A Thing or Two About Elrond

2: Foot In Mouth

Elrond gets kicked in the face, Crúen the dwarf has bad fashion sense, Elladan fails lore school, Celebrían keeps the conversation interesting, and a jovial time is had by all except Elladan. Family, fluff, wit/word play. Elladan POV. Alcohol and slight drunkenness.

T.A 1978

Summer

"I cannot believe you are allowing this," Elladan grumped. "How long did you say they would – "

"Elladan, my son," said Elrond, "After our guests leave, you may wander into the woods and whine to yourself all you'd like about them but starting right now, you will treat them with the respect and kindness that any guest of Imladris is granted."

Elladan replied with a barely-suppressed sigh. Dwarves. Why should the elves respect dwarves when all any visiting dwarf ever did was smell appalling, eat all their biscuits, break at least one vase, and generally take advantage of their hospitality? Granted, Elladan had only ever seen two dwarves come through, and one had been incredibly old and senile.

But this was eight dwarves. Assuredly this would be a disaster. Elrond said he'd met a few of these dwarves before, some eighty years ago, and had recently invited them to Imladris to 'discuss important matters'. At hearing the news, he'd wondered if Elrond himself wasn't going senile. Elladan had spent much more time of late traveling about than his father had, and had been reminded freshly time and time again that dwarves and elves simply did not get along.

"It draws late; how do you know they haven't become lost?" he asked. Elrond, who was resting his hands on the white stone banister where they waited and watched the path, finally fixed his son with a withering look.

"Náin and Crúen have been here before, remember. Eighty years ago. After we rode out and aided them we invited them back to Imladris to rest a while."

"I remember you telling me that, Ada, but just because a dwarf has been somewhere eighty years prior does not make him a reliable compass."

"Perhaps, my son, if you had been here in Imladris at the time you would have seen that the company of dwarves is not so distasteful as you assume. As I hope you will discover today. I worry that in all your travels you forget to be wary of one of the greatest weaknesses of our race."

"Yes, yes. Pride. One must be ever vigilant. Your lessons are not forgotten."

Elrond raised his eyebrow but said nothing. They turned again to watch the path and in good time could hear a great ruckus of heavy feet and heavy burdens, and then saw eight dwarves making their way up the patch, looking only noticeably road-weary and, Elladan thought, carrying the distinctive odor of old dungeon. Elrond responded to neither the smell nor the look of the company, and stepped out to meet them, Elladan behind.

"Náin son of Durin VI, I am honored to welcome you to Imladris," he said warmly, bowing slightly and putting on what looked to be a genuine smile. "How was your journey?"

Náin, their leader, black of beard and wearing bright silver bands about his wrists and also binding his beard, smiled back.

"Master Elrond, delighted to lay eyes on you once again, and your House. Our journey was well. You remember Crúen here, no doubt. This is Tifuss, Gnok, Bikbar, Bulrin, Hirseg, and Ror."

"Master Crúen," said Elrond, nodding at the red-bearded dwarf. "I remember your face especially well." At this, Crúen smiled, as did, Elladan noticed, all of the other dwarves in the party – the ones Elrond had never met. "I would venture to say that I'd even remember the attire you wore that day. Your every button and pin." Crúen's smile had suddenly fled from his face. Elrond took two slow steps forward as he continued. "I don't seem to recall seeing such a necklace on you last time we met, and yet I feel I have seen it before."

It took Crúen a second to respond, so shocked was he, and in that second Elladan saw what his father had been referring to. The dwarf quickly ferreted it away under his mail and Elrond straightened and smiled.

"Wait, Ada, was that…" Elladan tried, but couldn't spit the words out.

"That was my tooth," Elrond replied plainly, and Crúen colored a deep red. One of the dwarves let out a laugh before slapping his hand over his mouth. Many of the other dwarves were now doing their best not to smile.

"Oh, for the love of Aulë, Crúen, why'd you have to wear that thing?" Náin said, flustered. Like Crúen, he was not smiling. He turned to Elrond. "He parades around with it back in Khazad-dûm like it's a bloody silmaril. Calls it his little trophy. Says he's the only dwarf to own a piece of elf-lord."

