I don't own any of the characters in this tale. They all belong to JRR Tolkien. I'm a fanfic writer and I'm sure he's going to kill me for what I am about to do with his cool calm and collected Elrond.
ANNIVERSARY
With one final satisfied swipe, Glorfindel ended his systematic demolishing of the straw target dummy and leaned on his sword as the sad creature's head rolled across the practice yard and came to a halt against Elladan's toes. The young peredhil had been standing there for several minutes now but Glorfindel enjoyed keeping him waiting. It was good for the youngster to learn patience and he rather liked the way he hopped from one foot to the other as though desperate to relieve himself. At least the younger elf had sense enough to stay outside the killing zone when another warrior was practising. Deep in concentration, Glorfindel could easily have mistaken him for the straw dummy. Elladan stepped back from the disembodied head, distastefully.
Glorfindel snatched up his towel and sheathed his sword, managing to reduce his smirk to a gentle smile of greeting as he approached. However, when opened his mouth he was beaten to the draw.
"Come quickly, Glorfindel. Adar is acting strangely." Elladan took his elder's arm in a vicelike grip and made to steer him towards the house.
Glorfindel had lived much longer than this callow youth of a mere couple of centuries, or thereabouts, however. Long enough to have learned not to rush into action at other's behest without due consideration. Elladan found himself trying to move what appeared to be a deeply rooted tree.
"Hold one moment and let us try this conversation again, Elladan. From the beginning, if you please."
The youngster sighed and opened his mouth but Glorfindel stayed him with a raised hand. "The conversation would usually begin with, 'Good afternoon, Glorfindel.'" He paused dramatically.
"Good afternoon, Glorfindel. ComequicklyAdaisactingstrangely," came the garbled response. Once more the hand upon his biceps and once more the immovable object.
"Good afternoon, Elladan. How fare's your day?"
Elladan clenched his fist at his side and Glorfindel readied himself to dodge. The youngest twin by only twenty minutes Elladan still managed to live up to the reputation of youngest son. As an elfling he had been known to try and win arguments with his fists until Elrond and Celebrian had weaned him of the tendency. That temper was still there, though, just beneath the surface, although nowadays it was more often relieved upon orcs.
Now the younger elf took a deep breath and produced a smile that would have put a fabled crocodile to shame. "My day has faired well, until recently. And it is because of that change in my fortunes that I require your assistance, my Lord Glorfindel."
Glorfindel resisted the temptation to shudder at such honeyed words and decided to capitulate, rather than have to deal with more. "You had better explain this strange behaviour you speak of as we return to the house." He matched Elladan's stride. "And do I have time for a bath or is your father likely to demolish the house around me as I soak?"
"I do not think it likely he will demolish anything so large while he is locked in his study." Elladan suddenly found himself walking alone and turned back to locate his companion, who had come to a sudden standstill.
"Locked in?" Glorfindel gathered his scattered wits and ran the few steps to catch up with Elladan. "You locked the Lord of Imladris and Herald of the High King in his own study? You most definitely have need of concern, young sir. I am not at all surprised if he is acting strangely. In fact, if he were battering down the door with his bare fists I would not consider such action strange at all."
That hand wrapped itself about his biceps once more, but this time Glorfindel did not resist, curiosity fully aroused. This promised to be an interesting scene and he had no intentions of missing it.
"I did not lock him in. He locked himself in."
Glorfindel's hopes of an entertaining afternoon shattered. "I am no locksmith, Elladan. If your Adar has broken the key in the lock he could be considered careless but in no danger. He does not require a balrog slayer."
"He has not broken the lock!" Elladan's voice rose in exasperation as he continued to tug Glorfindel onward, up the porch steps. "At least I think he would have said so if he had," he added more quietly.
Glorfindel mopped his face with the towel he had draped about his neck in their haste to quite the practice arena. "Let me understand this fully. Your father, the master of the household, has turned the key in the lock of his own room and you consider that strange?"
"Yes," Elladan replied tersely as he shepherded his prize towards the family wing.
Glorfindel dragged his feet a little. His chamber, with its well-appointed bathing room, was in the opposite direction and his shirt was sticking to him with perspiration. He tried to slow Elladan's forward momentum with words.
"You know, sometimes grown ups like to be alone."
