Title: Hunter and Prey, 1/?
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Paring: That would be telling.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Tolkien is God, yadda, yadda.
Warnings: Slash.
Archiving: Anyone else who wants it, just let me know.
A/N: This has nothing to do with my previous Unspoken story arc, although some of the characterizations are eerily similar. Updates will be haphazard, but I promise to finish it.
* * *
"You are insane."
"Maybe, but think of the rewards . . . "
"He'll kill us both."
"Not if he doesn't figure it out, which he won't if you don't panic and let on."
"I am not going to panic." Elrohir glared at his twin, who looked insufferably sure of himself as usual. "I never panic."
"Not with anyone else, maybe, but you like him too much, I think." With that final comment, which could, Elrohir thought nervously, be taken a number of different ways, Elladan slipped off into the night. His dark green clothing soon made him indistinguishable even to elven eyes.
Elrohir fell back against the mossy rocks behind him, which formed a convenient chair overlooking the most spectacular of Imladris' many waterfalls. He had fled here for a little peace and quiet, not to mention a chance to think, but Elladan had followed and ruined the area's usual serenity. How had he managed to get himself into this? Of course the answer was obvious--to have refused would have aroused Elladan's suspicions, and that was something he could not afford to do.
Elrohir drew his cloak further around him, not because the night air was cold--for despite the approach of autumn, the air still felt balmy to elvin sensibilities. No, he just wanted the feeling of comfort it brought, although he would have much preferred a warm pair of arms in its place, especially one pair in particular . . .
He shrugged off that thought as futile, and tried to concentrate on dealing with the current problem, nay catastrophe, with which Elladan's prankish nature had saddled him. The cause of it all was the annual hunt, a tradition in Imladris going back well over a thousand years, which drew elves from all over Middle Earth every autumn. The Lorien elves came in droves, and usually proved the greatest rivals for the Imladris participants, but in recent years a few daring souls had started to come from as far away as Mirkwood to try and prove themselves against the best of the best. Elrohir supposed that some of these had been a bit surprised at first, when they found out that the rules of the game were not, perhaps, as its title would suggest. There were, for instance, no animals in this hunt.
Elrohir watched as the moon rose slowly between the branches of a nearby tree, and noticed by its pale light that the night's breeze was causing a few dried leaves to tremble on their branches. By the time the hunters arrived in a few weeks' time, the leaves would have begun to fall in earnest, coating the forest floor in a crackling carpet sure to give away anyone's passage through the narrow pathways. That was, of course, the point of holding the hunt in autumn, when summer's thick green camouflage had faded, but before any snow had fallen to muffle the sounds of passage. The forest's foliage had been particularly dense this year, prompted by extra good rains in early spring, so a veritable deluge of leaves waited to tumble to earth. It was going to be impossible, this hunt, he thought, as a single leaf detached itself from the highest point of the tree and wafted to the ground at his feet.
The hunt had originated from a desire to better train warriors, and still carried that connotation. Whoever won was widely regarded as the best warrior in elvindom, and received equal parts awe and envy from their fellows until the next year's game. Haldir of Lorien had won the year before, and Legolas of Mirkwood the year before that, so the elves of Imladris were fairly bursting with the desire to win back the honors for themselves once more. Elladan could not have picked a worse year for his joke.
Elrohir could still feel the tension in the great hall from that night's meeting, which had been carefully contrived to insure that the elders had finished their meal and departed, leaving the banqueting hall to the revelries of the young, as his father had put it with a smile before retiring for the night. There had followed much whispered debate, leading almost to blows when Elladan accused one of the dissenting voices of cowardice, but eventually things had gone his way. After all, they wanted to win.
The decision had been clenched when Elladan had declared that he and Elrohir would be the ones to insure that the two main threats to an Imladris victory--the last two winners--were "taken care of," leaving the field open for their fellow warriors to triumph. Elrohir had begun to protest; Elladan's plan, although not technically against the rules as anything was considered fair in the hunt that did not involve serious injury to one of the participants, was risky. Neither Haldir nor Legolas was likely to take well to being removed from the field, and both were cunning warriors with a number of tricks up their sleeves. They were not the main reason Elrohir was now wishing that he could manage to break a leg before the hunt took place, however. No, the real threat was what the master of the hunt was going to say about this blatantly unsportsmanlike action. The real problem was Glorfindel.
