Fic: (The Return of) ACOTER: Annual Conference of the Elven Lords, Chapter 6, PG-13
ACOTER: ANNUAL CONFERENCE OF THE ELVEN REALMS
Day 5, Afternoon: Racing and Reckoning
Fandom: LOTR
Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel
Other characters: Elrond, Celeborn, Thranduil, Legolas, Tauriel, Mauburz, Námo, Estorel and Lórindol (the sons of Erestor and Glorfindel), Elvoron and Ellón (remember them?)
Rating: PG-13 overall
Warnings: None. Humour, adventure, a wee bit of drama.
Spoilers: Elves are mentioned who appear in The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug.
Beta: Eveiya
My apologies for the long break, the story is now almost finished and the next chapter will follow within the next days. Thanks for waiting!
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 streets of Rivendell were filled with Elves, Men and the occasional Dwarf, the latter trying hard to look grumpy and bored, yet secretly just as excited about the upcoming race as the cheerful crowd around them. Not even on the busiest market days had such a large crowd ever gathered in Rivendell. Long queues were forming in front of the betting stalls, with most of the Rivendell Elves betting on Elrond and those from Lórien on Celeborn, while the Mirkwood Elves placed large sums on their own kin and of course Thranduil, their king.
Legolas, however, had demonstratively placed four gold pieces on Mauburz, who would race on her loyal warg Otto. Nobody had ever seen Otto moving faster than an arthritic snail, but the Orc appreciated the gesture. Much to Glorfindel's amusement, Erestor had placed bets on everybody.
"Laugh away," Erestor had grumbled, "at least it means I cannot lose, and nobody will feel left out."
Now Erestor and Glorfindel, together with a nervous Tauriel, stood underneath a large apple tree behind the finishing line. A silver cup, intricately decorated with golden vines, was placed on a pedestal. It would be handed to the winner of the race by Lórindol, who had dressed carefully for the occasion. Clad in a white robe and with a wreath of sweet-smelling white flowers adorning his shiny golden hair, he was the picture of innocence and sweetness.
"You are up to something," Glorfindel said sternly, pointing at his youngest son. "Do not deny it."
Lórindol sighed dramatically, giving his father an insulted look from under long lashes.
"Ada, how can you say such a thing? Here I am, innocently waiting for the outcome of the race. The only thing I am up to is honouring the winner of this race."
Glorfindel rolled his eyes, then reached quickly into Lórindol's left pocked.
"Aha," he said triumphantly, holding up a catapult. "Are you sure?"
His son shrugged.
"I like to be prepared. Such a huge event, with so many people attending - Thranduil might as well paint a target on his back, do you not agree?"
"Nonsense," Glorfindel snapped, and handed the catapult to a puzzled-looking Erestor. "Nothing will happen here. Now try not to be annoying for the next hour, please!"
Tauriel, who had followed this exchange with increasing unease, pulled Lórindol aside as soon as Glorfindel turned his back to them.
"Is there anything I should know?" she hissed. "Did you hear anything?"
Lórindol sighed.
"I find it increasingly exhausting to discuss this case with people who are not capable of having even one logical train of thought. Tauriel, today would be the perfect day for the assassin to strike. Your king will be on show, and during the race, he will not have any guards by his side. There are thousands of people, the murderer would be beyond the frontiers of Imladris and halfway back to wherever he came from before anybody even noticed that Thranduil had been killed."
Tauriel shuddered at the thought, and it didn't sit well with her that this arrogant Elfling had thought of the obvious when she hadn't.
"You are horrible. But though I hate to admit it, you are also right. I wanted to join the race, but he removed me from the list of participants this morning. What do you suggest we do?"
"Well, if I was the head of Thranduil's guard, I would advise my king not to participate in the race in the first place."
Tauriel rolled her eyes.
"Lórindol. We are talking about Thranduil here."
"True. Club him over the head and lock him in Elrond's wine cellar."
"Hogwash. Other options?"
"None, save for praying to the Forest Spirits or the Valar for help."
"Very helpful, thank you. In other words, all we can do is wait here and twiddle thumbs? I do not like that!"
Lórindol didn't reply. He shaded his eyes against the sun, then pointed at two riders who crossed the bridge on their steeds.
"Hah! Now things are getting interesting!"
She blinked into the sun, then her eyes widened.
"By the Forest Spirits, who is that?"