"Let us hope that Crúen is the only dwarf whose mind such a thought will ever venture to enter," said Elrond. Elladan could see that his father was mildly amused by the whole thing, which made Elladan's mounting irritation all the more pungent. He remembered the day he noticed his father's rare grin was unbalanced. Elrond said he'd been missing the tooth for years. The gap was behind a canine, and with the number of times Elladan had seen his father really grin, he wasn't surprised he'd never seen it before that point.

"That's where your tooth is?" he finally asked. "You didn't know the dwarf took it?"

"My lot in life was not to keep the whereabouts of my teeth in careful record," Elrond said. "Once they take their leave of my mouth I'm not sure it's my business where they end up." Elladan couldn't believe what he was hearing. He took a step towards the dwarf named Crúen.

"My father welcomed you to rest in Imladris so many years ago, after having saved your reckless hides from orcs. Am I to understand that you – "

"Elladan," Elrond said, laying a hand on his son's shoulder, "calm down. It is a trifle of a thing that you're allowing to vex you."

"It's a necklace, no more," Crúen finally said, having earned back some nerve seeing that Elrond hadn't flown into a fury. "Didn't mean no harm, but besides, your father's right. It's nothing to get knotted around. Who ever heard of an argument being started between warriors over something as simple as a necklace?"

All fell silent and turned to him once again; this time nobody smiled. In fact the dwarves around him seemed to bleach of some color and even the eyes of Elrond betrayed something of distress, if one knew how to look. It was not lost on Elladan.

"Aye," said Náin finally, "never a thing has ever occurred, Crúen. Oh, except the Nauglamír. Only the reason Elves and Dwarves see ill of each other in the first place, you nincompoop," he said, and hit Crúen over the head with his walking pole. Crúen blushed even deeper than before and for a moment the other dwarves looked slightly ill and wouldn't meet the gaze of Elrond (which was still unreadable) or Elladan, who was doing his best not to say something sharp while he waited for his father to do something. As it was the Nauglamír's fault that Elrond and his brother had been orphaned as children, Elladan imagined the issue was liable to do a bit more than cause slight irritation.

"You seem to have put your foot in your mouth, Master Crúen," Elrond finally said. The tension broke like a harpstring and the dwarves laughed, relieved. Náin still looked irritated at his companion's oversight, but did manage a stony smile. "A fair price for my tooth. Let us not tarry here further, my road-weary guests. My son Elladan will show you your places for rest. We will break bread in three hours, if it pleases you."

"I'd say it does, Lord Elrond," responded Náin, "Especially if by 'bread' you mean those biscuits we had last time we were here. Haven't had a thing as good since." Elrond bowed and led them into Imladris, and behind them Elladan could hear Náin continue: "Crúen, I suppose you might not be hungry though. After your meal of foot and all."

-)O(-

Grudgingly, Elladan led the dwarves to the guest rooms, all the while doing his best to look serene and gracious, or at least trying not to show his mortification at Crúen's double breach in tact. His father had been, as usual, right. Elladan's temper had been inappropriate. He knew that almost any other elf in Arda would have done more than loose their temper at such actions and comments, but Elladan was the son of Lord Elrond, who saw such things as water under the bridge and reserved his formidable temper for when it really mattered. Sometimes Elladan was deeply thankful that he had Elrond as a role model, but then again, sometimes living up to his father was mighty difficult. Sometimes Elladan felt as if he had double the temper to deal with due to Elrond's encouragement that he always 'hold his temper'. Only sometimes.

"Here," he said finally, coming to an ornately carved oaken door, and pushing it open. On the other side was a tall hallway, guest rooms running its length. "Tifuss," he said, gesturing that the first dwarf in the line should take the first room. "And Gnok," he said at the next door. "Hirseg. Ror. Bikbar." Crúen was next in line and Elladan noted with some satisfaction that the dwarf would not meet his eyes when he was shown into his room. "Bulrin," he said to the second-to-last dwarf. "And finally, Master Náin, here are your quarters. I hope you will find them acceptable."