Elrohir closed his eyes and willed away the image of Glorfindel's livid face that had risen up before him. He was well aware of what his father's favorite councilor looked like when enraged, for somehow Elrohir had always managed to infuriate him. Elladan's pranks were far more frequent and mischievous, but it always seemed to be Elrohir who managed to get caught. Glorfindel's bright blue eyes would sparkle and his face would flush as he was giving his young charge yet another dressing down. It was a sight that had sent Elrohir into shivers of dread as a young elf; since fenneth, however, he had been shivering for quite another reason.
It had been to keep his annoyingly perceptive brother from guessing his feelings for their old tutor--a prospect that caused him paroxysms of dread--that forced him to agree with this latest, crazy scheme. Glorfindel would most certainly NOT be pleased if he found out what they'd done, but anything was better than having Elladan guess why Elrohir would rather be called a coward a hundred times over than displease the hunt master. His brother's impish sense of humor would insure that a banner with their names entwined with hearts was spread across the main courtyard the day after he discovered the secret. And that was best-case scenario. No, Elladan must never know.
So, as the circle of excited elves looked on, no one even daring to breathe, Elrohir plunged his hand into the velvet money pouch his brother was holding out. Inside, as Elladan had just explained, were pebbles of different colors. The green ones represented Mirkwood while the golden ones stood for Lothlorien. With a fleeting thought that he was throwing away any chance of winning Glorfindel's respect--all he'd ever dared to hope for--anytime in the next century, Elrohir closed his eyes and chose. The pebble was green, indicating that he had just won the unenviable task of holding Legolas of Mirkwood captive for the duration of the hunt.
Looking up at Ithil, which appeared slightly golden this close to harvest, he wondered if it would have made any difference which stone he'd selected. They both represented daunting tasks, yet Elladan had looked strangely pleased as he regarded his brother's selection. How anyone could be contented at the thought of having to capture Haldir of Lorien was beyond him--the very idea made Elrohir feel slightly faint--but then, look at his own option. Honestly, he thought, letting his head fall back against the mossy stone, how could things possibly get any worse?
The next day he found out.
* * *
"He's going to do WHAT?!" Elrohir knew his voice had cracked alarmingly on the last word, but didn't care. He was doomed--by Elbereth, so very, very doomed--what difference did it make if he suddenly sounded like a girl? By the time Glorfindel finished with him, he'd likely be a gelding anyway. "No. No no no no no no . . . "
Elladan grabbed him by the collar and shook him. "Calm down," he hissed, kicking the door of his brother's room closed behind him. "Do you want to alert the whole house?"
"Let go of me!" Elrohir freed himself from Elladan's stranglehold and backed away, straightening his robes with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. "Well," he commented after a moment, "that's it, then. We call it off."
"Like hell we do." Elladan circled around to face him, his expression one of the utmost determination. Elrohir felt the huge wave of relief that had just washed over him recede slightly at the sight. "We gave our word in front of the entire officer corps of Imladris. We back out now and we'll never live it down, never get back their respect! We're just going to have to go through with it."
Elrohir batted away the hand Elladan tried to lay on his shoulder and glowered at his twin. "What do you mean, we? You'll be off pursuing Haldir--and don't lie to me, I saw the way you looked last night when I drew that pebble! And the way you couldn't keep your eyes off him last year. How did you do it anyway? Were there any gold pebbles at all in that bag?"
"You're babbling."
"Well I think I have cause!" Elrohir began pacing up and down his room, desperately trying to think of a way out of this. "Surely the guards must understand? With the substitution, they can't still expect . . . "
"I just talked to them," Elladan replied, shaking his head. "They want me to convey their deepest respects to you and to inform you that, should it be needed, they will take care of all the funeral arrangements . . . "
"This isn't funny!"
"No," Elladan sobered somewhat. "I know it isn't, but I also know that we can't simply back out."
"Then YOU do it!" Elrohir stopped pacing with a bit of renewed hope breaking through the black clouds that had shrouded him. "This was all your idea anyway. We'll just switch, and I'll deal with Haldir."
