SWORDS AND PACIFIERS
This chapter has now been beta-read by the wonderful Eveiya. Thank you!
Rating: PG to PG-13, depending on the chapter (don't rise your hopes, though. I'm hopelessly vanilla.)
Category: slash, humour, AU (very!), some angsty bits as well
Pairings: Erestor/Glorfindel
Other pairings mentioned: Haldir/Rabbit, Aragorn/Arwen, Elrond/somebody (female), Elladan/somebody else (male)
Warnings: mpreg and revolting food cravings
Thanks go to: The Magic Rat, Nic, MajorClanger, Anand (official bad influence), Kharessa, Lyric, and all the gentle souls who have sent feedback for the previous stories.
Author's note: this completely unplanned epilogue to "Swords and Pacifiers" is dedicated to Lindir. I shall read you 'Nana Goose' anytime you like, dear.
THE EPILOGUE
"Now look, Fin: reading bed-time stories will not ruin your reputation, whatever that reputation may be. I have been up all of last night because Estorel was crying, and you could at least read a story to him now."
"I can't read stories. I am a warrior, not a lore master."
"Ha! Says the Elf whose Balrog gets bigger every time he repeats the tale of its slaying!"
"Reading bed-time stories is a female's job."
"I beg your pardon?!?"
"Uh - put the bottle away, darling, you could hurt the Elfling."
"The only childish individual that is getting hurt soon is you, Fin. Now take 'Nana Goose' and read Estorel his bedtime story or we will have a situation around here!"
"Look - can't you read a story and I listen, so I know how this is properly done?"
"If I read a story, will you read one tomorrow?"
"I promise."
"Can I trust you?"
"Do I have to answer this?"
"Better not. Take the baby, make sure you won't drop it, and I read to you the
FAIRY TALE OF GLORFINSTILTSKIN
Once upon an age, there was an advisor from Lothlórien who worked for a mighty and wise Elven lord. Let's call him Elrond and her Firinwë, that's easy to memorize.
Firinwë was very beautiful, but not the brightest candle on the chandelier, and she was also very, very lazy. While everybody else was guarding the border, hunting Wargs or writing poems, she sat by the window from dawn to dusk, combing her hair and being idle.
After a some time, the Elven lord got really tired of this attitude, and ordered her to dust his thimble collection at least three times a week, so she would contribute to the maintenance of the house.
Firinwë went to the Gil-galad Memorial Hall, as she had been ordered, alas ... when she stood in front of the glass cupboard with a feather duster, she spent all her time admiring her mirror image in the glass, and so, when Lord Elrond came to check on her in the evening, none of his thimbles were dusted, while Firinwë had tried five different lip colours and four new hairstyles in the meantime.
Needless to say, Lord Elrond was fuming.
He gave her The Terrifying Eyebrow, and boomed: "Firinwë! You bad, lazy maiden! You haven't dusted one single thimble!'
But Firinwë only yawned, and waved her hand, for the nail polish hadn't fully dried yet ('Blackberry Dew' by Mauburz of Rivendell).
The Lord was furious, and as a punishment, he locked her up in a small, dark room, where five pounds of frog feet were waiting in a basket to be pickled with vinegar and onions.
'Firinwë', he said, 'when I return to this chamber in the morrow, I expect to find the onions chopped and the frog feet pickled in these jars."
Then he closed the door and left Firinwë behind.
"Ai, Elbereth," Firinwë sighed, "how shall I ever pickle these frog feet without ruining my manicure!"
She looked first at the froggy bits and then at her nails, and started to cry.
"Boohoo, is there nobody who could help me?"
Firinwë cried and cried, knowing Lord Elrond would send her to Mirkwood to count Orcs for the next couple of centuries if she didn't finish the task.
"Oh," she sobbed, 'I would give anything for help!'
There was a bright flash in the room, and in front of Firinwë, an exceptionally handsome and charming Elf with long, black hair appeared. He said: "You can be helped, Firinwë! Do not despair! I shall pickle the frog feet for you, as I am a frog feet expert, but in return, you owe me a favour!"
Firinwë would have promised anything, so she nodded, and POOOOOOOOOOOOOF! all the frog feet were pickled (with onions), and neatly stored away in jars.
