Disclaimer: For full disclaimer, please see chapter 1.

A/N:

Yes, it is great to be back! •g• I really missed all this... And you guys, of course! •hugs• It's very nice to hear that you are enjoying this so far. I must publicly declare here and now, however, that all this isn't just MY fault. While Jack and I were in Istanbul, she helped me plan all this. I can still remember our conversations, something like "Jack: Wait, wait, wait, so HE is the second cousin's brother's father's stepson? Me: Nooo, haven't you been listening? Look at the chart (I DO have a chart!), he is the one that is connected to the bad guy's friend's blood brother. Jack: Oh, yes, naturally!" •frowns• Well, more or less. It was fun, though!

Hmm, yes, another thing: I am not yet sure how big a role Erestor and/or Glorfindel will play in this story. Even if this makes some of you stop reading immediately: I don't think they will be in all of it. As you can see in this chapter, I am not just putting them back into their old places and expect them to be as they were before ASoT, but I don't think they will play that big a role. But they will definitely be in the next chapters, since Glorfindel is a stubborn idiot and so is Erestor, never fear.

Oh, and yet another thing: Christmas. I will be flying to Portugal next Monday to visit my mother - anything closer to the 24th would have been far too expensive, so I have to skip classes. What a shame. •g• I will be flying via Dublin where I have a stopover of about 22 hours (Joy!), so I won't actually get there till Tuesday, which means that I don't really know when to post the next chapter. I would post it early, but with all the shopping and classes and everything I still have to do here before I leave, I think that will be rather unlikely. So I will post as soon as I get to Portugal and have slept a little, meaning probably on Wednesday. I am sorry for the delay, but it's unavoidable.

Yup, that was a giant A/N as always. Nice to see that things are getting back to normal. So, what do we have... Elrond is rather displeased and tries to lecture his sons on their general immaturity, Glorfindel is smug, Aragorn, Legolas, Celylith and the twins are being obstinate, Erestor and Glorfindel are having a conversation that doesn't go ... quite ... according to plan, and Celylith finds out just why it is a bad idea to sneak through Imladris' hallways at night. Why he was doing that in the first place? Ah well, read on and find out... •g•

As always, enjoy and review, please!



Chapter 2

"I," the Lord of Rivendell said, managing to lengthen the single sound considerably, "demand an explanation."

It was, of course, not the only thing he really wanted to demand. He had a long list of needs and wishes; a list that was in fact so long that it had to be rolled up so that no one stumbled over it. It was an almost Erestorishly long and neat compilation, and on top of it were right now things like "New brains for all my sons", "Peace and quiet" or "Ask Manwë what you did to him to deserve such punishment".

He was firmly convinced that he had in fact done nothing; not even the numerous pranks and catastrophes Elros and he had come up with or had been involved in when they had been young had been enough to warrant this. Well, he decided a moment later, except maybe that one time involving them, hot beeswax and Maglor's favourite hunting dog, but that was it.

Realising that nothing but deep silence was meeting his (he hoped ominous and threatening) words, he shook his head and narrowed his eyes at the five young beings standing in front of him, lined up in a neat row. None of them looked overly repentant, let alone intimidated, and Elrond sighed inwardly. So much for his words being ominous and threatening.

"Well?" he went on, arching an eyebrow as high as it would go. And that, even if he was saying so himself, was quite high indeed. "I am waiting."

He wasn't the only one. The silence even intensified, if such a thing was even possible. The two factions that were glaring at one another in a way that would have made even Maedhros slightly uneasy – and that, as Elrond knew from experience, had been nigh impossible – were quite easily discernible. First, they were standing as far away from each other as possible, and second, the two on the right were red. The three on the left, on the other hand, looked … glazed. Not that their eyes looked that way or anything, no, it was more a … glazed roast look.

Elrond grinned inwardly. That was actually quite a good comparison.

He waited for another half a minute before he leaned forward in his chair, grey eyes fixed unwaveringly on the four younger elves and the much younger man in front of his desk.

"I am beginning to lose my patience," he said. It was a fact that was painfully obvious, after all. "What in the name of Eru Ilúvatar and all that is holy happened?"

The two groups exchanged heated looks, as if daring the others to answer. In the end, Elladan caved in, raised his chin in a rebellious manner and addressed his father.
"They started it, ada."

"We did not!"

"You are lying, Elladan!"

Elrond raised a hand to silence any more outraged protestations from the right side of the room and used the other to massage the bridge of his nose. He hoped he was wrong, but he had the feeling that the headache that was pounding behind his forehead was on its way of turning into a full-blown migraine.

"Please explain to me," he began, turning to look at his elven sons, "why my oldest son and heir sounds like an elfling of twenty years."

Young Celylith, who was standing next to the twins, was shrugging soundlessly, his face the picture of utter and complete innocence. He was clever to keep out of this, Elrond had to give him that. Elrohir, too, had recognised the value of feigning ignorance, and in the face of fraternal betrayal Elladan lowered his head.

"Well, they did," he still muttered almost inaudibly.

Elrond gave Aragorn and Legolas – who were about to protest again – a look that would have made a warg stop in mid-jump and arched his other eyebrow. Considering the fact that the first was already close to his hairline, it was quite a scary sight indeed.
"They started what?"

"This," Elladan answered, raising his head and making a sweeping motion with his hand that earned him yet another glare from the right side of the room. "All of it."

"You poured that paint on us, not the other way round!" Legolas spoke up, his eyes narrowing in a manner that would have caused anyone who knew King Thranduil at all to duck or run away. "We only retaliated, my lord!" he added and looked at the dark-haired elf lord. "They started it!"

"Oh, as if you didn't deserve it!" Elrohir huffed, ineffectively trying to tug at his dark-blue shirt. The fabric wouldn't budge even an inch; it was stuck securely to the young elf's skin. "You provoked us!"

"And then you poured this … substance on us!" Celylith spoke up for the first time, his unwillingness to accuse his prince of anything in Lord Elrond's presence being overridden by his – in his eyes – righteous indignation. "Or rather," he went on, shooting Aragorn a look that should have felled the young man on the spot, "you did, Estel."

"It serves you right, all of you," the dark-haired ranger shrugged, pushing a strand of once-dark hair away from his still very red forehead. "If you cannot evade two people whom you're expecting to follow you – one of them a man, I might add –, I have no sympathy at all. You are fully grown elves, for Elbereth's sake!"

"Of course you have no sympathy." Elladan glared at his human brother. "You poured that horrible concoction on us, after all!"

"Well – yes."

"So let me see if I understand you correctly," Elrond said in a tone of voice that sounded far too calm and understanding. He was quite obviously trying to stop this (whatever 'this' was) before it descended into bloodshed. "You," he looked at Aragorn and Legolas, "provoked the three of them. After that you," his eyes wandered over to the left side of the room, "saw it fit to pour what looks like several dozen pints of red paint on them. After which you," his stern looked returned to the two beings on the right, "poured glue on them. Is that correct?"

Only a fool would actually answer Lord Elrond of Imladris when he was speaking to you in just this tone of voice, and neither the young elves nor the ranger were fools. Mouth clamped tightly shut, they glared at each other, looking quite like two groups of rabid dogs that were just waiting for the right moment to pounce on one another and try to rip each other's throats out.