Elladan gave him a glare that could have hard-boiled an egg . . . a balrog egg. "I reached my majority several hundred years ago, Glorfindel. I do know all about being, 'grown up'."
Glorfindel's smirk would have produced another glare if Elladan had seen it, but he was now steering them both into the hallway leading to Elrond's study. There he paused, turning to his captive in triumph.
It was not that the singing that assailed them was out of tune, nor that it was too loud (although it was rather). It was the nature of the song that brought Glorfindel up short.
A rather repetitive chorus, comprising of a whole lot of "La, la, la's" interspersed liberally with a few, "De, dede, de, dee's" was followed by a shouted, "Verse 50!"
The baritone voice of the normally restrained nay even straight-laced Elrond, launched into a verse that much maligned the virtue of a rather strange lady. Said female appeared to have made up for her one glass eye and a wooden leg by developing a whole host of feminine charms never before heard of.
"Yes. That definitely ranks as strange. Even for this household, that could be considered strange," Glorfindel muttered. He jumped as Elladan spoke without moving his lips.
"If it were not physically impossible I would say that Adar was drunk."
Glorfindel's overloaded ears finally established that the words had come from behind him and turned to find Elrond's eldest son, Elrohir. "Do you two have to sound alike as well as look alike?"
"Yes," came the chorused reply, almost drowned out by . . .
"La, la, la. Verse 51!"
The trio in the hallway winced and stole as one to the door from whence the next verse issued. As they neared Elrohir turned to his brother, eyebrows raised in a pretty fair imitation of their sire. "I didn't know it was physically possible for a female to do that."
"It isn't," replied Glorfindel knowledgeably, and the eyes of both twins shone with a new respect for this twice lived elf.
"La, la, la. Verse 52!"
Glorfindel reached up to knock at the visibly vibrating door and two hands grabbed his wrist.
"Maybe we should wait until he finishes the song," suggested Elrohir.
"It does sound quite educational," agreed his brother.
Glorfindel disengaged himself. "You are too young to hear this," he asserted firmly, adding in a lower voice, "Particularly verse 53." That last muttered phrase shocked his assailants into inactivity long enough for him to knock.
Knock was actually too mild a word to describe his attack upon the unfortunate defender of Elrond's study. Words more commonly used in a forge would have been more appropriate . . . words like, "beat" and "hammer". This was accompanied by a bellow that surprised all by almost drowning out . . .
"La, la, la. Verse 53!"
A stunned silence settled upon the valley.
"Elrond!" Glorfindel managed to limit himself to a shout this time.
"Glory!" came the pleased response from the other side of the still cringing door.
Both twins tried in vain to hide a giggle. It was well known that Glorfindel was often referred to as, "Old Glory", but never, ever within his hearing.
The door shuddered as Glorfindel's fist made violent contact several more times.
"Let me in, Elrond." It was not a request.
"Shhhhhhh. Not so loud. Everyone will hear you, Glory."
It was difficult to be certain through the thick wood of the door but Glorfindel could have sworn that Elrond's words were slurred. And that second, "Glory" decided him. This would end. Now.
"Elrond Earendillion, the whole valley is so deafened by your singing of that lewd ditty that my voice will seem as birdsong on a spring morning." He counted to ten before continuing in a more wheedling tone. "Come on, El. Let me in. I never did learn verse ninety-two."
Both twins blinked but held their silence. If verse fifty-three were considered unfit for their ears, what would the "lady" be up to by verse ninety-two? They decided that at some time in the not too distant future they would get Glorfindel to recite the entire song to them.
The door only vaguely managed to muffle a most un-Elrond-like giggle, ending in a snort and to everyone's relief, not least no doubt the door, the key turned in the lock. The twins stood, open mouthed, as the door swung slowly open to reveal their father.
It was apparent that Elrond had commenced the day with some sense of decorum however it was equally apparent that things had gone downhill swiftly from there.
He wore trousers and shirt, the tails of which were hanging out at one side. The mithril band that usually held his hair in place appeared to have become entangled at one point and was now hanging from a plait at the left side of his head, like some huge earring. Instead of his heavy velvet robe he was wearing a delicate floral shawl, that he had knotted across his chest in an attempt to stop the fine silk from sliding off his shoulders. He had one slippered foot and one bare and Glorfindel did not even wish to consider why he was wearing a diamond necklace . . . around his ankle.