Elladan stared at him for a long moment, then burst into peals of laughter. He laughed so hard that he finally collapsed onto the bed, gasping for breath. "You?," he finally managed to wheeze, "take care of Haldir o'Lorien? My dear brother, he'd have you dangling from the nearest tree limb within five minutes! I've had a year to plan this and even I am a bit . . . " Seeing Elrohir's expression, Elladan sobered slightly, but his lips still had the tendency to quirk at odd moments as he explained. "All right, I admit it. I did, er, arrange things, at the selection. But I know Legolas--he's fair, and he plays by the rules, well, more or less." Elladan looked slightly reminiscent, and Elrohir suddenly wondered what past pranks his brother and the heir of Mirkwood had managed together. He decided that he didn't really want to know. "He wouldn't have been happy, of course, but he wouldn't have done something really . . . unpleasant . . . to you if you failed."
Elrohir regarded his brother levelly. "And so, being the selfless, caring creature you are, naturally you took the biggest challenge on yourself?"
Elladan grinned. "Absolutely. Completely self-sacrificing, that's me."
"You aren't going to tell me what you're really up to, are you?"
Elladan folded his hands behind his head and gazed innocently up at the ceiling. "Let's just say that there was a bit of a bet made after last year's game, and that I intend to win it."
"Fine, then I suggest you start thinking of some way of helping me to best Haldir, because there is no way . . . "
"Elrohir, please, I'm begging you. See?," Elladan fell theatrically to his knees. "I prostrate myself in supplication, just don't back out now!" He hugged his brother's legs, almost causing Elrohir to topple over. "Seriously, brother, don't do this to me. I've waited too long for this, and who knows when I'll have another chance?"
It took Elladan another ten minutes of wheedling, pleading and promising any and everything to gain his brother's agreement, but he finally managed. Elrohir was actually more swayed by the thought of the entire guard holding a grudge against him for who knew how many centuries, than he was by Elladan's outrageous antics. His brother's charm, if that's what it could be called, had never impressed him much. He found himself almost hoping that Haldir would leave HIM dangling from a tree branch.
After Elladan finally left, still singing Elrohir's praises, the younger twin sat on his bed and thought. All right, he had a problem. A very big problem. And one, moreover, that he was going to have to solve in the scant two weeks until the contest. It shouldn't be too difficult, he told himself; after all, he had time and the element of surprise on his side. Didn't he?
* * *
Glorfindel watched through the library window as Elladan sprinted down the front steps of the palace to greet Legolas and his entourage, calling out wild whoops of greeting as he did so. Try as he might, he had never been able to instill in that elf even a modicum of decorum, and the hundred or so years since his majority had not dampened his youthful enthusiasm one bit. He saw Legolas glance up at the house and catch his eye, then grin and say something to Elladan in an undertone that not even Glorfindel's ears could catch. The two collapsed, sniggering, into each other's arms, then walked off in the direction of the statuary garden with their heads close together. They were, of course, up to something; Glorfindel only hoped they managed to keep the mayhem to a minimum this year.
Turning back to the room, he was surprised to see Elrond with his hand lightly caressing Erestor's shoulder. They rarely touched, even in such an innocuous way, in public; still, as the three of them were the room's only inhabitants, perhaps they did not think of themselves as on display. They must know that he had long been aware of their relationship--even as discreet as they were, it was impossible for someone so often in their company not to notice the meaningful glances and special smiles--but had never commented on it. Technically, Elrond and Celebrian were the perfect couple, and if the mistress of Imladris happened to be away more than she was in residence, apparently no one else thought it odd.
"Are you looking forward to the challenge, then, Glorfindel?," Erestor asked him, grinning wickedly from behind the messy desk. "After so many years as hunt master, it must be refreshing to be able to participate for once."
"Don't tease," Elrond chided his lover lightly.
"I'm not," Erestor protested innocently. "I fully expect our dear seneschal to give a good show; after all," he added with a grin, "I have a considerable wager riding on the contest!"
Elrond sighed in a longsuffering way, and settled himself on the divan beside the desk. Even though it was his library and his writing table, he couldn't get anywhere near it when Erestor was working. Papers, ledgers, books and parchment spilled off every surface and covered a good deal of the surrounding floor as well. How the elf ever managed to keep such accurate books in such a haphazard fashion Glorfindel would never know.
"I am doing this as a favor to Legolas," he repeated, for at least the tenth time that day. He was tired of getting hateful looks from the guards, who regarded his decision to agree to Legolas' entreaty to be his substitute as a personal affront. Their constant whining since he'd made the announcement had made it clear that he would be paying for his charitable impulse for years to come--especially if he won. "You know I had no choice, Erestor," he snapped, seeing the amused look on his friend's face.
