt that we will find much Uruin powder today. You did not spill much extract, and most of it has already been washed away by the red-stained mops. We may be in for a very boring morning.”

The stately Elf Lord knelt down beside his sons. “However, we still have to take all necessary precautions, so that no-one can possibly get hurt.”

He looked at the four reluctant grey eyes behind him.

“We will start here. Elladan, you and I will begin to wipe the floor. Elrohir, you will keep an eye on the ground we have covered, and make sure we do not miss anything. When we reach the door, we will switch.”

O-o-O-o-O

Two hours onwards a pair of elflings sat on their knees with very chagrined looks on their faces, wiping pristine white cloths across small parts of the floor.

“You have missed a spot, Elladan,” Elrond said gently.

“Ada!” Elrohir tried hard to keep his exasperation from his voice. “If we keep working this meticulously, we will never finish the job! We are not even halfway through the room!”

“Alas, ion nín. The Uruin has been spilled and it must be cleaned away with great care. You are reaping what you have sowed,” Elrond commented calmly.

“But we have only found one tiny little bit of Uruin,” Elladan protested. He pointed at his cloth. “Look, Ada! The stain is barely larger than a pinhead!”

“If touched by an unwitting hand or bare foot, it will burn all the same,” Elrond admonished his sons. “Would you risk that an other suffer what you suffered yesterday, only because you refuse to take time to properly clean the floor?”

Two dark-haired elflings bent back over their work, carefully wiping the floor, meanwhile blushing so deeply that even their necks turned a light shade of pink.

“Goheno nin, Ada,” Elladan whispered softly.

“Forgive me, Ada,” Elrohir echoed.

O-o-O-o-O

The bells of the Last Homely House rang for lunch when another three laborious hours had passed. Elrohir looked up from where he was dabbing the floor with his father, but Elladan kept his eyes firmly locked on the ground. “Just three more inches, El,” he reminded his twin. “Ada, have you checked that spot over there?”

Elrond chuckled inwardly, wiping his cloth another time across the small patch of floor and turning the linen around to check for stains. Nothing… Elrohir carefully labored on beside him while Elladan kept a very close watch on the proceedings, both elflings not satisfied until the final corner of the floor had been thoroughly checked.

At last the three of them were relieved to be disposing of several red-stained cloths in the large central fire of the healing room. The area around the working table had ultimately contained far more Uruin than the twins had expected.

“Are we done now, Ada?” Elladan asked hopefully.

“We are,” Elrond smiled warmly. He placed his hands on his sons’ small shoulders. “Elrohir, Elladan, I am very pleased with the way you have born the consequences of your actions. You have taken responsibility to clean up after yourselves and you have not complained during these last few hours. I am proud of you.”

The subdued little elflings suddenly beamed up at him, glad to have made their father happy. Elrond winked at them and glanced at the door. “You may go to your mother to refresh yourselves for lunch.”

He did not need to say it twice!

Two wild young colts stormed from the apothecary, immensely relieved to be released from their long obligatory stay in the ‘stables’. Elrond closed his eyes and chuckled at the exuberance of his elflings. He took up a last strip of white cloth and carefully began to dab his gloves.

O-o-O-o-O

In the hallway Elladan pushed Elrohir into an alcove. “This is it!” he whispered excitedly.

“This is what?” questioned Elrohir, puzzled by his twin’s sudden outburst.

“The Prank! Glorfindel!” Elladan pressed on with glistening eyes. “Daerada is coming next week. He has left us a task, remember?”

Elrohir’s eyes sparkled in the shadow of their hiding place as he remembered the hilarious scene at their grandparents’ departure after the Spring celebrations. “When I return, I expect my grandsons to avenge me for this serious dent in my pride. I will be counting on you,” he mimicked Celeborn’s words. “I forgot! But El, you don’t want to use…?”

“Uruin,” Elladan nodded.

“No!” Elrohir protested. “I don’t want Glorfindel to get hurt!”

“He won’t get hurt at all, I have a plan!” Elladan beamed. “A very good plan. Daerada will be proud.”

He pulled his brother from the alcove and together the two elflings raced off to find their mother.

TBC

meleth nín – my love

ion nín – ‘my son’, or ‘my sons’

goheno nin – forgive me

daerada - granddad

AN: For those who asked: Uruin is pronounced: ‘Oo-roo-een’, the first syllable is stressed.

Elladan and Elrohir have an honourable task to fulfill. But what is Elladan’s plan? How will the Uruin be involved without the Golden Warrior or the elflings getting hurt? Did Celeborn oversee the possible consequences when he appointed this task to his grandsons?

Stay tuned to find out!

Esteliel

 A Prank on Glorfindel

Chapter 3 – Glorfindel

“Elladan Peredhil! Elrohir! Please remain seated!”

The Seneschal of the Last Homely House employed his greatest and very best efforts to appear authoritative. He folded his arms over his chest, made himself as tall as he could and frowned sternly, looking rather impressive as he walked forward to lecture his unruly charges.

The effect, however, was lost on the rambunctious elflings, whose backs were now turned on their teacher as they climbed onto the window sill for a better view of the court yard below.

Smiling behind their backs, understanding full well that there was not much attention left in his pupils after such a long day, the advisor put his arms around the small waists and lifted the sons of Elrond back onto the bench behind their desk.

“Erestor! I can walk!” came the indignant protest from the imp on his left.

“We have worked so hard today. May we please go outside now?” chimed in the twin on his right.

“Please?” chorused two deceivingly angelic faces.

Erestor shook his head and knelt in front of them, kindly gazing in the now disappointed, moping faces. “It is only two more pages until the end of the battle. Once you have finished reading it out to me, you may go and play until the bells ring for supper.”

He briefly raised an eyebrow. “Now don’t you scowl at me like that. You know why you are here this afternoon.”

Elladan sighed and turned on his bench to pick up a quill he had dropped. Elrohir rhythmically drummed his fingers on his ink well and kicked his feet against the leg of the desk.

Erestor patiently placed his hand on the sheet of parchment and pointed to the last word Elladan had read before. “Come, Elladan,” he coaxed, with only a hint of sternness in his voice. His eyes found Elrohir, who ceased his drumming and kicking at the admonishing look on the Seneschal’s face.

Elladan heaved another dramatic sigh and placed his elbow on his desk, dropping his head on his hand as he slowly began to read.

Glorfindel ah Eärnur aphadar i Nazgûl...

O-o-O-o-O

As soon as Glorfindel had chased the Witch-King back into Angmar and the Battle of Fornost had ended, two exuberant young Elves made a beeline for the trees behind the stables.

“Tell me your plan,” Elrohir urged his brother, climbing to a fork in the tree.

Elladan flopped down beside him, pulled a handful of berries from his pocket and happily began to eat. “I thought that Erestor would never let us go!” he grinned, holding out his hand.

“El, the plan for Glorfindel,” Elrohir reminded. “I want to know.”

Elladan’s eyes twinkled. “Not yet,” he whispered mysteriously. “Not here.” He glanced around and pointed to a clearing ahead where four archers of the Imladris Guard sat on a fallen log, enjoying a meal of fruit salad and buttered cram. The older twin put a finger on his lip and closed his eyes, fully enjoying the curious looks he knew his brother must now be sending him.

“Come on, Elladan. Tell me!” Elrohir demanded.

“Hush!” Elladan giggled, delighting in riling his twin. He rested his head against the treebark and leisurely swung his feet in the air, eyes closed.

“El, if you don’t tell me, I’ll push you out of this tree,” Elrohir threatened.

His twin slowly opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “If I tell you here, we will be overheard! Silly orc!” he teased playfully.

“Then let’s go somewhere else!” Elrohir hissed. He growled with impatience when Elladan closed his eyes again.

“Peace, Elrohir,” Elladan smiled. “Can’t you see I’m resting?”

“Yes, and I am the son of Glorfindel,” Elrohir snorted. “If you don’t come freely, I will have to make you.”

“You could try,” Elladan baited with an impish laugh. He was thrilled by the prospect of a romp with his brother.

“El!” Elrohir warned, his voice low and threatening.

Elladan knew that voice. His brother was really getting angry now. Time to change tactics. In the blink of an eye he jumped to his feet and swung himself out of the tree.

“You’ll have to catch me first!” he called over his shoulder, running away.

A loud word sounded from the tree above him as Elrohir hurried to follow his brother.

“Ada had better not hear you say that!” Elladan laughed, sprinting away through the forest.

“I will get you, El!” Elrohir shouted from behind.

They nimbly raced each other through the undergrowth between the trees. Neither was faster or slower than the other, but both twins were determined to continue the chase and see who would win. Although Elrohir wasted his breath on a litany of threats as he ran, this slight disadvantage was largely compensated by Elladan’s incessant laughs and giggles.

“Miserable troll!” Elrohir cried. “I will boil your innards when I get my hands on you!”

Elladan leapt over a set of boulders onto a well-concealed path leading uphill through a small canyon, home of one of the river Bruinen’s various tributaries. Elrohir followed on the rocky path, making use of the many curves and bends to try and head off his tease of a brother. Alas! Just when he almost got hold of his desired prey, Elladan burst from the canyon into the pine woods above and cleverly avoided being caught by zig-zagging between the numerous rocks and trees.

O-o-O-o-O

At last they reached the edge of the forest at the top of Aragond, a high rock towering over a crystal clear pool below. Here Elrohir tackled his brother and they rolled across the stoney ground, giggling and panting as they tried hard to get on top of each other.

“Tell me!” Elrohir insisted, grabbing hold of his brother’s tunic and pushing him down.

“Tell me what?” a clear, amused voice asked behind them.

The boisterous elflings sheepishly gazed upwards into the smiling face of…Glorfindel!

“Glorfindel! Are you meditating?” Elladan evaded quickly. “Did we disturb you?”

A deep, ringing laugh sounded from the Balrog Slayer’s chest.

“You did not,” the seasoned warrior replied with a warm chuckle. “In fact, I was about to come down to the house and find you both.”

“You were?” Elrohir asked eagerly. If Glorfindel came to find them after their lessons and warrior training, it usually meant that he had come up with something exciting.

The Chief of Defenses put his finger on his lip and pointed to the edge of the rock. “I have seen two peregrine falcons flying to and from the side of Aragond today. I believe they might be nesting here.”

“Really?” Elladan immediately made to peer over the ledge, but the watchful Elf Lord quickly snatched the youngster’s ankle and pulled him back.

“Elfling! Do you want to fall down?”

Elladan gazed over his shoulder with a hurt look in his eyes. “Glorfindel, you know that I am careful!”

“Yes, Elfling, but I also know your boundless curiosity – and your lack of caution when you aim to get it satisfied,” the golden one smiled. He kept a wary eye on Elrohir, who was also approaching the ledge.

“We will not fall down, Glorfindel,” Elladan promised. “May I please look?”

“If you did not want us to see it, then what did you want to come and find us for?” Elrohir quipped.

The blonde warrior bit back an amused smile and nodded his consent. “All right then, elflings. But I will be holding your feet.”

Elrohir’s face fell. Elladan frowned, crossing his arms much like Erestor had done earlier. “Are you implying that we, the sons of Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían, grandsons of Lord Celeborn of Lothlórien, would not be able to hold on to the side of a rock?” he asked indignantly. “We are Elves, Glorfindel! Not humans!”

“Have you seen how high this rock is?” Glorfindel asked calmly.

“Yes! But I have once seen Illuin diving off it. So even if we fall, the pool below is deep enough,” Elladan argued angrily.

“We won’t fall!” Elrohir huffed. “But I am not afraid to jump down into the water if I must.”

Glorfindel only raised an eyebrow at that. He motioned to the side of the rock. “Both peregrines have flown away just before you came, so if you want to look without disturbing them, now is the time. When they come back, I cannot allow you to watch anymore.”

The elflings exchanged a quick glance.

“We will watch now then,” Elladan announced. “But you needn’t hold on. We are twelve, not five! We will be fine.” He turned around and knelt on the edge of the rock with his brother, both of them purposely ignoring the Golden Warrior.

Giving extra care to place their fingers on protrusions that would easily support them, and balancing to keep most of their weight on their lower torso and legs, the brothers slowly inched forward. With meticulous precision they bent their heads and shoulders over the steep side of Aragond, both Peredhil well aware of the deep drop down to the pool, yet equally determined to show their ability to handle danger.

There, below them, on a narrow ledge in the face of the rock, lay three little reddish brown eggs.

“Glorfindel, they have eggs!” Elrohir squealed. “Come and look!” He carefully edged backwards to make some room. Elladan cautiously placed his hands a little higher on the rough surface of the rock, seeking safe support, inwardly longing to see the Balrog Slayer’s expression at this clear demonstration of competence.

Just as the two elflings safely sat back on their haunches and turned to glance at their friend, two strong arms encircled their waists. Before they knew what was happening, Glorfindel had taken a few steps backwards, and – with an elfling under each arm – jumped over the side of the rock…

O-o-O-o-O

The ear-splitting screams echoed along the side of the rock and up towards the steep walls of the canyons. Elrohir panicked when he saw the surface of the water rapidly coming closer.

“Keep your legs together!” Glorfindel bellowed.

The few years of training paid off and the elflings automatically did as they were told.

For Elladan, the horror of the falling sensation was doubled when it seemed to take forever for the plunge to come. “We are never going to hit the water! We are just going to keep falling!” he thought desperately.

Just then, with a loud crash, the cold water of the pond was all around him. Stunned, shocked and unable to move, he simply sank deeper under the surface, his heart racing madly, his entire body tingling with adrenaline. At a tug on his arm he opened his eyes to see Glorfindel, pulling him upwards and motioning for him to swim. A blurry Elrohir was already on his way up, and feeling the urgent need to breathe, Elladan spread his arms and kicked his legs to follow.

