Fic: (The Return of) ACOTER: Annual Conference of the Elven Lords, Chapter 2, PG-13
ACOTER: ANNUAL CONFERENCE OF THE ELVEN REALMS
Day 2: Boulders and Brothers
Fandom: LOTR
Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel
Other characters: Elrond, Celeborn, Thranduil, Legolas, Tauriel, Mauburz, Estorel and Lórindol (the sons of Erestor and Glorfindel - remember them?)
Rating: PG-13 overall
Warnings: This is humour, no angst, no drama, just warm fuzzies.
Spoilers: Elves are mentioned who appear in The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug.
Beta: Eveiya
For all my lovely friends in the LOTR fandom, especially the ones who need a bit of a cheer-up at the moment.
Summary: Every year, Elrond, Celeborn, Galadriel and Thranduil meet up for a conference in Rivendell. This time, it's a battle of elks and egos.
The times that Tauriel had left Thranduil's realm could be counted on one hand, and never had she ventured as far as Imladris. She was young and curious, and to her, used to the shadows of Mirkwood and the Great Cave, the Last Homely House was a place full of wonders. There was a carefree air about those living there; it seemed as if dangers and worries had no place in Elrond's home. Maybe it was the lack of imminent danger and threat - or was it the absence of Thranduil's sternness?
Indeed, the only stern elf in Imladris seemed to be Master Erestor, who had offered to show her around the Last Homely House. Tall, lean, with dark hair and dressed in black, he looked very different from the other elves in Imladris. The pale face with its long nose was pleasant, yet not as perfect as one would have expected of an elf, and she remembered the rumours about Erestor's ancestry; that he was one of the last wild Plains Elves. While Erestor chatted lightly about family portraits, sculptures and mentioned that the grape harvest had been particularly good this year, she remembered what Legolas had told her about Erestor: "He may give the impression of being the most boring elf in all of Middle-earth, but make no mistake, he would rip your head off without blinking if he felt you posed a threat to Imladris or if you should fall asleep during one of Glorfindel's Balrog stories."
"You must find Imladris a strange place," Erestor said, as if he'd read her thoughts
.
"It is… different," Tauriel replied after a moment's consideration. She'd been lost in thought and had missed half of Erestor's explanations, and hoped her answer had been diplomatic enough.
"Different, I see. I think the term your predecessor in the guards used was insane, so different must be considered an improvement. When did Thranduil appoint you head of his personal guard?"
"Six months ago. I am very honoured that he puts so much trust in me," she said, and her eyes were sparkling with pride. Erestor nodded.
"And rightly so. It seems your duties are more extensive than those of the previous head of the guard. I understand there is some concern for Thranduil's safety?"
She hesitated; always on her guard, she considered whether she could trust Erestor with the trouble in Mirkwood. And there was the posing-a-threat-to-Imladris bit. Finally, she nodded.
"Indeed."
Erestor looked concerned.
"You must tell me all about it; if there is a danger, we need to know. But here is your king's chamber, please enter."
Erestor opened the door to a beautiful large room, with a balcony overlooking the green meadows of Imladris and the famous waterfalls. It would be the perfect place to watch the upcoming race. Tauriel thought of Glorfindel's reaction to Lumir, Thranduil's racing elk, and frowned.
Erestor misunderstood the expression.
"You need not worry, my dear captain; Celeborn has never set foot in this chamber. It is too far from my lord Elrond's wine cellar. No need to fumigate the place."
"Oh, that was never a concern, Master Erestor," Tauriel hastened to say, though, truth be told, Thranduil had brought a box of olibanum for just that purpose. She knelt down to look under the bed and opened a large chest to check for possible intruders. Then she headed for the wardrobe and attempted to open the large doors.
"You absolutely must check behind the curtains first, Tauriel. That is where your garden-variety assassin would hide in the first place, do you not agree?"
Tauriel winced and dropped her hands, then turned towards Erestor.
"You must think me mad," she said. "But I assure you that I have good reason to be cautious."
"Then do take a seat and tell me about the events in Mirkwood. You are among friends here, and if we can help, we will."