Lórindol grinned.
"Another option, Tauriel."
* * *
"Everybody and their dog seem to have travelled to Imladris today," Elvoron said to his twin-brother Ellón. "It is madness. It looks like a giant anthill."
"I can hear them, and their dogs, too. They even drown out the noise of the river."
"At least we are in time for the race. Maybe we should place a bet?"
"Maybe we should turn around and return to the forest," Ellón grumbled.
Elvoron laughed. "Sometimes I really wonder what Námo is thinking. All I can hear is laughter, and anyway, Imladris is the least likely place for a murder to happen."
They had almost crossed the bridge, and Elvoron waved at the crowd on the other end.
"Erestor and Glorfindel are there, and Lórindol."
"Estorel as well?" Ellón asked.
"No."
"Wise Elf."
"Oh, do not always be so negative, brother! Who knows, maybe sia just did not want us to hide away from our friends?"
"Yes, no doubt." Ellón chuckled. "All hail Námo, the Vala of Death and Doom, spreading light, laughter and merriment since the First Age! I do not agree with you. Yes, there is laughter, but I can feel that something is not right here. Námo was right, something unpleasant is about to happen."
"Sourpuss," Elvoron laughed. "Would it cheer you up if I told you that I can also see a very beautiful redhead?"
"Redhead?" Ellón arched an eyebrow. "How very strange."
Elvoron had no idea what his brother was talking about, but they had reached the end of the bridge now, and were welcomed by their friends. Tauriel had heard about the twin sons of Elladan, of course, but hearing about something and seeing these strange beings in front of her was not the same, and she watched the twins with great fascination.
"Your grandfather will be so happy that you have come," Erestor said.
"And Thranduil will have a heart-attack," Lórindol crowed. "By the way, please meet the head of his guard: twins and brothers, the lovely Tauriel!"
Elvoron bowed. Despite his unusual appearance, he radiated friendliness, and Tauriel returned the greeting with a smile. Ellón, however, just stared at her, which was very disconcerting, considering that he could not see. He cocked his head, the dark, cold pools of his eyes fixed on Tauriel, who felt increasingly uncomfortable.
"I was right," he finally said, and leaned forward until he was only inches away from Tauriel. She could smell the distinctive scent of nutmeg, and shuddered as if she had just stepped into a cold, damp cave. "There is danger," Ellón continued, "and it is right here, Tauriel."
"You must forgive him," Elvoron said, grabbing Ellón by the sleeve of his jerkin and quickly pulling him away. "We are still working on his social skills."
* * *
The riders were all waiting on the starting line, their horses, elks and wargs prancing, impatient for the horn to blow, the sign for the race to begin. Elrond glared daggers at Thranduil, while Asfaloth refused to dignify Lumir, Thranduil's formidable racing elk, with so much as a blink. The only two racers looking calm and unperturbed were Mauburz, who scratched her warg Otto behind his ears, and Celeborn, whose smug smile caused the frown on Elrond's brow to deepen even more.
"And you are very certain you have not placed any bets, my lord?" Ophir asked for the umpteenth time, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"No, I have not, which will be to Lórien's loss," Celeborn replied," for I shall win as certainly as a Hobbit will have second breakfast." He patted Aratoamin's neck, and the horse neighed.
Thranduil snickered.
"A hobbit on a diet, maybe. Lumir would beat your nag even if he had to run on his hind legs."
"Oh, indeed, is that so? Well, we shall see."
With a big smile Celeborn pulled the saddle cloth from Aratoamin's back, and the crowd, previously cheering, chatting and being very noisy, immediately fell silent. Thranduil's eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing like that of a fish stranded on dry land.
"That - that - is wizardry," he finally gasped.
Mauburz scratched her head.
"No," she said. "Not wizardry. Wings."
Indeed. Celeborn's horse sported a formidable set of wings, previously hidden under the heavy saddle cloth. A most wondrous thing, as yet unknown to the people of Middle-earth.
Ophir was shocked.
"My… my lord! Where did you get this - thing from? And what did you pay for it?"
"Be quiet," Celeborn hissed. "I won him in a game of dice, now no more of it."
"But you do not have a budget for gambling," Ophir whined, "could you not simply have asked an eagle? We have a trade agreement with them, and-"
"Will you be quiet now?"
Thranduil's face had changed from deadly pallor to the dark reddish hue of a very angry drunk dwarf.
