As ever, characters and stuff all property of Tolkien.
-- I don't mean to make excuses, but this is what happened when I tried to write whilst over the legal limit of coffee and tuna sandwiches. Sad, eh? It's slightly… random? Yes, random. Isn't true to any story I've had the misfortune of stumbling across, so don't flame me for getting my facts wrong. Flame me for everything else if you wish. Man may make fire, but I sure as heck can't make a lighter work ¬.¬. --
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'Lord Elrond!'
Elrond glanced lazily up at his door. The heavy thudding of someone running up the corridor told him he still had a good few seconds left of peace before some exhausted elf crashed through, announcing the end of Middle Earth. He sighed and returned to his work, slowly tracing letters onto new parchment; he was writing invitations to other 'important' elves.
He had been itching to discuss the fate of Middle Earth for a good few decades, Alas; the other super-elves did not care much for Elrond's councils. Galadriel didn't need some little half-elf telling her about the future, not after she realised her magic mirror could tell her more than how she was faring in the Miss Middle Earth pageant. Celeborn… well, he just followed Galadriel around. Cirdan would send a postcard every century or so to tell him how the boats were, especially now he had installed an engine on one of them. The elves were flocking to the Grey Havens just to try out his aptly named 'Go Really Fast Boat'. The fact they kept getting lost in Valinor was of little significance.
But recently, the idea of being able to say 'Doom' eighteen times over in the same sentence was appealing to Elrond more than ever. Much to the annoyance of all around him, his every other word for the past few weeks had been 'Doom'.
So the Swear Box was born. Glorfindel had introduced Elrond to the Swear Box, a method used in Gondolin for whenever 'discovery' was mentioned, he had explained. Elrond was dubious it would work, he had not told Glorfindel just how much the fate of Middle Earth was playing on his mind. Even after surrendering twelve sacred trinkets to it he still found himself running into deserted rooms and screaming 'DOOM!' loud enough for the rest of Imladris to hear. Glorfindel would follow him in and wave the box beneath his nose. He had started to doubt the Noldorian elf's intentions.
'L-Lord Elrond! Y-You must come quick!' On queue, the door burst open to reveal a young stable hand. Elrond went to the effort of looking up from the invitations; he looked over the elf critically, his eyebrows raised.
'You called?' He said nonchalantly, a polite smile formed on his lips.
'M-my… Lo… Lord…'
'Perhaps you would like to catch your breath?' Elrond asked.
'Th…Than – thank you, M-m…'
'Before you thank me.' Elrond rolled his eyes and returned to his sheet of paper, trying to block out the other elf's desperate gasps for air.
He was writing an invitation to Thranduil. Lindir had assured him there was nothing wrong with lowering his standards just a little. Elrond had seen through Lindir before the words had even crossed his mind, but still, just because he listened to one of Lindir's plans didn't mean he had to promote him to anything special. Thranduil wasn't a bad elf, either… it was just…
'So then, Thranduil? What do you do in Mirkwood?' Galadriel said, sipping at a glass of water, her little finger sticking out sideways as she held the stem of the glass.
'We drink, Lady.' Thranduil said earnestly.
'You… drink?' Galadriel placed the glass back down, peering intently at the elf across from her.
'Y-yes, Lady. We drink. Wine.' He coughed, her gaze making him nervous.
'You do not discuss the end of the world?' Galadriel pondered.
'No, Lady.'
'You do not discuss the beginning of the world?'
'No, Lady.'
'Well, what do you discuss?' Galadriel seemed quite flustered, if that were possible for her.
'Drink. And, er, sparkly objects.' Thranduil turned a strange shade of red.
'Elbereth…' Galadriel whispered, taking another sip of her water. All her fingers clutched around the shaking glass.
'Lord Elrond! You must come to the stables! There has been an accident!' The previously breathless elf wailed, causing Elrond to startle.
'An accident?' Elrond frowned, 'Is it that bad one of our healers cannot take care of it?'
'Err… no, actually. But it's Glorfindel, he's in trouble!' The elf nodded encouragingly.
'Glorfindel?' Elrond perked up. It was shame to loose Glorfindel, he was a good elf, but when he went so would that Swear Box. He fought the cruel grin that battled for dominance over his expression.
'Yes Lord, Asfaloth, he is…' The elf said hurriedly. He wavered on edges of the Elrond's room and the corridor.
'Well, what about Asfaloth?' Elrond asked, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands.
'Lord, he is - he is killing Glorfindel!' The elf's voice was now higher than an elf-maidens. He hopped from one foot to another. Elrond watched the elf prance on his doorstep for a while, intrigued. Eventually the young elf snapped.