Elrond really hoped it wouldn't get that far, even though he wouldn't be very surprised if it did.

There was no answer – again – and that was when he lost what was left of his patience.

"Is that correct?" he all but bellowed. It was the tone of voice he had used to his advantage during countless campaigns, a tone of voice that used to intimidate even the most battle-hardened warriors of any race.

"Yes, ada," Elrohir answered for all of them.

"Oh, wonderful." His father smiled at him. It wasn't a particularly nice smile either. "That doesn't explain anything, though. Whatever possessed you to behave in such a manner?"

"Well," Elladan began, foolishly assuming that this was an actual question, "there was the small matter of…"

"Do I look as if I want to hear an answer to that, Elladan?" Elrond interrupted him, nostrils flaring and eyes shooting tiny daggers at his oldest son. "Do I?"

The five of them simultaneously shook their heads. None of them dared look up; if it hadn't been clear that the Lord of Imladris was only one step away from doing bodily harm to someone, it was very clear now.

"So," Elrond finally spoke up again, his palms lying flat on the surface of his wooden desk. It was probably meant to ensure that he didn't try and strangle one of them. "Let me tell you how I see this entire situation. My sons," he shot the twins and Aragorn a very dark look, "and their friends who are both old and experienced enough to know better behave like mischievous elflings, running around my house pouring vats of Valar-know-what on each other. The Captains Elvynd and Isál come to me – for the third time this month, I might add – and ask me for an assignment far, far away from here. And in a matter of minutes I will have Erestor poking his head into my study because he has a list of at least a dozen people who have since yesterday complained to him about the noise and general chaos you five have been creating. Are you following me so far?"

The five young beings nodded their heads amongst murmurs of "Yes, my lord" and "Yes, ada", but were spared an answer by a knock on the door. A second later it opened, just wide enough for a dark head to be poked through the gap. The elf whose head had so unexpectedly joined the conversation (he was wise enough to keep the rest of him out of it) smiled, apparently completely unconcerned, and addressed Elrond.

"Excuse me, my lord, but there have been several complaints I promised I would talk with you about…"

"Not now, Erestor." Elrond's voice sounded friendly and obliging, but there was pure steel beneath it. And quite a lot of annoyance, of course.

When Erestor didn't budge immediately, the half-elf raised his head and gave him a credible version of his fabled look of impending death and doom. Erestor was one of the few people in Rivendell who weren't intimidated when said look was centred on them in all its glory, but that didn't mean that he was stupid. After they had returned from Aberon and Donrag and he had still been healing, Elrond and Glorfindel had treated him like crystal or something similarly fragile. It had been a moving act of concern that had become incredibly irritating after a while, and after a rather loud outburst that had been peppered with more expletives than most people thought a councillor of Erestor's stature should even know, the other two elf lords had taken his word for it that he really was fine (at least physically, as Elrond would add with a cross look in his direction whenever their conversation turned to this topic), thank you very much.

Which essentially meant that, if he didn't want to have his head ripped off in the next ten seconds, he should vacate the immediate vicinity of Elrond's study.

"I see," he said slowly, letting his eyes wander over the five red respectively glue-covered beings, who were looking at him with wide eyes, as if begging him not to leave them alone with the half-elven lord. "I will come back later, then."

"Later would be good," Elrond said. "Good-bye, Erestor."

Erestor was many things, but slow on the uptake he was not. Not even a second later he was gone, the door closing almost soundlessly behind him, and Elrond turned back to his sons and their friends.

"Where were we?" he asked in a far too pleasant manner. "Ah yes. I had just found out that my sons have gone insane. And Thranduil is doing this to me on purpose," he added with a look in Legolas' and Celylith's direction. "I don't know really why, since I haven't done anything to really infuriate him in the last millennium or so, but he is. There is no doubt about that."

Usually, neither the twins or Aragorn nor Legolas or Celylith would have let that stand without contestation, but today was an exception. All five of them were warriors, after all, and possessed quite a strong sense of self-preservation. Elrond looked at their shame-faced expressions for a while before his stern mask began to crack, and with a sigh he leaned back into his chair.

"All right. I do not want to know what it was about. I do not want to know whose fault it was or who started it, or whom you bribed so I only heard about this madness this morning." He turned to look at Elrohir. "Did you pour that paint on anybody else?"

"Ada!" the younger twin exclaimed, sounding appropriately outraged. "Of course not."

Elrond shot him a look that quite clearly said what he thought about his son's overly innocent manner.
"Of course not," he repeated sarcastically. "Could one of you explain then why Captain Isál and Captain Elvynd came to me yesterday, almost begging me to transfer them to a scouting party going to someplace very remote not to mention dangerous, like the middle of Gorgoroth?"

The five of them exchanged a conspiratorial look. It was so nice to see them getting along again, Elrond decided darkly.

"I have no idea, ada," Aragorn finally said, looking at his father with wide grey eyes. "They have been rather stressed, you know. The wedding will be soon, after all."

"So you didn't pour paint or glue on them, their relatives or future relatives?" Elrond asked, only to make sure.

"Of course not, ada." This time it was Elladan who answered, sounding as if the mere thought of them pouring anything on anybody was revolting.

"Good," the half-elf cut off any more hypocritical statements that might be forthcoming. "I would hate to have to talk to Lady Gaerîn's father, or Lady Gelydhiel's."

This time, the astonishment on his sons' and the wood-elves' faces was genuine.

"You can be assured, my lord, that we would never do anything to Lady Gaerîn or her family and friends but treat them with the utmost respect that they so rightly deserve," Legolas told him for all of them, muted horror on his light red face. A shudder raced through him a second later; it was clear that was just imagining the consequences of such an action. "Or even think about it."

Elrond gave him a smile that was far too bright to be genuine.
"Of course not, young prince. I don't know what I was thinking." His face turned serious again and he fixed a stern look on the fidgeting young elves and ranger in front of him. "So you didn't bother anybody else? Or destroyed anything of value?"

"No, ada."

"No, my lord."

"Well…" Celylith once again spoke up, the respect that he had for Lord Elrond not allowing him to lie or obfuscate anything. It was a very honest streak that the twins were determinately trying to help him eradicate.

Elrond released a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding and closed his eyes.
"Yes, Captain?"

"Well, my lord," Celylith tried again, either not seeing or ignoring the looks the twins, Aragorn and Legolas shot him, "we sort of ran into one of Lord Erestor's aides…"

"By 'ran into' you meant you met him, do you not?" Elrond asked.

"Well," Celylith said for the third time, openly fidgeting now, "yes and no, my lord. He … well, he dropped a stack of documents he had been assembling for Lord Erestor. And…"

"And?" Elrond prompted. He didn't even want to hear the 'And'. Erestor would find a way to blame him for his sons' actions, that much was already sure, and when the other elf lord heard that someone had interfered with his precious papers, lists and reports, he would be most displeased to say the least.

Elrond shuddered. He could still remember what had happened to the last elf stupid enough to do such a thing.

"And some papers got carried away by the breeze," Legolas went on, apparently having decided that it was his duty to stand by his friend, no matter how much he'd wanted to kill him earlier. He took a deep breath and lifted his chin, too much his father's son to back down now or show insecurity. "They ended up in one of the pools."

