Fic: (The Return of) ACOTER: Annual Conference of the Elven Lords, Chapter 11, PG-13
ACOTER: ANNUAL CONFERENCE OF THE ELVEN REALMS
Day 7: Dwarves and Departures
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.
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 end of A.C.O.T.E.R. was traditionally marked by a feast in the great hall of the Last Homely House with music, dancing and merriment, but considering the exceptional events of the last days, the festivities had been called off. The guests prepared for an early departure; all but Thranduil and Legolas, who were not fit to travel yet. The delegation from Mirkwood would have to enjoy the hospitality of Imladris for at least another fortnight.
"This stew tastes funny," Legolas said, and pushed his plate aside. "Is it possible somebody has poisoned our food again?"
"Considering Elrond's face when he informed me that his grandsons will come to live with us in Mirkwood, I would not be surprised. Do you think he stores Orc blood in the House of Healing?"
Legolas chuckled and leaned back in his seat.
"I do not know, but maybe Mauburz made a donation."
They had decided that it would be better to have their lunch in the privacy of Thranduil's chamber, away from angry glares and possibly worse. Erestor's outburst had left Thranduil shaken, even if he would never have admitted it. If an Elf with a mere one eighth Plains Elf heritage was capable of such violence, what could be expected of Elrohir's twins, who were half Plains Elf, if Thranduil's suspicions were correct?
"Tauriel, is anything amiss?"
Tauriel stopped separating the peas from the carrots on her plate and looked up.
"My king?"
"You are not talking, and you are not eating. So you must be pondering."
Tauriel sighed.
"I wonder if my decision was wise. Will I not put Mirkwood at risk if I return? Whoever is behind the attacks will not give up. Who knows what will happen next? Maybe - well, maybe it would be in everybody's best interest if I sailed west instead. In Valinor, I would be safe and with my kin."
Legolas tapped his fork on the table.
"Very considerate of you. But keep in mind that your 'kin' would be strangers. And who knows what Valinor is really like. For all we know, they hold weekly embroidery circles and breed pigeons."
"Legolas! Do not speak in such a disrespectful way," Thranduil said, though similar thoughts had crossed his own mind from time to time. Thanks to Gil-galad and Amaris, he knew that the Halls of Waiting at least offered a wide selection of spirits. Of Valinor, no such assurances were known.
Tauriel didn't reply. She had finished separating carrots and peas, and was now beginning to arrange the peas in a decorative pattern around the mashed potatoes.
Thranduil shook his head.
"Nobody is going anywhere yet. The sons of Elrohir have promised to protect Tauriel and our house, and I certainly welcome two more warriors to protect our people. I have watched them on the training grounds here at Imladris; despite their young age they fight like seasoned warriors. Ellón is very skilled in handling his sword; truly amazing, considering that he is blind. I would really like to know who-"
He broke off and reached for the wine. Legolas arched an eyebrow and looked at his father, but Thranduil shook his head; this was not the moment to discuss his theories about the parentage of Elrohir's sons.
There was a knock on the door.
"I suppose we cannot pretend that we are not in," Legolas said. "That is the curse of thin wooden doors."
"I know why I live in a cave," Thranduil said. "Please come in," he cried, for they were alone and had sent all servants away.
The door opened, and in came Celeborn. He was already dressed for travel, in the plain greys of the Galadhrim. For some reason, this made him look more intimidating than if he had worn splendid robes of velvet and silver. Celeborn the warrior always made Thranduil feel a little uncomfortable.
"Well met, my friends. Oh, I see you have wine, good," he said, pulling a chair to the table and pouring himself a glass. "Somebody must have nicked my stocks; my bets are on Lórindol. How Erestor and Glorfindel managed to raise him without losing their minds is beyond me."
Celeborn emptied his glass in one go.
"Ah. Bliss."
"Something tells me you did not come here to drink wine or discuss Lórindol's behaviour, Celeborn."
"No. I am here to discuss yours. And you must admit there is much to discuss."
"I think I should leave," Tauriel said, and began to stand up, but Celeborn ordered her with one gesture to stay, so she sat down again.
"I feel that enough talking about you has been done behind your back, Tauriel. I, for one, wish to talk about you while you are present. Now, as you can imagine, I am most indignant about this whole matter, Thranduil. How could you keep this from us? You have known for six hundred years that Amrod might be alive, and did not tell us? What in Eru's name were you thinking?"
Thranduil straightened up, trying not to wince at the pain this caused him.
"Do you think I have not taken all possible measures to find him, Celeborn? I have entrusted my chief counsellor with the search for Amrod, and you know what Lionel is like; he is the most dedicated and reliable Elf at my court. I trust him with my life, and in six hundred years, he has not found a single trace of Amrod in all of Middle-earth. Either the Ambarussa is dead and has passed on to the Halls of Waiting, or he has sailed west and now resides in Valinor. In either case he does not pose a danger to us any more, of that I am certain."