"Well," said Náin, peering in, "These aren't the same rooms we were in last time, but I don't think we could find anything to complain about if we tried. Well, Ror probably could, but you must disregard everything that great galoot says."

"If you find him so offensive, why do you ask him to journey with you?"

"Offensive he may be, but a right handy tracker. And indispensable when you expect to get lost. He memorizes whole maps before taking off on any sort of journey."

"Ah." Elladan followed Náin as the dwarf wandered to the end of the hallway and peered around the corner instead of settling into his room like the others.

"I see your memory is nothing to sniff at either, Little Master," Náin said. "You rattled off my company's names like you've known them your whole life." Náin saw that around the corner was a porch with a charming view of gardens and running water, and went to lean on the railing.

"When one's father is a lore-master," said Elladan, a little miffed at the title 'little master', "one's memory is expected to be particularly hale in cases of remembering exiguous minutia." He took a place next to the dwarf, surveying the shadows of the approaching eventide.

Náin nodded in understanding, looking slightly lost, and Elladan wondered if he shouldn't have used such polysyllabic words.

"You listen to your dad's stories a lot then?" asked Náin.

"I can hardly make him stop telling them," he replied with a laugh. All at once Elladan realized he was enjoying a dwarf's company, which caught him quite off-guard. Of all the things he had expected the dwarves' visit to bring, agreeable company was not one of them.

"He ever tell you how he and I first met?"

"Small details only. My brother and I spend much time traveling. We were away during the time you first visited Imladris, and we did not return until a year and a half after that."

"Ah. Haha. Well I can't tell a story like a lore-master, but I can tell a story like the grimy little mountain muffin that I am! Let's see, it was 1900. 78 years ago. Your dad and the wizard Gandalf had just sent a request to my lord Durin VI 'requesting and warning' that they stop digging down into the mountain, for fear of something or another, not relevant to the story. Anyways, my father thought that was nonsense but sent me and a party of dwarves north to look for another site for a mithril mine, just to cover our bases. So it was me and Crúen and a few others..." Náin paused and shuffled about in one of the bags that hung at his waist, and drew out a pipe, and a bag of herbs.

"Of course, having spent so long down in Khazad-dûm, we weren't privy to the fact that the mountains up there were crawling with orcs." Pausing, Náin packed his pipe and lit it by the flame of one of the lanterns on the porch. After a moment of drawing air through the smoldering weed, he sighed, sending a gust of smoke to the breeze (thankfully Náin was downwind of Elladan), and continued.

"Well apparently there was an elf sentry from Rivendell that saw us coming… Quite a ways from Rivendell to have been posted, if you ask me, not that I'm ungrateful. Now that scout, he rode back to Rivendell and sounded the alarm or blew the horn or what have you. Of course, Lord Elrond must have thought us a right daft bunch of wanderers to be waltzing into orc territory, and lo, not a day south of the High Pass we were set upon by a flock of orcs! Biggest orcs I've ever seen!"

At this, Náin laughed and puffed merrily. Elladan watched the dwarf's eyes wrinkle as he settled into the memory.

"Vastly outnumbered, we were. We took a good number of them down, but they were still seepin' out of the woods like… well, I don't need to say what it was like in such company, Little Lord, but it was nothing if not disheartening, to be so far from home and food and at night, too. I was just about to have a face-off with the biggest, fattest, meanest, smelliest, troll-face orc I'd ever seen when right before my eyes he stops in mid-roar with an arrow stickin' through his throat. Falls over, neat as you please. And there behind him I see these three shadows come riding out of the mist and the night – did I forget to tell you, it was bloody foggy to boot – and at first I thought, lovely, mounted orcs, but then I heard that they weren't making monstrous noises and they weren't dressed in oily rags and obviously their faces didn't look like they'd been sewn together by a blind blacksmith who's got no thumbs.

"I guess at the time there wasn't a host of fighting elves in Rivendell, but let me tell you, your dad and those other two were a force to reckon with all the same, I'm not ashamed to admit. Did a right number on those orcs, they did. Well, we were all pretty occupied with fighting but I remember seeing your dad off his horse – don't know how that happened – taking down an orc that was about to get the better of little Gúfen. I didn't see it straight but I think another of the brutes came along and just – pow! – kicked him in the face. Then Gúfen cut that orc's leg off at the knee and took it from there.

