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 4: Mrs. Glorfindel, I presume?
This foul day, easily the worst of my life, did not start out all that bad.
When I woke up in the morning, I found a basket of fresh strawberries on my night table, which was a most delightful surprise. Some kind soul must have overheard me remark yesterday to Glorfindel that I had been craving the red fruits for quite some time – how thoughtful! I decided to investigate later who my unknown benefactor was, but there and then, the morning looked much brighter when I bit in the first of the sweet juicy fruits.
* * *
By late morning, Elrond and Celeborn still had not returned home, and I started to worry about their well-being. The forces of evil are close to our borders, the two lords were out there in the woods all alone - Valar forbid they should be attacked! Not that I doubted Celeborn's abilities as a warrior, or Elrond's, but the last battle they had participated in was Glorfindel's 4th divorce, and though there had been a few tense moments back then (Fin's ex wife no. 4 was trying to give future wife no. 5 a haircut with a mace), two Elves facing a band of Orcs while armed with nothing but bows, hunting knives and sarcasm was another thing altogether.
I cursed Thranduil for the umpteenth time for initiating this foolish bet, and headed for Glorfindel's quarters to discuss the matter with him.
I knocked, and heard shuffling noises inside, followed by a thud and the rustling of cloth, but nobody opened the door. So I knocked again, this time a little louder.
"Glorfindel, it is I, Erestor. I need to talk to you."
More shuffling, and finally, Glorfindel opened the door, all ruffled and disheveled, wearing nothing but his breeches and sporting a love bite the size of a mallorn leaf on his collar bone. Now this was just ... I was standing here, fearing for the lives of our two most splendid Elven lords, and our fabulous Balrog slayer was ... doing whatever it is Balrog slayers do to acquire love bites.
At least he had the dignity to look guilty and blush.
"Can I come in?" I finally asked, "or shall we hold our meeting on the matter of a search party for the lords Elrond and Celeborn here in the hallway?"
Glorfindel groaned, and stepped aside.
"Erestor – lower your voice, please, I have 7 Dwarves in my head digging for Mithril, and this aside, it is much too early to argue."
I gave him a disapproving look.
"'Early?' My, Lord Glorfindel, how inconsiderate of me to drag you out of your bed as early as 11 am, an ungodly hour, by the Valar! I shall suggest to Lord Elrond that all meetings should be held after luncheon in the future, so you may not be distracted from your pleasures by unimportant issues like his being lost in the woods and facing possible devouring by a band of Orcs."
Glorfindel looked at me with bloodshot eyes.
"My dear Erestor, go easy on the sarcasm. There are icicles forming in the air already. If I have done anything to displease you or arouse your anger, you have my apologies. In fact, I promise to hang myself tomorrow should this be of any service to you, but for now, would you please take a seat and tell me what has happened?"
Take a seat?
On a good day, the seats in Glorfindel's rooms are covered with clothes, books, scrolls, frivolous illuminations and weapons of all kinds. Over the fireplace, the stuffed head of a Balrog can be admired, though the dirty sock hanging from one of its horns does diminish the heroic effect a little.
On a bad day, Fin forgot to return left-over meals to the kitchen, and the remains started to lead their own lives.
Today was a bad day, and as I noted with disgust the greenish mass on a plate half-hidden under a shirt carelessly thrown over the table, I had the distinct feeling that here a new lifeform had begun its existence, without a doubt worshipping Glorfindel as its creator.
Glorfindel settled on the bed, and while he pulled on his boots, he demanded to know which "well-meaning goddess" had directed my steps to his "humble chamber".
"Elrond and Celeborn." I said.
Glorfindel looked at me expectantly, and asked: "No goddess then. Fine. What is up with them?"
"I fear they might be in trouble."
Fin gave me a puzzled look . "What … you think they would …? Naw, don't worry, Celeborn is not Elrond's type …"
"Fin!" I shouted. "This is not funny! They are all alone and without protection!"
Fin gave me a sardonic smile.