"Why do you think my father would have posed a danger?" Tauriel asked.
Thranduil looked at her in exasperation.
"Oh well, why ever... Son of Fëanor? Oath? Silmarils? Kinslayings?"
"But that was so long ago. "
Celeborn pinched the bridge of his nose.
"The young ones have absolutely no sense of history, Thranduil. But maybe that is a blessing. If you tell me that you are certain that Amrod is not in Middle-earth any more, then I am satisfied."
He refilled his glass.
"Tauriel, if you do not wish to return to Mirkwood, you are invited to travel with me to Lothlórien and will be welcome to stay there."
"What?" Thranduil would have jumped up if his injuries had permitted it. "That is absolutely out of question!"
"That is not your decision to make. Tauriel, know that there are options, and that you are welcome."
Legolas arched an eyebrow.
"Very generous. What about Galadriel? How would you explain this to her? That you won Tauriel in a game of dice or exchanged her for a flying horse"
"This was actually Galadriel's idea. She far-spoke to me last night, suggesting that I offer shelter to those who need it. She obviously does not know the whole story, though."
"Well, in that case she might as well have spoken about my father," Legolas snapped.
Celeborn sighed. "No reason to get upset, Legolas. But if you would look at the matter with a little more rationality and less emotion, you must admit that Lothlórien, the Heart of Elvendom, has a far larger army than Mirkwood, better equipped to protect Tauriel, and with the additional protection of the Lady Galadriel. The King of Mirkwood has many virtues, but magic is not one of them."
"You only say that because you have not seen my card tricks, Celeborn," Thranduil said smoothly. "Thank you for your concern, but we have protected Tauriel for six hundred years; we will manage for another six hundred."
"But you do need my great-grandsons," Celeborn said icily.
Thranduil banged his fist on the armrest.
"Ah, we are getting to the core of the matter! For your information, that was the twins' idea. Odd ideas must run in your family, my dear Celeborn; do not blame it on me! I will certainly not drag them along to Mirkwood against their will, but they seem to be determined to go there, so what do you want me to do? Tie them down here? They are of your blood; you order them to stay here, maybe they will listen."
Celeborn rolled the glass between his hands. He suddenly looked very tired and worn.
"They will not. I already tried. They feel they must leave, and I will not hold them back. But we all have lost so much already, Thranduil. Try to understand that it is not easy for us to let them go. No matter what they look like; to us, they are still Elflings."
"Celeborn, I promise that I will look after your Elflings as if they were my own," Thranduil said. "They cannot possibly be more difficult than Legolas, and at least they can swim."
Legolas rolled his eyes and decided not to comment on the matter. They all looked at Tauriel, who had not said anything to Celeborn's suggestion so far.
"Tauriel, if you wish to go to Lothlórien, you are free to leave," Thranduil said. "Their army is passable, and soon, Orophin, Haldir and Rabbit will settle there as well. One cannot be much safer than living in the neighbourhood of Rabbit, I suppose. Unless one is edible, that is. It is your decision."
Tauriel looked from Celeborn to Thranduil to Legolas, and remembered her two stays in Lothlórien. It was a place of wonder, full of light, music, poetry and beauty. She never had to climb a tree to see the sun or the stars, everything was open and bright and airy. And the Elves of Lothlórien - fairer, friendlier beings she had never met!
Mirkwood, on the other hand... spiders, poisonous plants, draughty caves, cold winters, lack of sunshine and lots of moody, often rude and not very considerate Elves. It really did not take her more than a moment to make her decision.
"My lord Celeborn, I cannot thank you and the lady Galadriel enough for this generous offer."
She gave him a sheepish smile.
"But really, I would rather stay in Mirkwood."
* * *
"You better hurry, or we'll leave without you, Dûlla," Dûl grunted, carrying a heavy chest. "And remember that you can't keep him, even if he followed you home!"
"Old grumbler. I will leave when I'm ready! Older brothers, nothing but trouble."
"Truer words were never spoken," Lórindol said. He knelt on the floor of the Celandine Tavern while Dûlla was combing his hair.
"So, what do you want?"
"I want Dwarf braids," Lórindol said. "Like yours."
Dûlla snickered.
"My dear boy, I doubt you want braids announcing to all and sundry that you are a married middle-aged Dwarf lady with five children. I'll make you a warrior's braid instead."
"But I am not a warrior yet. I am only eighty years old."
"Ah bah, what are twenty years compared to the life-span of an Elf? Nothing!"
Lórindol sighed.
"It is a very long time if you are grounded. Ouch! You are pulling my hair!"
"Well of course I'm pulling your hair, I'm braiding it! So you are grounded? What are you doing here then? I don't think your parents will like this, Lórindol."
He leaned against Dûlla's legs.