"It was all over so quickly once those three elves arrived. Couple of us had some cuts and scrapes and bites and Crúen was sort of being the medic on the trip, unqualified as he is. Well I was limping up to Gúfen, who looked a little addled, and I saw Crúen go up to your dad – he was unconscious, or looked it from my angle – and take a gander at his mouth, which was bloody, and then he reaches in and picks something out of there and stuffs it in his shirt pocket. Then Lord Elrond comes 'round and Crúen says, Good to see the whites of your eyes, Master Elf. You took a blow to the head, here's a rag and some water, and he hands him the rag and the water and tells him that he'd taken the liberty of removing a dislocated tooth while he was senseless , so as to save him the pain upon waking."

Náin snorted, sending smoke out his nostrils.

"Your dad brought us back to Rivendell to clean up and get some proper food. Mighty nice host he is, your dad. Lord Elrond," Náin added, as if correcting himself. The dwarf puffed thoughtfully for a few moments. "And Crúen waits 'til we're back at Khazad-dûm to string it up and tie it 'round his neck and strut about. I think Durin just about had a fit, but everyone else thought it was a riot!" He finished with a laugh, and then looked up at Elladan. "Come on, it's funny. Crúen never meant any real harm. He may seem low but he's just an airhead, is all. Come, even your dad thought it was funny."

"Something of the situation is funny, though we may not agree on which parts," Elladan finally replied, allowing a smile. "You tell stories very differently from my Lord Elrond, Master Náin, and what a pleasure it was. You have a gift."

"Psshht. I've got a flapping gobber and nothing else. Look, the sun is down already. I've taken up the evening jabbering. I usually save that for dinner."

"No doubt you'll have due time soon enough."

"Well, I'd best clean up. A right git I'd look coming to a meal like this. I'll see you there, Little Master."

Elladan listened to the dwarf's heavy footsteps go back to the hallway of their rooms, and then the shutting of the door.

"Little Master," Elladan grunted, and made his way down to the kitchens. He found that he didn't mind the name so much after all.

-)O(-

"Wait, you're actually making them biscuits?"

"They asked for them, did they not?" Elrond replied, dropping a clod of dough down onto a rolling stone and wedging it. "In truth, I would do almost anything to put their minds and bodies in pleasant straits. Otherwise I do not believe they will be open to my request tomorrow morning."

"You think making them biscuits will persuade them to stop mining in Khazad-dûm?" Elladan asked incredulously.

"No…" Elrond replied, racking the dough with the rolling pin, "but it may add to the chance that they will at least hear me, maybe consider. Fetch a cask of mead from the cellar, would you?"

"Bringing out the mead? You are serious about this Khazad-dûm threat, aren't you?"

"Son, we bring mead out for any visitors we host. And yes, I am quite serious about Khazad-dûm."

"If biscuits are such an important part of policy and strategy, I think I should be learning how to make them, not fetching casks of mead."

"Biscuits," Elrond started, cutting the sheet of dough into a grid of triangles, "are much like healing. What are the necessities of a good healer?"

"Skill, power, art, and lore."

"Right. It takes skill, power, art… not so much lore… to make a good biscuit. I have no doubt you have the skill and no doubt you have the power, but in the art is where the key to a good biscuit lies. Practice makes perfect and unfortunately we have half an hour before dinner is set, which leaves no time for you to practice today. Perhaps if you'd come down and helped after showing the dwarves to their quarters… where did you wander off to, anyway?" he asked, flipping the triangles of dough onto baking stones.

"Master Náin told me the story of how he first met you."

"Oh?" asked Elrond, raising an eyebrow. "And what did you learn?"

"To be wary of confusing thoughtlessness with malice, I suppose." Elrond shot his son a smile as he carried the stones to the kiln oven.

"What art you lack in baking you more than make up for in observing the stories and memories of others, my son. You have long proven that." Elrond shifted the kiln oven's door into position. "Now please, go fetch the mead before your naneth has a conniption."