"In several of them, actually," Celylith corrected his prince, only to fall silent when Legolas glared at him. Honesty was a very nice thing, the elven prince decided, but one could really take it too far.

Elrond looked at them incredulously, all previous anger having faded in face of this new catastrophe.
"Then why are you still alive and Erestor hasn't tried to disembowel you yet? He had a perfect opportunity not even five minutes ago." He winced. "You know what happened to the last elf that lost one of his reports."

Aragorn and the twins winced, too. Said elf was still battling tears every time he saw Elrond's chief advisor.

"His aide was still trying to fish them all out of the water the last time we saw them," Elrohir explained, his shame-faced expression having intensified significantly. He had always had the greatest respect for Erestor, and the idea of having him out there for his blood wasn't one the younger twin relished. "He has probably not told him yet."

"And who could blame him?" Elladan muttered under his breath.

The answer to that was very simple: No one. Elrond resisted the urge to beat the back of his head against the back of his chair and forced himself to be calm. Breathing, that was it. In … out … in … out…

It wasn't working. Of course it wasn't working.

"All right," he finally said. "I will deal with this later. Apart from this complete and utter disaster, have you done anything else?"

"No," Elladan said with a thoughtful frown. "That was it, I believe."

"Then, if I were in your shoes, which I am not, thank the Valar, I would disappear and hide until Erestor finds something else to occupy his thoughts." Elrond grinned gleefully at the five younger beings' looks of dread and barely veiled terror. They could deal with orcs and other dark creatures, but Erestor was something else entirely. "You might think about getting Glorfindel to do something to antagonise him. That might be enough to make him forget about your sacrilegious actions."

Three pairs of grey and two pairs of blue eyes focussed on him, varying shades of disbelief shining in the depths, and Elrond found himself smiling widely.
"True, most likely not. But you don't have that many options left, do you?"

"Your sympathetic attitude is overwhelming, ada," Aragorn said sourly.

"I use it when it is appropriate, thank you, my son." Elrond smiled benevolently and raised a hand to point at the door. "You can go now."

The four elves and the ranger turned only too willingly, but before they had even taken more than a few steps, the half-elf's voice stopped them in their tracks.
"How does one remove the paint, Elrohir? I refuse to have one of my sons and King Thranduil's heir walking around looking as if they just came out of a slaughterhouse."

A smirk spread over the twins' faces as they stopped and looked at Aragorn and Legolas, but Elrohir answered obediently, "I would try something highly alcoholic. It might take off the upper layers of the skin with it, but the paint should be gone, too."

"You will find yourself missing more than just a few layers of skin, muindor nín, if…"

"Enough." Elrond didn't even raise his voice, not that he would have needed to. He wasn't the Lord of Rivendell for nothing, after all. "Estel, how does one remove the glue?"

Aragorn actually snickered, something that garnered him a look of death and doom from the twins (and even from Celylith, who was getting quite adept at reproducing it – at least for a wood-elf), but quickly turned serious again.
"Oh, it's their recipe. I only modified it a little, to make it more permanent. I have the ingredient they need to make the normal solvent work."

"That's low, Estel," Elladan complained, looking at his human brother with wounded eyes, "using our own weapons against us. We teach you everything we know and how do you repay us?"

"Yet another thing you taught me." Aragorn shrugged, apparently not very touched. "'Use the weapons you have at your disposal'. Those were your words, I believe."

"I told you not to tell him that, but did you listen?" Elrohir accused his twin, eyes shining with mirth. "He has always had a freakishly good memory for such things."

"Out!" Elrond interrupted them, working hard not to let a smile show. "I don't want to be in the same room with you when Erestor finds you. Go!"

The mention of Rivendell's chief councillor was enough to silence any remarks the five young beings might have liked to utter, and a moment later they were gone, conversing amongst themselves conspiratorially in low tones. There was nothing left of the hostile attitude that had filled this room only a few minutes ago, the previous argument forgotten in the face of a new threat that needed to be addressed. If Aragorn and Legolas had not been red and the twins' and Celylith's clothes glued to their skin, no one would have believed that they had almost tried to kill each other yesterday afternoon.

While the five of them filed out of the room, a golden-haired elf stuck his head into Elrond's study, much in the same manner that Erestor had used a few minutes earlier. A blond eyebrow was raised amusedly as he watched the younger beings go, but quickly enough the elf fixed his attention on the dark-haired elf lord sitting behind his desk, his chin resting on his hands.

"Am I disturbing you, my lord?" Glorfindel asked, a sardonic expression on his face.

Elrond didn't answer and only buried his face in his hands, which the older elf took as an invitation. His hands behind his back, he sauntered into the room, his light green robe moving softly over the stone floor as he walked.

"You wouldn't believe what I heard just now," Glorfindel began, the sardonic expression making way for glee. Elrond didn't really know if it was aimed at his as-good-as-dead sons or Erestor, and he didn't really want to know either. "One of Erestor's aides…"

"Yes, Glorfindel. I know," Elrond interrupted him, only just resisting telling his friend that proper elf lords weren't supposed to gossip, or when they did, they were at least not supposed to enjoy it so much. Considering that Glorfindel was always lecturing him on what a proper elf lord did and did not do, he might be interested in it. "Eru, I know."

"He will blame this on you, at least partly, you know. They are your sons."

Now Glorfindel most definitely sounded gleeful. He also sounded like someone getting ready to enjoy a spectacle, something that fitted the way he was slouching in an armchair, yet another thing that was highly un-elf-lordly behaviour.

"I know."

"Well, in their defence," the golden-haired elf said with a large smile, "it has been awfully quiet around here lately."

"Glorfindel?"

"Yes, my friend?"

"Be quiet."


Two days later, the weather was still as perfect as it had been the past few weeks. The sun was shining brightly and was slowly making her way over the horizon, the slight breeze was still blowing and the sky was still as blue and cloudless as before.

There were people in Imladris, however, who did not value this as much as others, especially those who actually had other things to do than pour various liquids on other people. There were actually quite a lot of them, and one was sitting in Rivendell's vast, sprawling library, various writing utensils and papers covering a small desk standing in front of one of the balconies. The breeze was moving the almost transparent curtains gently back and forth but wasn't strong enough to ruffle the documents, and the sweet scent of flowers and water and summer filled the vaulted rooms.

There weren't many other elves in the library at this time of day, now that the afternoon had just begun, and those who were knew well enough to leave the dark-haired elf to his work and let him be. No one wanted to be on the wrong side of one of Lord Erestor's tempers (common opinion was in fact that there was no right side), and it was public knowledge that nothing displeased him as much as being disturbed when he was trying to work.

The dark-haired elf lord, on the other hand, didn't seem to be paying his surroundings a lot of attention. His head was bent and his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the parchment lying in front of him and the small, precise letters he was painting on the pristine surface. If there had been anyone standing closely enough, they would have seen the look of barely muted joy on his face that almost bordered on wonder as he drew every single letter.

