YULETIDE TALES 2003
"THE TW(ELF) DAYS OF YULE"
This is a series of 12 ficlets, pure fluffy silliness, which will be rated G - PG-13, depending on the day. Gen, het, slash - something for everybody. Beta-read by Eveiya, thanks a lot!
I wish you all a joyful festive season. And if you, between unwrapping presents and digging into the Christmas dinner, should stop a moment to think of those who have less or nothing, you might feel like sharing your happiness, and go here:
DOCTORS WITHOUT BORDERS
5 dollars can make a difference - and a donation in honour of somebody rather than presenting him with another tie or ashtrey he or she doesn't need might be a nice idea this Christmas, too...
Thanks!
Erestor
THE NINTH NIGHT OF YULE
"It is the ninth day of Yule, and some do fear
that they might be lonely on Yule this year."
According to Gil-galad's tales, the Halls of Waiting were a place of contemplation. Mistakes in the life which had passed were considered and, once the fëa was reborn, wrongs committed previously could be righted by noble and good deeds.
'If this is true,' Melpomaen thought, 'then I must have been the Dark Lord himself in a former life, for nothing else would justify that I have to suffer this.'
'This' was currently sitting in a dark corner of the tavern, throwing dice with two dwarves, two men and a Rohirrim and was, as far as Melpomaen could tell, on his sixth or seventh tankard of ale.
The young Elf sighed, and stood a little undecided in the door of the "Crying Wench", one of the three taverns within the borders of Rivendell, and wrinkled his nose. The stench of pipe weed stung in his nose, thick clouds of smoke hung in the room, and there were quite a few less than trustworthy mortals sitting bent over ale or Shire brandy.
Melpomaen was not here by free will, the "Crying Wench" not a tavern he would frequent under normal circumstances. He was here because Lord Elrond himself had honoured him with the task of making sure Lord Celeborn would find his way home to the Last Homely House, and not end up, as had happened two nights before, sleeping his drunkenness off in the pigsty of a local farmer.
Why he, of all the Elves at Elrond's court, had been entrusted with this task, Melpomaen didn't know. He was only three hundred years old, an Elfling by Celeborn's standard, a skinny scholar who reached up to the lord's shoulders. He had never been to battle, never seen much outside of Rivendell and Lothlórien, and Melpomaen thought that it would take an Elf of Lord Glorfindel's calibre to keep Lord Celeborn at bay. No, he corrected himself at the sight of the heavily drunk Elven lord pinching the backside of the waitress; it was not a Balrog slayer that was needed here, but a Balrog.
However, Melpomaen worshiped the ground Lord Elrond walked on, he was thankful beyond measure that the Half-elf had trusted him, despite his young age, to become one of his advisors, and he would have died for him - which might possibly be the case in the next few minutes.
Melpomaen took a deep breath, then he began to walk towards the table where Celeborn was seated, drawing his robes very close to his body to keep them out of harms way, for the floor was filthy, and the guests looked like they might spill their ale or worse over the garments of innocent bystanders. When he finally had reached the lord's table, he cleared his throat to catch Celeborn's attention, then bowed his head respectfully.
"My lord," he began, "Lord Elrond has sent me. He asked me to come here and escort you home."
Celeborn squeezed his eyes into tiny slits and looked Melpomaen up and down, and the young Elf thought that the lord was considering whether he was edible or not. For a moment, Celeborn didn't say a word, then he snorted and said: "Go home, grasshopper. This is no place for a child, and I shall leave and return as it pleases me, and if Elrond does not approve, he can send his pumpkin after me, I shall give him my comments on this personally."
Then he snickered, and returned his attention to the dwarves, the man of Rohan and the dice.
Melpomaen sighed.
"My lord, with all due respect, Lord Elrond has ordered me to escort you home."
Celeborn grinned, turned back to Melpomaen and propped his head on his hand.
"Has he, now really? This is most interesting, Elfling, for now you are in a fix: you must obey your lord's command, but I, on the other hand, need not, and I am most unwilling to leave. What are you going to do about it? Will you force me? Carry me back to Rivendell?"
Melpomaen blushed heavily, and Celeborn's companions roared with laughter, and one of the men bent over the table and said: "Hey Elf, why don't you comply? I certainly wouldn't turn down an escort like this one!"
He gave Melpomaen a lecherous look, and winked at the young Elf.
"My lord! I must insist that you follow me now!" he said, and stomped his foot, an action which, of course, only increased the merriment of those present.
Celeborn took another swig of his ale, and waved Melpomaen off.
"Go home, Elfling, you have no business here."
It was clear to see - he would not convince Celeborn to come home now, so Melpomaen sighed and left the tavern, ignoring the remarks that were directed at him from left and right. He sat on a bench outside of the Tavern, pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and decided to wait outside for Lord Celeborn. At least he would make sure the Elven lord would return to the right home.