"Who's having a conniption?" Elladan heard Celebrían ask as he headed towards the cellar. Of anybody in Imladris, Elladan was sure that his mother was the least likely to have a fit over a dinner, likely because she invariably had the situation under control. In fact Elladan was sure that if Elrond would bring Celebrían to the meeting tomorrow about Khazad-dûm, the dwarves must surely do as Elrond wished and stop their mining. Galadriel had told them that Celebrían could talk a boulder into getting up and flying, and if that were possible, surely Celebrían could talk a dwarf into putting down his pick-axe.

Despite the rush, all was set when the proper time came. They had the spread set out near the gardens, as the air was gentle and still and the stars were blinking through the leaves. Tall torches lit the rich tablecloth and the passing crick. As a kitchen aid set the last steaming dish down upon the table, the dwarves appeared near the stairs, eight dark lumps on the move and making appreciative noises.

"What a pleasure, Master Elrond. Who have we to thank for this hospitality?" asked Náin, who did indeed look much better.

"Many hands have come together to gift us here," responded Elrond, and then looked to the kitchen, from where Celebrían was returning with a stack of hand linens. "But in our kitchen many hands are ever futile without a manager. This is Celebrían," Elrond said, and drew her into a brief side-hug, "my wife." Elladan imagined he saw a tiny glint in his father's eye that dared anyone to do anything vulgar in front of his significant other. "Master Náin, I do not believe you two have met. She was away in Lórien with our daughter Arwen when you first visited."

"Aye," said Náin, clearly a little starstruck, "I think I would have remembered your face, my lady." He came forward and kissed her hand, and the other dwarves bowed their heads to her, equally dazed. Elladan had heard people say that Galadriel was the fairest elf of Middle Earth, but those that met his mother were sometimes quick to change their minds.

Elrond sat at the head of the table, Celebrían to one side and Náin to the other. Next to Náin sat Ror, and next to him would sit Elladan, and the rest of the table was a fair mixing of elf and dwarf. Elladan picked up the cask of mead he'd brought up from the cellar and had poured some for his parents, Náin, and Ror. Before he could move on, Ror sniffed the mead, took a sip, and then a shifty look stole into his features.

"Say," he started, "I heard from a ranger who heard from some elf from here that you were brewing something called abyss juice."

The dwarves, who had all begun to chat to their neighbors, fell silent and looked at Elrond. Elrond, in turn, pointed his gaze at Elladan.

"It wasn't me," said his son. "Elrohir must have told someone."

The looks on the faces of the dwarves intensified. Elladan was sure they were feeling torn between proving themselves to be decent fellows in front of the Lady of Imladris and answering to their dwarvish nature, which Elladan had heard had an insatiable desire for adventure when it came to brews.

"Well," said his father, finally, "yes, as a matter of fact, we've been experimenting with multiple distillations. We call it iâpeich, though, gracious, not abyss juice. I must warn you, it's quite strong."

This only elicited a cheer from the dwarves, whose curiosity had far gotten the better of them. Elrond sent for the iâpeich, and shortly and with no further circumstance, the meal was started. Elladan, who had watched his father methodically work with the iâpeich for some time, would not deny his curiosity. He downed his mead (the dwarves watched, bewildered) so that when the new cask came around he could try some.

"That's the spirit, there!" grumbled Ror. "We'll loosen you up a bit yet."

"I assure you, Master Ror," responded Elladan, "that after almost 2,000 years of practice behind me, I have no expectations of going on a spree tonight."

"1,848 years, Elladan," said Celebrían. "You've 151 years before 2,000. Much can happen in 151 years."

"What are you implying, naneth?"

"Just a word of warning," she said teasingly. Elladan repressed a blush. His own mother doubting his abilities. The brew had come to the table now, and Elrond and Celebrían passed, handing the cask directly to Náin. The dwarves had followed Elladan's lead and emptied their goblets to make room, and now they merrily refilled with the amber liquor. Ror was happy to pour Elladan's drink, and Elladan saw with interest that Elrond seemed a trifle horrified at how full his vessel was filled.