"Ada said I may not wander further from the Last Homely House than he can throw me. He slew a Balrog, so I think he could throw me as far as the market square, do you not agree? That aside, he would never set foot in the Celandine Tavern. The mere thought of celandines gives him nausea. He hates celandines almost as much as I hate fennel."
"Fennel is very nice and good for you. Marry a woman who knows how to cook fennel and spinach, and you will never see a day of illness."
Lórindol shuddered.
"I do not wish to marry, ever. Especially not somebody who cooks fennel and spinach!"
"Ah, that's what you say now, my dear boy. I bet that I'll see you dance with the prettiest ladies at Estorel's coming-of-age celebrations."
"You might even win that bet," Estorel said, arching an eyebrow, "though not for the reasons you assume. Knowing my dear brother, he will disappear ten minutes into the festivities and leave me with a gaggle of giggling females. It has happened before."
"Oh, you poor thing," Dûlla said with mock sympathy. "Should that be the case, I promise to come and rescue you."
"Thank you! I am so happy that ada invited you for the festivities; I cannot wait to hear more about your home and your business. One day you have to blow a mountain to rubble for me, Dûlla. Will you do that?"
She laughed, finishing the braid in Lórindol's golden hair.
"Yes, yes, I promise. Now wait a moment, something is missing."
She removed six bells from her whiskers, and fixed them to Lórindol's braid. He moved his head slightly from left to right, and the bells chimed; a gentle, silvery sound. He clapped his hands and gave Dûlla his brightest smile.
"I love this, thank you so much!"
"Your parents will like it as well; easier to find you, and much handier than a leash."
"They not need leash, they just follow path of destruction."
Lórindol looked up.
"Oh, Mauburz. How did you find me?"
"Just follow Dwarves. You terrible Elfling! Nice Lord Glorfindel looking everywhere for you, Lord Celeborn leaving! You not want to say farewell? Very bad manners! Should be grounded for next century!"
Lórindol crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.
"He is several thousand years old, I am certain he will find the way home without my help."
"Now that does it," Dûlla said. She waved her finger angrily at Lórindol.
"Don't be so disrespectful, you little rascal! Off you go back to your parents, and no more talking back! Count yourself lucky that you're not one of my brood; I'd give you a good hiding. Or at least pretend I would. And now hurry!"
Lórindol wasn't used to such stern lectures and looked rather fazed. Glorfindel usually let him do what he wanted and Erestor hardly ever went further than meting out disapproving looks.
Mauburz grinned.
"You better do what Mistress Dûlla says. Is very angry Dwarf lady."
Lórindol sniffed.
"Fine. Good. I will leave. But only because I want to, not because you told me to."
He turned and flounced out of the tavern, leaving Mauburz and Dûlla behind. The two exchanged an exasperated look.
"A terrible age," Dûlla said, and Mauburz nodded in agreement. "The moment they start to grow a beard, they are nothing but trouble. And the boys are even worse."
* * *
As Celeborn had given his steed to Mauburz, Elrond had presented him with a horse for the journey back to Lothlórien. Considering that it was one of Imladris' best stallions and therefore very valuable, Ophir's mood had improved a little. He still looked like he had sucked on a lemon all morning, though. Ellón and Elvoron had come to wish their great-grand ada a safe journey home, Elrond was there as well, of course, and Glorfindel and Lórindol were present, too. Despite their injuries, Thranduil and Legolas had come to the market square.
Erestor, however, was nowhere in sight. It was unheard of for Erestor to neglect his duties in such a way, and this gave rise to much gossip among the Elves of Imladris. Was Erestor sick? Had something happened? The usual source of information, Lórindol, was not accessible, because Glorfindel watched his youngest son like a hawk, and Estorel was, as usual, nowhere in sight.
Celeborn hugged first Elvoron and then Ellón.
"And if there should be anything you need, no matter what, if there should be any danger, you must let me or nana Galadriel know, do you understand? There is no heroism in foolishness."
"We promise to be careful," Ellón said. "Please trust us. We know what we are doing."
"I hope so. Always remember, if something happens to you, I will come and rip Thranduil's head off."
Thranduil frowned, but refrained from commenting.
Elvoron grinned.
"Now do not look so serious. Who knows, maybe we could hold the next A.C.O.T.E.R. in Mirkwood? It could be fun! We could chase spiders, for example!"
Celeborn smiled. He mounted his horse, and bowed his head one last time to Elrond.
"As long as there is no more racing... but then Mistress Mauburz promised that there will not be. "
Mauburz nodded enthusiastically.
"No. No racing. No racing ever again. Mauburz promises. Will find something else to do. Archery, maybe. Hide-and-seek. Or pie-making contest."
Legolas laughed.
"Oh yes! I am all for it! The Great Mirkwood Bake-Off!"
Thranduil arched an eyebrow and gave his son a sidewise glance.