"This is against the regulations! I protest! I object! I dissent!"
"You may protest, object and dissent all you like, my dear Thranduil, but as you entered this race yourself on the basis that it does not matter what we race with, you cannot try and change the rules now just because you know you will be losing."
"You are cheating," Thranduil snapped. "It is very simply a case of cheating, once again. Is it not, Elrond?"¨
Before Elrond could reply, Legolas clapped his hands.
"Hah! I love this! And I am afraid he is correct, dear ada, is he not, Mistress Mauburz?"
"Yes. As Mauburz said before, not saying horse in letter," she replied, "only said race, not said what you race with. Poor Glorfindel. Will have to sleep on sofa till Yule."
"If he lives to see the night," Elrond grumbled darkly.
"Cheating, cheating, I say!" Thranduil cried once more.
"No, no, nice Lord Celeborn not cheating," Mauburz said gently, folding her hands and looking at Thranduil innocently. "He's only afraid of losing against nice King Thranduil. Must have sympathy, is not easy for him."
"Afraid? What? Me?" Celeborn was outraged. "The Lord of Lothlórien afraid of this forest pixie and his goat? Hah!" He threw his head back and laughed. "Afraid. Me. The laugh."
"Yes, nice Lord Celeborn is afraid, otherwise could have brought horse like everybody else. Is afraid like nice King Thranduil, who is afraid too, that's why has come with elk. Is very funny. Can we race now?"
"Yes, let us race," Celeborn snapped, "and just so you can see that I am not afraid of anything or anybody, I shall not make use of Aratoamin's wings. I do not need them, because I will win in any case. So there. Can we start, Elrond?"
Elrond longed for the comfortable sofa in his study, a glass of wine, a nice book and the absence of just about everybody but himself, but then this was A.C.O.T.E.R., what else but absolute disaster and chaos could be expected?
"Yes, yes, let us race, by all means. I guess I should be grateful nobody turned up on a bloody Balrog," he muttered. The riders mounted their horses - winged and non-winged ones - elks and wargs, and when the horn signalled the beginning of the race, they sped off.
You can read the story on AO3 as well.
Molly originally posted this entry at http://joyful-molly.dreamwidth.org/438325.html. You can comment on LJ or DW, using OpenID.
Day 5, Afternoon: Racing and Reckoning
Fandom: LOTR
Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel
Other characters: Elrond, Celeborn, Thranduil, Legolas, Tauriel, Mauburz, Námo, Estorel and Lórindol (the sons of Erestor and Glorfindel), Elvoron and Ellón (remember them?)
Rating: PG-13 overall
Warnings: None. Humour, adventure, a wee bit of drama.
Spoilers: Elves are mentioned who appear in The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug.
Beta: Eveiya
My apologies for the long break, the story is now almost finished and the next chapter will follow within the next days. Thanks for waiting!
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 streets of Rivendell were filled with Elves, Men and the occasional Dwarf, the latter trying hard to look grumpy and bored, yet secretly just as excited about the upcoming race as the cheerful crowd around them. Not even on the busiest market days had such a large crowd ever gathered in Rivendell. Long queues were forming in front of the betting stalls, with most of the Rivendell Elves betting on Elrond and those from Lórien on Celeborn, while the Mirkwood Elves placed large sums on their own kin and of course Thranduil, their king.
Legolas, however, had demonstratively placed four gold pieces on Mauburz, who would race on her loyal warg Otto. Nobody had ever seen Otto moving faster than an arthritic snail, but the Orc appreciated the gesture. Much to Glorfindel's amusement, Erestor had placed bets on everybody.
"Laugh away," Erestor had grumbled, "at least it means I cannot lose, and nobody will feel left out."
Now Erestor and Glorfindel, together with a nervous Tauriel, stood underneath a large apple tree behind the finishing line. A silver cup, intricately decorated with golden vines, was placed on a pedestal. It would be handed to the winner of the race by Lórindol, who had dressed carefully for the occasion. Clad in a white robe and with a wreath of sweet-smelling white flowers adorning his shiny golden hair, he was the picture of innocence and sweetness.
"You are up to something," Glorfindel said sternly, pointing at his youngest son. "Do not deny it."
Lórindol sighed dramatically, giving his father an insulted look from under long lashes.
