ACOTER: ANNUAL CONFERENCE OF THE ELVEN REALMS
Overall rating: blue/yellow (see rating system)
Category: slash (two male Elves in some kind of love) humour, romance
Pairings: Erestor/Glorfindel, Haldir/Rabbit impl., Celeborn/Galadriel and Aragorn/Arwen mentioned
Warnings: none
Beta: Miss Eveiya
Summary: Every year, Elrond, Celeborn, Galadriel and Thrandúil meet up for a conference in Rivendell. This year, Glorfindel's untiring and somewhat excentric efforts to win Erestor's love add to the general chaos - as does Elrond's wine cellar.
Author's notes: This is how it all began - how Glorfindel won Erestor's heart. This is pure humour, no angst, no drama, just warm fuzzies. Written from Erestor's point of view, this was the origin of Erestor's "Work Reports".
Day 2: Bramble and Rumble
Most unpleasant day.
Found the five year old daughter of some friends of mine sitting on my sofa this morning, chewing on one of my scrolls. Note left on desk:
I think I really do not like children.
And just now, Celeborn had to arrive. He did not only bring his hair stylist and personal robe-designer, but also 24 exotic dancers, primarily to impress Thranduil and annoy Elrond, and also because Galadriel had to stay at home and supervise the redecoration of the royal talan.
Celeborn rode into Rivendell with an entourage to match his ego, and we had to find quarters for the scantily-clad maidens, who were leading the royal troup banging tambourines, singing most melodious praises of His Lordship and shaking their hips.
Much to my surprise Elladan, Elrohir and Legolas immediately offered their help in showing our guests to their quarters. I was delighted to see they finally found pleasure in fulfilling their duties as heirs to their respective realms.
In the meantime, Bramble had used my momentary lapse of attention to climb up the curtains in the main hall and throw apples at the delegation from Mirkwood. Beside the risk of her falling down, my authority was at stake, but no matter how much I shouted, screamed and cursed, she showed no sign of climbing down any time soon.
Glorfindel pushed me aside and said: "Erestor, let a professional handle this", and he purred: "Now, my beautiful little Elven princess, will you not come here and go for a little walk with uncle Glorfy?"
A greased lightning rushed down the curtains and into Glorfindel's arms, who gave me a most smug grin: "You need to work on your technique, Erestor. It is no surprise that you are still single."
I think I really do not like Glorfindel.
All went well until dinner. Went into the kitchen and ordered the cooks to prepare a most splendid meal in honour of our royal guests. Got bitten when I tried to take one of the soup bones away from Bramble.
For dinner, the tables were loaded with the sweetest fruits and most succulent meats. Thranduil started one of his lectures on the benefits of a meatless nutrition and an ascetic lifestyle. He boasted that all his children had been fed nothing but vegetables and fruits and had been brought up to live celibate, even after they had married, and one just had to look at Legolas to see that this was the best way to raise Elflings.
Unfortunately Celeborn, sensing some kind of commotion under the table, had the indelicacy to lift the table cloth, and there was one of his dancers, feeding Legolas a chicken leg.
Thranduil was not amused.
From nutrition
("after eating meat for three ages, you can blame your receding hairline entirely on yourself, Elrond")
they moved to healthy lifestyle
("In Mirkwood, our warriors bathe in ice water every morning, this hardens their bodies" - "I always thought ice water had the opposite effect?")
and finally combat techniques
("We have great warriors here! Glorfindel is the famous Balrog slayer, after all!" - "Balrog slayer? I thought the beast laughed itself to death?"),
and within minutes, we had another kinslaying at hand.
"You could not last a single night out in the woods without a soft bed, perfumed night robes and six maidens to fan you with mallorn leaves!" sneered Thranduil.
"Oh really?" Celeborn asked, and Thranduil shouted "Indeed! Shall we bet on it?" and Celeborn said "yes!"
Famous last words.
The bet was simple: Elrond and Celeborn had to stay out in the woods for two days and two nights, equipped with nothing but bows, arrows and hunting knives. If they could manage on their own, Thranduil would present each of them with his ultra-special rare vintage 2948 2nd Ager; if not, Elrond would give Thranduil a crate of Miruvor from his reserve and Celeborn had to lend him his dancers for a fortnight.
Tried to talk some sense into them, but Elrond was still sulking because of the hairline-remark and Celeborn never listens to anybody, anyway, so they both went to their chambers to pack their gear, and were back half an hour later dressed in leggings and armed as previously agreed upon.
Celeborn took in the most unusual sight of his son-in-law being out of his formal robes, and mentioned something about bows and bow-legs, which did NOT go down well with Elrond, who said: "Nice tunic, Celeborn, but is it not a little tight around the waist?"
Finally, they both bid their fare-wells and rode out into the dark. Had a very bad feeling about the whole thing, and told Glorfindel so, but he only shrugged.
"I do not know what your problem is", he said, "they are both old enough and experienced warriors. The worst that could happen would be Celeborn sitting in some poison ivy, and let us be honest, Erestor, we would both take great pleasure in his misfortune".
I did not answer, though I partially agreed - partially only because the worst possible thing to happen would not be Celeborn's encounter with poison ivy but him sending Elrond to the same place, saying it was absolutely safe there.He had done it before, while on honeymoon with Lady Galadriel. She had spent two days sitting in a bucket of ice water.
So now Celeborn and Elrond are out there in the wilderness, and while Thranduil already dreams of Elrond's miruvor (and possibly of the Lorien maidens doing the dance of the seven veils), Glorfindel is sitting in the main hall, entertaining Celeborn's dancers with hackneyed stories from his past.
Bramble has bitten one of them.
I think I like children.