The silence that lay over the room wasn't an uncomfortable one and remained perfect and unbroken until a soft shuffling noise could be heard that was almost completely hidden by the sound of the dark-haired elf rolling up his roll of parchment to make room for the next paragraph. If he had heard it, he did not betray that fact, nor did he seem to notice the blond elf who was slowly and carefully inching closer, having entered the room completely soundlessly only moments earlier.

The golden-haired elf was almost within reach when the other spoke up without turning around or even interrupting his work.

"When will you learn, my friend, that one cannot sneak up on somebody sitting in a silent library while one is wearing long robes?"

The thus addressed elf froze in mid-motion, a myriad of emotions flickering over his face before he finally settled for a mixture of annoyance and disappointment.
"You, Erestor, are no fun at all."

"As I have told you many times before, Glorfindel: I am a scholar. We aren't fun."

Glorfindel, however, wasn't so easily pacified. When he rounded the other elf's desk, Erestor looked up and would almost have laughed out loud. His friend who was always so prone to lecturing everyone and anyone about the conduct of proper elf lords was actually pouting.

Under different circumstances he might not have said anything, but this opportunity was just too good to pass up.
"Why, my Lord Glorfindel, I believe you are pouting. A most un-elf-lordly behaviour, I believe."

"I am not 'pouting'," Glorfindel told him in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. "Elf lords do not pout."

"Well, you are," Erestor told him in a similar tone of voice. "Stop it."

Glorfindel artfully arranged his face into a bright, insincere smile while he dragged an armchair closer to Erestor's desk (yet another crass violation of his Things-a-proper-elf-lord-does-and-doesn't-do list) and sat down.
"Is this better?"

Erestor gave him a quick look before he deliberately returned his attention to the document in front of him.
"No. It's awful."

Glorfindel looked about himself, clearly trying to spot something where he could admire his reflection, and Erestor almost rolled his eyes. The golden-haired elf could be incredibly vain, yet another thing he would never willingly admit.
"That's not what I have heard from…"

"Please, my friend, spare me," he told him in a long-suffering tone of voice. "I do not wish to know. Is there a special reason why you have decided to grace me with your presence?"

"Do I need a special reason now to come and visit my friend?"

Erestor sighed, quickly sprinkled some of the fine white sand over the parchment that he kept in a small, beautifully decorated pot on the desk and pushed it aside to let the ink dry, quite clearly resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn't get any work done any time soon. It was a rather common reaction when faced with a determined, mischievous Glorfindel, and Erestor would be damned if the golden-haired elf wasn't enjoying it.

"No," he admitted, putting down the quill and eyeing his friend somewhat suspiciously. "But you usually do."

"True." Glorfindel nodded. "But is it so hard to believe that I just wanted to visit you and make sure you're not overworking yourself again?"

Erestor exhaled and leaned back into his chair, spearing the other elf with a glare.
"If you are starting this again, Glorfindel, I swear I will…"

"No," the fair-haired elf was quick to interrupt him. "No, I am not. At least," he added calmly, "not right now."

Erestor gave him another dark look.
"Then, if I might ask, what are you doing here? I am a very busy elf, as you should already know, with many demands on my precious time."

Glorfindel looked at him with large, wounded eyes, resembling a kicked puppy dog more than anything else, but when Erestor was neither bothered nor impressed by this he gave up and grinned at his friend.
"Oh, I am just here to insult you."

"Excuse me?" Erestor raised a dark eyebrow, looking remarkably like Elrond for a few moments.

"I have a list here somewhere," Glorfindel said absent-mindedly, patting the robe he was wearing. "Where is it…?"

"Have you been at Elrond's Dorwinion again?" Erestor asked.

"You wound me, mellon nín," Glorfindel retorted, placing a long-fingered hand over his heart. "You know I don't like to drink alone."

The grin was back on his face as he looked around until his eyes came to rest on a crystal carafe sitting on a small table to the left of the desk. In half a second he had got up, taken up the decanter and two goblets and had returned to Erestor's desk, his grin now even brighter and friendlier.

"Will you join me for a drink?"

Erestor was about to shake his head, but it took only one more look at Glorfindel's grin and gave up. He hated to admit it, but even he wasn't completely unaffected by the golden-haired elf's not inconsiderable charm.
"All right," he agreed with a sigh and a stern look that was belied by the small smile on his face. "But in half an hour I will evict you from this room. I do have work to do."

Glorfindel's grin grew wider and considerably more genuine and he handed one of the filled goblets to the dark-haired elf.
"To your health, my friend."

Erestor nodded, but suspicion immediately reappeared in his eyes.
"Are you starting again?"

"Who, me?" Glorfindel asked, his face the very picture of innocence. There was something in his eyes, though, a serious, determined sparkle that was neither innocent nor mischievous. "You are, though. Speaking of which, how are you?"

"Fine." By now, Erestor was sounding the tiniest bit vexed. "How are you?"

Glorfindel shot him a look that was somewhere between exasperated and bemused.
"I am perfectly all right. But we are not talking about me here."

"No, you are not talking about yourself. For once." Erestor shook his head, seeing the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. If he could get Glorfindel to start bickering like an elfling (something which the blond elf did far too frequently), he just might get out of this. "I am not in the mood for this, Glorfindel."

"You never are." There was no censure in the words, only mild annoyance and a lingering touch of disappointment that Erestor found so much harder to bear. "And, if you can help it, you never will be. I cannot help you if you hide from me, my friend."

"I am not hiding from you," Erestor told the other elf, incredulity in his voice that was even partly genuine. "You must confuse me with Captain Isál. If the poor elf keeps up this kind of behaviour, he will have turned into a squirrel by the time the day of the wedding comes, and then Lady Gaerîn would be insufferable for centuries…"

"Erestor…"

"And I do not need your help," the dark-haired councillor finished his sentence, ignoring his friend. "Neither yours nor Elrond's."

"Oh?" Glorfindel arched a blond eyebrow, apparently unimpressed. "I believe that I never said you did."

"You don't have to." Erestor didn't snap at him, but it was a close thing. "You and Elrond, you are … you are…"

"We are what?"

"Hovering," the dark-haired elf finally said with feeling. "As if you are just waiting for me to make a mistake, to lose control for a moment."

Glorfindel only looked at him, eyes large and dark and serious. There was something in the blue depths, but before Erestor could identify it, it was gone, leaving an insurmountable wall in its place that he had seen the golden-haired elf throw up far too many times.

"Is that what you think we are doing?" Glorfindel asked, his voice low and sombre. "That we are waiting for you to fail in some way? Is that why you are avoiding us?"

Hearing his friend say it like this, it sounded stupid and childish and things far worse.
"No." Erestor sighed and shook his head. "Of course not, mellon nín. I would never think such a thing of you – or him. Never. I am sorry if I insinuated that I did."

"We are worried, Erestor," Glorfindel told him softly. "You are hiding in the remotest part of the library most days, you rarely use your study anymore, and you haven't even publicly berated that aide of yours for losing some of your papers!"

Erestor forced himself to remain calm – Glorfindel meant well, he told himself over and over again, he really meant well – and took another mouthful of wine. Realising that Glorfindel was not letting this go (he could be incredibly tenacious like that), he placed his cup on his desk and leaned forward.