"Oh, I admit that thwarting Thranduil must have been a deep temptation, but it DOES rather leave you in a quandary, doesn't it? To win or not to win . . . to look incompetent in front of your own elves, or to seem a traitor . . . "
"That's enough, Erestor." Elrond murmured, but his lover feigned not to hear.
"After all, should you lose, it may look to some uncharitable souls as if you took the position as hunt master so you wouldn't HAVE to compete, and thereby show what years of inaction can do to once finely honed skill . . ."
Before Erestor could finish his sentence, he found himself pinned to the wall of the library by one of the spears that usually ornamented the paneling above the fireplace. It had caught the slight amount of loose fabric making up the fashionable neckline of his mulberry robes, and trapped him so tightly that his breath had been momentarily cut off.
"I SAID, that's ENOUGH." Elrond reached up and pulled the spear loose, releasing a very irritated looking Erestor, who glared across the width of the room at Glorfindel.
"Dear me," he commented, rubbing his throat, "It seems I touched a nerve."
"Not at all, Erestor, I was just demonstrating how easily you'll win your bet."
"I didn't say I'd bet ON you, Glorfindel," Erestor commented spitefully.
"Oho!," Glorfindel crossed his arms and regarded his friend through narrowed eyes. "Are you hinting that you think one of those children can best me?"
"Oh no," Erestor commented, straightening his collar in that incredibly prissy way that Glorfindel had always hated. "I'm saying it outright. Haldir will win again this year. With Legolas forbidden by his darling papa to "demean" himself by competing with the lower classes, everyone knows that." Erestor grinned at him. "Why, I couldn't even get odds on you!"
"Couldn't you?" Elrond's interest had picked up. He normally ignored the regular sparring that went on between his two advisors, but apparently they had managed to spark his interest. "I'll take that bet!"
Erestor glanced at him in surprise. "You will?"
"Certainly! I could hardly favor one of the Galadrim over our own, now could I? So what will it be?" He began rooting through Erestor's piles for a spare quill, then paused with it poised over a bit of parchment. "What shall the stakes be then?"
Erestor looked slightly nonplussed, something that only happened to him around Elrond. You'd think he'd know better after so many years, Glorfindel thought, biting his cheek to keep from grinning. After all, where did he think the twins received their appalling sense of humor? Elbereth knew, he'd never seen Celebrian lose her dignity enough even to smile at a joke, much less to plot mischief. He didn't know what Elrond had in mind, but it should be good. "I . . . that is, I'll have to think on it."
"No, no. None of that. You were so certain a moment ago that Glorfindel will lose. Don't tell me you're trying to back out now?"
"Yes, Erestor. Can it be that my rusty skills worry you?"
Erestor pouted, and put a light hand on Elrond's sleeve. "Can't we discuss this later, melethryn? I have so much work to do right now . . . "
Elrond ginned in a particularly evil way. "No, we can't. Ah," his eyes suddenly lit up in the way Glorfindel had long ago learned to fear. "I have it! Remember that little conversation we had, oh, I think it was a month or so ago? If Glorfindel wins . . . "
Erestor looked appalled. "Elrond . . . ", he clutched his lover's sleeve pathetically. "You aren't, you can't be, serious . . . "
"What is it?" Glorfindel looked between them with avid curiosity. When they just stayed, frozen in their places, communicating something to each other without words, he snorted. "I think, considering I am the one being wagered on here, that I have a right to know."
Elrond opened his mouth, but before he could utter so much as a syllable, Erestor had clamped a hand over it. "Don't you dare," he gasped.
"Oh come now." Glorfindel looked from one to the other in growing irritation. "Surely it can't be THAT bad? Just tell me."
Elrond pried Erestor loose and settled his slightly quaking lover on the divan beside him, but shook his head at Glorfindel. "I'm sorry, old friend, but it seems Erestor would prefer our wager kept quiet, at least for the moment. But if you should win . . . "
Glorfindel grinned at the pale secretary, who suddenly did not look nearly so insouciant. "Oh I'll win, Elrond, never fear." He smiled evilly into Erestor's large black eyes. "I'll make sure of it!"