Elladan, spoke Elrond to his son's mind, your naneth is right. You may have decades of experience over the dwarves but you are not used to this.

It's merely a sip, responded Elladan. You keep saying I can try it.

I meant for you to sample it, not quaff it with our guests.

You lack faith in me? Do I not have your blood in my veins? he asked, and picked up the goblet.

My blood in your veins makes no difference if –

"Welzig's white whiskers, this is good!" exclaimed Bikbur, who was met with a chorus of agreement. Elrond looked from the dwarves to his son to his quietly smiling wife and seemed to give up the battle. He raised his own goblet of mead and toasted silently to his son in a not entirely unkind manner. Elladan smirked and took a sip of the iâpeich, and then swallowed what felt like a small flaming hedgehog. Nobody seemed to notice the look on his face, for which he was grateful.

And so it was that all of the family and guests passed the meal pleasantly and in good company. For a while Elladan listened to Celebrían tell an attentive Náin about Arwen, and about Elrohir (who had opted out of hosting eight dwarves in favor of embarking on another adventure with the Rangers), and about how she had watched the mountains change over time. Soon he lost interest, possibly because it was getting harder to hear over the buzz of the other conversations going on around the table. At one point Ror kindly refilled his drink for him; Elladan noted the dwarves themselves had passed on a second round. Looking back, this should have aroused his suspicion, but at the time, Elladan saw it as a sign that the dwarves had realized that Elladan was, at least, going to hold out, and was not, no indeed, going to go on a spree.

I see that, Elrond's voice came, as if from the end of a particularly echo-y hallway. Son, if you drink that –

Elladan quaffed it.

Very well, Elrond said. Please don't say anything stupid.

"Like what?" Elladan asked aloud.

"Hmm?" asked Ror.

"What would be stupid?" he asked, not quite sure what he meant by that.

"I didn't say anything stupid," said Ror.

"Oh, but are you sure?" he asked, realizing where he'd been going.

"Quite, yes, Master Elladan."

"Then… where is Crúen?"

"Right across and to the side, there."

"Ah. Yes. Crúen, I believe you may have said something borderline stupid this morning." Yes, yes he had, hadn't he? What was it the dwarf had said? Something about a necklace? Ah, that was it – the Nauglamír. He had forgotten the most important detail of the history of his race.

Elladan, please stop talking, said Elrond.

"I hope you feel at least some remorse, Master Crúen, for what you said." Crúen, for his part, who had been interrupted with a conversation with another elf, looked all at once amused and horrified. "Why, forgetting your own history… our own history? I can tell you right now, we elves never forget." He felt Elrond leave his mind then, and could almost hear one of his father's eyebrows crawling up to his hairline, but he didn't mind. He was telling this dwarf what he needed to hear. Some things just had to be said.

"Elvish ancestry is very rich. Much more so than any other ancestry of any other people of Arda. And that's partly because everything is so meticulously recorded and kept safe, and then studied very hard. If everyone did that, I very much doubt that so many mistakes would be made. Everyone would always learn from their past. We have a great amount of wisdom to dip into."

Now a few of the nearby dwarves and elves were listening in on his montage with interest. Good. The more the merrier.

"Now, if I were you, I would listen carefully if an elf ever tried to give you advice. For instance, anything about Khazad-dûm, just for example, I mean, if anybody were to give advice about that particular situation, perhaps said advice should be heeded. Historically, it is very clear in the records that anyone who is given advice by an elf would do best to listen. You never hear of anybody giving elves advice, do you? This stands to show the high quality of the advice of elves."

"My son," said Elrond finally, in a voice that turned everyone's heads. By the time Elladan had finished speaking, he'd had everyone's attention already, but the elf lord easily snatched it away. Celebrían hid her mouth with her hand, behind which Elladan could see a poorly-concealed smile. "You are the son of a lore-master, are you not?"

"Of course."

"Then how is it that your memory fails to vex you with the knowledge that your great-great grandfather, the elf Turgon, did not heed your great grandfather, the man Tuor's, advice, and so doomed his kingdom to fall at the hands of orcs?"