"I am going to say this only once, Glorfindel, so I would advise you to listen. And you can tell Elrond, too, because I know that you will repeat this conversation to him word for word." Glorfindel opened his mouth to say something, so he raised his hand and smiled. "I am not blaming you, my friend. He can be scary like that."

He took a deep breath and looked firmly at the other elf.

"I am all right, Glorfindel. I am not saying that I have just forgotten about what happened in Donrag; you were right, you know, I never will. Yes, I sometimes have to force myself to remain calm when I enter small rooms, and yes, sometimes I have nightmares too horrible to speak of lest remember clearly, but I am fine. I really am."

The blond elf only looked at him, hands thoughtlessly wrapping themselves around his wineglass. After a moment or two he smiled, but it was a sad, wan smile that did not reach his eyes.

"You are better, yes, I will admit that," he told the other. "Your physical wounds are healed; even I who I am no healer can see that. But since we are talking honestly to each other and I have cornered you for once, let me tell you something: You cannot divert me so easily. You are not fine."

"Glorfindel…"

"No, Erestor." There was no anger in the fair-haired elf's words, only patient understanding and well-hidden worry. "What you just told me, I already know. I know about your fear of small spaces, and I know about your nightmares. You are dealing with them as well as any elf could, yes, but you are not hale, you are in fact far from it. And who would be surprised? You cannot be fine. You almost died, Erestor. If it hadn't been for Elrond, you would already be sitting in Mandos' Halls."

Erestor bowed his head but didn't say anything. There really was nothing to say.

"About one thing I have no doubt, however: That you will be all right. You are one of the strongest elves I have ever met in my entire life, and it would take far more than the likes of Captain Gasur to stop you from achieving something you have set your mind on." A small smile spread over his face. "And you're too stubborn, too."

Glorfindel leaned forward and placed his cup on the desk, trying to catch the other elf's eyes.

"Just remember that we are here, Elrond and I, when you wish to talk or just wish for some company. You have been avoiding me for the past few weeks, Erestor, and there is no need to. You should know that I would not force you to speak of something about which you wish to remain silent."

"I know that," Erestor spoke up, nodding his head firmly as he raised his chin to stare at his friend. "Of course I know that, Glorfindel. It's just that … that…"

He trailed off, something so uncharacteristic of him that Glorfindel was reminded of the first few weeks after they had rescued Erestor from Donrag, when he had been so unlike himself and unpredictable that it had been nearly impossible to talk to him without upsetting him with a thoughtless word or look or action. The few days when he had hesitantly talked about what had happened (at least in a manner of speaking) had been over quickly, and since then it had been impossible to talk with him about anything that touched the subject of Donrag in even the slightest way.

"It's just that…" Erestor tried again. "I am not sure myself."

"Of what?" Glorfindel asked as gently as he could.

The dark-haired elf lowered his eyes for a moment before he raised his head again, grey eyes that were haunted and too bright by far suddenly dark in his pale face.

"...anything?" he said in a tone that sounded so insecure and simply un-Erestorish that Glorfindel had to fight the urge to take his friend into his arms like a young child. It was something that the other elf lord would not have appreciated, that much was sure.

"Forget I said that," Erestor added after a second, running a hand over his face, and when he looked at Glorfindel again, the calm, professional mask he had been wearing for several long weeks now was firmly back in place. It was an expression Erestor had used in the past when he wanted to hide his true thoughts and feelings, but for the first time since Glorfindel knew him it was a mask in the truest sense of the word, a mask that hid all and left only shreds of him out in the open. "I … I have not been resting very well."

"Erestor…" Glorfindel tried again, unconsciously reaching out with a hand to touch his friend's shoulder.

"Don't," Erestor said almost harshly, his body moving backwards a few inches without him noticing. "Just … don't, Glorfindel. I cannot talk to you as you wish it, not now. I am sorry."

He was about to get up, his mind urging him to flee this room and his friend's company before he lost the rest of his artfully constructed calm, but this time Glorfindel's hand shot out and closed around his elbow.
"Don't go," the blond elf told him and looked at him pleadingly. "I am the one who is sorry, my friend. I should not have pressed you so. I did not mean to, you have to believe me."

It was one of the harder things he had done lately, but Erestor forced himself to sit back down. He took a deep breath and did his best to smile at his friend. Judging by Glorfindel's expression, it didn't look very genuine.
"You didn't press me. It would take a lot more than you to make me tell you something I do not wish to divulge, insufferable Vanya."

"Arrogant Noldo," Glorfindel answered automatically. He slowly and carefully removed his hand from Erestor's arm – under any other circumstances the other elf would have torn his head off for restraining him thus – , watching him as if he was afraid he would bolt at any given moment.

"Sometimes," Erestor admitted with a small nod.

Glorfindel didn't answer immediately, but in the end he took a deep breath and leaned back into his chair, acknowledging that Erestor would not try to escape.
"If I promise not to speak about it again, will you stay and have that glass of wine with me? You know that we are here if you wish to talk to somebody, I know that I can be a single-minded idiot sometimes…"

"You are not an idiot."

Glorfindel grinned at him, recognising a peace offer when he saw one.
"But I am single-minded?"

"You said that, not me."

Glorfindel gave him a stern look but didn't reply, and companionable silence descended over the room. A few minutes later, he leaned forward to place his now empty goblet on the edge of Erestor's desk, and promptly remained that way when he caught sight of the document on which the dark-haired elf had been working. Ignoring Erestor's slightly indignant huff – this was only a message to the master of the warehouses concerning which supplies they had run out of or were about to run out of and which would last them for a while longer –, he pulled the list over to him, turning it around so he could read it properly.

Erestor gave him an amused look and placed his empty glass on the desk as well.
"No, I don't mind if you read my correspondence. Would you like to read the private letter I finished an hour ago?"

"It's just a supply list," Glorfindel said with a dismissive wave of his hand, his eyes not leaving the rows of neat black letters. A few heartbeats later he raised his head, a large, bright smile on his lips. "These tengwar are drawn beautifully, my friend."

An answering smile that easily outshone Glorfindel's spread over Erestor's face. To anybody else, it would have seemed a strange thing to say, but he knew what Glorfindel was really saying.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "It has become much better over the past weeks."

His smile widened even more and he reached out with his right hand to pull the letter closer to him. In the bright sunlight that poured through the windows, Glorfindel could see the faint white scars that ran over the back of the other elf's hand and two of his fingers. They were fading so quickly that he sometimes wasn't sure if they were in fact still visible or if he was imagining them, an imagine fuelled by the memories that would never fade.

When they had freed Erestor more than three months ago, his right hand had been a mess, there was simply no other word for it. Gasur, the mad captain of the Lady of Donrag, had taken great pleasure in breaking and re-breaking every single bone in Erestor's hand and wrist that he had been able to get his hands on. Erestor didn't speak about it, hadn't even in the very beginning before he had rebuild his shields that were so strongly in place now, but Glorfindel knew that he had tried to set the bones himself and how very, very afraid he had been that he might remain crippled.

It had been a near thing, even Elrond admitted that. The half-elf had, shaking with anger and fear and disgust, broken most of the half-knitted bones again to set them properly, which, considering the state Erestor's limb (and the rest of his body) had been in then, had meant the use of a scalpel and more blood than Glorfindel had ever seen covering anybody's hand. Anybody's hand that was still attached, that was.