TBC
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer@hotmail.com
Rating: R
Paring: That would be telling.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Tolkien is God, yadda, yadda.
Warnings: Slash.
Archiving: Anyone else who wants it, just let me know.
A/N: This has nothing to do with my previous Unspoken story arc, although some of the characterizations are eerily similar. Updates will be haphazard, but I promise to finish it.
* * *
"You are insane."
"Maybe, but think of the rewards . . . "
"He'll kill us both."
"Not if he doesn't figure it out, which he won't if you don't panic and let on."
"I am not going to panic." Elrohir glared at his twin, who looked insufferably sure of himself as usual. "I never panic."
"Not with anyone else, maybe, but you like him too much, I think." With that final comment, which could, Elrohir thought nervously, be taken a number of different ways, Elladan slipped off into the night. His dark green clothing soon made him indistinguishable even to elven eyes.
Elrohir fell back against the mossy rocks behind him, which formed a convenient chair overlooking the most spectacular of Imladris' many waterfalls. He had fled here for a little peace and quiet, not to mention a chance to think, but Elladan had followed and ruined the area's usual serenity. How had he managed to get himself into this? Of course the answer was obvious--to have refused would have aroused Elladan's suspicions, and that was something he could not afford to do.
Elrohir drew his cloak further around him, not because the night air was cold--for despite the approach of autumn, the air still felt balmy to elvin sensibilities. No, he just wanted the feeling of comfort it brought, although he would have much preferred a warm pair of arms in its place, especially one pair in particular . . .
He shrugged off that thought as futile, and tried to concentrate on dealing with the current problem, nay catastrophe, with which Elladan's prankish nature had saddled him. The cause of it all was the annual hunt, a tradition in Imladris going back well over a thousand years, which drew elves from all over Middle Earth every autumn. The Lorien elves came in droves, and usually proved the greatest rivals for the Imladris participants, but in recent years a few daring souls had started to come from as far away as Mirkwood to try and prove themselves against the best of the best. Elrohir supposed that some of these had been a bit surprised at first, when they found out that the rules of the game were not, perhaps, as its title would suggest. There were, for instance, no animals in this hunt.
Elrohir watched as the moon rose slowly between the branches of a nearby tree, and noticed by its pale light that the night's breeze was causing a few dried leaves to tremble on their branches. By the time the hunters arrived in a few weeks' time, the leaves would have begun to fall in earnest, coating the forest floor in a crackling carpet sure to give away anyone's passage through the narrow pathways. That was, of course, the point of holding the hunt in autumn, when summer's thick green camouflage had faded, but before any snow had fallen to muffle the sounds of passage. The forest's foliage had been particularly dense this year, prompted by extra good rains in early spring, so a veritable deluge of leaves waited to tumble to earth. It was going to be impossible, this hunt, he thought, as a single leaf detached itself from the highest point of the tree and wafted to the ground at his feet.
The hunt had originated from a desire to better train warriors, and still carried that connotation. Whoever won was widely regarded as the best warrior in elvindom, and received equal parts awe and envy from their fellows until the next year's game. Haldir of Lorien had won the year before, and Legolas of Mirkwood the year before that, so the elves of Imladris were fairly bursting with the desire to win back the honors for themselves once more. Elladan could not have picked a worse year for his joke.
Elrohir could still feel the tension in the great hall from that night's meeting, which had been carefully contrived to insure that the elders had finished their meal and departed, leaving the banqueting hall to the revelries of the young, as his father had put it with a smile before retiring for the night. There had followed much whispered debate, leading almost to blows when Elladan accused one of the dissenting voices of cowardice, but eventually things had gone his way. After all, they wanted to win.
The decision had been clenched when Elladan had declared that he and Elrohir would be the ones to insure that the two main threats to an Imladris victory--the last two winners--were "taken care of," leaving the field open for their fellow warriors to triumph. Elrohir had begun to protest; Elladan's plan, although not technically against the rules as anything was considered fair in the hunt that did not involve serious injury to one of the participants, was risky. Neither Haldir nor Legolas was likely to take well to being removed from the field, and both were cunning warriors with a number of tricks up their sleeves. They were not the main reason Elrohir was now wishing that he could manage to break a leg before the hunt took place, however. No, the real threat was what the master of the hunt was going to say about this blatantly unsportsmanlike action. The real problem was Glorfindel.