'LORD GLORFINDEL IS IN GRAVE DANGER!' With that sudden outburst the elf ran back down the hallway, leaving Elrond to stare wide-eyed with surprise at the wall.
'And so will you be…' He muttered the meaningless threat, then wondered why he said it. He continued to gaze at the wall, inadvertently scribbling across Thranduil's invite. After a while he broke his gaze and looked at the paper.
DOOM.
Glorfindel would have things to say about that. If he survived whatever ordeal was happening down at the stables. Elrond cursed softly to himself and rose from his chair. He needed a walk, anyway.
'Good boy, Asfaloth, good boy.' Glorfindel choked nervously. The white horse had him pinned against the stable wall. He wondered just how many ribs the horse had cracked. The stable-elves were standing uselessly on the other side of the door, waiting patiently for Glorfindel's next vacation to Mandos.
'Are you okay there, Glorfindel, sir?' One of them ventured.
'Yes, yes… I'm fine. He gets like this sometimes. Very temperamental.' Glorfindel said hoarsely. Snap. There went another one.
'Well, if you sure about that, sir.' The elf said doubtfully. 'You're looking quite… uncomfortable.' He continued.
'No, no, I can deal with my own horse.' He pushed the horse's shoulder, to no great effect. Asfaloth leaned even more to one side. Glorfindel's side.
'Glorfindel?'
'I can cope! Do you have nothing else to attend to?' The elf growled. Snap-Snap-Snap. Did he have that many ribs?
'Yes, I have many things to attend to. Would you rather I did those than try to save you from your own pride and stupidity?' Elrond asked.
'Actually, Elrond, you'd be saving me from my own horse. Though I do take pride in having a horse such as Asfaloth, and he is stupid, it would be easier to say horse.' Glorfindel said, his voice clipped. Asfaloth sighed loudly and collapsed completely onto the wall, and Glorfindel.
'I was referring to your disposition, not that of Asfaloth.' Elrond remarked, ignoring the other elf's cries of agony. Though Glorfindel was an amazingly 'merry elf', to the point of suspicion at times, he could be rather cantankerous when he needed help. Elrond had heard Glorfindel was the first elf to be kicked out of The Halls of Mandos because he wouldn't stop complaining that it was Thorondor's fault he died; he had been managing perfectly all right with that balrog without help. Thorondor had provoked it. No one dared mention to Glorfindel that he had been waving a sword at the creature's ankles at the time.
'I see.' Glorfindel choked again. Much to his disgust, he saw Elrond open the stable door and shoo in some of the elves. They moved timidly around the stable, slipping a halter over the horse's head and leading him away from his master. Glorfindel frowned at Elrond from the other side of the stable. 'I can contend with my own horse!'
Elrond laughed, 'Of course you can.' He glanced over his fellow lord, 'Are you hurt?'
'No.' Glorfindel pouted. Snap. Slightly belated, he noted, but that was the last one. Elrond raised an eyebrow at him.
'Glorfindel? You are su—'
'Yes! I'm sure.' Glorfindel grimaced. He gently poked at his ribs. Strangely, they seemed to be intact.
'—re.' Elrond said, and then with sudden inspiration, 'Move away from the wall.'
'Sorry?' Glorfindel looked up from his possibly unbroken bones.
'The wall. Move away from it.' Elrond flapped his hands at the wall and Glorfindel; his seemingly endless sleeves waved like banners and scared the horses in nearby stalls. Glorfindel did as he was told, though very slowly, worried that should he move too quickly he would shatter. From the wall behind him there came a rough scrape as something slid from it's original place, followed by many hollow sounding 'thunk's.
'Oh.' Glorfindel said simply, as the final lump of wood slipped from its perch and landed on top of the others.
'It was the wood, not you.' Elrond reassured him. Glorfindel still kept his arms wrapped around his body. Elrond sighed. 'Take yourself to the healers if you want proof, but when they cast you away come back and report to me. I have a favour to ask.'
'Yes.' Glorfindel murmured, and walked very slowly, arms still clutched round his sides, out of the stable and in the direction of the healers.
When he was out of sight Elrond started on the walk back to his chambers. He took the route that lead around the outside of the house, the weather was perfect, as usual, and it felt good to be free of the confines of those walls. So good in fact, he felt like singing. Taking a deep breath he sang. Rather than any set song, he sang the first words that came to his mind…
Glorfindel had staggered half way to the Healers when Elrond's voice, lifted in song, drifted from the gardens directly to his pointy-ears. Immediately he let go of his sides and resumed his proud stature, listening for a moment longer before doubling-back down the hallway and running to Elrond's chambers.
The Swear Box was in there.
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