In the end, Elrond's healing powers, his skill and Erestor's tenacity had prevailed. For almost a month, the dark-haired councillor had been unable to use his hand at all, and almost another month until he was strong enough to use it in a reasonably normal fashion. Erestor – normally not the most obedient patient ever – had obeyed every single instruction to the last letter, too afraid that he might set back or completely ruin his recovery. It had amazed Elrond at first, but the half-elf had quickly recognised it for what it was – a deep-seated fear of losing the mobility in his right hand, the hand he used to use a quill.

It had paid off then, Glorfindel decided happily. Erestor had been careful not to let him see anything he had written ever since they had returned to Rivendell, and, when asked, Elrond had feigned ignorance or had ignored his questions completely.

"I cannot see any difference," he told the elf who was staring intently at the letters he had written only a few minutes ago. "Your writing looks the same as it always has."

"Oh, there is a difference," Erestor said absently, and Glorfindel instinctively knew that he wasn't only talking about the letters. "It is slowly returning to normal, though."

Glorfindel found himself smiling again, a smile full of relief and affection.
"I am glad to hear that, my friend," he said. "You cannot imagine how glad."

Erestor returned the smile and pushed the paper over to the right, frowning slightly as he remembered yet another item he had to add to it later. A moment later he looked up, having just remembered the beginning of their conversation, and frowned again.
"Did I understand you correctly earlier when you said that you were here to insult me?"

"Oh, that." Glorfindel waved his words aside, leaning back into his chair and looking for a more comfortable position. "Don't take it personally."

"Oh, no, why would I?" Erestor asked sarcastically. "Is there a particular insult you wish to tell me?"

"As I said, I do have a list here somewhere," Glorfindel mumbled, searching his pockets yet again. Considering that formal robes didn't have that many pockets, it took him quite a long while to find what he was looking for, but in the end he withdrew a small, folded scrap of parchment and held it aloft in triumph. "Here it is! Let me see…" He trailed off, unfolding the parchment and looking at it intently. "'Arrogant Noldo', I already said … oh yes, I like Number 15."

"Number 15?" Erestor asked, his interest piqued. "How many are there?"

"Twenty-four."

"A good number." Erestor nodded approvingly. Considering that there was no one in Rivendell who wrote as many lists as he did, that was high praise indeed. "What does Number 15 say?"

"Uhm…" Glorfindel made an indefinable noise and frowned. "Nothing, actually."

"Give me that!" Erestor said and snatched the list before the other elf really knew what was happening. The dark-haired elf's face darkened as his eyes flew over the hastily-written lines. "What?! 'His filing system is illogical, impractical and antiquated'? Who wrote that??"

"I didn't!" Glorfindel quickly protested. "It was Elrond's sons or the prince, I swear."

"Why in Elbereth's name would they…"

"They want me to make you mad at me so you will leave them alone," the other elf quickly explained, cutting his friend off before he could start one his rather famous rants. Erestor didn't rant often, but when he did, it was hard to stop him. "They are becoming desperate – and thinner. They don't dare show their faces during the day or during the feasts at night."

"Serves them right," Erestor grumbled. "First they cause my aide to lose his papers and then they write something so utterly untrue?"

"Of course it's not true, Erestor," Glorfindel hurriedly said. "Everybody knows that."

The other elf shook off his indignation long enough to give the blond elf a dark look.
"Are you humouring me?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Glorfindel told him with a smile. "So, what can I tell them? Will you let them be the next time you see them or will you insist on giving them these looks of yours?"

Erestor took a deep breath and forcibly unclenched his teeth.
"Did you read Number 23?"

"No." Glorfindel shook his head far too quickly for it to look genuine. "Come now, mellon nín. They have lived in fear long enough. If you keep torturing them as long as you usually do, Estel will have reached middle age by the time you decide that it is enough. Just let it go. And," he added, making a wild dash for the list, "give me back my list."

"No." Erestor shook his head, quickly withdrawing the paper in question. "It's mine now, and it's evidence. I might need this as proof sometime in the future."

Glorfindel gave him a stern look.
"Have I not already told you that it is unbecoming an elf lord to blackmail his lord's sons?"

"No," Erestor told him innocently. "It must not have come up before now."

He gave Glorfindel a last look before he leaned back into his chair, folding his "evidence" and letting it disappear in one of his pockets. And Glorfindel, watching his friend's long graceful fingers while they folded the piece of paper, couldn't help but smile yet again.

Erestor just might be right. It would take more time, yes, but everything seemed to be returning to normal.


The hallway was empty. Finally. It was rather impressive, Celylith decided, that he had never noticed how many elves there were in Rivendell that paid the kitchens a visit at night, or walked past the kitchen, or, for all he knew, had celebrations right next to it. He had always known Rivendell Elves were strange, but that they had a this culinary obsession was new to him.

The silver-haired elf pulled his head back around the corner, gave the now once again dark and silent kitchen a last look – if he had learned one thing, it was that the twins could be hiding virtually anywhere – before he threw his makeshift bundle over a shoulder and carefully moved out of the door. The hallway was still dark and silent, something for which he was profoundly grateful as he slowly pulled the door closed, mindful of the slightly squeaking upper hinges.

Once outside, he stopped for a moment to listen intently. Noldor were slightly clueless for most of the time (something that they most likely were also saying about the Silvan Elves), but even Deep-elves tended to notice someone when he was standing right in their path.

Most of the time, that was, he corrected himself bitterly, resisting the urge to touch his still slightly sticky hair. How the twins had managed to miss Estel when he had been sneaking up on them with that heinous glue of his was truly beyond him. Yes, the boy – a term he would never allow Aragorn to hear him use when talking about him – was sneaky, amazingly so for a human, but he was a man! Dúnadan or not, there was no way at all he should have managed to do that!

Celylith took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. No real harm had been done, after all. Yes, his hair might still look very glazed and shiny and was completely unmanageable, and yes, Estel's "solvent" might have removed the glue as well as the upper layers of his skin, but he was largely undamaged. His clothes had come off, so that was something, wasn't it? And besides, even now, more than five days after the fact, Aragorn and Legolas were looking decidedly colourful, which was something that made his situation incomparably more bearable.

The silver-haired elf grinned wickedly as he employed every single one of the stealth tactics that had been drilled into his head since he had been an elfling in order to avoid running into anybody. Even while he was quite certain that he usually would have been able to hear any of Rivendell's inhabitants before they heard him, they did have the distinct advantage of this being their home. The main building was a high-ceilinged, open and airy construction, but there were enough nooks and crannies, dark corners and shadowed niches to hide in. If he made it to his room without being seen by anybody – and, Valar, how much he did not want to be seen! –, it would be a minor miracle.

But still, he decided, seeing Legolas look so decidedly … pink was something he was enjoying far more than a loyal subject should. He stopped for a moment to peer around the next corner and eye the staircase leading to the upper level suspiciously. It looked clear, which was usually a bad sign, but he hardly had the time to wait here for a better opportunity to present itself. With a heavy sigh, Celylith grabbed the bag more tightly and quickly moved over to the staircase, all the while waiting for someone to call out to him.