"Ada, how can you say such a thing? Here I am, innocently waiting for the outcome of the race. The only thing I am up to is honouring the winner of this race."
Glorfindel rolled his eyes, then reached quickly into Lórindol's left pocked.
"Aha," he said triumphantly, holding up a catapult. "Are you sure?"
His son shrugged.
"I like to be prepared. Such a huge event, with so many people attending - Thranduil might as well paint a target on his back, do you not agree?"
"Nonsense," Glorfindel snapped, and handed the catapult to a puzzled-looking Erestor. "Nothing will happen here. Now try not to be annoying for the next hour, please!"
Tauriel, who had followed this exchange with increasing unease, pulled Lórindol aside as soon as Glorfindel turned his back to them.
"Is there anything I should know?" she hissed. "Did you hear anything?"
Lórindol sighed.
"I find it increasingly exhausting to discuss this case with people who are not capable of having even one logical train of thought. Tauriel, today would be the perfect day for the assassin to strike. Your king will be on show, and during the race, he will not have any guards by his side. There are thousands of people, the murderer would be beyond the frontiers of Imladris and halfway back to wherever he came from before anybody even noticed that Thranduil had been killed."
Tauriel shuddered at the thought, and it didn't sit well with her that this arrogant Elfling had thought of the obvious when she hadn't.
"You are horrible. But though I hate to admit it, you are also right. I wanted to join the race, but he removed me from the list of participants this morning. What do you suggest we do?"
"Well, if I was the head of Thranduil's guard, I would advise my king not to participate in the race in the first place."
Tauriel rolled her eyes.
"Lórindol. We are talking about Thranduil here."
"True. Club him over the head and lock him in Elrond's wine cellar."
"Hogwash. Other options?"
"None, save for praying to the Forest Spirits or the Valar for help."
"Very helpful, thank you. In other words, all we can do is wait here and twiddle thumbs? I do not like that!"
Lórindol didn't reply. He shaded his eyes against the sun, then pointed at two riders who crossed the bridge on their steeds.
"Hah! Now things are getting interesting!"
She blinked into the sun, then her eyes widened.
"By the Forest Spirits, who is that?"
Lórindol grinned.
"Another option, Tauriel."
* * *
"Everybody and their dog seem to have travelled to Imladris today," Elvoron said to his twin-brother Ellón. "It is madness. It looks like a giant anthill."
"I can hear them, and their dogs, too. They even drown out the noise of the river."
"At least we are in time for the race. Maybe we should place a bet?"
"Maybe we should turn around and return to the forest," Ellón grumbled.
Elvoron laughed. "Sometimes I really wonder what Námo is thinking. All I can hear is laughter, and anyway, Imladris is the least likely place for a murder to happen."
They had almost crossed the bridge, and Elvoron waved at the crowd on the other end.
"Erestor and Glorfindel are there, and Lórindol."
"Estorel as well?" Ellón asked.
"No."
"Wise Elf."
"Oh, do not always be so negative, brother! Who knows, maybe sia just did not want us to hide away from our friends?"
"Yes, no doubt." Ellón chuckled. "All hail Námo, the Vala of Death and Doom, spreading light, laughter and merriment since the First Age! I do not agree with you. Yes, there is laughter, but I can feel that something is not right here. Námo was right, something unpleasant is about to happen."
"Sourpuss," Elvoron laughed. "Would it cheer you up if I told you that I can also see a very beautiful redhead?"
"Redhead?" Ellón arched an eyebrow. "How very strange."
Elvoron had no idea what his brother was talking about, but they had reached the end of the bridge now, and were welcomed by their friends. Tauriel had heard about the twin sons of Elladan, of course, but hearing about something and seeing these strange beings in front of her was not the same, and she watched the twins with great fascination.
"Your grandfather will be so happy that you have come," Erestor said.
"And Thranduil will have a heart-attack," Lórindol crowed. "By the way, please meet the head of his guard: twins and brothers, the lovely Tauriel!"
Elvoron bowed. Despite his unusual appearance, he radiated friendliness, and Tauriel returned the greeting with a smile. Ellón, however, just stared at her, which was very disconcerting, considering that he could not see. He cocked his head, the dark, cold pools of his eyes fixed on Tauriel, who felt increasingly uncomfortable.
"I was right," he finally said, and leaned forward until he was only inches away from Tauriel. She could smell the distinctive scent of nutmeg, and shuddered as if she had just stepped into a cold, damp cave. "There is danger," Ellón continued, "and it is right here, Tauriel."