As soon as Elrohir’s face broke through the surface of the pool he let out a string of the most violent curses. He looked around for his brother and spotted him rising from the clear depths below with Glorfindel. Blind fury came over the youngest Peredhil as he swam to where Elladan and Glorfindel would surface. Before the Golden Warrior was able to take a gulp of air, Elrohir’s little fists collided full force with the warrior’s head.

“Easy, elfling!” Glorfindel spluttered, holding on to Elladan, who was completely out of breath.

But Elrohir was livid. “What was that for?!” he shrieked, lunging for the Golden One. “Let go of me! I want to hit you hard!”

Glorfindel was forced to keep Elladan above the water with one hand, while keeping Elrohir at arm’s length with the other.

“We could have died!” Elladan gasped weakly, expressing support for his brother.

“You monster! Orc-breed! Troll of Morgoth! Foul piece of dragon dung!” Elrohir shouted, beside himself with anger.

“I thought I was dying,” Elladan repeated faintly, speaking more to himself now. He clasped his hands on Glorfindel’s shoulders, too worn out to swim on his own. The warrior had his hands full with a raging Elrohir, who kept trying to swing his fists at the golden head.

Barely aware of his brother’s outrage, Elladan blearily gazed around at the dense pine woods that surrounded the pond. The location was beautiful and the isolated position of Aragond gave the area a deep silence and serenity. Some elves, such as Glorfindel, came here often to meditate or swim in peace. His eyes wandered to the top of Aragond. A large waterfall had once thundered down here, carving the depths of the pool.

Elladan’s stomach knotted as he realized the sheer height of massive rock rising up above the deep, clear water. Far above, where Aragond brushed the sky, the peregrine couple was flying around the ledge. It made him feel minute and small. To think that only moments earlier, he had come falling down from up high…

Suddenly his body started shaking vehemently and he broke down in uncontrollable tears.

“Elrohir, stop!” Glorfindel commanded. He turned around to take Elladan in his arms, but a crunching blow against his head momentarily halted him. He wrapped one arm around Elladan’s waist and lifted the sobbing youngster slightly out of the water. Then he rounded on Elrohir, who had shocked himself by kicking Glorfindel against the back of his head.

“Elfling!” he bellowed.

The youngest Peredhil, already approaching for a new attack when he saw that the warrior had not been harmed, was abruptly shocked into calmness. The narrow, grey eyes widened with worry when he noticed his brother’s distress.

“El!”, he cried with a jolt. Elrohir swam forward and wrapped an arm around his weeping twin. “I am with you, El,” he panted, treading water and trying to hold on without causing Glorfindel and his brother to sink below the surface. Elladan’s shaking hand clasped Elrohir’s tightly while he blubbered on Glorfindel’s shoulder.

“You are okay, elfling,” Glorfindel soothed. “You only had a big scare, that is all. It will pass.”

Elrohir shot him a murderous glare, but then kept his focus on Elladan.

Lulled by the gentle love from his brother and trainer, the young Elf gradually calmed down and regained his senses. Blushing fiercely despite the cold of the water, he lifted his head from Glorfindel’s shoulder and glared into the smiling warrior’s eyes.

“You can let me go now,” he bristled, his earlier confusion giving way to vexation. He slapped at the warrior’s hands and squirmed to be let free.

Seeing that the youngster was faring far better now, the Balrog Slayer loosened his grip. Elladan slid back into the water and swam several feet away from the warrior, his eyes betraying anger.

“Easy now, elflings,” Glorfindel advised. “We had better swim to the bank. Come.”

O-o-O-o-O

The sons of Elrond obeyed without question. Side by side they swam to the rocky shore, tired after all the exertion. Stripping off their sopping clothes and boots, they sat down on a large flat rock in the late afternoon sun to dry.

“Glorfindel! You jumped!” Elladan suddenly exclaimed, no longer able to contain his fury. The stunning numbness he had felt after the jump had lifted, and realization of what had happened was finally sinking in. He turned to face the older Elf, his mouth wide open in horror.

“You actually jumped!” he shrieked. “With us! You plunged us down that rock into the pool! Have you no idea how high it is?!”

The clear, ringing laughter of the Balrog Slayer resounded across the water.

“Yes, elfling, I jumped,” he smiled. “I was under the impression that you needed a taste of the danger you wanted to defy so offhandedly.”

Elladan opened his mouth to swear, but he closed it again. He looked at Glorfindel incredulously.

“For punishment?” he asked, shocked.

“Rather consider it a valuable lesson,” the Chief of Defenses replied seriously. “One day you will be chasing orcs and other vermin through the Misty Mountains, young one. When you find yourself on a ledge like Aragond, I want you to appreciate the distance you could fall should you lose your grip.”

Elladan swallowed and slowly repressed all the curses he had been about to hurl at the Elf Lord. He turned to Elrohir, but his brother sat with his face away from them.

“El?” he asked hesitantly. Elrohir was crying.

Elladan made to sit down beside his twin, but Elrohir shrugged him off and walked a few yards into the woods. The older elfling glanced at Glorfindel for help when his brother sat down behind a tree and hugged his knees, whimpering.

The warrior gazed at his young charges and waited for a moment to see what would happen.

“Elrohir? What is it, elfling?” he then asked kindly, walking over to the trees and squatting beside the doleful child.

Elrohir hid his face in his arms and began to sob hysterically. The warrior placed his large hand on the youngster’s head and gently pulled him into an embrace. “Come here, little one. Why are you crying?” Glorfindel comforted.

A choked whisper in his ear was followed by an incomprehensible wail and Elrohir wrapped his arms around the Balrog Slayer’s neck like a vice.

“…hit you…so sorry…” the warrior managed to make out between the hiccups and desperate sobs.

Nodding in understanding, Glorfindel gently placed his fingers in the elfling’s neck, shoving aside the damp strands of hair, and rubbed soothingly.

“You had a big scare, elfling,” he consoled. “It is not uncommon for Elves and Men to react with fury after sudden exposure to a life-threatening situation. It is quite normal that you got angry, tithen pen.”

“But I hit you...” Elrohir choked. “I punched you…I kicked your head!”

“That you did, elfling,” Glorfindel smiled kindly. “You briefly lost control of yourself, my little warrior. Now, what are the rules for a warrior who loses control?”

Elrohir lifted his tearful face from Glorfindel’s shoulder and glanced up into the loving eyes of his trainer. “Early morning exercise…” he whispered guiltily.

“Indeed,” Glorfindel nodded, wiping the tears from Elrohir’s face with his thumb. “I believe that a week of morning training is just what you need, young Elrondion. You will come to the training fields before sunrise, and we will make you run with the warriors.”

Relief appeared in Elrohir’s grey eyes. “Hannon le,” he whispered gratefully. “Thank you, Glorfindel. Forgive me.”

“Of course I forgive you,” Glorfindel smiled. “Now come, let’s sit with your brother in the warm sunlight and get dry.”

O-o-O-o-O

The Seneschal of the Last Homely House frowned in dismay when three bedraggled Elves appeared in the hallway just before the meal was served.

“We’re sorry, Erestor,” Elladan muttered sincerely. “We wanted to get dry first, but the bells rang for supper. We came as fast as we could.”

“I can see that,” Erestor scowled, glancing from the mud under the elflings’ boots to the trail in the hall. “You ran so fast you did not even watch your steps. Where have you been?”

The Seneschal glared at the highly amused warrior behind the twins, certain that the irritating blonde had something to do with it.

“In the valley of Aragond,” Glorfindel grinned. “ I took Elrohir and Elladan swimming.”

Erestor rolled his eyes. “I suppose you had lost your concept of time then, my Lord Elf? Swimming? An hour before supper?” he chided sarcastically. He pointed a slender finger at the puddles of water on the polished floor. “And fully clothed? I know you, Glorfindel! Am I wrong to suspect that you had no intention whatsoever to take the elflings into the water, but that something made you decide to…how shall I say it…throw them in?”

The bark of laughter from the Chief of Defenses drew Elrond and Celebrían from the dining room. The twins were escorted to the bathing room to wash and change, while Glorfindel rushed to his own quarters and Erestor covered the steaming dishes on the table to keep them warm.

A few hours later, two tired but satisfied elflings kissed their parents good night. Downstairs, in Erestor’s room, Glorfindel stretched before the fire and his ringing laughter was joined by the Seneschal’s softer chuckles as he related the Tale of the Plunge.

Elrond closed the door of the elflings’ bedroom and gently pulled Celebrían into his arms. “I had hoped that our children would not brave the leap off Aragond for another few decades,” he confessed in a whisper, still slightly aghast. The beautiful elleth wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist and kissed him tenderly. “I do not think it harmed them,” she smiled. “Our sons have apologized for their reckless and disrespectful behaviour on Aragond, and I believe they truly meant it. Elrohir will be going to early morning training for a week and Elladan seems to have lost that recent wisp of arrogance we had been seeing. I confess that I secretly approve.”

Elrond closed his eyes and smiled into his lover’s hair. “Do you think I should speak with Glorfindel?” he asked softly, cupping her behind with his hands. Celebrían’s tinkling laughter encouraged him to further his advances. “I will bake him a large pile of raspberry biscuits,” she whispered back. “His favourite. He will understand.”

As they slowly made their way back to the family sitting room, the youngest Peredhil lay listening until their footsteps had died away. His sharp elvish ears picked up the soft giggles on the landing, the hush of his father’s robes on the higher steps and the sound of his mother’s ring on the banisters. The slightly louder tone of conversation when his parents had reached the lower floor drifted up to him, soon muffled when the door of the sitting room closed. Now he was certain that no-one would hear him.

With one giant leap he pounced on Elladan and pressed him down on the bed.

“TELL me your plan, brother! NOW!”

TBC

Translations:

Glorfindel ah Eärnur aphadar i Nazgûl... – Glorfindel and Eärnur follow the Ringwraith...

cram – a cake of compressed flour or meal (often containing honey or milk)

tithen pen – little one

Elrondion -- son of Elrond

hannon le -- thank you

Author’s Note:

Aragond is another one of my hobbyist Sindarin constructions. I made it up myself, but it is supposed to mean ‘high rock’.

Illuin is the commander in charge of the perimeter defenses of the Valley of Rivendell, borrowed with permission from Ithil-valon’s ‘Healing Hope’ and ‘Elladan’s Trials For Estel’.

Esteliel

A Prank on Glorfindel

Chapter 4 – The Plan

The Eastern sky grew pale amidst the deep, blackness of night, when two little elflings silently slipped down the large, marble steps outside the doors of the Last Homely House. Erestor, still in his morning gown, sleepily closed the door behind them and tiptoed back into his room, snuggling in the warm embrace of his bed for at least another peaceful hour of sleep.

Today marked the long expected arrival of the Lord Celeborn of Lórien, father of the Lady Celebrían and grandfather of the twins. The Seneschal had planned and prepared the reception of this most honourable guest in detail. The largest guest room in the family quarters was awaiting the Sindar with the finest bedsheets and towels. The furniture, the books on the shelves, the wines and the decanters, yes, even the decorations in the room were precisely fitted to match the respected Elf Lord’s taste.

A list of Lord Celeborn’s favourite foods had been passed to the kitchen staff weeks ago. All the ingredients had been acquired in advance and were stored with greatest care to secure that the exquisite flavours were maintained. The Elf Lord’s most favourite vegetables and fruits, which remained in the kitchen garden for freshness’ sake, were guarded by hithlain nets and, at the Seneschal’s insistance, even by Elven sentries, to guarantee that neither deer, slug, sparrow or coney, nor – the Seneschal thought grimly – a pair of elflings and their blonde companion in mischief, would have a chance of ruining the feast for the Lord of Lothlórien.

Erestor pulled his blankets up to his chin and relaxed, allowing his eyes to gradually glaze over. Everything was taken care of this time. Nothing could possibly go wrong…

O-o-O-o-O

“This is the day,” Elladan whispered excitedly as he walked on the dark path towards the stables with his brother. His gloved hand slipped into his pocket and he pulled out the small bottle of Uruin extract they had pilfered from their father’s apothecary.

“Not yet!” Elrohir warned, glancing around. “The night sentries may be watching.”

The bottle returned to its warm nest in the fold of Elladan’s tunic, where it peacefully bobbed up and down as the elflings ran to the thatched building in the back of the valley. As quietly as they could they opened the door and sneaked inside.

“Elladan? Is that you, my young Lord?” the stable master’s voice came from the far corner.

The sons of Elrond nearly jumped out of their skins!

“Yes, Laedros, it is me and my brother,” Elladan replied, attempting to regain his composure and inwardly damning the quiver in his voice.

“Come and see, little Masters. Moonlight of Eregion has foaled this night,” came the soft, singing voice of the groom.

Momentarily forgetting their mission, the elflings rushed along the central aisle of the stables to the back.

“Easy now, young ones, you do not wish to startle them,” the voice of Laedros chanted calmly.

By the flickering light of the oil lamp the twins stared open-mouthed at the black-haired foal, standing on wobbly legs beside its beautiful, pearly white mother.

“Aw…” Elrohir gasped, enthralled as the newborn blinked in wonder at the appearance of the nightly newcomers.

Moonlight of Eregion briefly gazed at the elflings and then calmly nuzzled her little one, breathing warm air from her nostrils and inhaling her offspring’s sweet scent. The mare knew that the elves posed no threat and she sensed the genuine love and delight for her foal from these small ones.

Tearing his eyes from the endearing scene before him, Elladan nudged his twin.

“My brother will return to spend time with the foal later in the day,” he articulated, raising an eyebrow at his enamoured accomplice.

‘We must not forget why we are here!’ he conveyed with a nod of his head.

“Ai, Master Elrohir,” the stable master chuckled. “I see you are dressed for morning training with the warriors? How many days until the end of your sentence?”