"You might be surprised, son."
* * *
There was a stream running through the forest on the eastern side of Imladris. It was crossed by a narrow bridge; very popular with the Elflings of Imladris. They would sit on the bridge one by one like chickens on a roost, chatting, giggling and watching the fish swim by. If the weather was very hot, they would dip their bare feet in the water and splash each other.
Today there were no Elflings, though, only Estorel. He was standing in the stream, concentrating. So far, there was only one ornament etched into the skin of his back; a sign in the ancient language of the Plains Elves. Rabbit had placed it there to mark Estorel's first kill in a hunt, a warg. Soon, another sign would follow, marking Estorel's coming-of-age. Rabbit was covered in signs and markings from head to toe, for he had fought many battles.
Legolas' markings were also impressive. The latest two signs were still fresh, and Estorel had seen them immediately. Placed on his right forearm, they had announced to the world both his marriage and the birth of his son.
"To Mordor with him!"
Quick as a flash, Estorel dove into the water, and when he emerged, he held a crayfish in his hand.
"I see I am not the only one who is shirking his responsibilities today."
Estorel jumped and dropped the crayfish, which made a quick escape downstream.
"Sia? What are you doing here?"
Erestor stood on the narrow bridge. He had watched his son for quite a while.
"As I said: shirking my responsibilities. The delegation from Mirkwood is leaving today, and I decided that Lord Elrond and your father are perfectly capable of sending them off without my help. I am not in the mood for drama. So I came here, as I thought you were not too keen on waving them goodbye, either."
Estorel couldn't help but smile. He shook his head and his long black hair sent water flying in all directions.
"You know me all too well, sia. Then again, you have not been seen for these last weeks, either."
Erestor leaned on the railing.
"Very true, and how unbecoming of Lord Elrond's chief councillor. Are you catching crayfish?"
"Yes. Lost one because you startled me, though. Do you want me to catch one for you?"
Erestor considered the offer for a moment, then he shook his head.
"No, I will catch one myself. I am in the mood for hunting."
He took of his boots, belt and jerkin, and swung over the railing, landing in the middle of the stream.
Estorel looked at him a little doubtfully, but Erestor wagged a finger at him.
"Think twice before you say something you might regret, penneth, or I shall remember that you compared me to a Gondorian fish monger."
Estorel blushed.
"I am sorry, sia. I did not mean to insult you."
"Gondorian fish monger. Really. You have never even been to Gondor!"
"Sia, I-"
"That aside, you were right, and I was wrong. I am the one who should apologise. Still, I cannot change how I feel. And if you think we will sail west and you can do whatever you want here as soon as you have reached your majority, you are wrong, son! And now enough of it, on with the hunt!"
Erestor pushed Estorel over, and he landed face first in the stream. Erestor laughed and dove into the water, emerging soon after with a crayfish.
"Sia!" Estorel snorted. "How could you!"
He chased after his sia, and soon the two were involved in a water fight, dunking and splashing each other while catching crayfish.
Glorfindel and Lórindol watched them from the safe distance of the bridge.
"You were right," Glorfindel said. "I would not have looked for them here in a million years."
"Oh, Estorel always comes here if he is angry, moody or grumpy. So he is here very often. I am surprised to see sia here, though. Did you see that? Sia caught a crayfish! Neat!"
Erestor turned around and saw his husband and youngest son standing on the bridge. He smiled and waved.
"Fin! Do you want a crayfish?"
Glorfindel shuddered.
"Thank you, very tempting, but I just had lunch, beloved!"
Glorfindel and Lórindol watched the rest of their family for a little while longer, then Glorfindel began to undress. Lórindol stared at him in utter bewilderment.
"Ada, what are you doing? You cannot possibly want to jump in the stream too?"
Glorfindel looked at this youngest son and gave him a loving smile.
"Lórindol, penneth - one day you will meet someone for whom you will jump in a stream as well, no questions asked. Then you will understand."
With that, Glorfindel also swung over the railing, and dove into the water, emerging behind Erestor and pulling him close. Erestor yelped, then laughed, and when Glorfindel kissed him, he reciprocated enthusiastically.
Estorel shuddered.
"Ew, ada, sia, please! Not when we are looking," he shouted, and quickly chased after another crayfish.
Lórindol watched them, leaning on the railing, chin propped on his arms. He was only eighty years old, and so far, the important things in his life had been cake, unsolved puzzles, Dwarves and gossip, but now, taking in the happiness of his parents, with the sun shining and the laughter of his brother in the air, a desire formed in his heart; a small flame, which one day would become a burning fire.
"I want this, too," he said to himself. "One day, I want this, too."
The End!
Well, almost - there will be an epilogue. After all, there is still the issue of Thranduil's missing jewel...
You can read the story on AO3 as well.