It began to snow, and Melpomaen sighed - this would be a long night.
* * *
Meanwhile, the gambling and drinking inside had been going on, and as usual, Celeborn was winning, despite his state of heavy drunkenness. His concentration was focused on the dice, so he did not notice the looks the two men exchanged. The Rohirrim had left for his chamber earlier on, and now the two Dwarves bid their farewell, too, as they had to get up early in the next morrow. So this left Celeborn alone with the two mortals, and after three more games, he was tired enough to call it a day, got up and said good-night.
As soon as he had left, the two men paid and made to follow him, for they had lost quite a few pieces of gold, and were determined to get them back. Certainly the drunken Elf would be an easy victim.
Melpomaen saw the lord leave the tavern, and followed the staggering figure at some distance. He did not want to upset the lord, but he would see to it that no harm befell him, and if he should stumble and fall, he could always help him up. After a few steps, Melpomaen felt a heavy hand grab his shoulder, and he was spun around with such force that his hood dropped back from his head and revealed his face.
"Now look who we have here," the man, whom Melpomaen recognized as one of Celeborn's gambling companions, sneered, "it's the Elf's escort. Hasn't your mummy taught you not to go out alone at night, my pretty one?"
Melpomaen tried to move away, but the man's heavy hand rested like an iron claw on his neck and held him firmly in place.
"Yes, that's him, pretty little thing," his friend said, roughly stroking Melpomaen's face. The young Elf began to struggle, but he really stood no chance against the two of them.
"Pretty, yes, nice hair, like a maiden. Say, how about we leave the Elf the gold and take this one with us, as compensation?"
The other snickered, and cold fear sneaked up Melpomaen's spine.
"I like the idea. Bind and gag him, and then let's leave this place."
When he heard this, Melpomaen began fighting for his life, freedom and honour for all he was worth. He kicked and hit, and managed to get free. He tried to run away, but was tackled down to the ground immediately, and felt his face pressed into the snow. His cheek got scratched by a sharp stone, and when he continued his struggle, he saw the snow stained with blood - his own blood.
"What in the Valar's name is going on here?" a voice barked behind them, and immediately, Melpomaen felt the weight of the mortal lifted off of him, and to his great amazement, he saw his body flying through the air, hitting the wall of the closest building and slumping down on the ground.
"We were only having a bit of fun," the second man whined, "only tried to scare the young one a little, it was only harmless jesting!"
Celeborn, for no other than he had come to Melpomaen's rescue, crossed his arms over his chest, and if the young one had ever seen a warrior, then it was the Lord of the Golden Wood, hair flying, eyes blazing, and as sober as the freshly fallen snow.
"Then I am sure you will not mind if I have a bit of innocent fun with you as well," Celeborn said, "and my idea of fun is seeing your guts spread all over the place to dry."
It all happened within the fraction of a second: the man drew a dagger from his boot and attacked Celeborn, who quickly rolled aside, but still, the man was armed, the Elf was not, and Melpomaen was not willing to take any chances, so he jumped on the man and tried to drag him away from the lord. The blade of the dagger flashed in the moonlight, and Melpomaen clung to the hand that held the weapon, which ended in a struggle, and finally he was hit by a heavy fist right in the face.
Melpomaen fell like a stone, and blacked out.
* * *
If only the two swords on the wall would stop moving, he might be able to convince his head to stop spinning as well.
Swords?
There were no swords in his room, this he knew for sure. And despite a headache from Mordor, Melpomaen began to wonder where he was, if not in his chamber?
"Good to see you are still alive," somebody grumbled, and Melpomaen turned his head, wincing at the sound.
It was Lord Celeborn, holding a mug.
"Here, drink this, it will help you get rid of your headache," he said, and helped the young Elf to sit up.
Melpomaen took the mug, sipped and pulled a face.
"Bitter!" he said, and shuddered.
"Yes. It is one of the great tragedies in life that everything which should make you feel better tastes like Warg dung," the lord said, and Melpomaen smiled, which hurt, and he now realized that the left side of his face was swollen and sore. He reached up with his hand, and touched his cheek.
"What happened?" he asked, feeling the hot skin, and Celeborn sighed.
"You caught a black eye in a heroic attempt to safe my less than honourable person, and so became another of my victims."
Melpomaen closed his eyes for a moment. There had been the tavern, and the two men, and...
"Are you hurt, my lord?" he asked, worried, and Celeborn shook his head.
"No, penneth - and that is mainly thanks to your courage. I must say, you fought bravely for a scroll shuffler."
Melpomaen took another sip of the healing draught, and then he leant back on the cushions.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"In my quarters. I wanted to be sure you were well cared for."
Celeborn looked seriously at the young Elf, whose eye had taken on an interesting dark blue colour, and sighed again.
"I must apologize. I have behaved like the fool I am - I should not have taken my anger out on you. This was not worthy of a lord. However, it has shown me that my time here has come to an end, and that it will be better to leave before I cause any more trouble."