They sat down at a small table on the balcony, and Erestor poured Gondorian country wine from a carafe. Tauriel reached for the glass, inhaled the lovely aroma, but then put it down again. She was on duty, after all.
Erestor had no such qualms and took a sip.
"There were incidents," Tauriel began, drumming her fingers nervously on the table. "Or accidents, rather; at least that was what we first thought."
Erestor leaned forward.
"Tell me, and in full detail. Do not leave anything out, no matter how insignificant it might seem to you."
Tauriel collected her thoughts.
"It all began in the wine cellar, about six months ago. The king was looking for a barrel he had received from Lake Town, a very special brew of strong beer. The cellarer could not find it in his inventory, so Thranduil insisted on looking for it himself. He leaned forward to read a label, and suddenly all the barrels came crashing down. If Legolas had not reacted so quickly and pushed us aside, we would be dead now."
"He never fails to surprise, our golden prince… and you thought it was an accident?"
"Yes. Upon investigation, we found that the wedges keeping the barrels in place had become loose. The carpenter said it was material fatigue, the cellarer was demoted to warden of the royal acidic springs, and that was it."
"Only, it was not?"
"No." Tauriel sighed. "Two weeks later, after the feast to celebrate Legolas' begetting day, all of us fell violently ill."
Erestor arched his eyebrows.
"Poison?"
"Indeed. Legolas found out that somebody had switched the beetroot juice for a bottle of orc blood from the healing house. The only reason none of us died is because we all hate beetroot-juice soup and only ate a few spoonfuls, out of politeness."
"And who could blame you. So, barrels and orc blood. What next?"
"There had been sightings of orcs in the northern part of Mirkwood, near Salsify Hill."
"They make great soup," Erestor said.
"Orcs?"
"Salsify. With cream and herbs, gently steamed - excellent. But please, do go on."
"Yes, Salsify Hill. King Thranduil insisted on accompanying us, saying that you had to take care of orcs yourself if you wanted them to be taken care of the way you want, or something along those lines. We found some footprints, and when we knelt to have a closer look at them, several boulders came crashing down the hill. Two guards were seriously injured, including the captain. Luckily, the king was unharmed."
Erestor rubbed his chin.
"I assume it was Legolas who saved the day once more?"
"Yes. He broke his arm in the process."
"And that was when you were promoted to captain?"
"Yes, at first only while my old captain was recuperating, but then Thranduil said he was happy with my service and did not like having to memorise new faces all the time."
Erestor emptied his glass and cast a glance over Imladris, seemingly lost in thought. Tauriel shifted on her seat, not sure whether he had paid attention to her last words.
"A very odd story," Erestor finally said. "I must think about it, and discuss the matter with my lord Elrond. For now, however, be assured that you are absolutely safe here in Imladris. No orcs in the woods, no assassins in the wardrobe. But I see Lord Celeborn has arrived."
Tauriel stood up and peeked over the intricately wrought rail of the balcony. She shaded her eyes against the sun, then shook her head.
"Where is his entourage? Certainly he has not come here all alone?"
"We shall find out at once. Will you join me to greet the lord of the Golden Wood? I am quite certain you will find him - intriguing."
Tauriel gave Erestor a suspicious sidewise glance.
"That is not the word my king used to describe him."
"My dear Tauriel, under certain circumstances, even the mighty kraken can be intriguing."
He bowed, and she followed him, making sure all her knives were within reach and all buttons on her jerkin tightly closed.
* * *
As soon as Erestor and Tauriel had left the chamber, the large wardrobe opposite the bed opened, and two young elves emerged. They were brothers, yet they looked as different as two elves possibly could. Estorel, the firstborn son of Erestor and Glorfindel, was tall, dressed in brown suede, with long, black hair; not shiny like Erestor's though, but wild and unkempt, and he moved with the kind of powerful grace one might have expected from a wildcat just before it attacked. The gentle brown eyes, however, seemed not to fit his appearance of a fierce warrior.