Molly originally posted this entry at http://joyful-molly.dreamwidth.org/441491.html. You can comment on LJ or DW, using OpenID.
Day 7: Dwarves and Departures
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.
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 end of A.C.O.T.E.R. was traditionally marked by a feast in the great hall of the Last Homely House with music, dancing and merriment, but considering the exceptional events of the last days, the festivities had been called off. The guests prepared for an early departure; all but Thranduil and Legolas, who were not fit to travel yet. The delegation from Mirkwood would have to enjoy the hospitality of Imladris for at least another fortnight.
"This stew tastes funny," Legolas said, and pushed his plate aside. "Is it possible somebody has poisoned our food again?"
"Considering Elrond's face when he informed me that his grandsons will come to live with us in Mirkwood, I would not be surprised. Do you think he stores Orc blood in the House of Healing?"
Legolas chuckled and leaned back in his seat.
"I do not know, but maybe Mauburz made a donation."
They had decided that it would be better to have their lunch in the privacy of Thranduil's chamber, away from angry glares and possibly worse. Erestor's outburst had left Thranduil shaken, even if he would never have admitted it. If an Elf with a mere one eighth Plains Elf heritage was capable of such violence, what could be expected of Elrohir's twins, who were half Plains Elf, if Thranduil's suspicions were correct?
"Tauriel, is anything amiss?"
Tauriel stopped separating the peas from the carrots on her plate and looked up.
"My king?"
"You are not talking, and you are not eating. So you must be pondering."
Tauriel sighed.
"I wonder if my decision was wise. Will I not put Mirkwood at risk if I return? Whoever is behind the attacks will not give up. Who knows what will happen next? Maybe - well, maybe it would be in everybody's best interest if I sailed west instead. In Valinor, I would be safe and with my kin."
Legolas tapped his fork on the table.
"Very considerate of you. But keep in mind that your 'kin' would be strangers. And who knows what Valinor is really like. For all we know, they hold weekly embroidery circles and breed pigeons."
"Legolas! Do not speak in such a disrespectful way," Thranduil said, though similar thoughts had crossed his own mind from time to time. Thanks to Gil-galad and Amaris, he knew that the Halls of Waiting at least offered a wide selection of spirits. Of Valinor, no such assurances were known.
Tauriel didn't reply. She had finished separating carrots and peas, and was now beginning to arrange the peas in a decorative pattern around the mashed potatoes.
Thranduil shook his head.
"Nobody is going anywhere yet. The sons of Elrohir have promised to protect Tauriel and our house, and I certainly welcome two more warriors to protect our people. I have watched them on the training grounds here at Imladris; despite their young age they fight like seasoned warriors. Ellón is very skilled in handling his sword; truly amazing, considering that he is blind. I would really like to know who-"
He broke off and reached for the wine. Legolas arched an eyebrow and looked at his father, but Thranduil shook his head; this was not the moment to discuss his theories about the parentage of Elrohir's sons.
There was a knock on the door.
"I suppose we cannot pretend that we are not in," Legolas said. "That is the curse of thin wooden doors."
"I know why I live in a cave," Thranduil said. "Please come in," he cried, for they were alone and had sent all servants away.
The door opened, and in came Celeborn. He was already dressed for travel, in the plain greys of the Galadhrim. For some reason, this made him look more intimidating than if he had worn splendid robes of velvet and silver. Celeborn the warrior always made Thranduil feel a little uncomfortable.
"Well met, my friends. Oh, I see you have wine, good," he said, pulling a chair to the table and pouring himself a glass. "Somebody must have nicked my stocks; my bets are on Lórindol. How Erestor and Glorfindel managed to raise him without losing their minds is beyond me."
Celeborn emptied his glass in one go.
"Ah. Bliss."
"Something tells me you did not come here to drink wine or discuss Lórindol's behaviour, Celeborn."
"No. I am here to discuss yours. And you must admit there is much to discuss."
"I think I should leave," Tauriel said, and began to stand up, but Celeborn ordered her with one gesture to stay, so she sat down again.
"I feel that enough talking about you has been done behind your back, Tauriel. I, for one, wish to talk about you while you are present. Now, as you can imagine, I am most indignant about this whole matter, Thranduil. How could you keep this from us? You have known for six hundred years that Amrod might be alive, and did not tell us? What in Eru's name were you thinking?"
Thranduil straightened up, trying not to wince at the pain this caused him.
"Do you think I have not taken all possible measures to find him, Celeborn? I have entrusted my chief counsellor with the search for Amrod, and you know what Lionel is like; he is the most dedicated and reliable Elf at my court. I trust him with my life, and in six hundred years, he has not found a single trace of Amrod in all of Middle-earth. Either the Ambarussa is dead and has passed on to the Halls of Waiting, or he has sailed west and now resides in Valinor. In either case he does not pose a danger to us any more, of that I am certain."