"You must forgive him," Elvoron said, grabbing Ellón by the sleeve of his jerkin and quickly pulling him away. "We are still working on his social skills."
* * *
The riders were all waiting on the starting line, their horses, elks and wargs prancing, impatient for the horn to blow, the sign for the race to begin. Elrond glared daggers at Thranduil, while Asfaloth refused to dignify Lumir, Thranduil's formidable racing elk, with so much as a blink. The only two racers looking calm and unperturbed were Mauburz, who scratched her warg Otto behind his ears, and Celeborn, whose smug smile caused the frown on Elrond's brow to deepen even more.
"And you are very certain you have not placed any bets, my lord?" Ophir asked for the umpteenth time, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"No, I have not, which will be to Lórien's loss," Celeborn replied," for I shall win as certainly as a Hobbit will have second breakfast." He patted Aratoamin's neck, and the horse neighed.
Thranduil snickered.
"A hobbit on a diet, maybe. Lumir would beat your nag even if he had to run on his hind legs."
"Oh, indeed, is that so? Well, we shall see."
With a big smile Celeborn pulled the saddle cloth from Aratoamin's back, and the crowd, previously cheering, chatting and being very noisy, immediately fell silent. Thranduil's eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing like that of a fish stranded on dry land.
"That - that - is wizardry," he finally gasped.
Mauburz scratched her head.
"No," she said. "Not wizardry. Wings."
Indeed. Celeborn's horse sported a formidable set of wings, previously hidden under the heavy saddle cloth. A most wondrous thing, as yet unknown to the people of Middle-earth.
Ophir was shocked.
"My… my lord! Where did you get this - thing from? And what did you pay for it?"
"Be quiet," Celeborn hissed. "I won him in a game of dice, now no more of it."
"But you do not have a budget for gambling," Ophir whined, "could you not simply have asked an eagle? We have a trade agreement with them, and-"
"Will you be quiet now?"
Thranduil's face had changed from deadly pallor to the dark reddish hue of a very angry drunk dwarf.
"This is against the regulations! I protest! I object! I dissent!"
"You may protest, object and dissent all you like, my dear Thranduil, but as you entered this race yourself on the basis that it does not matter what we race with, you cannot try and change the rules now just because you know you will be losing."
"You are cheating," Thranduil snapped. "It is very simply a case of cheating, once again. Is it not, Elrond?"¨
Before Elrond could reply, Legolas clapped his hands.
"Hah! I love this! And I am afraid he is correct, dear ada, is he not, Mistress Mauburz?"
"Yes. As Mauburz said before, not saying horse in letter," she replied, "only said race, not said what you race with. Poor Glorfindel. Will have to sleep on sofa till Yule."
"If he lives to see the night," Elrond grumbled darkly.
"Cheating, cheating, I say!" Thranduil cried once more.
"No, no, nice Lord Celeborn not cheating," Mauburz said gently, folding her hands and looking at Thranduil innocently. "He's only afraid of losing against nice King Thranduil. Must have sympathy, is not easy for him."
"Afraid? What? Me?" Celeborn was outraged. "The Lord of Lothlórien afraid of this forest pixie and his goat? Hah!" He threw his head back and laughed. "Afraid. Me. The laugh."
"Yes, nice Lord Celeborn is afraid, otherwise could have brought horse like everybody else. Is afraid like nice King Thranduil, who is afraid too, that's why has come with elk. Is very funny. Can we race now?"
"Yes, let us race," Celeborn snapped, "and just so you can see that I am not afraid of anything or anybody, I shall not make use of Aratoamin's wings. I do not need them, because I will win in any case. So there. Can we start, Elrond?"
Elrond longed for the comfortable sofa in his study, a glass of wine, a nice book and the absence of just about everybody but himself, but then this was A.C.O.T.E.R., what else but absolute disaster and chaos could be expected?
"Yes, yes, let us race, by all means. I guess I should be grateful nobody turned up on a bloody Balrog," he muttered. The riders mounted their horses - winged and non-winged ones - elks and wargs, and when the horn signalled the beginning of the race, they sped off.
You can read the story on AO3 as well.
Molly originally posted this entry at http://joyful-molly.dreamwidth.org/438325.html. You can comment on LJ or DW, using OpenID.