In the morning, Lord Elrond was most delighted to find the task done, and as he thought he had finally found a way to get Lady Firinwë used to regular work, he ordered her to pickle warg tongues this time.
Firinwë cried again, for if there was one thing more disgusting than frog feet, it was Warg tongues. But after a while, the handsome Elf appeared again, offering his help.
"I shall also pickle the Warg tongues for you, Lady Firinwë, but you owe me a favour, don't forget this!"
She nodded, and POOOOOOOOOOOOF, all the Warg tongues were pickled.
By Elbereth, Lord Elrond was in the best of moods, and as a reward, he gave the Lady a beautiful piece of jewellery, the so-called 'Evenstar' (52K, darn expensive, Cartieriel of Rivendell), a family heirloom.
"You may keep this gem if you also pickle these spider noses till tomorrow", he said, and left her.
Oh, how Firinwë wailed and cried - she wanted to keep the Evenstar very much, for it went most splendid with her new robe, but how should she manage to finish the task by the morrow?
You will not be surprised to hear that the exceptionally handsome Elf came to her rescue again.
"Lady Firinwë, I can help - but as a reward, I want this pretty cloak of yours, you know, the black velvet one with the dark green silk lining, for it would be just the right present for my begetting day, and much more tasteful than the red knitted cap with the bells I got from my beloved last year."
Though Firinwë had not the slightest intention to part from her designer cloak, she agreed, and POOOOOOOOOOF - the job was done.
"In the morrow, Lady Firinwë, I shall get your cloak, or, to make this agreement a little more interesting, you guess my name, and we are even."
With that, he disappeared, leaving a most enchanting scent of pine and sandalwood behind him.
That night, Firinwë slipped out of her room, and walked the halls of the Last Homely House in despair.
"Ai! Ai!" she lamented, wringing her hands, "how could I ever guess the name of this Elf?"
She headed for the kitchen to help herself on a glass of Miruvor, when she heard muffled voices. She sneaked up to the broom closet, and saw the mysterious Elf talking and laughing with the extremely attractive seneschal of the Lord of Rivendell.
"Ai, my love", the black-haired Elf said, "she will never guess that my name is Glorfinstiltskin! And now come here, my beloved, for I crave your sweet kisses very much!"
They kissed passionately, and Firinwë hastily retreated to her rooms when the seneschal's hand started to unbotton the tunic of the mysterious Elf, for this was a fairytale, and should be suitable for all ages, also wee Elflings.
When the morning broke, the dark-haired Elf appeared in the chamber.
"Ai, Lady Firinwë, time to hand over the cloak!" he smirked, and wriggled his eyebrows, which was not as scary as The Eyebrow by Lord Elrond, but impressive enough.
"Wait a second," she said, "if I guess your name, you shall leave me be, and I can keep the cloak."
He shrugged, still smiling.
"All right then. What is my name?"
"Glorfinstiltskin!!!" Firinwë called triumphantly, and grinned.
The Elf yawned.
"Eh - no, I'm sorry, that's wrong. The cloak, please."
"What? What? What?" Firinwë stuttered, "You said yourself that your name was Glorfinstiltskin! I heard it!"
"Me? Never."
"Yes, you did!"
"No I didn't."
"You did!"
"Didn't."
"Did did did!"
"Do you have witnesses?" he asked, and she looked puzzled.
"Witnesses? What would I need witnesses for?"
The Elf grabbed Firinwë around her middle and threw her out of the window, watching with great delight how she landed in the duck pond under the window.
He waved at her and admired the sight of the frog who sat on her head.
"This will teach you not to make moo-eyes at my husband!"
With that, he returned to the kitchen, a happy tune on his lips, where he sat down and sipped on a glass of Miruvor, and he and the exceptionally handsome blonde Elven Lord lived happily ever after."
"Somehow I am a bit worried about the direction the education of our son is taking, darling."
"I suggest you carry Estorel to his cradle, he has fallen asleep."
"Erestor?"
"Yes love?"
"I thought the red knitted cap with the bells looked cute on you.2
+ + +
Definitely the end now.