"Why do you think my father would have posed a danger?" Tauriel asked.
Thranduil looked at her in exasperation.
"Oh well, why ever... Son of Fëanor? Oath? Silmarils? Kinslayings?"
"But that was so long ago. "
Celeborn pinched the bridge of his nose.
"The young ones have absolutely no sense of history, Thranduil. But maybe that is a blessing. If you tell me that you are certain that Amrod is not in Middle-earth any more, then I am satisfied."
He refilled his glass.
"Tauriel, if you do not wish to return to Mirkwood, you are invited to travel with me to Lothlórien and will be welcome to stay there."
"What?" Thranduil would have jumped up if his injuries had permitted it. "That is absolutely out of question!"
"That is not your decision to make. Tauriel, know that there are options, and that you are welcome."
Legolas arched an eyebrow.
"Very generous. What about Galadriel? How would you explain this to her? That you won Tauriel in a game of dice or exchanged her for a flying horse"
"This was actually Galadriel's idea. She far-spoke to me last night, suggesting that I offer shelter to those who need it. She obviously does not know the whole story, though."
"Well, in that case she might as well have spoken about my father," Legolas snapped.
Celeborn sighed. "No reason to get upset, Legolas. But if you would look at the matter with a little more rationality and less emotion, you must admit that Lothlórien, the Heart of Elvendom, has a far larger army than Mirkwood, better equipped to protect Tauriel, and with the additional protection of the Lady Galadriel. The King of Mirkwood has many virtues, but magic is not one of them."
"You only say that because you have not seen my card tricks, Celeborn," Thranduil said smoothly. "Thank you for your concern, but we have protected Tauriel for six hundred years; we will manage for another six hundred."
"But you do need my great-grandsons," Celeborn said icily.
Thranduil banged his fist on the armrest.
"Ah, we are getting to the core of the matter! For your information, that was the twins' idea. Odd ideas must run in your family, my dear Celeborn; do not blame it on me! I will certainly not drag them along to Mirkwood against their will, but they seem to be determined to go there, so what do you want me to do? Tie them down here? They are of your blood; you order them to stay here, maybe they will listen."
Celeborn rolled the glass between his hands. He suddenly looked very tired and worn.
"They will not. I already tried. They feel they must leave, and I will not hold them back. But we all have lost so much already, Thranduil. Try to understand that it is not easy for us to let them go. No matter what they look like; to us, they are still Elflings."
"Celeborn, I promise that I will look after your Elflings as if they were my own," Thranduil said. "They cannot possibly be more difficult than Legolas, and at least they can swim."
Legolas rolled his eyes and decided not to comment on the matter. They all looked at Tauriel, who had not said anything to Celeborn's suggestion so far.
"Tauriel, if you wish to go to Lothlórien, you are free to leave," Thranduil said. "Their army is passable, and soon, Orophin, Haldir and Rabbit will settle there as well. One cannot be much safer than living in the neighbourhood of Rabbit, I suppose. Unless one is edible, that is. It is your decision."
Tauriel looked from Celeborn to Thranduil to Legolas, and remembered her two stays in Lothlórien. It was a place of wonder, full of light, music, poetry and beauty. She never had to climb a tree to see the sun or the stars, everything was open and bright and airy. And the Elves of Lothlórien - fairer, friendlier beings she had never met!
Mirkwood, on the other hand... spiders, poisonous plants, draughty caves, cold winters, lack of sunshine and lots of moody, often rude and not very considerate Elves. It really did not take her more than a moment to make her decision.
"My lord Celeborn, I cannot thank you and the lady Galadriel enough for this generous offer."
She gave him a sheepish smile.
"But really, I would rather stay in Mirkwood."
* * *
"You better hurry, or we'll leave without you, Dûlla," Dûl grunted, carrying a heavy chest. "And remember that you can't keep him, even if he followed you home!"
"Old grumbler. I will leave when I'm ready! Older brothers, nothing but trouble."
"Truer words were never spoken," Lórindol said. He knelt on the floor of the Celandine Tavern while Dûlla was combing his hair.
"So, what do you want?"
"I want Dwarf braids," Lórindol said. "Like yours."
Dûlla snickered.
"My dear boy, I doubt you want braids announcing to all and sundry that you are a married middle-aged Dwarf lady with five children. I'll make you a warrior's braid instead."
"But I am not a warrior yet. I am only eighty years old."
"Ah bah, what are twenty years compared to the life-span of an Elf? Nothing!"
Lórindol sighed.
"It is a very long time if you are grounded. Ouch! You are pulling my hair!"
"Well of course I'm pulling your hair, I'm braiding it! So you are grounded? What are you doing here then? I don't think your parents will like this, Lórindol."
He leaned against Dûlla's legs.