His younger brother Lórindol on the other hand was smaller and more slender, with soft blue eyes and golden hair, adorned with a girdle of cornflowers. In his blue robes, he looked angelic, born to be a poet or musician. However, this impression was completely wrong, for Lórindol was Erestor's son through and through; sarcastic, with a keen mind, a sharp tongue and little patience for his fellow elves' shortcomings.
Lórindol smoothed his robes which had been creased while the two were hiding in the wardrobe.
"That was close. Imagine if they had found us! But as I always say, hide in plain sight and nobody will find you. So, what do you think?"
"She is very pretty," Estorel replied.
Lórindol rolled his eyes.
"No. I mean, yes. But I am talking about the Mirkwood mystery."
Estorel shrugged.
"I do not know what to make of it. Who would have an interest in murdering Thranduil? I mean, Celeborn and a few thousand dwarves aside…"
Lórindol helped himself to the wine and took a sip. He pulled a face.
"Ew. Much too sweet. How can sia drink this plonk? My dear brother, Thranduil has survived wars and spiders and dragons and probably a Balrog or two in his time - and now we are expected to believe that he needs the protection of an inexperienced captain of the guard who has never encountered worse than a couple of orcs on mangy wargs? Please!"
"But sia took Tauriel's concerns very seriously," Estorel retorted. "I cannot imagine he would have inquired about the incidents in such detail if he did not believe them to be true."
"Agreed, but still, I smell a fish here, and it is not Miss Mauburz' experimental cooking. We need to investigate, Estorel. I will talk to Tauriel, and you go and try to get more information from Legolas. I find it strange that it was always him foiling the assassination attempts."
"Why do I have to talk to Legolas?" Estorel protested. "You know I do not like to talk to people!"
Lórindol sighed.
"I will talk to Tauriel because I look sweet and innocent and harmless, and you will talk to Legolas because you do not. He likes that. And you like him and would not get to talk to him, otherwise. So two birds killed with one stone, perfect!"
"Not if you are one of the birds," Estorel said, but Lórindol had already dashed out of the door, eager to greet his favourite Elven lord.
You can read this story on AO3 as well.
Molly originally posted this entry at http://joyful-molly.dreamwidth.org/423219.html. You can comment on LJ or DW, using OpenID.
Day 2: Boulders and Brothers
Fandom: LOTR
Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel
Other characters: Elrond, Celeborn, Thranduil, Legolas, Tauriel, Mauburz, Estorel and Lórindol (the sons of Erestor and Glorfindel - remember them?)
Rating: PG-13 overall
Warnings: This is humour, no angst, no drama, just warm fuzzies.
Spoilers: Elves are mentioned who appear in The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug.
Beta: Eveiya
For all my lovely friends in the LOTR fandom, especially the ones who need a bit of a cheer-up at the moment.
Summary: Every year, Elrond, Celeborn, Galadriel and Thranduil meet up for a conference in Rivendell. This time, it's a battle of elks and egos.
The times that Tauriel had left Thranduil's realm could be counted on one hand, and never had she ventured as far as Imladris. She was young and curious, and to her, used to the shadows of Mirkwood and the Great Cave, the Last Homely House was a place full of wonders. There was a carefree air about those living there; it seemed as if dangers and worries had no place in Elrond's home. Maybe it was the lack of imminent danger and threat - or was it the absence of Thranduil's sternness?
Indeed, the only stern elf in Imladris seemed to be Master Erestor, who had offered to show her around the Last Homely House. Tall, lean, with dark hair and dressed in black, he looked very different from the other elves in Imladris. The pale face with its long nose was pleasant, yet not as perfect as one would have expected of an elf, and she remembered the rumours about Erestor's ancestry; that he was one of the last wild Plains Elves. While Erestor chatted lightly about family portraits, sculptures and mentioned that the grape harvest had been particularly good this year, she remembered what Legolas had told her about Erestor: "He may give the impression of being the most boring elf in all of Middle-earth, but make no mistake, he would rip your head off without blinking if he felt you posed a threat to Imladris or if you should fall asleep during one of Glorfindel's Balrog stories."
"You must find Imladris a strange place," Erestor said, as if he'd read her thoughts
.
