Fic: (The Return of) ACOTER: Annual Conference of the Elven Lords, Chapter 5, PG-13
ACOTER: ANNUAL CONFERENCE OF THE ELVEN REALMS
Day 5, Forenoon: Suspects and Successors
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: 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.
Glorfindel was not a morning person. While Erestor would rise with the first chirping of the birds, he would blink, curse the early birds of Imladris and then hide his face in the pillow to sleep for at least another hour. A good thing Orcs were not morning creatures, either, otherwise Glorfindel's predisposition might have conflicted with his duties.
He was less than happy when his youngest son burst into his chamber at an outrageously early hour. Indeed, Erestor had left just five minutes ago, and now Lórindol was jumping on the bed, grabbing Glorfindel by the shoulder and shaking him.
"Wake up, ada!" he said cheerfully. "I need to talk to you, it is important!"
Glorfindel muttered something unintelligible and slipped deeper under his blanket.
Lórindol shook his head, then poked his father with both index fingers.
"Ada, wake u-u-up, I have questions!"
"Go 'way, you Orc," Glorfindel grumbled. "Go and pester your brother."
Lórindol sighed, and began to bounce up and down.
"But it is about murder, ada," he said, and that, finally, got his father's attention.
Glorfindel emerged from his blanket and sat up, blinking owlishly at his son.
"Murder? Who? And where did you hide the body?"
Lórindol pulled his notebook from his jerkin and opened it.
"Well, somebody is trying to murder King Thranduil. I think we can both agree that it would be preferable if he got himself murdered somewhere else, no? Just think of our reputation and the trouble, not to mention the paperwork for poor Sia."
Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest and blew a strand of hair out of his face.
"Son, firstly, how come you know about this? And secondly, I think we can both agree that it would be much preferable if King Thranduil was not murdered anywhere. Having said that, I will not allow that you and your brother, whom you have without a doubt dragged into this matter as well, shall get involved with this foul story. If there should be any danger, and please note that I said if, then we will take care of it. Have I made myself clear?"
"Of course, very clear, but still, there are questions, and it cannot do any harm to think about the whole affair. Also, I always know everything. So," he said, and looked into his notebook again, "where is uncle Nonfindel at the moment?"
Glorfindel blinked, then he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Firstly, his name is Lórindol. Show some respect. Secondly, what in the name of Eru has this to do with the subject at hand?"
Lórindol shrugged.
"It sounds stupid if I call him Lórindol; it is like I was talking about myself. And better Nonfindel than 'Sugarplum', which brings me back to Thranduil: our dear uncle left Mirkwood six months ago, so I heard, and that is when the attacks on Thranduil's life started. Rumour has it that they did not part ways in peace, so who knows…"
"Valar, have mercy," Glorfindel sighed. "Lórindol, nobody ever parts ways with my brother in peace, but it is usually him who is at risk of being murdered, and with good reason."
"Oh." Lórindol scratched his head, then he crossed out the first item on the list. "I thought it was unlikely, but one has to be certain."
"Indeed. Any more stupid questions?"
"Of course. Have you ever heard of a Dwarf called Kíli?"
"Dwarves now? Why did I not think of that myself?"
"Because you do not have the same sources as I," Lórindol replied smugly, his father's sarcasm escaping him. "So, do you know this Dwarf of not?"
"How can I possibly remember every Dwarf I ever met? The name rings a bell, but I cannot remember why."
"Well, according to my sources, Tauriel had a love affair with this Kíli Dwarf person, but unfortunately, he died in the Battle of Five Armies."
"Yes, getting killed in battle certainly is a good reason to hold a grudge." Glorfindel rolled his eyes. "However, you forgot the small, unimportant detail of this Dwarf being dead, so how likely is it that he would return from wherever it is Dwarfs go after their death to murder Thranduil, son?"
Lórindol whacked his father with a cushion.
"You do not take me seriously, ada! Of course this Kíli is not the assassin, but who knows, maybe his family was angry and blamed his death on Thranduil? Or they did not approve of his dalliance with an Elf? Dwarves can be strange like that. My source said-"
"Lórindol, my patience is running thin. Who is your source?"
"Some of the Mirkwood archers."
"And why, pray tell, would they share such gossip with you?"
Lórindol grinned.