Elrohir blushed so that even the tips of his ears turned pink.

“Only today and tomorrow,” he mumbled, studying his toes.

“I should say that, despite your discomfort, I have profited well from Lord Glorfindel’s decree,” Laedros spoke kindly, placing one of his large hands on Elrohir’s head. “Understand, Master Elrohir: It was all to my benefit when your brother decided he would not be left behind in the house when his twin went running about the valley. I am glad that he decided to lend a hand in the stables while his twin is completing his early morning training.”

Elrohir’s blush deepened considerably and Elladan fumbled with the laces on his boots, avoiding eye-contact.

“You are much like your father, young Elrondion,” Laedros directed at Elladan, nodding approvingly while he stroked the elfling’s cheek. “Your Adar is wise and noble as an Elf Lord could be, and yet humble and caring of heart, never above getting his hands dirty to help out a simple stable master. When we first came to Imladris, your father was worn and troubled by the care for the wounded Elves and by the burden of leading the train of refugees. Still, in the dead of the night he would appear in the pen, asking me to describe the condition of the horses. I do not believe your Adar slept much in those days, young Masters. I will not forget seeing him on his knees in the straw, tending to the horses’ wounds and speaking soft words to guide them to peace.

“Months later, when a wildfire raged through the forest surrounding the shelters we had built, your father was there in his night robes, beating at the flames and dragging water with all the other elves, even as he lead the offence against the raging blaze. I have seen your father plowing through the mud when torrential rains threatened to break a dam and flood our vegetable patches by the river. We had all but lost the Siege that day...”

The stable master’s eyes obtained a distant expression as he remembered the first years in Imladris, when Sauron’s armies had besieged the valley. Those had been dark and desperate years, but the community of homeless Elves had grown very close as they battled the continuous onslaught of the orcs and struggled to survive in the hidden dale.

“Even after centuries had passed and all was long back at peace, your father would still occasionally venture into the stables. While he questioned me about the fillies and colts and the training of the yearlings, he would hang his robes on the peg beside the door and take up a dung-fork, working beside me in companionable peace.

“So you see, you are much like your father, young Master Elladan,” Laedros finished his tale. “I have been pleased to have you here in the stables with me.”

It was Elladan’s turn to blush fiercely now. He nervously plucked at his tunic.

As fascinating as this tale about his father was, the praise for himself was, to say the least, highly undeserved. Ever since Elrohir had begun his week of early morning training, Elladan had risen with his brother and helped the grooms. He had mucked out the stalls, hauled buckets of fresh water for Moonlight of Eregion, and he had even scrubbed the water channels from the brook to the stables. He had brushed and combed horses, braided manes, cleared out hooves and he had dutifully helped Laedros to tack up the warriors’ mounts.

But it had all been part of the plan…

When Elladan had told his twin of the prank he had designed for Glorfindel, the brothers had soon concluded that there was one minor flaw in their scheme: How were they to get access to Glorfindel’s saddle before the warrior would mount it, but after the grooms had tacked up the horse?

They could not risk any of the grooms getting hurt by the Uruin…

Eventually they had come up with a brilliant strategy: Elladan would insist on making himself useful while Elrohir went running. He would go to the stables to help out, and by the end of the week, no-one would think it fishy if he ventured near Glorfindel’s tack.

Elladan guiltily glanced up into the stable master’s kind eyes. Deep in his heart he made a vow to return to the stables, even after Elrohir’s sentence was over and the prank was long behind them. Laedros deserved more. He silently decided to help Laedros more often in the coming times. He would gladly rise earlier and skip his breakfast with his parents to spend some time with the soft-spoken stable master.

The foal stumbled towards its mother and hesitantly began to drink. Laedros got to his feet and smiled at the elflings, who were one again entranced by the endearing scene before them.

“Well, young Masters,” he sang, “the three of us had better leave these two some time to themselves. I have not been able to sleep this night, but I will at least be off to eat, wash myself and put on a clean tunic. Remember, today will be a big day for us all when your Daeradar arrives with his warriors!”

He nimbly leapt over the trough and waved his goodbye. “Good luck with your training, young Master Elrohir. Master Elladan, I will return as soon as I can.”

O-o-O-o-O

Elrohir glanced out of the small stable window, where a soft greyish light was beginning to chase away the dark.

“I haven’t much time,” he whispered. “Glorfindel will be awaiting me.”

“Then you must go,” Elladan agreed hastily. “No need to alert him that you might have been delayed. He may want to know why. You know Glorfindel…”

Elrohir rolled his eyes and grabbed his brother’s arm.

“Be careful, Elladan. Make sure you don’t get burned.”

“I will,” Elladan promised.

“Don’t make any stains on your tunic, or we will be discovered.”

“I won’t,” Elladan assured.

“And El?”

“What?”

“Only on the top of the saddle…at the back!”

“Yes, Elrohir! Now go!” Elladan hissed. “Don’t cross Glorfindel during your training. Ask him to tell you about his chase of the dragon near the end of the morning exercise. Don’t get too enthusiastic, for if Glorfindel thinks you no longer pay attention to your workout, he won’t continue his tale. Keep asking him for details after he sends the warriors off on their duty and make sure to play ‘the curious elfling tagging along’ convincingly. You must be with him when he goes to the barracks.”

Elrohir glared. “I know, Elladan! It was I who came up with this part of the plan, remember?”

Elladan carefully opened the door of the stables and glanced around. “The coast is clear,” he whispered. “Now go!”

Elrohir slipped through the crack into the dark, grey light of approaching morning.

“El?”

“What, Elladan?”

“Make sure that he puts on his gloves, or there will be hell to pay for both of us!”

O-o-O-o-O

Heaving a deep sigh and stretching his aching back, Elladan put aside the dung-fork and grabbed the broom. After preparing the empty stalls with fresh straw, fresh hay and clean water for the arrival of the Lothlórien horses, he was almost finished mucking out the rest of the stables.

He glanced out of the window.

The sun’s pink-golden light was shining on the leaves of the trees. It would not be long before the warriors would complete their training. Hoping that his brother was doing well, he quickly swept the central aisle of the stables, removing any stray straws and sprigs of hay to make it look orderly and clean.

His ears were perked for the sounds of the grooms in the tack room. Most of the warriors’ horses were saddled and patiently awaiting their riders. But Eirien Malloth, Glorfindel’s magnificent mare, was still in her stall, her ears twitching much like Elladan’s, eager to be out with the other horses.

Placing the broom back where it belonged, Elladan quickly brushed the bits of straw off his tunic and trousers and rebraided his hair to look presentable. His heart beat loudly in his throat and his stomach was fervently making backflips. Everything depended on this one single question. If Laedros said no…

Taking a steadying breath and forcing down his nerves, Elladan ventured into the large tack room, where several horses were standing beside each other, waiting for the elven grooms to saddle them.

Elladan slipped between two horses and handed Laedros the leather thong he would be fastening next. The stable master softly spoke to the horse and gently tugged on the strap. Unwilling to be wearing a saddle this early in the morning, the horse breathed in deeply and expanded its chest as much as it could, making the strap too short to be fitted.

Elladan smiled and expertly pressed his little fingers into the horse’s hairy belly, tickling the drowsy mount. The chestnut stallion snorted and relaxed, which was the cue for Laedros to pull the strap and fasten the mithril clasp.

The stallion turned his large head around and nuzzled Elladan affectionately, begging for a treat. Giggling, Elladan reached out to caress the equine behind the ears.

“I will bring you a carrot after your duty,” he promised.

The chestnut gave Elladan a gentle shove and looked up at Laedros, who chortled.

“No, my sweet one. You will not have a treat from me either. You will await your turn, as will the others.”

Elladan glanced up at the groom.

“Laedros? May I go and saddle Eirien Malloth in her ceremonial tack? Glorfindel will be meeting Daerada and the delegation from Lothlórien at the Ford of Bruinen this afternoon. I would like to make Eirien look extra beautiful today, in honour of my grandfather and as a surprise for Glorfindel.”

The young Peredhil tried hard not to blush at this little white lie. There would be a surprise for Glorfindel all right, and the surprise was very much in honour of his grandfather. But Elladan suddenly hated to deceive Laedros in this way. The young Elf decided to make Eirien look extra beautiful indeed, just to make the lie a little more truthful.

Laedros lovingly smiled down at the eager elfling’s face. “That is very attentive of you, Master Elladan. I am certain that Lord Glorfindel and your Daeradar will approve. Need you any help carrying the ceremonial tack and saddle?”

Elladan’s brain flashed forward, imagining Laedros carrying the heavy horse gear for him and then offering to help with the saddling of Eirien.

“No, thank you, Master Laedros,” he politely declined, skipping towards the door. “I would like to do it all by myself.”

Chuckling at the elfling’s willingness to please, the stable master continued his work with the warhorses.

O-o-O-o-O

Outside the door, Elladan could not believe his luck. He forced himself to keep his face straight, lest one of the grooms would notice his delight and find it suspicious, but inwardly his chest was just exploding with excitement.

“Hello Eirien Malloth,” he greeted when he approached her stall with a third of the tack. The ceremonial tack was so elaborate that he had to walk thrice to fetch it all.

The stately mare curiously snuffled at the decorations in Elladan’s hands.

“For you,” Elladan sang in a perfect imitation of Laedros’ voice. “We will make you look beautiful today, sweet lady of the flower house.”

Eirien’s ears moved forward, intrigued by the love and praise that were heaped on her. She gently lowered her nose to the top of Elladan’s head and inhaled his scent. Oh, but this was the one who had spent several hours brushing her fur and braiding her manes the other day! She liked this small one! He was not Glorfindel, and he was certainly not Laedros, but she loved those gentle, little hands!

Bending one of her hind legs, she relaxed and allowed the ministrations of the little Elf. She loved being dressed up in her ceremonial tack. It always made the Firstborn look at her with even more respect than usual.

Elladan kept singing to the delighted mare while he climbed around on the wooden cross beams to put all of the head gear and the long, embroidered caparison in place. He carefully placed the small, thin leather saddle on Eirien’s back, and briefly thought of the bottle in his pocket.

No, not yet. He still had too many straps to secure. He might stain his clothing, and then the scheme would be discovered.

Eirien had no qualms about letting the elfling fasten her saddle’s girth. She was going for a ride with Glorfindel, she was certain of that. And it would not be the impressive Elf Lord alone who would be gaining all the Elves’ attention, as she knew from experience. The Golden One was often showered with praise for the magnificent horse he rode, and today would be another one of those highly enjoyable days, she sensed.

“Hold very still now, Daisy,” Elladan whispered. He was mounted on top of a high cross beam beside her and gently patted her neck. He had put his leather gloves back on and lifted the bottle of Uruin from his pocket.

“Only at the back,” Elrohir had argued the previous day.

Initially the brothers had meant to cover all the leather of the saddle with Uruin. The thick, white fabric of Glorfindel’s riding pants, which he wore with his ceremonial robes, would protect him easily. But, Elladan thought with twinkling eyes, it would not protect him from displaying a very red behind to the Riders of Lórien.

“When I return, I expect my grandsons to avenge me for this serious dent in my pride. I will be counting on you,” Daerada had said.

At the end of their grandparents’ last visit, Glorfindel and Daerada had bantered over the evening wine about the ‘most regal and impressive way to mount a horse’. They had continued their debate on the morning of departure, and intending to impress not just Glorfindel, but all the other Imladris Elves as well, Celeborn had gracefully demonstrated his most elegant and authoritative leap into the saddle.

However, aided by a simple, perforated waterskin, conveniently hidden underneath the long silk cover hanging over Celeborn’s saddle, the clever and prankish Balrog Slayer had made the landing far from ‘regal’.

Daerada had looked like an elfling who had forgotten to go!

Elladan smirked at the memory. He, Glorfindel and Elrohir had laughed themselves to tears. Naneth had turned all pink, Ada had fallen prey to a severe coughing attack and Erestor’s hands had hung limpy by his side, his mouth and eyes wide open.

Galadriel’s deep laughter had sounded across the court yard. She had smiled an enigmatic smile at her husband and with a loving tilt of her head and twinkling eyes had urged Lord Celeborn to return to the guest chambers.

Only after the Lord of Lothlórien had dismounted had Erestor come out of his stupor and rushed forward, pulling off his robe to drape it around the Sindar’s waist.

Elladan chuckled. Daerada had been far from happy. He had not been hurt physically, but he had heard the Imladris Guard chuckling under their breath. For an Elf of over 6,000 years, Daerada’s ears were still as sharp as ever and he had scowled in a most dangerous way at any warrior who dared as much as look at him.

While Celeborn had been changing, Elrohir had softly voiced his concern that there would be a rift between the Balrog Slayer and his grandfather now, but Galadriel had laughed it away. “Your Daerada is merely reaping what he has sown,” she had crooned. “A little water to cool off his sizable ego will not hurt him.”

The elflings had watched with interest how the adults had exchanged secret looks of approval. Even Ada had laughed in Naneth’s embrace, and Erestor, after returning from the house with a regal Elf Lord in dry leggings, had been biting the inside of his lip.

Daerada had spared them a fleeting glance and had motioned for his grandsons to follow him aside.

“The House of Celeborn of Doriath will not stand for this,” he had announced with gravely wounded pride. The elflings had seen the mischievous smile playing in their grandfather’s eyes, but then his tone had become very serious. In whispered tones he had reminded them of their fealty to their ancestor’s line and entrusted them with the task of his revenge.

Ada had raised a questioning eyebrow upon their return, reacting to the fleeting smug expression on Lord Celeborn’s face, which his grandsons failed to see. But then it had been time for goodbyes, and Ada’s frown had been forgotten.

Elladan carefully pulled the stopper from the bottle.

“Only on the back of the saddle,” he whispered, dripping the Uruin onto the leather and rubbing it across the area where Glorfindel’s backside would later be.