"It is… different," Tauriel replied after a moment's consideration. She'd been lost in thought and had missed half of Erestor's explanations, and hoped her answer had been diplomatic enough.
"Different, I see. I think the term your predecessor in the guards used was insane, so different must be considered an improvement. When did Thranduil appoint you head of his personal guard?"
"Six months ago. I am very honoured that he puts so much trust in me," she said, and her eyes were sparkling with pride. Erestor nodded.
"And rightly so. It seems your duties are more extensive than those of the previous head of the guard. I understand there is some concern for Thranduil's safety?"
She hesitated; always on her guard, she considered whether she could trust Erestor with the trouble in Mirkwood. And there was the posing-a-threat-to-Imladris bit. Finally, she nodded.
"Indeed."
Erestor looked concerned.
"You must tell me all about it; if there is a danger, we need to know. But here is your king's chamber, please enter."
Erestor opened the door to a beautiful large room, with a balcony overlooking the green meadows of Imladris and the famous waterfalls. It would be the perfect place to watch the upcoming race. Tauriel thought of Glorfindel's reaction to Lumir, Thranduil's racing elk, and frowned.
Erestor misunderstood the expression.
"You need not worry, my dear captain; Celeborn has never set foot in this chamber. It is too far from my lord Elrond's wine cellar. No need to fumigate the place."
"Oh, that was never a concern, Master Erestor," Tauriel hastened to say, though, truth be told, Thranduil had brought a box of olibanum for just that purpose. She knelt down to look under the bed and opened a large chest to check for possible intruders. Then she headed for the wardrobe and attempted to open the large doors.
"You absolutely must check behind the curtains first, Tauriel. That is where your garden-variety assassin would hide in the first place, do you not agree?"
Tauriel winced and dropped her hands, then turned towards Erestor.
"You must think me mad," she said. "But I assure you that I have good reason to be cautious."
"Then do take a seat and tell me about the events in Mirkwood. You are among friends here, and if we can help, we will."
They sat down at a small table on the balcony, and Erestor poured Gondorian country wine from a carafe. Tauriel reached for the glass, inhaled the lovely aroma, but then put it down again. She was on duty, after all.
Erestor had no such qualms and took a sip.
"There were incidents," Tauriel began, drumming her fingers nervously on the table. "Or accidents, rather; at least that was what we first thought."
Erestor leaned forward.
"Tell me, and in full detail. Do not leave anything out, no matter how insignificant it might seem to you."
Tauriel collected her thoughts.
"It all began in the wine cellar, about six months ago. The king was looking for a barrel he had received from Lake Town, a very special brew of strong beer. The cellarer could not find it in his inventory, so Thranduil insisted on looking for it himself. He leaned forward to read a label, and suddenly all the barrels came crashing down. If Legolas had not reacted so quickly and pushed us aside, we would be dead now."
"He never fails to surprise, our golden prince… and you thought it was an accident?"
"Yes. Upon investigation, we found that the wedges keeping the barrels in place had become loose. The carpenter said it was material fatigue, the cellarer was demoted to warden of the royal acidic springs, and that was it."
"Only, it was not?"
"No." Tauriel sighed. "Two weeks later, after the feast to celebrate Legolas' begetting day, all of us fell violently ill."
Erestor arched his eyebrows.
"Poison?"
"Indeed. Legolas found out that somebody had switched the beetroot juice for a bottle of orc blood from the healing house. The only reason none of us died is because we all hate beetroot-juice soup and only ate a few spoonfuls, out of politeness."
"And who could blame you. So, barrels and orc blood. What next?"
"There had been sightings of orcs in the northern part of Mirkwood, near Salsify Hill."
"They make great soup," Erestor said.
"Orcs?"
"Salsify. With cream and herbs, gently steamed - excellent. But please, do go on."
"Yes, Salsify Hill. King Thranduil insisted on accompanying us, saying that you had to take care of orcs yourself if you wanted them to be taken care of the way you want, or something along those lines. We found some footprints, and when we knelt to have a closer look at them, several boulders came crashing down the hill. Two guards were seriously injured, including the captain. Luckily, the king was unharmed."