"Ah, a friendly smile here, a bit of lash batting there… I am very fair, after all."
Glorfindel frowned, and he narrowed his eyes.
"There will be no further smiling or lash batting on your part for at least another decade," he said sternly, "or I will send you to Gondor and you can help Arwen design cross-stitch patterns for the next age!"
"That is not fair! You smile and bat your lashes at Sia when you want something from him," Lórindol protested.
"Erestor is at least three thousand years older than you, we are married, and why in Eru's name am I discussing this with you in the first place? No more flirting, no more prying, no more stupid questions, and for crying out loud, do not bother any Dwarves, is that clear?"
"Crystal clear," Lórindol muttered sulkily.
"Good," Glorfindel said, but he knew his son well enough to make a mental note to keep a close eye on him.
* * *
"Lord Elrond would be well advised to charge a toll for anybody wishing to cross that bridge," Ophir said, pointing at the elegant construction across the Bruinen, half a mile before the waterfall. It had been built after Asfaloth and the Frodo-incident, for Elrond had felt a second crossing option beside the ford would be useful. However, the bridge was mostly used by sentinels and enamoured couples, for it led to a secluded spot which offered both soft grass and a breathtaking view of Imladris. It was here where the finish of today's race would be. Everything was decorated for the celebration, and a huge cup was waiting for the winner.
"Why ever would he do so?" Erestor asked, already at the end of his tether. For the last two hours Ophir had complained about everything and moaned about wasted funds. He'd also suggested improvements which were none, at least not in Erestor's eyes, and this was only the last of them.
Ophir gave Erestor a disapproving look over his glasses.
"What a strange question. Why, for the coffers of Imladris, of course," he declared, "and that should be your main interest, my dear Master Erestor."
Erestor had not always been a counselor. He had joined Elrond's council only because his old friend had asked, begged and pleaded with him to do so. And despite robes and scrolls and an appearance of respectability and dullness, Erestor had always been, and would always be, a warrior at heart. He was also half Plains Elf, and this was a combination which made him hastily declare that he had forgotten something of greatest importance in his study and needed to return to his home, immediately. He pulled his horse's head round and urged into a gallop.
"How very strange," Ophir said, looking over his shoulder after Erestor.
"Indeed," Glorfindel replied, hiding a grin. Ophir had no idea that he had narrowly escaped one of Erestor's rare, but nevertheless quite impressive fits of rage. It was not a pleasant experience to be on the receiving end of one, and though Glorfindel would have greatly enjoyed the spectacle, it would certainly not have found the Lady Galadriel's approval. Celeborn, however…
"As we are now among ourselves, I would like to ask why you are really here, Ophir."
Ophir arched an eyebrow.
"I do not understand your question."
"Oh, you do, my dear Ophir, you absolutely do." Glorfindel gave him his most charming smile. "I have no doubt that Celeborn's spending could do with some management, but the idea that Galadriel would send her accountant with him to Imladris? Laughable. That is the most ridiculous undercover operation I have ever heard of."
Ophir pushed his glasses up; Glorfindel could tell that he was considering whether to let him in on his mission or not. Finally, Ophir nodded.
"I admit that only a part of my duties here concerns Lord Celeborn's spending. You see, the Lord and the Lady will sail west soon."
Glorfindel was surprised.
"They will? How strange, that is the first I have heard about this plan."
Ophir nodded.
"Indeed, they will. Though, probably not at the same time… however. As you well know, Lothlórien is the heart of Elvendom, a beacon of light for all of Middle-earth, and the shining guide for all Elven realms."
Glorfindel thought of Celeborn, and especially the incident with him and Elrond in the wine cellar.
"Yes, shining beacons, no doubt," he said. "This still does not explain your presence here, though."
"Well, with the departure of the Lord and the Lady of the Golden Wood imminent, some council members have expressed worries about their succession."
Glorfindel gave him a sidewise glance.
"Elrond will certainly not leave Imladris, nor will Arwen leave Gondor. Elladan and Elrohir, however…"
"Oh, the worries do not concern whether the twins would wish to ascend the throne of Lothlórien, Lord Glorfindel. The worries are about finding a successor who is worthy of this honour."
"I beg your pardon?" Glorfindel halted Asfaloth and glared at Ophir. "Have you just said that Elladan and Elrohir would not be worthy of Lothlórien?" he snapped. "Pray tell, have you forgotten where you are? And who I am?"