Elrohir had objected to spreading the Uruin over all the leather parts of the saddle, as Elladan had originally intended. “If his clothing stains red in the front, he will notice too soon,” Elrohir had thrown in. “It is a long way to the Ford of Bruinen. He must not notice until he meets with Daerada and his warriors, lest he turns back and changes his clothes!”

Elladan had agreed, though reluctantly. He had to admit that this prank was too risky, and there was too much at stake – his grandfather’s honour! – to take a chance of early discovery. Glorfindel’s red backside would immediately give away the culprits, for Ada had not yet forgotten the incident with the Uruin. But whatever punishment Ada would mete out: the brothers were determined to bear it with stoic pride. “For Daerada,” they had agreed. Yet they would not have that sacrifice be for nothing!

Unaware of the elfling’s scheme to prank her master, Eirien munched on a bit of hay. Gazing down at the pristine saddle, the elfling waited until the Uruin on its surface had dried. Never leaving stains on leather, the Uruin extract seemed to disappear without a trace. But Elladan knew better. The powdery substance would still be there, nearly invisible, even to the eyes of elves.

Carefully taking off his gloves and pushing them into an old, leather bag he had pilfered from the tack room for this purpose, making sure they were securely inside before he diverted his attention, Elladan finished his precarious job and jumped down to the ground. He could hear the warriors coming back from their morning training. They would wash themselves, change into their uniforms and then begin their duty.

The horses, all awaiting their arrival, grew restless.

Eirien perked her ears for the first sound of Glorfindel’s voice.

“El, make sure he wears his gloves,” Elladan whispered inwardly. He stayed with Eirien a little longer, patting her soft fur as he waited for the sounds of the warriors to disappear into the barracks. Then he got to his feet and walked to the back of the stables.

It was time for the next step of the plan…

Lord Celeborn was in for a very special surprise!

TBC

Translations:

hithlain – mist-thread (a substance used by the Elves of Lothlórien to make strong ropes)

Elrondion – son of Elrond

adar – father

daerada – granddad

Peredhil – Half-elven (technically plural: ‘Half-Elves’. I am using it as a ‘surname’ or title.)

naneth – mother

AN: The name of Glorfindel’s mare, Eirien Malloth, is partly real Sindarin (‘Eirien’, which means ‘daisy’) and partly my amateur Sindarin (‘Malloth’, which I have derived from ‘mall’ meaning gold and ‘loth’ meaning flower)

So the name of the horse is ‘Daisy Golden Flower’, a name I thought fitting for Glorfindel’s mount.

This chapter is dedicated to my copper-haired sister. Never fear, elfling, I will always love you. Ae ú-esteliach nad, estelio han, estelio veleth. Esteliel

A Prank on Glorfindel

Chapter 5 – Tears and Dragons

Birds sang cheerfully in the bright morning sun as Elrohir skipped ahead of Glorfindel towards the barracks.

“And then, Glorfindel?” he asked excitedly. “Did Maedhros manage to unite the Elves?”

“He almost did,” Glorfindel smiled. “Most of the Noldor believed in his plans. Morgoth had to be vanquished. The strength of Morgoth lay in dividing the Elves and his evil was spreading through our lands. Nearly all the Elves joined in what was known as the Union of Maedhros. A great number of Men joined us, too.”

“But King Thingol did not come, did he?” Elrohir asked, jumping up the steps to the barracks.

“No, Thingol was not fond of Maedhros,” Glorfindel agreed. “But he did send Beleg and Mablung.”

“And the Elves of Nargothrond wanted to remain hidden,” Elrohir prompted.

“They did,” Glorfindel nodded. “Although Gwindor did come with his men.”

“But King Turgon did not remain hidden!” Elrohir exclaimed proudly, holding open the door for his friend.

Glorfindel had been one of the captains of Gondolin’s army. Together with Ecthelion and Turgon he had led the host of the Gondolindrim onto the plains of Anfauglith, where three great hosts of Elves and Elf-Friends assailed Angband, the stronghold of Morgoth.

Glorfindel closed his eyes at the memory of the great defeat. ‘The Battle of Unnumbered Tears’ it had later been called. The Elves had been deceived. Spies of Morgoth had infiltrated the hosts of Maedhros. By deceit and cunning the Three Hosts of the Eldar had been driven apart.

“Maedhros was late, and Fingon was provoked,” Elrohir chirupped, helpfully unlacing Glorfindel’s boots as the warrior sank down on a chair. “But Turgon was great. He came with an army ten thousand strong, and they had bright mail shining in the sun and long swords! And their spears were like a forest! As far as you could see!”

Glorfindel smiled down on the elfling, who chattered in delight about his heroic concept of the infamous Fifth Battle. The truth, however, had been far from that.

Provoked by the brutal murder of his brother before his eyes, Gwindor had rushed into battle. Fingon, leader of one of the Three Hosts of the Eldar, had sounded his trumpets for the charge and broken the line of defense of the Noldor. The armies of Hithlum had swiftly smitten down the armies of Morgoth and bravely fought their way even to the Gates of Angband. But they had been trapped.

By many secret doors in Thangorodrim, Morgoth had sent forth his main army, which he had kept hidden. Gwindor’s warriors were all slain and Fingon had been forced to retreat.

“Then Turgon came to the aid of his brother Fingon,” Elrohir announced. “The ranks of the Gondolindrim shone like a river of steel in the sun, breaking through the lines of the Orcs. Turgon hewed his way to the side of his brother, and hope was rekindled in the hearts of the Elves.”

Glorfindel chuckled when he recognized Erestor’s prose in Elrohir’s words. The young one had obviously paid attention to his lessons.

“Oh yes, elfling, our hope was renewed,” he remembered, getting to his feet and pulling off his tunic. “And it was kindled even more when silver trumpets rang through the air and greeted us in the morning. The Host of Maedhros had finally arrived. The Three Hosts of the Eldar were together at last.”

“But then,” Elrohir said pointedly, “the dragons came.”

‘Ah!’ Glorfindel thought. Now they were coming to the crux of the matter. Dragons. An all-time elfling favourite, it seemed.

“Tell me how you slew the dragon, Glorfindel. Please?” Elrohir pleaded.

Glorfindel looked into the eager eyes of the youngster and chuckled.

“What if I tell you and Elladan tonight?” he offered, slipping off his leggings and stepping into the shower. “You have to return to the House and refresh yourself, elfling.”

Elrohir’s eyes grew large, a mild sensation of panic rising in his stomach.

“But I want to hear it now!” he pleaded. “Will you please tell me now? Daerada will arrive before dinner, so he will be telling the fire side stories this evening.”

Glorfindel pulled the iron string and enjoyed the cool water, channeled to the barracks from the waterfalls, raining down on him.

He glanced at the elfling.

“Would you like to take a warrior’s shower then”? he inquired.

“Oh yes!” Elrohir beamed. He hurriedly pulled off his boots, tunic, breeches and underthings and slipped into the shower beside Glorfindel.

“Ai! Edhring!” the elfling exclaimed. As an Elf, the near freezing waters from the mountains did not harm him. But his senses were keener than a Mortal’s and he certainly noticed the difference between the soothing hot waters of his evening bath, and this.

“Here,” the warrior chuckled, pouring a liberal quantity of calendula shampoo on the elfling’s black hair. He continued washing his own hair while the young Peredhil carefully copied his every move.

“The dragon, Glorfindel,” Elrohir reminded, after the warrior had rinsed both the golden and raven tresses.

Glorfindel grinned and began: “When the host of Maedhros came upon the Orcs and the Three Hosts of the Eldar united, the enemy forces were stayed. The masses of Orcs turned to flee and victory was almost in our hands. But Morgoth the Enemy set loose his final trump. We were assailed by wargs and warg-riders, Balrogs and dragons.”

“And Glaurung!” Elrohir chirped over the noise of the falling water.

‘And Glaurung,’ Glorfindel thought, remembering the death and terror spread by the evil Great Worm, Father of all Dragons, first of Morgoth’s scaly, dangerous creations.

“The vile creatures of Morgoth came between the armies of Maedhros and Fingon and forced them apart. Aided by the Dwarves, Maedhros and his brothers withstood the onslaught, but they were assailed from within their own ranks.”

“The Dwarves wore special masks, did they not?” Elrohir inquired.

Glorfindel reached for a bottle of rosemary oil and offered it to his young charge.

“They did,” he nodded. “They always wore horrendous great masks when they went into battle. It protected them from the heat of the Dragon Fire. Azaghâl the Dwarf Lord valiantly drove a knife in the belly of Glaurung, wounding him deeply.”

“And then Glaurung fled from the field!” Elrohir exclaimed, rubbing the oil in his skin with the same even movements as the Elf Lord. “And all the other beasts of Morgoth followed him, leaving the Noldor in peace.”

“And therefore it was but for the courage and skill of the Dwarves that the Noldor survived,” Glorfindel nodded.

“But you slew a dragon,” Elrohir chirped, with awe in his eyes.

“Not one as large and dangerous as Glaurung,” Glorfindel replied quietly, reaching for a towel and stepping from the shower.

The dragon had killed and burned many Elves in its path as it had walked towards Turgon. At times, in his dreams, their agonized screams still echoed in his ears. He had abandoned his horse, for in the face of such terror the valiant animal had been unable to press forward. Shouting orders to his second-in-command, he had run to the side of the brutal beast. Ecthelion’s left wing had challenged the young worm, assailing it with arrows and hewing at its feet.

“When Ecthelion’s Elves drew the attention of the dragon away from my King, I slipped between its feet and drove my sword in its belly,” Glorfindel murmured, lost in his thoughts.

“That was so brave of you!” Elrohir gasped, poking his head out of the shower. He quickly pulled the second string to stop the flow of the water and ran to his friend.

“Glorfindel, you could have been killed!”

The thoughtful warrior gazed at the dripping wet elfling, standing before him as naked as a newborn.

“I meant to protect my King,” he whispered hoarsely, forcing himself from his stupor and rising to walk to the closet. He fetched another towel and wrapped it around Elrohir.

“Turgon was the father of Idril, who was the mother of Eärendil, your grandfather,” he reminded, rubbing the young Peredhil until his skin was glowing. “I could not let Gondolin fall.”

Elrohir gazed at him as silent tears trickled from Glorfindel’s eyes.

“Thank you, Glorfindel, for protecting my family and our people,” the grandson of Eärendil whispered, overcome by emotion. He wrapped his little arms tightly around the warrior’s neck and for a moment he considered warning Glorfindel of their prank.

“You are very welcome, little one,” Glorfindel whispered back, wrapping his strong arms around the elfling, nuzzling the wet hair. “I would not have missed you, or your brother…or your father,” he added with a loving smile, “for all the gold and mithril in Arda.”

Elrohir planted a long, loud kiss on the warrior’s cheek and pressed himself firmly against the strong, broad body.

“I am glad you are with us, Glorfindel,” he sighed, content when the hug was returned. But suddenly ten strong, playful fingers tickled his sides, and with a loud shriek Elrohir tried to launch himself back to the floor.

“So am I, elfling. But now it is time to get dressed,” Glorfindel chuckled, holding on to the wiggling imp in his arms. “I cannot greet your Daerada naked, now can I?”

He released his squealing bundle of energy and walked to a drawer, pulling out a spare tunic.

“Here, see if this will fit you.”

Elrohir giggled when Glorfindel’s large tunic slid over his head, both sleeves and hem reaching down to his ankles.

“We can remedy that,” the warrior laughed, as he expertly rolled up the sleeves. “Now go get your belt and tie it around your waist. There, that should do.”

Reminded, suddenly, of his task, Elrohir glanced at the cupboard.

“Are your ceremonial robes in there?” he asked innocently.

“Come and look,” Glorfindel invited, swinging open the door and revealing the shining white garments.

Elrohir climbed on a stool and watched as Glorfindel pulled out the sturdy white riding pants with the embroidered garlands of flowers around the legs.

Then came a creamy white undershirt, a white and gold brocade tunic, a white coloured short sash with golden embroidery, and a pair of creamy white high leather boots.

Elrohir glanced at the silver, gold and blue garments that were still in the cupboard: the attire of the commanders of Rivendell. He fingered the leather vests, the mithril chain-mail, the metalic overlapping breast plates, and the silk of the cloaks.

His eyes wandered up and he spotted the brown leather gloves of the Rivendell attire, lying brotherly next to three pairs of Glorfindel’s pristine white gloves: Leather ones, silk ones and cotton ones…

O-o-O-o-O

Elladan watched as the warriors entered the stables and greeted their horses. He smiled as the horses whickered softly in greeting, nuzzling their riders and – in the case of the chestnut – begging for treats. When the last of the riders had left the stables to begin their duties, he went to find Laedros.

Throwing one last glance at Moonlight of Eregion and her foal, he walked down the corridor to the airy room at the back of the stables, where the grooms were sitting together, enjoying a drink.

“Laedros, may I please bring Eirien to Glorfindel?” he pleaded, trying to ignore the blush that crept onto his cheeks as the stable hands watched him with interest. Being the son of the Lord of Imladris, he was supposed to feel comfortable in front of an audience. “You will learn,” Ada had smiled, when he had complained about that awful red tinge of his.

“Ah, you wish to show Lord Glorfindel your work?” Laedros sang soflty, amusement evident in the gentle, knowing eyes. “I will come and tell Daisy to follow you, then.”

As the stable master and the elfling walked back to the stalls, Elladan nervously wondered if Laedros would want to check the saddle, or the straps. ‘If he does, I must confess about the Uruin,’ he thought.

But no. The calm, loving hands of the stable master caressed Eirien’s nose and he whispered to the mare that Elladan would take her to her Lord.