Melpomaen sat up.
"My lord - I do not understand. Why do you want to leave? Your family is here, and your friends. And where would you go to?"
Celeborn scratched his head, then he ran his hand through his hair.
"I will sail West. I should have done so long ago. There is no place for me here in Rivendell, I am a lord without a realm and a husband without a wife, and that is just for starters."
The young Elf listened, then he looked up.
"My lord - I think I know how you feel. It is Yuletide, is it not?" He wetted his dry lips with his tongue, and weighed his words carefully before he continued. "Yule is the time for families to gather, and it can be... hurtful to be on your own at this time of the year. There are smiling faces everywhere and... one can get lonely."
Celeborn studied the young, blushing face in front of him.
"You speak wise words for one so young. But surely this is not how you feel? You have family, and friends, and without a doubt, you will sit on Yule Eve among your loved ones, sing tunes and drink mulled wine."
Melpomaen blushed even darker.
"My family have all left for the Havens, my lord, and my sister lives in Lothlórien, and I have not seen her for a long time. And... I do not really have friends, to be honest. Master Erestor is very friendly, so is Lord Elrond, but they have their own families, so... I am usually alone on Yule Eve. Last year, I went to bed as soon as the moon rose, just to avoid sitting in my room all alone. I am not very popular, you know."
Celeborn was surprised.
"Not popular? How come?"
Melpomaen sighed.
"I talk too much. I cannot keep secrets. I am too curious and I love gossip. I cannot fight, I have not been in any battles, and nobody takes me seriously. I am not very clever, I have never been anywhere else but Rivendell, I am not very brave, and I never understand the jokes. Even Bramble could take me out in battle."
For a while, the two sat in silence.
"You know, Melpomaen - I once knew an Elf who was just like you. He was the most annoying Elfling I have ever seen. He talked without taking a break, had the wit of a fruit fly and was as clumsy as a cave troll. And when he went to battle, I feared he would be the first to fall under the enemy's sword."
Celeborn smiled, and Melpomaen stared at him, most curious to hear the end of this story.
"What happened to him? Was he slain?"
The lord laughed.
"Oh no, worse: he married my daughter."
Melpomaen's eyes grew big like saucers.
"Lord Elrond? He was the annoying Elfling?"
Celeborn giggled, and although Melpomaen thought this to be an odd sound from the lord, he liked it.
"Yes, it was Elrond. So you see - all is not lost. We all live to learn and grow, and we never stop. Certainly Elrond must see potential in you, or he would never have made you an advisor, young as you are."
The young Elf tried a small, lopsided smile.
"Do you really think so? Do you think I am of use?"
"Of course you are, penneth - be it only to make sure stubborn old Elves find their way home from the tavern."
Celeborn winked, and Melpomaen looked away, slightly embarrassed.
"So, and now I shall escort you, to your chambers that is, and there you will rest, in the morning, Elrond or Elladan will come to see after you."
"Thank you, my lord," the young advisor said, and tried to get up.
"No, no, do not try to walk. You have taken quite a blow there, I will carry you."
He picked up the young Elf, who weighed little to nothing, and walked towards the door. Melpomaen got beet red and sent a prayer to the Valar that they would not encounter anybody he knew in the corridor, who might see him being carried like some Elfling who had stubbed his toe!
On their way to Melpomaen's chamber, Celeborn asked:
"So you have never seen anywhere but Rivendell, is this true?"
"Yes, my lord." the young Elf answered, feeling incredibly stupid.
"But you are interested in far away realms?"
"Oh yes, yes! I have spent many evenings listening to Lord Glorfindel's tales, of how he killed the Balrog, and of the battles he has been in! I can never hear those stories often enough!"
Celeborn groaned.
"My dear young friend, you must be a gift from the Valar for Glorfindel, for I do not know of anybody who would willingly suffer through his tales. I have an idea: as I am alone on Yule, and you have no place to go, either, why should we not sit together, and I shall tell you tales of the old ages and their heroes?"
Melpomaen got all excited, and did not realize he was clutching at Celeborn's jerkin.
"You mean - Yule? You and I? You would tell me stories? Really?"
"Yes, really. I will tell you of battles and wars, and you will tell me of... taxes... treaties... Elrond's thimble collection... well, whatever it is that keeps a young advisor busy."
"That would be wonderful," Melpomaen sighed, forgetting his black eye and bruised cheek.
"So we have an agreement?" Celeborn asked.
"Aye, we have!" the young Elf said, and gave Celeborn his happiest smile.
"Fine then. So I will tell you how the story of the Balrog and Glorfindel really was - he tends to leave out some details, you know."
Melpomaen grinned, and for the first time in many years, he was really looking forward to Yule Eve.
* * *
"Yuletide is well-liked among Elves, Dwarves and men
so without further ado, comes day number ten."