"Glory! Come in and join the cebrelation," the Lord of Imladris waved expansively with a half-filled wineglass, managing to splash half the contents across his guest's chest. "Ooops." Another giggle.
With a warning glance to the twins, Glorfindel crossed the threshold and closed the door firmly behind him.
Elrond attempted to blot the wine from his friend's shirt, using his escaped shirttails. This was a procedure that would have been difficult to attempt when sober. It necessitated Elrond standing on tiptoe and inevitably tumbled him in a giggling heap at Glorfindel's feet. The now empty wineglass rolled from his helpless fingers and Glorfindel scooped it up quickly.
Deciding it would be best to leave Elrond to finish his giggling fit before trying to prize him off the floor he turned to the small table by the window. A carafe, now nearly empty, stood on the tray. Glorfindel held it up to the light and swirled the contents, disturbing a strange leafy sediment at the bottom.
He returned it to the tray and surveyed the other contents of the table, finding a small, empty paper packet. It was labelled in Elrond's neat hand. Or at least, usually neat hand. Glorfindel doubted Elrond could find a pen at the moment, much less wield one. He seriously doubted Elrond was even capable of finding the huge desk that filled the centre of the far wall.
With a sigh, he turned back to his companion. Elrond's giggles had tittered themselves out and he was now attempting to get up off the floor, a task made difficult by the necklace which, being too big for his ankle, was flapping around his foot and getting caught between his toes. He also seemed to have got one arm through the mithril circlet, which was still attached to his hair, thus rendering one arm and one leg useless.
Glorfindel sighed. It was rather like watching a landed octopus. Lots of arms and legs but none of them doing anything productive. Unable to watch any longer he came to Elrond's rescue.
"Alright, El. Let's get you sorted out. What ever possessed you to add chamomile to the wine? You know the effect it has on eldar blood. You're about as drunk as I've seen anybody in a century or more."
He managed to unhook the circlet from Elrond's hair so that now it looked like an over sized bangle instead of an oversized earring. Then, holding his ineffectually wriggling cephalopod with one hand Glorfindel worked on removing the precious necklace from Elrond's foot.
Elrond chuckled, staring owlishly at his bangle and trying to remember how he had acquired it. "'xactly. Should cereb . . .celerabate . . . celber . . . should be a party today."
Glorfindel finally managed to extract Elrond's little toe from one of the loops of gold and rescued the precious family heirloom, slipping it in his pocket for the moment. "And what are we celebrating?"
Elrond's voice was reprimanding but Glorfindel managed to ignore it as he began to lever his friend to his feet. "You're not . . . cerelebateling." He patted Glorfindel's chest. "You need a drink."
Having finally made it to an almost upright position, Elrond lowered his arm, watching in some surprise as his bangle landed on the floor. He started to bend down to pick it up but Glorfindel got there before him, grabbing up the item and jamming it firmly upon Elrond's brow.
"Oww! Is it s'posed to go there?" Elrond grinned disarmingly. "Wondered why it was so big." His grin widened. "C'm on an' have a drink."
Glorfindel supported him with an arm about his waist. "I think you've had enough wine for both of us. And you need to sleep it off."
Elrond pouted and tried to push away Glorfindel's help. Glorfindel did not remember ever having seen the Lord of Imladris pout before and, endearing as it was, it stunned him enough to let Elrond try a few steps on his own.
The attempt to reach the table whilst drunk and wearing only one slipper resultrd in Elrond finding himself several steps to the side and beyond the said item of furniture. Glorfindel could only watch in fascination as his friend turned about several times, trying to establish where the "naughty lil table," had taken itself off to.
Having finally managed to regain his bearings and locate the table, Elrond made an uncoordinated swipe for the carafe. Needless to say, he missed it spectacularly . . . several times. In the end he focussed mournfully on Glorfindel.
"Won't stand still," he pointed out, as though the dancing about of a carafe of wine was the most normal although lamentable thing in the world.
Glorfindel decided enough was enough and, wrapping one of Elrond's arms about his shoulder, frog-marched him from the study and into his bedroom.
Elrond had only time for a muted, "Hey!" before he found himself on his back on the bed. He blinked at the ceiling several times before asking, "Don' remember a beamed wall. Did we reced . . . reredocate?"