No one did. There was no one in sight, the small hall completely empty and silent, and the silver-haired elf could cross it and move up the stairs without anybody spotting him. Most of Rivendell's inhabitants were most likely still clustered around the kitchen, Celylith mused, entertained, while he thanked his lucky stars and began to climb the stairs. A few seconds later, he had reached the upper level of the house, a fact that surprised him so profoundly that he stopped for a second to get his bearings.

In the end he shrugged and headed down the corridor to his left, slowly beginning to accept the fact that he just might get back to his room unbothered and unnoticed. Now he only had to get past Aragorn's and Legolas' room, take the first corridor on the right, and then…

Even while he was still completing that last train of thought, he froze dead in his tracks when a strange sound reached his ears, making him instinctively reach for a weapon that wasn't there. It took him quite a while to figure out what it was: The sound of someone biting back a low scream or another sound of distress. It was clearly coming from the room he had just reached; even for elven ears the sound would have been too soft to hear otherwise. He would have bet he wouldn't have heard the noise if he had been in the room right next to this one – which, of course, would explain just why it wasn't Legolas standing in front of this door, but him.

Celylith lowered his head and exhaled. Just why did it always have to be Estel? This reminded him very much of a similar situation last year, when the boy had had nightmares about what had happened to him during the summer. In the end, Aragorn had talked to Legolas about what had tormenting him in his dreams night after night, but not before he had made the ranger swear that he would. And even after that it had taken him quite some time to actually do it – Estel was nothing if not stubborn.

It was logical that the man would be having nightmares. Valar, considering what had happened to him in Donrag and Aberon – considering what was constantly happening to him – it was a miracle that he was still sleeping at all. Celylith himself had had suffered night terrors for a couple of nights when they had returned to Rivendell a few months ago, and he would be very surprised if the same wasn't true for Legolas or the twins as well.

But he still remembered how he had felt when he had finally managed to claw his way back to consciousness, how weak and helpless and so very vulnerable. He knew that Legolas had refrained from rushing into the room every time he had nightmares, both because the elven prince had still been recuperating himself and because he knew him and knew how much he hated to be seen like this, even and especially by his best friend. Estel was no different; he was, maybe, even more stiff-necked and proud. Celylith was very sure that he wouldn't want anyone to see him in such a state, least of all someone who was not his family or Legolas.

Celylith was just coming to the decision of granting his human friend his privacy and moving on when another, slightly louder but much more terrified sound could be heard, and that made his decision for him. Without hesitation, he reached out with his free hand and opened the door, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room almost immediately. The silver-haired elf quietly closed the door and began to make his way over to the large bed on the right side of the room, avoiding the obstacles in his way with an ease that only long familiarity brought. A few seconds later he had reached the bed and the figure that was lying on it, the sheets twisting into an ever-tightening knot as the man moved restlessly.

The elf gave the tossing ranger a quick look, taking in the increasingly violent movements and the tortured expression on his face. The dark head was tossing wildly from side to side, hair sticking to the sweaty skin, and the eyes were moving restlessly beneath the closed lids. Celylith suppressed a shudder, reminded himself that that was perfectly normal for a human, and quickly grabbed the candle sitting on the nightstand in an ornately carved candlestick. A few seconds of quick work later, the wick caught fire, and in the light of the single candle Celylith reached out to wake the young man.

"Estel? Estel, wake up!"

Before his hand had even made contact with the ranger's shoulder, Aragorn surged upwards, sitting up in bed so suddenly that Celylith would almost have jumped back. His heart racing wildly, the elf allowed himself to sink back onto the edge of the bed and withdrew his hand in a pacifying gesture. Aragorn wasn't looking much better himself. His eyes were open now, but they were empty and so full of nameless terror and fear that Celylith involuntarily took a deep breath.

"Estel?" the elf tried again. "It is I, Celylith. You are dreaming."

For long moments, it looked as if the man hadn't even heard him. The blank, terrified stare in his eyes only slowly diminished, and it took nearly a minute until the rigid muscles slowly relaxed. With a very deliberate movement, the young ranger closed his eyes and exhaled, and when he opened them again, there was recognition in the gaze.

"Celylith?"

The elf smiled even though he did not feel like it and was reasonably sure the man wouldn't even notice.
"Yes, Estel, it is me. Are you awake?"

The man ran a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat that had accumulated on his brow. There was more moisture covering his bare upper body, and even despite the warm breeze coming from the open balcony doors gooseflesh was already beginning to form. A moment later the ranger raised his head again and quirked his eyebrows at the other, wry amusement on his face that couldn't hide how shaken he really was.

"No, Celylith, I am not. I am having a very bad dream, I think."

"Funny, dúnadan," Celylith said dryly. "You did have the bad dream, though."

Aragorn didn't say anything and looked bemused more than anything else. It was an expression Celylith hadn't expected to see on his face – reluctance, anger, shame and a dozen others, yes, but bemusement? It was something he couldn't explain, and he didn't know if he should feel bewildered or unsettled.

"I … think so," the ranger said hesitantly, scooting backwards against the headboard as he tried to extricate himself from the sheets that were wrapped tightly around his body.

There it was now, the reluctance Celylith had expected, and for a second the elf only felt profoundly relieved.
"If you … want to talk about it, I would be glad to listen," he finally offered. "After what you went through in Aberon and Donrag, it is perfectly normal to…"

The dark-haired man raised his head, the bemusement now joined by confusion and insecurity.
"I didn't dream about Donrag. It wasn't like that. I … I don't know what it was. It felt different."

Now it was Celylith's turn to quirk an eyebrow at him.
"I heard you outside in the hallway, Estel. It looked and sounded very much like a nightmare."

Aragorn frowned and ran a hand over his face again, as if trying to wipe away the remnants of the dream.
"Maybe you are right," he agreed a little too quickly. "I just can't remember what it was about, that's all."

Celylith gave him a suspicious look. He was the son of a royal advisor, after all, and knew a tactical lie when he saw one. He briefly thought about pressing the matter but needed to take only one look at the man's drawn face to decide differently.

"Are you all right?" he finally asked, feeling that the question was terribly inadequate.

"Yes, Celylith." Aragorn nodded quickly and gave him a forced smile. "I am all right."

"Are you sure?" Celylith wasn't giving up so easily. He gave the young man a look that very clearly said what he thought about the veracity of his statement. "I could get your brothers, or just go next door and wake Legolas…"

"No!" Aragorn's head shot up again. He shook his head vigorously. "No, don't. I am all right, I swear to you. Don't tell them."

Celylith shook his head as well and looked at the man disapprovingly.
"Aragorn – I can still remember how it went the last time you talked me into something like this…"

"Don't – tell – them," Aragorn repeated and gave him a look that was somewhere between pleading and demanding. "Please, Celylith. They would only worry needlessly. It was only a dream, after all."

"Is that so?" Celylith asked mildly.

"You said it yourself," Aragorn pointed out.

"Well, I am not always right." The elf frowned. "In fact, it seems that I am right very rarely lately."

"Elbereth, how I wish there was someone else here!" Aragorn smiled, clearly trying to lead this conversation onto safer territory. "A wood-elf admitted openly that he isn't always right. I think I might faint."