Ophir held up his hands and smiled mildly at Glorfindel. It was the kind of smile mothers reserve for when their children say something cute yet very stupid, and Glorfindel's inner thermostat rose rapidly to boiling point.
"I know who you are; you are Glorfindel of Gondolin, Glorfindel the Balrog-slayer, one of our most admired heroes. If anybody represents all that is good and noble about Elvendom, then it is you. So you will certainly understand that there are doubts about whether Lothlórien, and with it all other Elven realms, could possibly be ruled by anybody who is half-Elven."
"Why not? Who cares? So what?" Glorfindel cried. "What are half-Elves to you, chopped liver?"
Ophir sighed.
"Of course not," he said, "the two young lords are highly thought of in Lothlórien, and Elladan is betrothed to one of our brave Galadhrim. Elrohir, on the other hand… there are strange tales and rumours about his sons, and we still do not know who the mother is. That is why I have come to Imladris, to see for myself and report to the council. Yet the two young lords are not here, and what I have seen so far of the realm did not do much to dispel my doubts. With all due respect, Lord Glorfindel - you have a resident Orc here!"
Glorfindel laughed. He laughed so hard that Ophir wondered whether the rumours about the possible insanity of the famous Balrog-slayer might have a grain of truth to them.
"Indeed we have," Glorfindel said, still chuckling. As quickly as his anger had come, it had left, for the whole thing was just too bizarre and ridiculous to be taken seriously. "And should you continue to insult my family, I will recommend to Lord Celeborn that he make Mauburz the new Lady of the Wood!"
Ophir was outraged.
"Lord Glorfindel! You are ridiculing my concerns!"
Glorfindel patted Asfaloth's neck, and the horse neighed.
"The heart of Elvendom, my dear Ophir, can only be found in the hearts of the Elves. So if you need some answers, that is where you have to look."
Ophir sniffed.
"Thank you for the advice. I prefer to stick to facts, though."
"Suit yourself," Glorfindel muttered.
You can read this story on AO3 as well.
Molly originally posted this entry at http://joyful-molly.dreamwidth.org/428048.html. You can comment on LJ or DW, using OpenID.
Day 5, Forenoon: Suspects and Successors
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: 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.
Glorfindel was not a morning person. While Erestor would rise with the first chirping of the birds, he would blink, curse the early birds of Imladris and then hide his face in the pillow to sleep for at least another hour. A good thing Orcs were not morning creatures, either, otherwise Glorfindel's predisposition might have conflicted with his duties.
He was less than happy when his youngest son burst into his chamber at an outrageously early hour. Indeed, Erestor had left just five minutes ago, and now Lórindol was jumping on the bed, grabbing Glorfindel by the shoulder and shaking him.
"Wake up, ada!" he said cheerfully. "I need to talk to you, it is important!"
Glorfindel muttered something unintelligible and slipped deeper under his blanket.
Lórindol shook his head, then poked his father with both index fingers.
"Ada, wake u-u-up, I have questions!"
"Go 'way, you Orc," Glorfindel grumbled. "Go and pester your brother."
Lórindol sighed, and began to bounce up and down.
"But it is about murder, ada," he said, and that, finally, got his father's attention.
Glorfindel emerged from his blanket and sat up, blinking owlishly at his son.
"Murder? Who? And where did you hide the body?"
Lórindol pulled his notebook from his jerkin and opened it.
"Well, somebody is trying to murder King Thranduil. I think we can both agree that it would be preferable if he got himself murdered somewhere else, no? Just think of our reputation and the trouble, not to mention the paperwork for poor Sia."
Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest and blew a strand of hair out of his face.
"Son, firstly, how come you know about this? And secondly, I think we can both agree that it would be much preferable if King Thranduil was not murdered anywhere. Having said that, I will not allow that you and your brother, whom you have without a doubt dragged into this matter as well, shall get involved with this foul story. If there should be any danger, and please note that I said if, then we will take care of it. Have I made myself clear?"
"Of course, very clear, but still, there are questions, and it cannot do any harm to think about the whole affair. Also, I always know everything. So," he said, and looked into his notebook again, "where is uncle Nonfindel at the moment?"