Eirien Malloth rotated her ears from the stable master to the elfling with interest. Oh well, she would follow him, if Laedros said so, she thought. If it meant she was going to Glorfindel…why not?

Relieved, delighted and a little bit anxious to see if the prank would work out, Elladan opened the door of the stall. He whistled through his teeth and the stately mare stepped out into the morning, pausing briefly to enjoy the sun’s light reflecting on her white fur and on the white-golden embroidered caparison. She knew that she looked magnificent, and that she was a vision of pure beauty in the eyes of the Elves. And she relished it!

Giggling about the vain, self-admiring horse behind him, Elladan walked up the path to the barracks, dutifully followed by the Lady of the Flower House.

O-o-O-o-O

Realizing that they would be discovered should Glorfindel pick gloves made of the wrong kind of fabric, Elrohir had snatched the leather gloves from the shelf and jumped to the ground. He had casually placed them on Glorfindel’s chair, beside the elaborate mithril necklace that symbolized the Golden One’s status as Chief of Defenses, and had waited while the warrior was braiding his hair.

“Wud yuh pweese fitch me duh box wiz meedril clasps?” Glorfindel mumbled with a leather band between his lips, his fingers full of several golden strands.

When the mithril clasps were in place, the warrior gracefully donned the long, white velvet ceremonial cloak with the golden flowers embroidered on the hem. It was fastened in the front, but it was split in the back, all the way up to the top of the shoulder blades, enabling the wearing of a quiver with the attire.

Elrohir watched as Glorfindel bent down to retrieve his sword from the chair. The cloak slid open and the prominent, cotton-clad backside of the warrior was briefly displayed.

Suppressing a giggle as he thought of the pristine posterior all decorated in red, Elrohir skipped to the door of the barracks to see if there was a sign of his brother.

“Your gloves,” he reminded, holding his breath to see if the warrior would take them. ‘If he doesn’t put them on, I will have to tell him about the Uruin,’ he thought. He would never let Glorfindel come to harm. Ever.

But no. Without a second thought the warrior slipped on his leather protection, entirely unaware of the wave of relief that spread through the elfling.

“Are you not going to take your clothes back to the house?” Glorfindel inquired, wrapping the bundle in a towel and handing it to his young charge. “Your Naneth will want these back, I suppose.”

Elrohir tucked the bundle under his arms and skipped down the stairs to where Elladan was waiting with Eirien, giving his brother the two thumbs up. “Do you think that Daerada would dare jump off Aragond?” he asked innocently, placing his hand in Glorfindel’s paw.

“Hmm…” Glorfindel mused, eyes sparkling. “I personally think that Lord Celeborn would wet himself…”

TBC

Translations:

edhring – freezing cold (adjective)

naneth - mother

AN: Glorfindel’s tale of the ‘Battle of Unnumbered Tears’, aka ‘Nirnaeth Arnoediad’, is almost completely canon. See J.R.R. Tolkien’s ‘Quenta Silmarillion’ in ‘The Silmarillion.’ The only non-canon part is Glorfindel slaying the dragon. This I made up.

A Prank on Glorfindel

Chapter 6 – The Prank

“Hello Beautiful! Are you ready for a walk?” Glorfindel crooned to his horse, carressing her nose. “Now who went to all these lengths to dress you so stunningly, I wonder? Look at those mithril clasps in your manes! We match each other perfectly today, my little Eirien!”

Eirien Malloth made to nuzzle the warrior fondly, but Glorfindel jumped aside, offering a leather-gloved hand for her to snuffle instead.

“I must keep my robes clean, sweet Daisy,” he chuckled, blowing softly into her nostrils. “I cannot have stains on my attire when the Lord of Lothlórien arrives, now can I? What would Erestor say? Hm?”

He gently rubbed the mare between her ears, clicking his tongue and murmuring soft words as he checked all the straps of the saddle – thus failing to notice the bright shade of puce that appeared on the faces of the twins.

Elrohir firmly stepped on Elladan’s toes, suitably disposing of the mad fit of giggles that threatened to spill from his brother. Clenching his fists behind his back, he supressed the guffaws of delight that adamantly pushed their way up in his chest.

“Elrohir, whatever are you wearing?” Elladan gasped, unable to hold back his chuckles and faking the cause of his mirth.

“Would you be so kind not to insult my tunic?” Glorfindel commented dryly from under Eirien’s belly, where he was checking the girth.

He knew that the elven grooms were more than precise when it came to securing the saddle straps – as was Elladan, young as he was. But checking his life-lines had become second-nature to him through the years of innumerable battles and patrols. His life – and the lives of those who depended on him – could be decided in a mere matter of seconds, and thus be influenced by the state of his gear, his weapons and his interaction with his horse.

He always checked twice…

Securing his sword to his saddle, he turned to the twins.

“Must you laugh thus at your brother’s new outfit?” he inquired, raising an amused eyebrow at the giggling older Elrondion. “I agree that your current appearance far outshines Elrohir’s, Elladan. But when it comes to your smell, elfling…”

The warrior’s voice trailed off in a wide toothy grin as he stole a sprig of hay from Elladan’s tunic.

“Well, elflings, I will be off now to welcome your grandfather at the Ford of Bruinen. Remember, Elrohir: Tomorrow is your last day of early morning exercise. You will not be excused from your task – Daerada here or not.”

Elrohir blushed under Glorfindel’s kind but stern gaze. Daerada would ask questions…and hear of his outburst in the Vale of Aragond. His parents had long spoken to him about the way he had kicked Glorfindel’s head. Ada and Naneth had been willing to overlook all else, weighing the fact that Elrohir would be disciplined the warrior’s way. But the kick against the head had been bad.

“You could have done serious harm,” Ada had reprimanded sternly, a grave expression on his face unlike any his youngest had seen.

What would Daerada say?

Suddenly it dawned on him that Daerada’s words would be the least of his concerns before nightfall. As soon as Glorfindel’s red behind was revealed, Ada would know it was them. Elrohir squirmed. Taking herbs from the apothecary without asking was strictly forbidden. Besides, Ada would certainly never countenance the use of Uruin for their schemes, no matter how noble the intent.

They were in for a lot of trouble… ‘For Daerada!’

Heaving a guilty sigh, he nodded at his trainer. “I will be there before sunrise,” he mumbled.

“Good,” Glorfindel smiled, recognizing the guilt that was doing its work in the mind of his charge. “Now Elladan, elfling, have yourself a bath, mellon nín. Your mother will be eager to scrub that orcish scent off your back.”

Elladan scowled indignantly, but giggled when the warrior sent him a wink. He impatiently twisted his braids and tried to keep still. When would Glorfindel finally mount up? He wished to see!

“Elrohir, you are welcome to wear my tunic today,” the warrior grinned.

“He shall,” laughed a clear, tinkling voice from behind them. “I am sure that his Daerada will be highly amused!”

Celebrían came walking up the path, looking for her sons.

Realizing – at once – the danger this entailed, the twins rushed forward and hugged their mother fondly, using the endearment to exchange an unseen, conspiring glance behind her back. They needed to remove their mother from Glorfindel’s presence, quickly! If Glorfindel mounted and Nana saw his backside while he rode away...

“Tag! You’re it!” Elladan piped, tapping his mother on her shoulder and storming down the path with his brother.

“Race you to the house, Nana!” Elrohir squealed, dashing away between the trees.

Ah! Celebrían would not be Celebrían, daughter of Celeborn and child of the Galadhrim, if she would not respond to this challenge. Smiling apologetically at Glorfindel and grinning from ear to ear, she ran after her sons.

“First one I catch gets his ears washed!” she called.

“Nana!” came two distant, indignant cries of protest.

Glorfindel chuckled and glanced at his faithful horse.

“Shall we?” he smiled.

O-o-O-o-O

Reaching the top of the steps beside the house, Elrohir and Elladan gazed down to catch a glimpse of their trainer. But…

“What’s he doing now?” Elladan exclaimed indignantly.

Elrohir pulled at his sleeve and they raced back down the stairs in a hurry. Naneth had caught them before they had gotten far, and had sent them ahead to the house while she spoke with a seamstress. But Naneth wasn’t here...

Bolting down the hill towards the path across the Bridge, the twins of Lord Elrond ignored their mother’s orders and ran after their friend.

“Glorfindel, aren’t you riding?” Elladan called.

The warrior turned around and smiled when he saw his young shadows approaching.

“No, today is such a lovely day, I have decided I shall walk,” he replied cheerfully, resuming his song about the beauties of the Vale.

Elrohir stopped in his tracks.

“Walk?” he echoed. “To the Bruinen?” Had the warrior gone mad?

“You’re a commander, Glorfindel! Commanders always ride,” Elladan pressed, hurrying to catch up with his friend.

“Since when?” Glorfindel challenged, smiling down at the elfling beside him.

“Since…always!” Elladan countered, determined to achieve his success. “Have you ever heard a tale of an Elf Lord arriving on foot beside his horse?”

Glorfindel chuckled and whistled to Eirien, who had fallen behind to nuzzle Elrohir.

“I have not. But have you ever heard of an Elf who found no joy in walking below the trees, or in stooping to smell the flowers, or in the caress of the breeze?” he smiled at Elladan.

Momentarily speechless, Elladan glanced at his brother.

“But Glorfindel, what if Daerada and his warriors reach Bruinen early today? You’ll be late if you walk!” quipped Elrohir from behind.

Glorfindel laughed. It seemed that Erestor’s concern about protocol was rubbing off on the twins at last.

“Have no worries, little Seneschals,” he smiled. “Our scouts have reported that the party from Lothlórien was camped on the borders of the Angle last night. They shall not be at the Ford before noon. I will be able to walk at my leisure, and even speak with the sentries on the way as I progress.”

Recognizing the imminent defeat, Elladan played out his final, desperate trump. Crossing his arms, he procured his most convincing scowl and muttered, in a slightly whining tone:

“I have spent a lot of time tacking up Eirien for you. Was it all for nothing, then?”

Glorfindel threw his head back and laughed good-naturedly.

“I thank you, Elladan, for your work,” he said sincerely. “Once I meet with the Elves of Lothlórien, I will mount up and ride Eirien back to the house as I escort your grandfather. I am very happy that you tacked up my Daisy for me, and I will remember to tell Lord Celeborn of your efforts. Does that please you?”

The grey eyes of the elfling widened in delight.

“Oh yes! That would be great!” Elladan exclaimed happily, bouncing on his feet.

“Um…we have to be off now. Nana told us to go to the bathing room,” Elrohir warned quietly from the rear.

Behind them on the path stood a very angry looking Celebrían.

“Then you had better hurry,” Glorfindel smiled. “Scoot!”

He chuckled as the elflings ran back to their mother, the sound of their scolding soon drowned by the roaring of the Falls as he walked across the Bridge.

O-o-O-o-O

“Sit still, Elladan!” Celebrían exclaimed. For the third time that minute her son had twisted from under her hands as she tried to wash his mane. She glanced through the door to the bedroom, where Elrond was needing an equal amount of patience braiding Elrohir’s hair.

“Don’t turn your head, ion nín,” Elrond sighed, releasing the strands and beginning anew.

“Will I wear a tunic like El’s?” Elladan asked, splashing water over the edge of the tub as he reached for his toy boats.

“Of course you will!” Celebrían replied, lathering her son’s tresses as he sailed his boat across the waves of the tub. “You always do.”

“But I like burgundy better than grey, blue and green!” Elladan protested. “I want to wear different clothes!”

“Elladan; grey, blue and green are the colours of Lothlórien and Rivendell,” Elrond spoke sternly from the bedroom. “You shall wear these garments for Lord Celeborn’s arrival and departure, my son. As is custom.”

Shrugging, Elladan turned around to let his ship make huge waves, while Celebrían tried her hardest to rinse the shampoo from his hair.

“Elrohir! Stop bouncing!” came Elrond’s exasperate cry.

Celebrían glanced through the door at the innocent face of her youngest, who wiggled around on the bed as his father adjusted the laces on his sleeves.

“I am the first one dressed!” Elrohir clamoured, bouncing on the bed when his father had finally given him the ‘okay’. “I get an extra dessert!”

“That’s not fair!” Elladan cried loudly. And before his mother could prevent it, he leapt out of the tub and slipped on the soapy, watery floor.

“Elladan!” Elrond and Celebrían exclaimed in unison. Celebrían grasped her son’s arm before he could fall to the ground.

“Give me a towel, Nana, I want to get dressed!” Elladan urged, forgetting the dirt on his skin.

“Elladan Peredhil, you will get back in the tub,” Elrond spoke sternly. “You have not yet been washed and I do not permit smudgy elflings to sit at my table and have their dessert.”

“But Ada…”

“You will do as I say, Elladan,” Elrond warned tersely, knowing his son. He frowned when Celebrían gasped in dismay and pointed behind him.

There, like a Bat on the Bed, Elrohir was standing on his head. Feet elegantly up to the ceiling, braids once more a mess…

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel descended the final slope to the Ford of the Bruinen. Away in the distance on the hill, a good mile from the bank, he spotted the banners of Lothlórien under the shadow of the pine-trees.

He smiled as he imagined the scene that would unfold in a mere half an hour. Lord Celeborn of Lórien would regally ride across the Ford and, as custom decreed, Glorfindel would formally speak the words of welcome from his Lord. They would exchange the Elven Blessing, and the Elves of Lothlórien would ride in formation behind their Lord towards the Valley, with Glorfindel leading the way.

It was then that he would have to be careful…

Trust Celeborn to settle their score at the first opportunity…or perhaps not, he chuckled. The rascal was cunning! Lulling his prey in a false sense of security and striking out of the blue was a skill that the Sinda had honed to perfection.