"Ada said I may not wander further from the Last Homely House than he can throw me. He slew a Balrog, so I think he could throw me as far as the market square, do you not agree? That aside, he would never set foot in the Celandine Tavern. The mere thought of celandines gives him nausea. He hates celandines almost as much as I hate fennel."
"Fennel is very nice and good for you. Marry a woman who knows how to cook fennel and spinach, and you will never see a day of illness."
Lórindol shuddered.
"I do not wish to marry, ever. Especially not somebody who cooks fennel and spinach!"
"Ah, that's what you say now, my dear boy. I bet that I'll see you dance with the prettiest ladies at Estorel's coming-of-age celebrations."
"You might even win that bet," Estorel said, arching an eyebrow, "though not for the reasons you assume. Knowing my dear brother, he will disappear ten minutes into the festivities and leave me with a gaggle of giggling females. It has happened before."
"Oh, you poor thing," Dûlla said with mock sympathy. "Should that be the case, I promise to come and rescue you."
"Thank you! I am so happy that ada invited you for the festivities; I cannot wait to hear more about your home and your business. One day you have to blow a mountain to rubble for me, Dûlla. Will you do that?"
She laughed, finishing the braid in Lórindol's golden hair.
"Yes, yes, I promise. Now wait a moment, something is missing."
She removed six bells from her whiskers, and fixed them to Lórindol's braid. He moved his head slightly from left to right, and the bells chimed; a gentle, silvery sound. He clapped his hands and gave Dûlla his brightest smile.
"I love this, thank you so much!"
"Your parents will like it as well; easier to find you, and much handier than a leash."
"They not need leash, they just follow path of destruction."
Lórindol looked up.
"Oh, Mauburz. How did you find me?"
"Just follow Dwarves. You terrible Elfling! Nice Lord Glorfindel looking everywhere for you, Lord Celeborn leaving! You not want to say farewell? Very bad manners! Should be grounded for next century!"
Lórindol crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.
"He is several thousand years old, I am certain he will find the way home without my help."
"Now that does it," Dûlla said. She waved her finger angrily at Lórindol.
"Don't be so disrespectful, you little rascal! Off you go back to your parents, and no more talking back! Count yourself lucky that you're not one of my brood; I'd give you a good hiding. Or at least pretend I would. And now hurry!"
Lórindol wasn't used to such stern lectures and looked rather fazed. Glorfindel usually let him do what he wanted and Erestor hardly ever went further than meting out disapproving looks.
Mauburz grinned.
"You better do what Mistress Dûlla says. Is very angry Dwarf lady."
Lórindol sniffed.
"Fine. Good. I will leave. But only because I want to, not because you told me to."
He turned and flounced out of the tavern, leaving Mauburz and Dûlla behind. The two exchanged an exasperated look.
"A terrible age," Dûlla said, and Mauburz nodded in agreement. "The moment they start to grow a beard, they are nothing but trouble. And the boys are even worse."
* * *
As Celeborn had given his steed to Mauburz, Elrond had presented him with a horse for the journey back to Lothlórien. Considering that it was one of Imladris' best stallions and therefore very valuable, Ophir's mood had improved a little. He still looked like he had sucked on a lemon all morning, though. Ellón and Elvoron had come to wish their great-grand ada a safe journey home, Elrond was there as well, of course, and Glorfindel and Lórindol were present, too. Despite their injuries, Thranduil and Legolas had come to the market square.
Erestor, however, was nowhere in sight. It was unheard of for Erestor to neglect his duties in such a way, and this gave rise to much gossip among the Elves of Imladris. Was Erestor sick? Had something happened? The usual source of information, Lórindol, was not accessible, because Glorfindel watched his youngest son like a hawk, and Estorel was, as usual, nowhere in sight.
Celeborn hugged first Elvoron and then Ellón.
"And if there should be anything you need, no matter what, if there should be any danger, you must let me or nana Galadriel know, do you understand? There is no heroism in foolishness."
"We promise to be careful," Ellón said. "Please trust us. We know what we are doing."
"I hope so. Always remember, if something happens to you, I will come and rip Thranduil's head off."
Thranduil frowned, but refrained from commenting.
Elvoron grinned.
"Now do not look so serious. Who knows, maybe we could hold the next A.C.O.T.E.R. in Mirkwood? It could be fun! We could chase spiders, for example!"
Celeborn smiled. He mounted his horse, and bowed his head one last time to Elrond.
"As long as there is no more racing... but then Mistress Mauburz promised that there will not be. "
Mauburz nodded enthusiastically.
"No. No racing. No racing ever again. Mauburz promises. Will find something else to do. Archery, maybe. Hide-and-seek. Or pie-making contest."
Legolas laughed.
"Oh yes! I am all for it! The Great Mirkwood Bake-Off!"
Thranduil arched an eyebrow and gave his son a sidewise glance.
"You might be surprised, son."