Celylith gave the young man a long look, unwilling to let this go just like that, but also very aware of the fact that persistence would get him nowhere. The boy was Lord Elrond's son, after all, which meant that he would be stubborn on principle.

"How Legolas spends so much time with you without trying to kill you is a mystery to me," he told Aragorn, deciding to accept the man's desire to leave this be – for now, that was. "He has more self-control and patience than I gave him credit for."

"He has a few hidden talents." Aragorn nodded his head. "That's what he keeps saying, at least."

"He's a persistent one."

"True," Aragorn agreed. He took a deep breath and did his best to look calm and in control. "I am fine, Celylith. Really."

Celylith either recognised the futility of voicing a protest or was too polite to do so, and so the silver-haired elf only nodded and sighed.
"All right, Estel. I will leave you to your sleep, then."

"Thank you. I really appreciate you waking me … what is that?"

Celylith froze in mid-motion while he was taking up the bag he had dropped when he had sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked remarkably like a mouse suddenly finding itself face-to-face with a cat.

"What is what?"

"That," Aragorn said and pointed at the bundle Celylith was holding. "Let me see."

Celylith was about to protest, but before he could say a single word Aragorn's hand had shot out – with a speed that no mortal man should possess, the elf noted sourly – and he had snatched the bag away from him. It was clear that the nightmare had not affected Aragorn's reflexes.

Knowing that it would be useless to try and pry the bundle out of the man's hands – he could have done it if he'd really wanted to, of course, since he was considerably faster and stronger than Estel –, he took a deep breath and tried to look unconcerned. He could have saved himself the trouble, though, since the young man had unwrapped the bundle and was staring slack-jawed at its contents that were thus revealed.

"Are those … fish?"

"Yes," Celylith said. It was hard to deny, after all.

"And," the man's brow furrowed in confusion, "fruit?"

"Yes," Celylith repeated in a long-suffering tone of voice.

"Forgive me for asking, mellon nín, but why are you carrying fish and fruit through the house? And at night, at that?"

Celylith remained resolutely silent. Aragorn stared at the two small fish and the ripe apples and pears that were sitting in his lap. For several moments, he couldn't figure out just why Celylith would be doing such a thing – wood-elves were a strange lot, granted, but this was a little unusual even for them – but then the confusion on his face receded and was replaced by sudden understanding.

"Oh, I see! Lúthien!"

"Bats have to eat, too," Celylith said mutinously.

"Of course, of course." Aragorn grinned at him. "And why can't she hunt like any other bat? I mean, flies and such can't be too hard to catch."

"They can be if you're a tiny little bat," the elf retorted, instantly on the defence.

"It's not tiny anymore, Celylith! It's, what, seven or eight inches long now?"

"Six and a half," Celylith huffed.

"You measure it?"

"Her," Celylith corrected absent-mindedly. "And besides, I barely get the opportunity to let her out at all. Sometimes I am sure that Legolas is lurking outside of my windows, net in hand."

"I wouldn't put it past him," Aragorn agreed with a shrug. "He really, really doesn't like that bat." His eyes returned to the open bundle in front of him. "But why bring it … her," he corrected himself quickly, "why bring her this? I mean, I know that some kinds of bats eat fish…"

"Lúthien likes trout."

"…but why the fruit?" the man went on as if Celylith hadn't even spoken.

"Because," Celylith began, snatching the bundle from Aragorn and beginning to wrap it up again, "it's July. It's hot."

"That doesn't make a lot of sense, my friend," Aragorn told him evenly. It was something he was saying a lot to Legolas and his friend.

"Of course it does," Celylith insisted. He knotted the ends of the cloth together, slung the bundle over his shoulder and stood to his feet. "It is hot. So when you leave fruit in a warm place…"

"…it attracts flies," Aragorn finished his sentence. He grinned at the silver-haired elf. "Not bad, Celylith. It is obvious that you have a lot of experience dealing with abominable creatures."

"Thank you. And I will pretend I didn't hear that." The wood-elf turned towards the door, but before he had taken more than two steps he stopped and turned back around, a forbidding look on his face he must have learned from his king. "Not a word about this to anybody. Especially those brothers of yours, and Legolas, and your father … oh, and the kitchen staff."

"Oh, I won't tell anybody," Aragorn said with a sly smile. The smile faded somewhat as he looked at the elf, utter seriousness in his eyes. "If you don't tell them about this."

"Whom, the kitchen staff?"

"Celylith."

Aragorn didn't have to say more, and Celylith let out a deep sigh.
"All right, Estel. I will not tell them about this."

"Good." Aragorn smiled at him, obviously relieved. "Again, thank you."

"You are welcome, Estel." Celylith returned the smile. "Good night."

Aragorn nodded at him, even though it was painfully clear that he wouldn't be getting any more sleep tonight. Celylith turned around and walked over to the door, stepping out of the room and pulling the door closed behind him without making a sound. It would be really stupid to be caught now, after all.

While he was walking back to his own room, carefully listening to any and all sounds that might indicate that someone was coming his way, his thoughts returned to Aragorn's dream, and the blank look of utter terror that had been on his face when he had jerked awake. He believed him that it hadn't been about Donrag or Aberon; Celylith had involuntarily witnessed a few of those dreams and they had looked and sounded quite a bit differently. What he didn't believe, though, was that the man couldn't remember what it was he had dreamed about.

He had always been an elf who had trusted his instincts, and right now they were telling him that this – whatever it might be – was not a good thing, and that the last thing Estel should be doing was dealing with it alone.

Celylith smiled thinly as he reached his room and soundlessly slipped inside. He had promised the man that he wouldn't tell his brothers or Legolas about this nightmare he'd had tonight, but he most certainly hadn't mentioned written notes.

Semantics was something truly wonderful, wasn't it?


TBC...

ada (S.) - father (daddy)
muindor nín (S.) - my brother
mellon nín (S.) - my friend
tengwar (Q.) - 'letters', the alphabet used by the elves
dúnadan (S.) - 'Man of the West', ranger

Celylith is being devious ... that really can't end well, can it? •g• Oh, and I am very glad that you like Lúthien. She is an adorable bat - I really don't know what could go wrong... •evil grin• So, what will happen? What is going on with Aragorn? Will Elrond go mad? Whom will Celylith tell what happened (because, let's face it, he WILL tell somebody)? All that and more in the next chapter, which should be here with a day delay or so. Reviews might help with that, too. •g•



Additional A/N:

As always, I am replying to your lovely, wonderful reviews via a big group email. The only problem with those is that I can only include you if I have your email addresses, so make sure that you have a valid email address on your profile page or leave your address if you review anonymously. If you write down your email address in the text of the review itself, remember to use This . bloody (at) annoying . form, otherwise FF-net deletes it. I don't care what you people say, FF-net is far more evil than I am! Because of all this, I apologise to

Blues Scale (still!), Dreamzone (the address didn't show up), Kuramagal (no email address on the profile page), Websterans (anonymous review), Unknown (ditto), Reader (ditto), Clone Trooper (no email address on the profile page), Bookworm13 (anonymous review) and Kalmiel (no address on the profile page)

for not replying to your reviews. I am sorry, but I have found that, for me, the group email is the easiest solution. Sorry!