He had first met Lord Celeborn in the Battle of Eregion. When Sauron had come for the rings, Gil-galad had sent Elrond at the head of a large army, bringing aid to the Elves of Hollin. Until help had arrived, the silver-haired Sinda had led the attacks on the Orcs. His outnumbered warriors had stood between the forces of Mordor and the Noldorin city of Ost-In-Edhil. The city had fallen, and Elrond had led the refugees north, while Celeborn and Glorfindel had battled off the pursuit. The survivors had hidden in the Vale of Imladris, and by the side of Lord Elrond and Glorfindel, Lord Celeborn had led the defense of the valley during the years of the Siege.

Glorfindel chuckled. They had immediately hit it off.

Celeborn – like himself – was an incredible warrior and strategist. He was wise, kind, gentle and yet a most dangerous foe to cross for his enemies. Most notably: the Elf Lord delighted in mischief! It was a trait that the two of them shared…and a trait that they relished!

Both of the Elf Lords, the golden-haired and the silver one, possessed the inherent ability to notice when others were far too caught up in a haze of seriousness, rigidity or monotony. They teased, bantered and lovingly played mischief to lighten the mood and bring smiles to sullen faces.

And they loved it to no end!

Now the regal, solemn Lord of Lothlórien, Celeborn had far less opportunity to play pranks than his golden-haired friend. It was a small difference he ingeniously made clear during the bulk of his visits. No-one in Imladris was safe from Lord Celeborn, as the Commanders of Rivendell all knew without exception.

Oh, the Elf-Lord did prank his Sindarin advisors, and even his wife! But Galadriel had a knack for sensing what he was up to, and the advisors were so humble they obligingly indulged their Lord in his games. They never complained about the strange occurances that surrounded Lord Celeborn of Doriath.

Better in Rivendell, where at least two Elves would not hesitate to play pranks on the silver-haired Sinda: Celebrían his daughter…and Glorfindel.

Oh, Glorfindel! There was no Elf in Arda that Celeborn loved to tease more than Glorfindel. And the favour was returned!

Elrond had fallen victim to the pranks of the Elf Lord since before the quiet Peredhil had laid eyes on Lady Celebrían. It was then that Glorfindel had decided to come to the aid of his friend. Celeborn had bathed in diluted cow-dung – involuntarily, of course – and the game had begun. Unwilling to be bested, and delighting in this scheme, Celeborn had promised ‘revenge’.

Glorfindel had soon been sent to take a missive from Elrond to the warriors at the borders. He had spent an unexpected long night at the bottom of a deep pit, furnished with a pink cloak, a water skin, a bread roll and a note from Celeborn: “You may sing for us until the morning, then we will fetch you.”

He had snuggled in the cloak and his songs had delighted the stars through the night. Knowing the Sindar…he could have stayed there a week!

But Celeborn had kept his word, and their game had never ceased…

O-o-O-o-O

“Ai! Na vedui, Glorfindel!”

Celeborn’s typical Sindarin drawl greeted him when he rounded the last of the curves in the steep winding path leading down to the bank.

The riders of Lothlórien had galloped across the plain between the hill and the river – but Glorfindel had decided he would not take the bait. ‘Let Celeborn get there first,’ he chuckled. The Galadhrim would have seen him, as he had seen them. They would know he was coming, and the day was too peaceful to rush.

The young march-warden would scowl that his Lord was ‘not to be kept waiting at the Ford’, as protocol demanded. The Ford was protected – and guarded – but it was out in the open, and those crossing the stream would present an easy target. Glorfindel had posted his scouts far beyond the Bruinen and he knew that the lands surrounding them were safe. But Glorfindel also knew Celeborn…

In all likelihood the Sindarin Lord himself had ordered the hasty ride from the pine wood, pretending that the plain between the hills and the Ford was dangerous. In secret, however, the rascal had probably intended to get a rise out of Glorfindel, urging him to rush. Or better – as Glorfindel suspected – to arrive a little earlier, harrassing the serious Haldir while they waited.

“You are walking?” Celeborn smirked from the opposite bank, clearly amused.

“When the weather is this beautiful and the breeze is so fresh, I cannot resist,” the Golden One smiled.

The Elves of Lothlórien snickered. An Elf Lord like Glorfindel arriving beside his horse?

“You are welcome to join me,” the Chief of Defenses laughed heartily, inviting the riders to wade through the Ford.

The warriors of Lothlórien surrounded their Lord as he crossed. But when Celeborn had passed the middle of the stream, his stallion stumbled heavily and slipped on a rock.

“Easy, my sweet,” Celeborn crooned gently. He had not lost his balance, but the movement had jerked through his senses. He felt pain, though not his own.

The Lord of Lothlórien swiftly came to a decision and leapt off his horse, wading through the water and leading his horse to the shore.

“Your mount is limping, my Lord,” whispered one of the guards.

Celeborn led his horse to the side and expertly ran his hands down the stallion’s leg. “Ai! We had best cool that leg in the river,” he murmured. “Rúmil?”

As the Galadhrim hurried to remove the stallion's tack, Glorfindel signalled to three Imladris sentries, who appeared from the trees.

“Lord Celeborn’s horse is injured. A guard will remain by the river to cool its leg. Please send for Laedros – and bring dry clothing and refreshments for Master Rúmil.”

Glorfindel inclined his head when the young Sinda smiled gratefully, then turned to his silver-haired friend. Slipping back in his formal composure, he bowed to the Lord of Lothlórien and his Guard.

“Welcome to Rivendell, my Lord. May a star shine on your House and your Realm.”

Celeborn, though bedraggled and with mud on his boots, nodded regally.

“May the Valar bless your Home also,” he sang the formal reply.

Glorfindel touched his forehead, his lips and his heart in the Elven Blessing, which was repeated by the Lord of the Galadhrim.

“I will send my warriors for a dry pair of leggings, my Lord,” Glorfindel spoke respectfully. “Although I fear we do not have white silken ones such as your own.”

The warrior’s eyes twinkled. In front of the Guard, his conversations with Celeborn were required to be formal, as was custom. ‘Just wait until we get home,’ Glorfindel mused, looking forward to their usual banter.

“My gratitude is great, but you need make no effort,” Celeborn drawled. He bowed politely and walked back towards the river, cleaning his boots. “My leggings will dry as we walk towards the Valley,” he announced as he finished.

‘Walk?’ Glorfindel thought. He was not hearing right.

“My Lord, you cannot walk around in wet leggings. And you certainly cannot walk,” one of the Lórien guards whispered quietly.

“My Lord, ride my horse,” came the voice of another.

“Your arrival in the Valley is of formal importance. You must ride, my Lord,” spoke a third.

Glorfindel chuckled.

“Walk?” he asked innocently, raising an eyebrow. “My Lord means to walk?”

“It is such a beautiful day,” Celeborn drawled, a sparkle in his eyes. “I would very much enjoy a walk beneath the trees by the side of my good friend.”

He stressed the final words and the Balrog Slayer took the hint. ‘High alert,’ he thought. The Sinda was up to no good.

Eirien Malloth had patiently studied the Sindarin company, waiting for her Master to lead the way home. But now she walked forward, nuzzling ‘her blonde’ affectionately. Was he coming?

“What - a - beautiful - horse!” came a soft whisper from the back of the Lothlórien Guard.

“She is awesome!” sighed another.

“Magnificent!” spoke a third.

“You must have some new warriors in your guard,” Glorfindel smiled at his friend. “Could it be that they have never seen my Eirien before?”

Celeborn stepped forward and patted the stately mare fondly. “Even if they have seen her, your Eirien will still be a vision of beauty to all Elves, a star come to life in a child of the Mearas.”

The ears of the mare twitched happily as she carefully snuffled the Sinda’s offered hand. He was kind, this one! She liked him!

“You may ride her to the Valley,” Glorfindel offered softly. “I will ask her to bear you.”

Celeborn’s eyes widened with interest, but he tilted his head. “I seem to remember that you will rarely allow anyone to ride your horse,” he drawled, raising his eyebrows. “Are you sincere?”

Glorfindel pointed to the un-covered saddle on Eirien’s back. “See for yourself…no waterskins,” he chuckled.

Celeborn smiled warmly, knowing what this offer meant, coming from the Chief of Defenses. He glanced at the trees. The forest was calling and he longed for the feel of the earth beneath his feet. After weeks in the saddle, a walk was too enticing.

“I feel honoured,” he drawled. “But I would much prefer to walk by your side. When we reach the Valley of Rivendell, I will gladly mount a horse to make sure my arrival is regal,” he silenced his Guard. “But I assure you that the horses of Lórien are equally capable of bearing my weight.”

TBC

Translations:

Na vedui – At last

A Prank on Glorfindel

Chapter 7 – Red Fire

“Can we go to the bell-tower, Ada?”

“We want to see if Glorfindel and Daerada are coming!”

Erestor gazed across the table at his Lord’s children. Elrohir was kneeling backwards on his chair, craning his neck to glance out of the dining room window. Elladan was hanging beside his chair, only one buttock on the seat, putting his chin on his father’s forearm and smiling cherubically.

“Please, Ada?” the oldest Elrondion begged, glancing upwards between his eyelashes.

The mouth of the Elf-Lord twitched at the clownish display and Celebrían chuckled.

‘Bull’s-eye,’ the Seneschal thought.

“We have not yet finished our lunch, Elladan,” Elrond spoke kindly.

“Then can you please finish now?” Elrohir asked over his shoulder.

“Elrohir, turn around and sit down,” Celebrían requested. “…or I will not finish my lunch,” she added as instigation.

Her elflings were riotous today! Impatiently awaiting their grandfather’s arrival, they were exuberant and loud and constantly needing reminders of the rules.

“Finish your soup, Elladan,” she prompted her oldest.

Elrond reached across the table and tugged on Elrohir’s tunic. “You as well, my son,” he implored, raising an eyebrow for emphasis.

O-o-O-o-O

Surrounded by a breathtaking scenery and steep, rocky cliffs, the riders of Lórien descended into the lush, green Valley of Rivendell. Riding in single file behind the two Elf Lords on foot, the guards relished the peace and the afternoon sun.

“This is it,” began Glorfindel, motioning for the company to halt on the narrow path. He turned to his friend, who was smiling contentedly, enjoying their walk. “Beyond the next bend we will catch sight of Imladris. It is time, my Lord,” he continued.

“Time for what?” frowned Celeborn. “To ride?”

Before he could speak, four of the Galadhrim dismounted and offered him their steeds, nodding humbly.

“Choose one of our mounts, my Lord.”

“We will walk, my Lord.”

Lord Celeborn grimaced. “Le hannon, ú-nerithon,” he announced. “I shall not ride, though I thank you.”

Glorfindel chuckled as the faces of the Galadhrim fell.

“My Lord?” asked the guard behind Eirien. “Will you not even ride on the beautiful Star?”

The mare twitched her ears to her back. Was the Elf speaking of her?

“I will walk with my feet on the beautiful earth,” the Sindarin Lord replied sharply. How often did one walk in the Valley of Peace? He deeply enjoyed his surroundings and he could feel the serenity of the area through his feet.

“You changed your mind then, my Lord?” came the familiar drawl of his March-warden.

“I did, Haldir,” was the icy reply. Such a meddlesome pup!

The Lord of Lothlórien turned to his balrog-slaying friend.

“Lead on, mellon nín. We will walk.”

Glorfindel paused as he remembered Elladan’s words.

“You’re a Lord and a commander, my Lord,” he spoke slowly. “And Lords and commanders always ride.”

“Since when?” countered Celeborn, blue eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Since…always!” Glorfindel laughed, shaking with mirth. “Have you ever heard a tale of an Elf Lord arriving on foot?”

Celeborn bristled. “Has Erestor addled your brains?” he inquired.

Glorfindel chuckled.

“I agree with your Warden, my Lord,” he smiled. “As soon as we round the next bend, four curious eyes shall be watching us.”

Celeborn tilted his head.

“Grey eyes,” Glorfindel added. “Highly anticipating their Daeradar’s arrival.”

Nodding slowly, the Sindarin Elf Lord stared towards the bend in the path. “I see. And they must not see me walk,” he understood.

“They would be highly disappointed,” Glorfindel grinned. “The twins are very proud of their grand-sire and look up to him with awe. They look forward to seeing your regal arrival.”

“In that case…” Celeborn mused, “…it might be time for a regal and authoritative leap in the saddle.”

“Indeed!” Glorfindel chuckled. “Will you ride my Eirien, my Lord?”

“It will be an honour,” smiled the Elf-Lord.

O-o-O-o-O

Eirien Malloth of the Mearas dutifully followed ‘her blonde’. The Lord on her back seemed a little uptight, but other than that, he was kind. He clearly adored her, his praise had been generous and…what was he doing?

He was wiggling. Wiggling!

“My Lord?”

The riders of Lórien glanced at the Sindar of Doriath.

The march-warden swallowed. Was it just him, or did the regal Lord Celeborn just try to scratch his…noble backside?

He was not able to tell. The long cloak of the Sinda fell down over the horse’s broad back.

Uncertain what to do, Haldir nervously glanced at the tense posture of his Lord. The fists of Lord Celeborn were clenched, the knuckles were white.

“My Lord, are you in discomfort?” he asked quietly.

Alerted by these words, the Chief of Defenses looked around with concern – and started! Perspiration was shining on Celeborn’s brow, and his face was contorted in pain.

Glorfindel rushed to the side of his friend, but Haldir got there first, steadying his Lord.

“…get’s worse,” the Lord of Lothlórien wheezed.

“What ails you, my Lord?” pressed the March-warden anxiously.

“…pain,” gasped Celeborn.

The march-warden felt queasy.

“Where?” he asked softly, dreading the reply.

“…c-nt…st-aand…’t…” the silver-haired panted through his teeth.

“Celeborn, answer us!” Glorfindel commanded firmly. “Where does it hurt?” He ignored the glares from the Lothlórien Guard and grasped the Sinda’s arms, forcing him to look down. “I can see you are in pain, Celeborn. Stop playing the brave Elf Lord and speak to me. Shout it out if you must. Where does it hurt?”