"It would seem so," Glorfindel replied absently.
Elrond's tidy bedroom looked like an explosion in the boudoir of the lady he had been singing of earlier. On closer examination Glorfindel established that, like the shawl gracing Elrond's shoulders, all the garments strewn about had belonged to Celebrian. She had taken only a few items with her when she sailed and the rest had been stored in a chest at the foot of the bed.
Managing to lever himself on one arm, Elrond waved expansively yet again and declared. "Cerebelation!"
"El, my friend. I have attended some interesting cereleb . . . recal . . . Darn it. You've got me doing it now. Celebrations! But I don't remember any that involved me having to dress up in lady's clothing."
Elrond looked horrified . . . or tried to. In his inebriated state the effect was more one of mild surprise as he seemed to have lost some of the fine control of his facial muscles. "Noooooo. C'mere."
Deciding that he would be obliged to "Come here" at some point, if only to tuck Elrond in, Glorfindel obeyed. Elrond took a fistful of the shawl he was wearing and pressed it rather forcibly into his friend's nose, making Glorfindel sneeze.
Elrond nodded sagely, several times. In fact he seemed to be having some trouble stopping and Glorfindel grabbed his head in both hands, fearful that the continued motion would tip Elrond over into nausea. Something that he suspected would be a matter of postponement only.
"Thank you," Elrond stated gratefully. "See. Smells of her." In the way of all drunks from time immemorial he switched subjects with the blink of an eye. "You smell of sweat."
Glorfindel bridled. Here he was, forgoing a nice hot bath and the person who had deprived him of it was complaining that he smelled ripe. "I was dragged here from the practice arena in rather a hurry by your sons."
"What ever for?"
"Never mind, El. What were you saying about something smelling of her?"
In the long pause while Elrond worked backwards through his thought processes, a task most definitely better done sober, Glorfindel worked on the buttons of his friend's shirt.
"Smells of roses."
So intent had he been upon undoing all the tiny pearl buttons that it took even Glorfindel a moment to bring himself back to the conversation.
"Ahhh. Yes. It does indeed. But that doesn't explain what we're celebrating," He replied, beginning to clear the bed of clothing.
"'s our avinersary. Bri and me . . . I and Bri? Bri and I . . . got married today." The words seemed to deflate Elrond and he fell back into the pillows. "Always a cerebelation."
Recognising that his friend had just tipped into the maudlin phase of drunkenness, Glorfindel returned to undressing him, prior to tucking into bed and fetching a basin.
"And so you decided to continue the tradition? Well, next year my friend, you and I will celebrate together. It is not good to celebrate on your own. And I think we will do it without the chamomile."
"She's gone," Elrond murmured, and the tears began to flow. "Not coming back an' I can't go."
"I know, my friend. But one day you will be together again. And you can hold a proper celebration. Just the two of you."
He eased off Elrond's shirt and trousers, and drew the covers over him, smiling as he watched those bloodshot grey eyes close. Elrond still clung to the shawl and Glorfindel let him keep it. It was little enough comfort and at least a quieter occupation than singing.
Before he left he placed a large cup of water and a basin at the bedside. Elrond would need them in the morning. In fact Elrond would need a lot of things in the morning and perhaps for many years to come.
When Glorfindel left the study, wine carafe in hand, he found the twins still waiting outside.
"Is he alright?" asked Elladan earnestly. "He's gone awfully quiet in there."
"He's sleeping," Glorfindel replied, handing over the carafe to the more sensible of the two. "Pour this down the nearest drain, Elrohir."
"Sleeping!" Elladan repeated. "After all that noise he's sleeping?"
"Yes."
Elladan scowled. "And I suppose you are not going to tell us what happened?"
Elrohir chuckled. "Ignore him, Glorfindel. He's only upset because he never got to hear verse fifty-three."
"Fifty three? Ohhhh. The cold custard bath. You wouldn't have liked that verse. Trust me," Glorfindel replied, shuddering.
Suddenly he found himself with a twin on either arm. "Tell you what, Glorfindel. We will run you a nice hot bath and you can teach us the entire song, from verse one. And we'll tell you when you get to a verse we don't like."
Glorfindel groaned.
END