Elrohir closed his eyes and willed away the image of Glorfindel's livid face that had risen up before him. He was well aware of what his father's favorite councilor looked like when enraged, for somehow Elrohir had always managed to infuriate him. Elladan's pranks were far more frequent and mischievous, but it always seemed to be Elrohir who managed to get caught. Glorfindel's bright blue eyes would sparkle and his face would flush as he was giving his young charge yet another dressing down. It was a sight that had sent Elrohir into shivers of dread as a young elf; since fenneth, however, he had been shivering for quite another reason.
It had been to keep his annoyingly perceptive brother from guessing his feelings for their old tutor--a prospect that caused him paroxysms of dread--that forced him to agree with this latest, crazy scheme. Glorfindel would most certainly NOT be pleased if he found out what they'd done, but anything was better than having Elladan guess why Elrohir would rather be called a coward a hundred times over than displease the hunt master. His brother's impish sense of humor would insure that a banner with their names entwined with hearts was spread across the main courtyard the day after he discovered the secret. And that was best-case scenario. No, Elladan must never know.
So, as the circle of excited elves looked on, no one even daring to breathe, Elrohir plunged his hand into the velvet money pouch his brother was holding out. Inside, as Elladan had just explained, were pebbles of different colors. The green ones represented Mirkwood while the golden ones stood for Lothlorien. With a fleeting thought that he was throwing away any chance of winning Glorfindel's respect--all he'd ever dared to hope for--anytime in the next century, Elrohir closed his eyes and chose. The pebble was green, indicating that he had just won the unenviable task of holding Legolas of Mirkwood captive for the duration of the hunt.
Looking up at Ithil, which appeared slightly golden this close to harvest, he wondered if it would have made any difference which stone he'd selected. They both represented daunting tasks, yet Elladan had looked strangely pleased as he regarded his brother's selection. How anyone could be contented at the thought of having to capture Haldir of Lorien was beyond him--the very idea made Elrohir feel slightly faint--but then, look at his own option. Honestly, he thought, letting his head fall back against the mossy stone, how could things possibly get any worse?
The next day he found out.
* * *
"He's going to do WHAT?!" Elrohir knew his voice had cracked alarmingly on the last word, but didn't care. He was doomed--by Elbereth, so very, very doomed--what difference did it make if he suddenly sounded like a girl? By the time Glorfindel finished with him, he'd likely be a gelding anyway. "No. No no no no no no . . . "
Elladan grabbed him by the collar and shook him. "Calm down," he hissed, kicking the door of his brother's room closed behind him. "Do you want to alert the whole house?"
"Let go of me!" Elrohir freed himself from Elladan's stranglehold and backed away, straightening his robes with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. "Well," he commented after a moment, "that's it, then. We call it off."
"Like hell we do." Elladan circled around to face him, his expression one of the utmost determination. Elrohir felt the huge wave of relief that had just washed over him recede slightly at the sight. "We gave our word in front of the entire officer corps of Imladris. We back out now and we'll never live it down, never get back their respect! We're just going to have to go through with it."
Elrohir batted away the hand Elladan tried to lay on his shoulder and glowered at his twin. "What do you mean, we? You'll be off pursuing Haldir--and don't lie to me, I saw the way you looked last night when I drew that pebble! And the way you couldn't keep your eyes off him last year. How did you do it anyway? Were there any gold pebbles at all in that bag?"
"You're babbling."
"Well I think I have cause!" Elrohir began pacing up and down his room, desperately trying to think of a way out of this. "Surely the guards must understand? With the substitution, they can't still expect . . . "
"I just talked to them," Elladan replied, shaking his head. "They want me to convey their deepest respects to you and to inform you that, should it be needed, they will take care of all the funeral arrangements . . . "
"This isn't funny!"
"No," Elladan sobered somewhat. "I know it isn't, but I also know that we can't simply back out."
"Then YOU do it!" Elrohir stopped pacing with a bit of renewed hope breaking through the black clouds that had shrouded him. "This was all your idea anyway. We'll just switch, and I'll deal with Haldir."