Celeborn shivered and bit on his lip. Hard.

Seeing the trickle of blood on the fair chin, the March-warden glanced at Glorfindel.

“I believe it is…” Haldir hesitated to say the word. “There,” he pointed at his own rear. “Earlier my Lord was…”

‘No,’ he decided. He needn’t tell Glorfindel that. Not what his Lord had been doing.

Responding immediately to the March-warden’s words, Glorfindel lifted the long velvet cloak of the Sinda…

“Valar, no!”

Eighteen Galadhrim, a Balrog Slayer and a March-warden cried out in outrageous dismay.

“My Lord, you are bleeding,” gasped Haldir, shocked.

The warriors drew their weapons and immediately surrounded their Lord, glancing around to spot potential attackers.

Glorfindel easily lifted Celeborn out of the saddle and steadied his friend as he reeled on his feet.

“He must have been shot,” one of the warriors began.

Thinking along the same lines, Glorfindel motioned for Haldir to hold Lord Celeborn and hurried off around the bend in the path, signaling to the nearest sentries.

“Ride back to the House as fast as you can! Alert Lord Elrond that Lord Celeborn is gravely wounded! Go!”

He turned to the second sentry.

“High alert for the entire valley. Double the watch and let search parties comb the area. I do not know what has attacked Lord Celeborn, but until I do, I want full vigilance!”

As the sentry ran off, he turned to the third.

“I want fifteen extra warriors to escort Lord Celeborn to the House,” he ordered. “Now!”

He ran back to where the Galadhrim were waiting and glanced at his friend. How had this happened?

“Just around the bend is a larger terrace, bring him there,” he spoke to the Lórien warriors.

“...nn...ng… c-c-can…walk…” muttered Celeborn, clenching his teeth when his warriors tried to carry him. The warriors grasped their Lord under his arms and carefully kept him on his feet.

Glorfindel motioned them on. “Tend to his wounds,” he said to the March-warden. “I will send for a litter and let my sentries search our trail. I want to know what has harmed him. Hurry!”

O-o-O-o-O

Celeborn groaned in pain as the warriors lowered him to the ground. He lay down on his side and groped at his behind.

“Valar!” he panted. “Haldir…ex…amine me! I am burning!”

Haldir held his breath. Examine his Lord’s…? Elbereth, no!

“Of course. Immediately, my Lord,” he nodded humbly.

He glanced at his warriors and swallowed. “Shield Lord Celeborn’s modesty,” he ordered.

The warriors formed a circle around their Lord, making a curtain of cloaks. The March-warden stared at their backs as he knelt beside the Sinda, envying the others for being able to face outward.

He glanced at the bloodied silken seat. He had no qualms with nudity whatsoever, but to bare the posterior of his Lord?

He sighed. Of all the available body parts… But come, his Lord was in pain. It had to be done.

O-o-O-o-O

When Glorfindel returned from speaking to his sentries, he faced a dozen deadly arrows aiming right at his heart.

“You shall not approach our Lord,” came the cold, angry drawl of the March-warden. “You have pushed your limits too far this time, Balrog Slayer.”

Glorfindel signalled to his sentries to remain at a fair distance and gazed at the Galadhrim.

“Haldir,” he asked calmly. “What are you talking about?”

The eyes of the young Sinda flared dangerously.

“There are no wounds!” he hissed. “There is no blood! And yet my Lord is in terrible pain!”

“Calm yourself, Haldir,” spoke Glorfindel tersely. “What do you mean there is no blood? I saw it myself!”

He tried to see past the cloaks to where Celeborn lay.

“Oh, kindly desist!” sneered Haldir, with cold hatred on his face. “How could I be so blind, I ask:

“Lord Glorfindel of Rivendell, Chief of Defenses, arrives – walking – beside his horse. The famous Balrog Slayer, who never allows anyone to sit his mount, invites Lord Celeborn to ride his beautiful Star. Was it convenient for you, ‘friend of Celeborn’, that our master’s horse slipped and is lame? It is whispered that the Elves of Imladris have control of the river. What a lot of coincidences, friend...”

Remaining calm under the insults, Glorfindel digested the March-warden’s words.

“You think that I…? Because I let him ride?” Rapidly drawing conclusions, the Chief of Defenses gasped: “Haldir, was he hurt on the horse? How?”

“You tell me!” Haldir spat with contempt. “And be quick! The Lord Celeborn is in undeserved pain! I will speak to your Lord.”

Glorfindel bristled. “Haldir, I have nothing to do with this,” he spoke sharply.

“Indeed,” sneered the Sinda. “Alas that I am aware of your infamous reputation.”

“Show me your Lord’s wounds!” argued Glorfindel angrily. “Perhaps I can help him.”

“And do more harm?” bristled Haldir.

“…F-f-f…indel…?” came Celeborn’s wheeze from behind the cloaks.

“I am here, my friend,” answered the warrior, glaring.

“…H-h-h-elp…m-m-m…ee…” gasped the Elf Lord.

Haldir blanched as the wrath of the Golden One flashed in his eyes. “You may pass,” he drawled slowly, motioning for his warriors to lower their weapons. “But harm my Lord, Lord Slayer, and you will regret it!” he warned.

Glorfindel no longer listened. He knelt beside his friend and placed a tender hand on the clammy forehead, imparting some peace.

“What have you done to yourself, young one?” he asked kindly.

“…A...m… ol…l-l…der…” wheezed the Sinda.

Glorfindel chuckled. “Ah, I see…so you are older? I doubt it. But for now you’ll let me look at your buttocks, dear friend.”

Celeborn grumbled.

“Check the saddle for trickery, paint, anything!” the March-warden hissed to his guards. “I want proof!”

Four warriors gathered around Eirien and handled the saddle, taking a very close look at it. They lifted the straps, wiped their hands across the surface…secretly admired Eirien…and checked below the caparison.

‘Nothing...’ signaled the first.

“Look at this!” cried a second. His sleeve, which had formerly been a soft, silver grey, was stained in…

“Blood! Again?” gasped a third. “Where did it come from?”

Now more of the warriors pressed closer to Eirien, all touching the saddle and searching for clues.

“Stand back!” bellowed the clear, ringing voice of the Balrog Slayer.

Glorfindel jumped to his feet and cursed inwardly. Could it be? Valar, no!

“Do not touch the saddle!” he ordered.

Cutting a strip from Celeborn’s ruined leggings, he whistled to his horse. With one, certain move he wiped the cloth across the saddle. It turned red…

‘Elbereth, elflings!’ he thought and looked down at his friend.

“Nobody is to touch the saddle, nor any of the red stains!” he ordered.

“I believe your concern comes to late, my Lord,” whispered one of the Guards. He pointed at the March-warden, who was fervently rubbing his fingers.

Having tended to Celeborn earlier, the March-warden was beginning to feel the burn.

“Haldir!” Glorfindel called. “There was Uruin on the saddle. Ride to the House! I will tend to your Lord.”

Kneeling down beside Celeborn, Glorfindel turned to the Lórien Guard. “All of you who have touched the saddle, ride to the Last Homely House as fast as you can. Your hands will begin to burn within a few minutes. Go to the healing rooms, they will help you there.”

“…O…bey…him…” panted Celeborn. “Hal…dir… Go…”

Fighting hard to keep his face straight as the agonizing pain seared through his hands, the March-warden bowed.

“Y-yes my L-Lord.”

“Ride with him!” Glorfindel commanded the Rivendell guards. “And help the others.”

He turned back to the Lord of Lothlórien.

“You will have to take those leggings off, mellon nín.”

TBC

Translations:

‘Le hannon, ú-nerithon.’ – ‘I thank you, I shall not ride.’

A Prank on Glorfindel

Chapter 8 – Consequences

Flashback

“He must have been shot,” one of the warriors began.

Thinking along the same lines, Glorfindel (…) hurried off around the bend in the path, signaling to the nearest sentries.

“Ride back to the House as fast as you can! Alert Lord Elrond that Lord Celeborn is gravely wounded! Go!”

He turned to the second sentry.

“High alert for the entire valley. Double the watch and let search parties comb the area. I do not know what has attacked Lord Celeborn, but until I do, I want full vigilance!”

O-o-O-o-O

Celebrían and the twins watched from the top of the stone steps as Elrond came running out of the house with his healer’s kit. The courtyard and all entrances to the Last Homely House were under heavy protection. The blue, gold and silver of the Imladris Guard uniforms dominated the view in whichever direction the elflings and their mother looked. Arrows and swords at the ready, alert to any potential threat, the elven warriors patrolled and guarded the area.

Seven Imladris warriors rode forward when Elrond hurried down the steps and called for his horse. Taking no time for ceremony, for Elrond could ride bare-back and without tack as easily as he could with a saddle and reins, the grooms had only checked the black stallion’s hooves before bringing him into the court yard. The Lord of Imladris would ride hard on the rocky path, and his mount needed to be in top condition.

“Elrond?”

The dark-haired elf turned at the sound of a pleading voice.

“I need you and Adar to be safe,” Celebrían whispered, clearly torn between the urge to ride to her father’s side and to fight beside her husband should any danger befall him, and the equally pressing instincts of motherhood to stay with her elflings.

Elrond allowed his fëa to encompass hers while he gazed lovingly into her eyes. She replied almost desperately, blending her fëa with his, allowing him to feel her need for him to return to her, as well as her confusion and unshed tears.

Elrond nodded in gratitude when Erestor stepped forward to stand behind his wife and sons, placing a simultaneously protective and comforting arm around Celebrían and the elflings. Elrond gently but firmly released the deep connection with his wife, and smiled briefly when she nodded in understanding.

“Go…” Celebrían whispered. “Hurry, Elrond.”

The Lord of Imladris leapt on the back of his black steed, and with seven armed elven warriors surrounding him he thundered out of the court yard towards the Narrow Bridge.

O-o-O-o-O

Elladan gloomily stared through the empty, grey archway through which his father had disappeared some fifteen minutes earlier.

“If someone wanted to attack Imladris, why did they have to do so today?” he muttered quietly.

In his mind, the prank had gone awfully astray. Even if Glorfindel’s backside was now a beautiful shade of red, no-one would pay attention with Lord Celeborn so heavily injured. Daerada least of all, of course. A deep sense of worry filled the elfling’s stomach. Would Daerada be okay again?

Of course, Ada could heal nearly all wounds and injuries. But not all of them, the sons of Elrond had learned. Sometimes, no matter how hard Ada tried, an elf would pass to the Halls of Mandos. Suppressing a sob, Elladan rubbed his hand across his eyes to wipe away the stray tears that were beginning to spill.

“Hebo estel, Elladan,” Erestor said gently, pulling the elfling close. “Keep hope, little one.”

The Seneschal knew not to worry as long as no further details were known. But the fact remained that something, or someone, had managed to attack Lord Celeborn while the Elf was under maximum protection. It was rare that anyone managed to pass the boundaries of Imladris unseen. Hardly anything ever remained undetected.

Erestor repressed the feeling of unease in his stomach. After the Fall of Sauron the Valley had been safe and peaceful for more than a hundred years. Slowly, very slowly, the Elves of Imladris had begun to get used to this lull in the ongoing bombardment of danger they had grown accustomed to during the final centuries of the Second Age. The Firstborn gradually relaxed after the years of continuous strain and watchfulness. Playfulness and song had become what they had been before the years of looming darkness: Once again they were a daily expression of the inherent nature of the Elves. No longer was love riddled with grief, no longer was joy mingled with pain, no longer were the dances merely meant to distract from fear. No harm had entered the Valley since the forces of Imladris had returned from the plains of Gorgoroth. The Last Alliance had succeeded, and peace had been restored to Arda and to the hearts of the Elves. Once again, the first-born children of Ilúvatar were becoming as they had been intended: As children.

Erestor wove his fingers into the hair of the small elfling that firmly pressed himself against the Seneschal’s robes, one little arm around the slender waist of the dark-haired Noldo, the other nervously fumbling with the advisor’s velvet sash. Elladan and Elrohir had been begotten, born and raised in times of peace. They had no knowledge of the disquiet that came with an ever-present threat, a dangerous menace, or an anxious sense of foreboding, never knowing if the joy of the present would be cut off unexpectedly, forcing another struggle for pure survival onto the shoulders of the Elves.

The Seneschal longed, no hoped, prayed, even begged the Valar with all his heart that the peace in the Valley would remain.

Giving himself a mental shake, Erestor returned to the present and his task as the solid rock his Lord’s family would lean on in this moment of doubt. Whatever enemy they were up against, no matter how cunning, Glorfindel would rout it out of Rivendell in a heartbeat! The Seneschal inwardly chided himself for not trusting his dearest friend. Valar, even the Nazgûl fled with their followers on their heels if the Balrog Slayer of Gondolin appeared! Who, or what, would stand a chance to do any harm as long as Glorfindel was around?

Elrohir chewed his bottom lip as he stood beside his naneth, his fingers tightly wrapped around Celebrían’s slender hand, seeking and offering solace. Would Ada reach Daerada in time?

O-o-O-o-O

“My Lord! Riders approach!”

The seven warriors of the Imladris Guard drew their swords, halted their mounts and surrounded their Lord.

“Prepare to flee, my Lord. Return to the House and defend your family where there are more warriors to aid you. We will delay them if necessary,” one of the guards whispered.

Elrond nodded grimly, but nonetheless spoke a few words of ease.

“The approaching riders may be our own warriors. We do not yet know the threat that has entered our Valley. Let us wait.”

“You must flee as soon as we catch sight of the comers, my Lord,” the guard whispered urgently.