Glorfindel blinked, then he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Firstly, his name is Lórindol. Show some respect. Secondly, what in the name of Eru has this to do with the subject at hand?"
Lórindol shrugged.
"It sounds stupid if I call him Lórindol; it is like I was talking about myself. And better Nonfindel than 'Sugarplum', which brings me back to Thranduil: our dear uncle left Mirkwood six months ago, so I heard, and that is when the attacks on Thranduil's life started. Rumour has it that they did not part ways in peace, so who knows…"
"Valar, have mercy," Glorfindel sighed. "Lórindol, nobody ever parts ways with my brother in peace, but it is usually him who is at risk of being murdered, and with good reason."
"Oh." Lórindol scratched his head, then he crossed out the first item on the list. "I thought it was unlikely, but one has to be certain."
"Indeed. Any more stupid questions?"
"Of course. Have you ever heard of a Dwarf called Kíli?"
"Dwarves now? Why did I not think of that myself?"
"Because you do not have the same sources as I," Lórindol replied smugly, his father's sarcasm escaping him. "So, do you know this Dwarf of not?"
"How can I possibly remember every Dwarf I ever met? The name rings a bell, but I cannot remember why."
"Well, according to my sources, Tauriel had a love affair with this Kíli Dwarf person, but unfortunately, he died in the Battle of Five Armies."
"Yes, getting killed in battle certainly is a good reason to hold a grudge." Glorfindel rolled his eyes. "However, you forgot the small, unimportant detail of this Dwarf being dead, so how likely is it that he would return from wherever it is Dwarfs go after their death to murder Thranduil, son?"
Lórindol whacked his father with a cushion.
"You do not take me seriously, ada! Of course this Kíli is not the assassin, but who knows, maybe his family was angry and blamed his death on Thranduil? Or they did not approve of his dalliance with an Elf? Dwarves can be strange like that. My source said-"
"Lórindol, my patience is running thin. Who is your source?"
"Some of the Mirkwood archers."
"And why, pray tell, would they share such gossip with you?"
Lórindol grinned.
"Ah, a friendly smile here, a bit of lash batting there… I am very fair, after all."
Glorfindel frowned, and he narrowed his eyes.
"There will be no further smiling or lash batting on your part for at least another decade," he said sternly, "or I will send you to Gondor and you can help Arwen design cross-stitch patterns for the next age!"
"That is not fair! You smile and bat your lashes at Sia when you want something from him," Lórindol protested.
"Erestor is at least three thousand years older than you, we are married, and why in Eru's name am I discussing this with you in the first place? No more flirting, no more prying, no more stupid questions, and for crying out loud, do not bother any Dwarves, is that clear?"
"Crystal clear," Lórindol muttered sulkily.
"Good," Glorfindel said, but he knew his son well enough to make a mental note to keep a close eye on him.
* * *
"Lord Elrond would be well advised to charge a toll for anybody wishing to cross that bridge," Ophir said, pointing at the elegant construction across the Bruinen, half a mile before the waterfall. It had been built after Asfaloth and the Frodo-incident, for Elrond had felt a second crossing option beside the ford would be useful. However, the bridge was mostly used by sentinels and enamoured couples, for it led to a secluded spot which offered both soft grass and a breathtaking view of Imladris. It was here where the finish of today's race would be. Everything was decorated for the celebration, and a huge cup was waiting for the winner.
"Why ever would he do so?" Erestor asked, already at the end of his tether. For the last two hours Ophir had complained about everything and moaned about wasted funds. He'd also suggested improvements which were none, at least not in Erestor's eyes, and this was only the last of them.
Ophir gave Erestor a disapproving look over his glasses.
"What a strange question. Why, for the coffers of Imladris, of course," he declared, "and that should be your main interest, my dear Master Erestor."
Erestor had not always been a counselor. He had joined Elrond's council only because his old friend had asked, begged and pleaded with him to do so. And despite robes and scrolls and an appearance of respectability and dullness, Erestor had always been, and would always be, a warrior at heart. He was also half Plains Elf, and this was a combination which made him hastily declare that he had forgotten something of greatest importance in his study and needed to return to his home, immediately. He pulled his horse's head round and urged into a gallop.
"How very strange," Ophir said, looking over his shoulder after Erestor.