Elladan stared at him for a long moment, then burst into peals of laughter. He laughed so hard that he finally collapsed onto the bed, gasping for breath. "You?," he finally managed to wheeze, "take care of Haldir o'Lorien? My dear brother, he'd have you dangling from the nearest tree limb within five minutes! I've had a year to plan this and even I am a bit . . . " Seeing Elrohir's expression, Elladan sobered slightly, but his lips still had the tendency to quirk at odd moments as he explained. "All right, I admit it. I did, er, arrange things, at the selection. But I know Legolas--he's fair, and he plays by the rules, well, more or less." Elladan looked slightly reminiscent, and Elrohir suddenly wondered what past pranks his brother and the heir of Mirkwood had managed together. He decided that he didn't really want to know. "He wouldn't have been happy, of course, but he wouldn't have done something really . . . unpleasant . . . to you if you failed."
Elrohir regarded his brother levelly. "And so, being the selfless, caring creature you are, naturally you took the biggest challenge on yourself?"
Elladan grinned. "Absolutely. Completely self-sacrificing, that's me."
"You aren't going to tell me what you're really up to, are you?"
Elladan folded his hands behind his head and gazed innocently up at the ceiling. "Let's just say that there was a bit of a bet made after last year's game, and that I intend to win it."
"Fine, then I suggest you start thinking of some way of helping me to best Haldir, because there is no way . . . "
"Elrohir, please, I'm begging you. See?," Elladan fell theatrically to his knees. "I prostrate myself in supplication, just don't back out now!" He hugged his brother's legs, almost causing Elrohir to topple over. "Seriously, brother, don't do this to me. I've waited too long for this, and who knows when I'll have another chance?"
It took Elladan another ten minutes of wheedling, pleading and promising any and everything to gain his brother's agreement, but he finally managed. Elrohir was actually more swayed by the thought of the entire guard holding a grudge against him for who knew how many centuries, than he was by Elladan's outrageous antics. His brother's charm, if that's what it could be called, had never impressed him much. He found himself almost hoping that Haldir would leave HIM dangling from a tree branch.
After Elladan finally left, still singing Elrohir's praises, the younger twin sat on his bed and thought. All right, he had a problem. A very big problem. And one, moreover, that he was going to have to solve in the scant two weeks until the contest. It shouldn't be too difficult, he told himself; after all, he had time and the element of surprise on his side. Didn't he?
* * *
Glorfindel watched through the library window as Elladan sprinted down the front steps of the palace to greet Legolas and his entourage, calling out wild whoops of greeting as he did so. Try as he might, he had never been able to instill in that elf even a modicum of decorum, and the hundred or so years since his majority had not dampened his youthful enthusiasm one bit. He saw Legolas glance up at the house and catch his eye, then grin and say something to Elladan in an undertone that not even Glorfindel's ears could catch. The two collapsed, sniggering, into each other's arms, then walked off in the direction of the statuary garden with their heads close together. They were, of course, up to something; Glorfindel only hoped they managed to keep the mayhem to a minimum this year.
Turning back to the room, he was surprised to see Elrond with his hand lightly caressing Erestor's shoulder. They rarely touched, even in such an innocuous way, in public; still, as the three of them were the room's only inhabitants, perhaps they did not think of themselves as on display. They must know that he had long been aware of their relationship--even as discreet as they were, it was impossible for someone so often in their company not to notice the meaningful glances and special smiles--but had never commented on it. Technically, Elrond and Celebrian were the perfect couple, and if the mistress of Imladris happened to be away more than she was in residence, apparently no one else thought it odd.
"Are you looking forward to the challenge, then, Glorfindel?," Erestor asked him, grinning wickedly from behind the messy desk. "After so many years as hunt master, it must be refreshing to be able to participate for once."
"Don't tease," Elrond chided his lover lightly.
"I'm not," Erestor protested innocently. "I fully expect our dear seneschal to give a good show; after all," he added with a grin, "I have a considerable wager riding on the contest!"
Elrond sighed in a longsuffering way, and settled himself on the divan beside the desk. Even though it was his library and his writing table, he couldn't get anywhere near it when Erestor was working. Papers, ledgers, books and parchment spilled off every surface and covered a good deal of the surrounding floor as well. How the elf ever managed to keep such accurate books in such a haphazard fashion Glorfindel would never know.
"I am doing this as a favor to Legolas," he repeated, for at least the tenth time that day. He was tired of getting hateful looks from the guards, who regarded his decision to agree to Legolas' entreaty to be his substitute as a personal affront. Their constant whining since he'd made the announcement had made it clear that he would be paying for his charitable impulse for years to come--especially if he won. "You know I had no choice, Erestor," he snapped, seeing the amused look on his friend's face.