Erestor rubbed his chin.
"I assume it was Legolas who saved the day once more?"
"Yes. He broke his arm in the process."
"And that was when you were promoted to captain?"
"Yes, at first only while my old captain was recuperating, but then Thranduil said he was happy with my service and did not like having to memorise new faces all the time."
Erestor emptied his glass and cast a glance over Imladris, seemingly lost in thought. Tauriel shifted on her seat, not sure whether he had paid attention to her last words.
"A very odd story," Erestor finally said. "I must think about it, and discuss the matter with my lord Elrond. For now, however, be assured that you are absolutely safe here in Imladris. No orcs in the woods, no assassins in the wardrobe. But I see Lord Celeborn has arrived."
Tauriel stood up and peeked over the intricately wrought rail of the balcony. She shaded her eyes against the sun, then shook her head.
"Where is his entourage? Certainly he has not come here all alone?"
"We shall find out at once. Will you join me to greet the lord of the Golden Wood? I am quite certain you will find him - intriguing."
Tauriel gave Erestor a suspicious sidewise glance.
"That is not the word my king used to describe him."
"My dear Tauriel, under certain circumstances, even the mighty kraken can be intriguing."
He bowed, and she followed him, making sure all her knives were within reach and all buttons on her jerkin tightly closed.
* * *
As soon as Erestor and Tauriel had left the chamber, the large wardrobe opposite the bed opened, and two young elves emerged. They were brothers, yet they looked as different as two elves possibly could. Estorel, the firstborn son of Erestor and Glorfindel, was tall, dressed in brown suede, with long, black hair; not shiny like Erestor's though, but wild and unkempt, and he moved with the kind of powerful grace one might have expected from a wildcat just before it attacked. The gentle brown eyes, however, seemed not to fit his appearance of a fierce warrior.
His younger brother Lórindol on the other hand was smaller and more slender, with soft blue eyes and golden hair, adorned with a girdle of cornflowers. In his blue robes, he looked angelic, born to be a poet or musician. However, this impression was completely wrong, for Lórindol was Erestor's son through and through; sarcastic, with a keen mind, a sharp tongue and little patience for his fellow elves' shortcomings.
Lórindol smoothed his robes which had been creased while the two were hiding in the wardrobe.
"That was close. Imagine if they had found us! But as I always say, hide in plain sight and nobody will find you. So, what do you think?"
"She is very pretty," Estorel replied.
Lórindol rolled his eyes.
"No. I mean, yes. But I am talking about the Mirkwood mystery."
Estorel shrugged.
"I do not know what to make of it. Who would have an interest in murdering Thranduil? I mean, Celeborn and a few thousand dwarves aside…"
Lórindol helped himself to the wine and took a sip. He pulled a face.
"Ew. Much too sweet. How can sia drink this plonk? My dear brother, Thranduil has survived wars and spiders and dragons and probably a Balrog or two in his time - and now we are expected to believe that he needs the protection of an inexperienced captain of the guard who has never encountered worse than a couple of orcs on mangy wargs? Please!"
"But sia took Tauriel's concerns very seriously," Estorel retorted. "I cannot imagine he would have inquired about the incidents in such detail if he did not believe them to be true."
"Agreed, but still, I smell a fish here, and it is not Miss Mauburz' experimental cooking. We need to investigate, Estorel. I will talk to Tauriel, and you go and try to get more information from Legolas. I find it strange that it was always him foiling the assassination attempts."
"Why do I have to talk to Legolas?" Estorel protested. "You know I do not like to talk to people!"
Lórindol sighed.
"I will talk to Tauriel because I look sweet and innocent and harmless, and you will talk to Legolas because you do not. He likes that. And you like him and would not get to talk to him, otherwise. So two birds killed with one stone, perfect!"
"Not if you are one of the birds," Estorel said, but Lórindol had already dashed out of the door, eager to greet his favourite Elven lord.
You can read this story on AO3 as well.
Molly originally posted this entry at http://joyful-molly.dreamwidth.org/423219.html. You can comment on LJ or DW, using OpenID.