* * *
There was a stream running through the forest on the eastern side of Imladris. It was crossed by a narrow bridge; very popular with the Elflings of Imladris. They would sit on the bridge one by one like chickens on a roost, chatting, giggling and watching the fish swim by. If the weather was very hot, they would dip their bare feet in the water and splash each other.
Today there were no Elflings, though, only Estorel. He was standing in the stream, concentrating. So far, there was only one ornament etched into the skin of his back; a sign in the ancient language of the Plains Elves. Rabbit had placed it there to mark Estorel's first kill in a hunt, a warg. Soon, another sign would follow, marking Estorel's coming-of-age. Rabbit was covered in signs and markings from head to toe, for he had fought many battles.
Legolas' markings were also impressive. The latest two signs were still fresh, and Estorel had seen them immediately. Placed on his right forearm, they had announced to the world both his marriage and the birth of his son.
"To Mordor with him!"
Quick as a flash, Estorel dove into the water, and when he emerged, he held a crayfish in his hand.
"I see I am not the only one who is shirking his responsibilities today."
Estorel jumped and dropped the crayfish, which made a quick escape downstream.
"Sia? What are you doing here?"
Erestor stood on the narrow bridge. He had watched his son for quite a while.
"As I said: shirking my responsibilities. The delegation from Mirkwood is leaving today, and I decided that Lord Elrond and your father are perfectly capable of sending them off without my help. I am not in the mood for drama. So I came here, as I thought you were not too keen on waving them goodbye, either."
Estorel couldn't help but smile. He shook his head and his long black hair sent water flying in all directions.
"You know me all too well, sia. Then again, you have not been seen for these last weeks, either."
Erestor leaned on the railing.
"Very true, and how unbecoming of Lord Elrond's chief councillor. Are you catching crayfish?"
"Yes. Lost one because you startled me, though. Do you want me to catch one for you?"
Erestor considered the offer for a moment, then he shook his head.
"No, I will catch one myself. I am in the mood for hunting."
He took of his boots, belt and jerkin, and swung over the railing, landing in the middle of the stream.
Estorel looked at him a little doubtfully, but Erestor wagged a finger at him.
"Think twice before you say something you might regret, penneth, or I shall remember that you compared me to a Gondorian fish monger."
Estorel blushed.
"I am sorry, sia. I did not mean to insult you."
"Gondorian fish monger. Really. You have never even been to Gondor!"
"Sia, I-"
"That aside, you were right, and I was wrong. I am the one who should apologise. Still, I cannot change how I feel. And if you think we will sail west and you can do whatever you want here as soon as you have reached your majority, you are wrong, son! And now enough of it, on with the hunt!"
Erestor pushed Estorel over, and he landed face first in the stream. Erestor laughed and dove into the water, emerging soon after with a crayfish.
"Sia!" Estorel snorted. "How could you!"
He chased after his sia, and soon the two were involved in a water fight, dunking and splashing each other while catching crayfish.
Glorfindel and Lórindol watched them from the safe distance of the bridge.
"You were right," Glorfindel said. "I would not have looked for them here in a million years."
"Oh, Estorel always comes here if he is angry, moody or grumpy. So he is here very often. I am surprised to see sia here, though. Did you see that? Sia caught a crayfish! Neat!"
Erestor turned around and saw his husband and youngest son standing on the bridge. He smiled and waved.
"Fin! Do you want a crayfish?"
Glorfindel shuddered.
"Thank you, very tempting, but I just had lunch, beloved!"
Glorfindel and Lórindol watched the rest of their family for a little while longer, then Glorfindel began to undress. Lórindol stared at him in utter bewilderment.
"Ada, what are you doing? You cannot possibly want to jump in the stream too?"
Glorfindel looked at this youngest son and gave him a loving smile.
"Lórindol, penneth - one day you will meet someone for whom you will jump in a stream as well, no questions asked. Then you will understand."
With that, Glorfindel also swung over the railing, and dove into the water, emerging behind Erestor and pulling him close. Erestor yelped, then laughed, and when Glorfindel kissed him, he reciprocated enthusiastically.
Estorel shuddered.
"Ew, ada, sia, please! Not when we are looking," he shouted, and quickly chased after another crayfish.
Lórindol watched them, leaning on the railing, chin propped on his arms. He was only eighty years old, and so far, the important things in his life had been cake, unsolved puzzles, Dwarves and gossip, but now, taking in the happiness of his parents, with the sun shining and the laughter of his brother in the air, a desire formed in his heart; a small flame, which one day would become a burning fire.
"I want this, too," he said to himself. "One day, I want this, too."
The End!
Well, almost - there will be an epilogue. After all, there is still the issue of Thranduil's missing jewel...
You can read the story on AO3 as well.
Molly originally posted this entry at http://joyful-molly.dreamwidth.org/441491.html. You can comment on LJ or DW, using OpenID.