Elrond pressed his hand onto the soft, black fur of his horse, connecting with the stately animal. If he had to flee, the horse would have to back away between the other horses before it could turn on the narrow path. The stallion alertly rotated one of his ears backwards, snorted softly and pawed the rocky ground, letting the Elf Lord know that he was ready.

“Hannon le, mellon nín,” Elrond thanked silently, knowing that the animal would feel his intention.

Their eyes trained on the path ahead, which wound along the valley’s wall all the way until it bent around a cliff and disappeared from view about a mile ahead, the seven warriors and the Elf Lord prepared for potential battle while the seconds ticked away…

O-o-O-o-O

A sigh of relief had escaped from all seven warriors when the blue, gold and silver of Imladris appeared around the bend in the path, soon followed by the grey of Lothlórien.

However, the riders were coming towards them at break-neck speed, clearly riding to the Last Homely House as fast as they possibly could. Sensing the exigency, Elrond instantly reached for his healer’s kit, but when he studied the group of approaching riders more closely, he noticed that the Elf Lord from Doriath was not among them.

Why did the Galadhrim seem so terribly agitated? Truly it could not be…?

Elrond’s heart sank. He had honestly believed that he would have sensed it, known it, if Lord Celeborn had passed to the Halls of Mandos while residing within this Valley. Preparing himself for the worst, he urged his small company forward to meet the comers as soon as they could.

Halting at a small plateau where the path was a little wider, Elrond rode to the front of the small group when the first of the approaching riders, an Imladris sentry, arrived, his horse frothing at the mouth.

“My Lord,” the Elf panted, “All additional security measures have been lifted, by order of Lord Glorfindel.”

Elrond visibly relaxed. If Glorfindel believed the situation warranted such a decision, then it was truly safe.

The Imladris Guards led the Galadhrim around Elrond’s small party and urged them onwards towards the House. Haldir briefly nodded his respect to the Lord of Imladris and shakily brought his hand to his brow, lips and chest, but he seemed to be in terrible pain and his eyes were not focused.

Elrond’s eyebrows rose towards the blue sky above as he turned back to the Imladris sentry.

“Tell me, quickly, what is the condition of Lord Celeborn? And what ails his warriors?”

O-o-O-o-O

“All additional security measures have been lifted! By order of Lord Glorfindel!”

The words of the sentry had sent a wave of relief across the entire court yard and around the Last Homely House. However, there was no such peace for the Lady Celebrían, who was still in doubt about the condition of her father. With her skirts bunched in her hands, she ran down the steps towards the exhausted sentry, shooting worried glances at the clearly agitated and hurt warriors of Lothlórien.

“Lead the Galadhrim to the healing rooms!” the leading sentry ordered his company, before turning towards his Lady with a polite bow.

“Where is my father? What is his condition? What has happened to his guards?” Celebrían questioned while rushing to his side. “Will my father live? Has his attacker been captured? Or eliminated?”

The sentry threw up his hands in the face of so many questions and smiled encouragingly.

“Be at peace, my Lady. The Lord Celeborn, your father, shall live and his injuries are not by far as grievous as we initially thought.”

At these words, Celebrían almost collapsed in relief. All the stress left her at once and her knees simply buckled and her vision blurred. She was caught in the strong arms of the sentry, who steadied her on her feet as she regained her composure.

“And the culprit?” she asked faintly, brushing her silver hair back behind her ears, wishing to know the fate of whomever had dared harm her beloved Adar.

“Lord Glorfindel believes that the culprits reside in this House, my Lady,” the sentry smiled kindly.

“What?!” Celebrían gasped. “But you have just ordered an end to the security measures! Shouldn’t an arrest party be sent…” She stopped when the sentry began to chuckle.

A terrible realization began to dawn on her.

“You cannot mean…?” She glanced back towards her elflings, who were still holding Erestor’s hands. Certainly her sons had not… How?

“My Lady, Lord Celeborn and his warriors came to harm because of the invisible presence of Uruin extract on Lord Glorfindel’s saddle,” the sentry spoke softly.

The eyes of the daughter of Celeborn widened briefly as she digested these words, not certain how Uruin on Glorfindel’s saddle would lead to her father and his warriors coming to harm, but then her eyes narrowed dangerously. She rounded on her elflings and pierced them with an ominous glare.

“Elrohir! Elladan! Come here this instant!”

Having no understanding whatsoever of what was going on, the confused and worried elflings rushed down the steps to their mother’s side with Erestor in their wake.

“Have you two put Uruin on Glorfindel’s saddle? Speak now, my sons, for I am not at all inclined towards leniency,” Celebrían spoke sternly.

Elladan, Elrohir – and Erestor – gasped in shock.

“I will tolerate no lies, nor any reply longer than ‘yes’ or ‘no’,” Celebrían warned, glaring as she recognized the very guilty looks on her sons’ faces, as well as her elflings’ bewilderment about the unexpected unveiling of their crime.

Utterly confused by his mother’s sudden anger, having secretly hoped that all the stress surrounding the attack on Daerada would make the grown-ups forget about their little prank, Elladan stared up at his naneth. Unaware that his mouth was hanging wide open, he dared not look at his brother for fear of his mother’s reaction.

Knowing that look on his mother’s face and sensing the seriousness of the situation and the deep trouble they were in, Elrohir barely dared to breathe. A strong panicky feeling formed in his stomach and in the back of his mind and he broke out in a sweat. When the sentry had smiled so kindly, Elrohir had begun to believe that everything would be all right. He had been certain that Daerada would live and would come to no lasting harm. How had the events suddenly focused on the prank with Uruin?

“I will count to three,” Celebrían threatened, losing her patience. “You had better answer me quickly, my sons, or your punishment will be worse.”

Elladan swallowed. His mother rarely used this threat. If she did, it meant they were in very serious trouble.

“I…yes, naneth…I did…” he replied meekly, never taking his eyes from his mother’s angry face, though still intending to keep his brother from harm.

“Elrohir?”

Celebrían was no fool. She knew the guilty expression on the face of her youngest like no other. Elrohir had not merely aided his brother from the sidelines, he had been totally and fully involved.

“We did, naneth,” Elrohir confessed quietly. “We…we did it for Daerada…”

“What do you mean?’” Celebrían bristled, quickly exchanging a bemused glance with the equally perplexed Seneschal, who was standing behind her sons.

“We promised…” Elladan whispered, his bottom lip now quivering. The older twin had no idea why his mother was this angry. He had known that his parents would be extremely disappointed and firm if it would be discovered that they had played with Uruin – and had done so without asking – but he had never expected that his mother would be so utterly livid.

Seeing the tears in the eyes of both her sons, Celebrían caught herself in her anger and decided to postpone her final judgement to a later time.

“You shall both go to your room and you will stay there until after I have spoken to your father and grandfather,” she announced sternly. “Your evening meal shall be brought to your room. There will be no feast for you tonight.”

She glanced at the Seneschal as her children meekly hung their heads.

“Erestor, could you please…?”

“I shall escort Elrohir and Elladan to their room, my Lady,” Erestor nodded humbly. He placed two calm, loving hands on the shoulders of the twins, who had unconsciously grasped each other’s hands. The sons of Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrían were in enough trouble as it was, he felt no need to add any more reproval to it.

As the Seneschal walked up the stone steps with the twins of Imladris under his hands, he secretly tried to shake himself from his stupor.

Elladan and Elrohir had done…what?

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel heaved an impatient sigh and threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Please, my Lord, you must come with me to the House. Elrond will tend to you, as he did to your grandsons last week,” he pleaded.

“I am not…leaving this place!” Celeborn snapped from his position in the middle of the shallow stream.

Not far from where they had halted, a small tributary of the Bruinen plunged down from the steep cliff above and snaked its way across the plateau in a shallow, rocky bed, before falling over the precipice into the depths of the River below.

Celeborn sat with his blazing backside planted firmly in the icy water, the velvet cloak that Glorfindel had wrapped around his waist for modesty billowing in the flow of the current.

“Elrond’s tea and salve will ease your pain,” Glorfindel tried once more.

“So will…this river…” Celeborn hissed through his teeth.

The golden-haired warrior calmly observed the clear signs of pain on the face of the silver-haired.

“Do not be stubborn, my Lord,” he spoke good-naturedly, ignoring the glares of the three uninjured Lothlórien guards, who stood watch with their backs towards their Lord’s ‘bath’.

One of the Imladris guards waved from his position on the path up ahead. “Lord Glorfindel? Riders approach from the House. I believe Lord Elrond himself is among them,” the sentry called.

‘Finally,’ Glorfindel thought, rolling his eyes and getting to his feet. As much as he felt sorry for his friend’s painful ordeal, the Sinda was truly acting every inch like the stubbornest of mules. He sighed with relief when Elrond jumped down from his stallion and immediately leapt off the path to where the sentries pointed him, nimbly picking his way between the rocks, trees and undergrowth towards the brook.

Despite his concern for Lord Celeborn’s well-being, the Lord of Imladris could not prevent the corners of his mouth from twitching when he spotted his father-in-law sitting in the stream with a most obstinate expression on his face, nicely juxtaposed by the highly nettled aura surrounding the Balrog Slayer.

Schooling his features to assume his healer’s mask, Elrond approached the river bank and carefully allowed his senses to extend outwards to gauge the Sinda’s level of stress and anxiety.

A wave of desperate pain hit his fëa and Elrond immediately withdrew, now mentally noting the determined frown on Celeborn’s brow, indicating that the Elf Lord’s pride was still offering enough moral support to the Sinda that he wished to maintain his dignity. Relieved that the Lord of Lothlórien still had enough inner strength left to be this unwilling to show his true agony, Elrond decided to offer the Sinda an opportunity to keep up his pretenses.

“My Lord Celeborn, I wish I could offer you a more pleasant welcome to Rivendell,” he spoke formally. “I must ask you to follow me. We shall return to the Last Homely House with all due speed, so I can relieve at least some of your pain as soon as is possible.”

Glorfindel watched as Elrond stepped to the water’s edge and offered his hand to the Sindarin Lord. He chuckled softly when Elrond eventually dropped his hand, realizing that Celeborn was not intending to come out.

“Forget it, Elrond,” Glorfindel offered. “That mule is not going to lift his backside out of the stream.”

“I cannot stand…the long walk…to the house…” Celeborn muttered, wincing in pain when he ever so slightly tried to change his position.

“You can barely stand on your feet, did you really think we would have you walk?” Glorfindel snorted. “You shall ride, of course!”

The Balrog Slayer splashed into the stream towards the Sinda.

“Now come, my Lord, you will follow Lord Elrond, even if I have to carry you myself.”

“Do not touch our Lord!” came the voice of one of the Lothlórien guards. Three deadly arrows were pointing to the empty air just beside and above Glorfindel’s head.

“Lord Celeborn shall leave the stream voluntarily, or not at all,” announced the tallest of the three Galadhrim.

“Lord Celeborn is in terrible pain and should be taken to the healing rooms in his own best interest,” Glorfindel said sharply.

Elrond gazed at his father-in-law and confirmed the latter statement with his eyes.

“You suffer needlessly, Celeborn,” he spoke softly. “I will not be able to take away your pain, but I can relieve it a little and make it less of an agonizing experience for you.”

“Eirien’s saddle and tack have been removed, you can safely ride with me,” Glorfindel offered.

“You seem to forget…I am rather…unable to…ride,” Celeborn scoffed angrily. “Lack the…seat for it…”

“You will have to lie face down across the horse,” Glorfindel explained, trying to find more patience. “Trust us, Celeborn. Eirien is very swift, it is the quickest way to get you to the House. Once we have you there, your pain will lessen in a twinkle.”

Elrond’s eyebrows rose a few inches. “Do you have a death-wish?” he wordlessly asked his Chief of Defenses.

Celeborn bared his teeth in a sneer.

“First you want me to…arrive regally…as a Lord…riding your horse,” the Elf Lord panted with difficulty. “…And now you will have me…dragged into Rivendell…dangling over your saddle…as a captive?”

“No saddle, I said Eirien was unsaddled,” Glorfindel replied stoically, ignoring the obvious dent in the Elf Lord’s pride.

Indeed, it would be an unprecedented sight to have the regal Lord Celeborn arriving in Rivendell, ‘bottoms up’, draped over a horse’s back. Normally, injured warriors arrived on litters, and in most of the cases they were blissfully passed out or too exhausted or drained of blood to care. But a litter was no option now. It would take far too long for two elves to carry Lord Celeborn to Rivendell on foot. And even a horse-drawn litter would not make as much speed as transportation solely on horseback.

“You cannot stay here,” Elrond now joined forces with the Balrog Slayer. “If you do, my wife and sons will want to come and see you here. I cannot allow them to be this far from the House after dark.” He pointed to the sky, which was turning a colder shade of grey now that the sun was sinking towards the cloudy horizon. Anor had long since disappeared behind the mountains to the south-west and a slight chill was slowly penetrating the air in the Valley.

“Are you related to…Círdan…?” Celeborn scowled angrily.

“I am not, but I have learned at the hand of the master,” Elrond chuckled, remembering how the old shipwright had always known just how to make a sometimes reluctant young Elrond and his equally stubborn twin Elros spring to action by saying just a few right words. It was a trait that the old Master applied to nearly all of his friends, acquaintances, employees and business relations, in short, to every Elf that ever crossed his path.

Glorfindel decided that he would wait no longer for Lord Celeborn to make up his mind. He hauled the protesting Sinda out of the water and set him on his feet on the bank. One of the Galadhrim swore loudly, but to everyone’s surprise, the Sindarin Elf Lord lifted his hand to his warriors to make them lower their weapons.

“Carry me…!” he ordered the Chief of Defenses with mock disdain.

But only Glorfindel heard him adding a soft, barely audible: “Please…?”

TBC

Translations:

fëa - spirit

hebo estel – keep hope

hannon le, mellon nín – thank you, my friend