"Oh, I admit that thwarting Thranduil must have been a deep temptation, but it DOES rather leave you in a quandary, doesn't it? To win or not to win . . . to look incompetent in front of your own elves, or to seem a traitor . . . "
"That's enough, Erestor." Elrond murmured, but his lover feigned not to hear.
"After all, should you lose, it may look to some uncharitable souls as if you took the position as hunt master so you wouldn't HAVE to compete, and thereby show what years of inaction can do to once finely honed skill . . ."
Before Erestor could finish his sentence, he found himself pinned to the wall of the library by one of the spears that usually ornamented the paneling above the fireplace. It had caught the slight amount of loose fabric making up the fashionable neckline of his mulberry robes, and trapped him so tightly that his breath had been momentarily cut off.
"I SAID, that's ENOUGH." Elrond reached up and pulled the spear loose, releasing a very irritated looking Erestor, who glared across the width of the room at Glorfindel.
"Dear me," he commented, rubbing his throat, "It seems I touched a nerve."
"Not at all, Erestor, I was just demonstrating how easily you'll win your bet."
"I didn't say I'd bet ON you, Glorfindel," Erestor commented spitefully.
"Oho!," Glorfindel crossed his arms and regarded his friend through narrowed eyes. "Are you hinting that you think one of those children can best me?"
"Oh no," Erestor commented, straightening his collar in that incredibly prissy way that Glorfindel had always hated. "I'm saying it outright. Haldir will win again this year. With Legolas forbidden by his darling papa to "demean" himself by competing with the lower classes, everyone knows that." Erestor grinned at him. "Why, I couldn't even get odds on you!"
"Couldn't you?" Elrond's interest had picked up. He normally ignored the regular sparring that went on between his two advisors, but apparently they had managed to spark his interest. "I'll take that bet!"
Erestor glanced at him in surprise. "You will?"
"Certainly! I could hardly favor one of the Galadrim over our own, now could I? So what will it be?" He began rooting through Erestor's piles for a spare quill, then paused with it poised over a bit of parchment. "What shall the stakes be then?"
Erestor looked slightly nonplussed, something that only happened to him around Elrond. You'd think he'd know better after so many years, Glorfindel thought, biting his cheek to keep from grinning. After all, where did he think the twins received their appalling sense of humor? Elbereth knew, he'd never seen Celebrian lose her dignity enough even to smile at a joke, much less to plot mischief. He didn't know what Elrond had in mind, but it should be good. "I . . . that is, I'll have to think on it."
"No, no. None of that. You were so certain a moment ago that Glorfindel will lose. Don't tell me you're trying to back out now?"
"Yes, Erestor. Can it be that my rusty skills worry you?"
Erestor pouted, and put a light hand on Elrond's sleeve. "Can't we discuss this later, melethryn? I have so much work to do right now . . . "
Elrond ginned in a particularly evil way. "No, we can't. Ah," his eyes suddenly lit up in the way Glorfindel had long ago learned to fear. "I have it! Remember that little conversation we had, oh, I think it was a month or so ago? If Glorfindel wins . . . "
Erestor looked appalled. "Elrond . . . ", he clutched his lover's sleeve pathetically. "You aren't, you can't be, serious . . . "
"What is it?" Glorfindel looked between them with avid curiosity. When they just stayed, frozen in their places, communicating something to each other without words, he snorted. "I think, considering I am the one being wagered on here, that I have a right to know."
Elrond opened his mouth, but before he could utter so much as a syllable, Erestor had clamped a hand over it. "Don't you dare," he gasped.
"Oh come now." Glorfindel looked from one to the other in growing irritation. "Surely it can't be THAT bad? Just tell me."
Elrond pried Erestor loose and settled his slightly quaking lover on the divan beside him, but shook his head at Glorfindel. "I'm sorry, old friend, but it seems Erestor would prefer our wager kept quiet, at least for the moment. But if you should win . . . "
Glorfindel grinned at the pale secretary, who suddenly did not look nearly so insouciant. "Oh I'll win, Elrond, never fear." He smiled evilly into Erestor's large black eyes. "I'll make sure of it!"
TBC