"Well, we can only pray to the Valar then that neither of them gets pregnant …"
Before I could voice my outrage at this remark, the tapestry (nude maidens bathing) tumbled down, revealing a voluptuous blonde wearing nothing but her birthday suit, and I quickly identified her as the same female who had tried to devour me by the river.
Cursed be Celeborn and his personal entertainment program.
Fin cleared his throat, then he said:
"My sweetheart, this is Erestor - my … "
I gave him a look which clearly let him know that I was none of his whatsoever, so he broke off, and vaguely pointed at the female:
"Erestor, this is Alyel … my wife."
Silence.
"Well, one of them."
The fruit bowl made a lovely “thud” noise when it collided with Glorfindel's head. I don't think he will doubt my aim any time soon.
* * *
Despite his attitude, Glorfindel organised a search party immediately– once he gets started, he can be very efficient.
I'm sure his former wife would agree.
Not that I care.
They brought Elrond and Celeborn back soon enough, and indeed, the latter had gotten himself in a pickle. Alas, there were no Orcs involved, but a book called "1001 Lothlórien Love Positions", 6 bottles of miruvor and one of his dancers, who introduced herself as Aliswel, leaving him with a trapped nerve in his lower back and incapable of moving.
Or so he said.
Elrond, who had had to put up with a whining Celeborn for 24 hours, made a beeline for the wine cellar and locked the door behind him, announcing he would be meditating for the next few hours and didn't wish to be disturbed, and if Elladan could possibly look after the Lord Celeborn, for he'd had enough of him, thank you very much.
So we brought Celeborn to the healing house and called for Elladan to attend to his grandfather. Not that he was the best healer in Rivendell, mind you; Elrond had more than once remarked that his firstborn should rather treat cattle than Elves, which, considering the circumstances, was most probably precisely the reason Elrond wanted Elladan to take over this task.
While Elladan examined his grandfather, who uttered exclamations of distress and pain every other moment, Aliswel was wiping his fevered brow with a damp cloth. Celeborn had once made his way back to Doriath after a battle with both a leg and an arm broken, so I couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, he was playing it up.
"Aya, it hurts … don't be so rough, Elladan! I am not one of your horses!"
Elladan muttered something which mercifully went unheard, and Aliswel cooed:
"Is there something I can do for you, my lord?"
Celeborn waved his left hand, which was sporting a scratch the size of a finger nail from the thorns of a bramble bush, tiredly in front of her face.
"This injury pains me awfully, my dear …" he whispered, his voice broken and weak.
Aliswel took his hand and purred: "Shall I kiss it better, my lord?"
"I would never have dared to ask, but since you offer so kindly …"
"What in Elbereth's name have you been up to now, Celeborn!"
Rejoice, oh Rivendell – the Lady Galadriel had arrived, flanked by Haldir and Rabbit.
The temperature dropped by at least 20 degrees immediately.
Her presence brought about a miracle healing in Celeborn, who turned a whiter shade of pale and jumped down from the bed immediately and with a remarkable agility, considering the severity of his injury.
Aliswel tried to hide behind Elladan, and Glorfindel excused himself to his rooms, claiming to be "exhausted".
No doubt!
* * *
May the Valar cover the following goings-on with the merciful veil of amnesia – first Galadriel was chasing after Celeborn waving a sword, and when Haldir finally managed to wrestle the weapon out of her hands, Thranduil handed her a broom, which was easier to carry and therefore allowed her to run faster.
Elladan and Elrohir placed their bets on their grandfather, while Legolas favoured Galadriel. I still suspect he might have a slight crush on her.
I turned away from the horrible scene, but as I was responsible for our guests while Elrond was contemplating his life in the wine cellar, I took it upon myself to witness the exodus of Celeborn's dancing dollies and ensure none was left behind.
This aside, swashbuckling Galadriel waving a pitchfork (courtesy of King Thranduil) was quite an amazing sight.
Finally, she threw back her hair, and muttered: "So, that's done." Then she turned to her Galadhrim, and ordered: "Haldir! Orophin! Rúmil! Fumigate the bedroom!"
The last one to leave was the former Mrs Glorfindel, by the way. I couldn't help but wave her goodbye.