"Indeed," Glorfindel replied, hiding a grin. Ophir had no idea that he had narrowly escaped one of Erestor's rare, but nevertheless quite impressive fits of rage. It was not a pleasant experience to be on the receiving end of one, and though Glorfindel would have greatly enjoyed the spectacle, it would certainly not have found the Lady Galadriel's approval. Celeborn, however…
"As we are now among ourselves, I would like to ask why you are really here, Ophir."
Ophir arched an eyebrow.
"I do not understand your question."
"Oh, you do, my dear Ophir, you absolutely do." Glorfindel gave him his most charming smile. "I have no doubt that Celeborn's spending could do with some management, but the idea that Galadriel would send her accountant with him to Imladris? Laughable. That is the most ridiculous undercover operation I have ever heard of."
Ophir pushed his glasses up; Glorfindel could tell that he was considering whether to let him in on his mission or not. Finally, Ophir nodded.
"I admit that only a part of my duties here concerns Lord Celeborn's spending. You see, the Lord and the Lady will sail west soon."
Glorfindel was surprised.
"They will? How strange, that is the first I have heard about this plan."
Ophir nodded.
"Indeed, they will. Though, probably not at the same time… however. As you well know, Lothlórien is the heart of Elvendom, a beacon of light for all of Middle-earth, and the shining guide for all Elven realms."
Glorfindel thought of Celeborn, and especially the incident with him and Elrond in the wine cellar.
"Yes, shining beacons, no doubt," he said. "This still does not explain your presence here, though."
"Well, with the departure of the Lord and the Lady of the Golden Wood imminent, some council members have expressed worries about their succession."
Glorfindel gave him a sidewise glance.
"Elrond will certainly not leave Imladris, nor will Arwen leave Gondor. Elladan and Elrohir, however…"
"Oh, the worries do not concern whether the twins would wish to ascend the throne of Lothlórien, Lord Glorfindel. The worries are about finding a successor who is worthy of this honour."
"I beg your pardon?" Glorfindel halted Asfaloth and glared at Ophir. "Have you just said that Elladan and Elrohir would not be worthy of Lothlórien?" he snapped. "Pray tell, have you forgotten where you are? And who I am?"
Ophir held up his hands and smiled mildly at Glorfindel. It was the kind of smile mothers reserve for when their children say something cute yet very stupid, and Glorfindel's inner thermostat rose rapidly to boiling point.
"I know who you are; you are Glorfindel of Gondolin, Glorfindel the Balrog-slayer, one of our most admired heroes. If anybody represents all that is good and noble about Elvendom, then it is you. So you will certainly understand that there are doubts about whether Lothlórien, and with it all other Elven realms, could possibly be ruled by anybody who is half-Elven."
"Why not? Who cares? So what?" Glorfindel cried. "What are half-Elves to you, chopped liver?"
Ophir sighed.
"Of course not," he said, "the two young lords are highly thought of in Lothlórien, and Elladan is betrothed to one of our brave Galadhrim. Elrohir, on the other hand… there are strange tales and rumours about his sons, and we still do not know who the mother is. That is why I have come to Imladris, to see for myself and report to the council. Yet the two young lords are not here, and what I have seen so far of the realm did not do much to dispel my doubts. With all due respect, Lord Glorfindel - you have a resident Orc here!"
Glorfindel laughed. He laughed so hard that Ophir wondered whether the rumours about the possible insanity of the famous Balrog-slayer might have a grain of truth to them.
"Indeed we have," Glorfindel said, still chuckling. As quickly as his anger had come, it had left, for the whole thing was just too bizarre and ridiculous to be taken seriously. "And should you continue to insult my family, I will recommend to Lord Celeborn that he make Mauburz the new Lady of the Wood!"
Ophir was outraged.
"Lord Glorfindel! You are ridiculing my concerns!"
Glorfindel patted Asfaloth's neck, and the horse neighed.
"The heart of Elvendom, my dear Ophir, can only be found in the hearts of the Elves. So if you need some answers, that is where you have to look."
Ophir sniffed.
"Thank you for the advice. I prefer to stick to facts, though."
"Suit yourself," Glorfindel muttered.
You can read this story on AO3 as well.
Molly originally posted this entry at http://joyful-molly.dreamwidth.org/428048.html. You can comment on LJ or DW, using OpenID.