I'm such a considerate host.
* * *
I had already donned my night robe and was about to finish my last letter for the day when somebody knocked on my door.
"Come in", I called, expecting Elladan with a report on Celeborn's health or at least on the state of the divorce negotiations between him and Galadriel.
Alas, it was Glorfindel.
I didn't bother to get up, just gave him a disapproving look and kept on writing.
"So …" he started.
"What is it you want, Lord Glorfindel", I said, without looking up from my work.
"I thought we should talk."
"There is nothing we need to talk about."
"Yes there is."
"No there isn't."
"Is."
"Not."
"If there is nothing wrong, I must assume that you've been throwing heavy silver plates at my illustrious person and ignoring me all day long for no reason other than simple, petty jealousy, then."
Now that was too much. I got up, leant over the desk and glared at him.
"Lord Glorfindel," I said with all the dignity I could muster, "if you expect an apology for the plate incident, you can wait till the end of Arda. Snow will fall in Mordor first. You are as welcome here as the Gondolonian plague, and about as desirable, and insulting me will not make you dearer to my heart. I suggest you leave me to my work and return to your duties, whatever or whoever they might be, and stop wasting my precious time."
There, that would shut him up. I was quite proud of myself.
Fin sighed, sat on my desk, which creaked under the weight of 6'5" of Balrog slayer, and obviously had no intention of leaving any time soon.
"So the presence of my former wife in a state of undress in my bedchamber neither upset you nor disturbed you in the least?" he said.
Upset? Me?
"Whom you bed is neither of any interest to me, nor is it any of my business, and a good thing that is; you bed about everyone who isn't quick enough to climb the next tree when you show up, and considering the frequency of your activities in this field I would not have a single second left for my work if it was any of my business."
"Would you want it to be your business, my dear advisor?" Fin asked, and his maddening serenity almost drove me up the wall.
"But most certainly, dear Glorfindel." I smoothly replied, "it has always been my greatest wish to burden myself with an imbecile who hides his naked former wife behind the tapestries. My, who would not dream of such! Not to mention the prospect of finding my stuffed head next to the Balrog's on your wall. If you want trophies, go hunt somewhere else, you imp!"
We were now facing each other, me glaring daggers at him, Fin not looking away. It was a battle of wills, and neither of us was willing to give in.
"I take it you are not interested in me in a more - carnal way then." he stated.
The nerve!
"Of all the people in middle earth you are the one I'm least interested in, my dear Lord Glorfindel. Even an Orc looks attractive compared to you."
And then he kissed me.
And what a lousy kiss it was.
I hereby publicly declare that the fabled Glorfindel of Gondolin is the most untalented kisser I have ever encountered. It was a badly aimed kiss, our noses bumped and his tongue was in all the wrong places.
It was the worst kiss I ever got - so why were there fireworks and stars sparkling, butterflies in my stomach, a rush of heat from head to toe, radiating from his heavy hand resting on my neck, and why did I feel, if only for the fraction of a second, that I had never tasted anything as sweet as this kiss?
A kiss which, I have to add, left a faint taste of strawberries in my mouth.
When Fin finally released me, I was too stunned to say anything. He followed the outline of my lips with his thumb, then got up and went to the door. His hand on the door handle, he looked over his shoulder, and gave me a rather smug smile.
"For somebody who is not interested, my dear Erestor, you are awfully interested."
And thar it went, my honour …
* * *
Will Celeborn and Galadriel get divorced? If yes – who will get the table ware, and who the horses? Will Erestor finally admit he likes Glorfindel more than an Orc? And what about Glorfindel's wife? And anyway, what did Elrond do in the wine cellar? Then there is still the unresolved case of Orophin and Arwen … will Estel stake his claim?
All this and much more soon – stay tuned …
* * *
Author's note:
Oh how I wished I could say this was all fictional – alas, it is not. The scene in Erestor's room and the ensuing conversation with Glorfindel comes straight from real life – I only left out the part where I threw the English dictionary after "Glorfindel" when he left. Though, come to think of it – no, he wasn't Glorfindel - he was a Balrog.