In the prevailing silence, Elladan's mind spun and caught as he remembered. He opened his mouth to protest but found that no words would come. There was nothing to say.

"I believe," Elrond continued, and passed one of the dishes his way, "that you have not yet tried the foot-in-mouth casserole. I think you would like it very much."

The roar of laughter following the comment almost made Elladan want to clap his hands over his burning ears, but his joints were rather paralyzed. Had he really forgotten that? Had he really said that? Yes and yes. Valir preserve me, he sighed, and tried to bring his mind back to an appropriate level of awareness, as he now saw how far down it had slumped. He glowered at his father for having made a fool of him, but his father had already engaged in another conversation, for which Elladan was strangely thankful – more attention away from him. He fought the urge to place his face in his hands. Or better yet jump into a cold spring.

Elladan played his conversations lightly and quietly after that, listening more than he spoke, though he was having considerable trouble focusing. Ror thought it all quiet humorous, and tried to push more iâpeich on Elladan, who refused, and Ror laughed.

It took a moment after that for Elladan's ears to finally pick up what his parents and Náin were talking about; their conversation had turned again to the night back in 1900 when Elrond and two of his blade-worthy friends had ridden to save the dwarves. They laughed about how Gúfen had been able to move infinitely faster using one leg and one crutch than he had with just his two feet before. They remembered how blasted foggy it had been, and how the moisture had stuck to their clothing and chilled them. Náin described the orc that had kicked Elrond's tooth out to Celebrían, how its fingers seemed like those of a witch, nails long and green, and its wild, oily locks of hair.

"Lady Celebrían," said Náin finally, after realizing that the description of a terrifying orc was not about to bring the same thrills to an elf lady than it might to a dwarf warrior, "I do feel sorry that we brought you trouble in the first place. I know you weren't there but if we hadn't been tramping around in the mountains, attracting all the orcs in the nearby passes, your husbands' mug would never have been marred."

"Marred?" she said, and turned to Crúen, down the table, who had been listening with a handful of other dwarves. "Master Crúen, you have my thanks for getting rid of the tooth when you did."

"I… I do?"

"Well of course. It is less a scar than a verification to me. How else am I supposed to know that the elf I'm kissing under cover of darkness is my husband?"

Elladan's blush returned full-force. The dwarves, however, thought this was hysterical, and laughed loudly and buoyantly. Ror slapped him on the back and pounded the table, and Elladan, still astounded that his mother would say such a thing, was even more astounded to see that his father was actually smirking.

-)O(-

The night ended merrily; dwarves and elves parted as friends, bidding each other goodnight, with the expectation to meet again in the morning under more serious conditions. No biscuits were left, though Elrond had made many extra. Elladan could have sworn that his face was still warm from drink and shame and embarrassment, which was altogether a foreign experience to him – at least, he hadn't felt this way since he was much younger.

His father had wandered down a garden path and Elladan knew he would spend many hours of the night standing on the bridge above the stream, contemplating. On a different night, under different circumstances, Elladan might have even joined him for a few hours, to watch the reflection of the stars in the water. But this night he had only one goal, and that was to somehow redeem himself. He'd made a proper fool of himself and he was sure Elrond was disappointed, puzzled, ashamed, or a combination of the three. His head was pounding behind his eyes and he couldn't think straight, and so didn't know quite what he would say now, but he had to try saying something.

The moon was half, and hung in the branches above as Elladan stood at the base of the bridge. Elrond stood with his hands clasped behind his back, head bowed to watch the water pass, dark hair reaching down like another shadow. For a moment Elladan only watched him, not wishing to interrupt whatever thoughts were swirling, but the pain in his head mounted in intensity.

"Ada?"

"Elladan?" said Elrond, and looked down the bridge. Elladan walked to join him.

"I know you will be engaged for much of tomorrow discussing important matters."

"Yes."

"So I wanted to talk to you right now."

"Yes?"

"Well… Are you…" Suddenly he felt like a little elfling again, and his next words he had to force to come out. "Are you mad at me?" He asked his question to the river, and refused to look up to meet his father's gaze.

"Of course not," was the reply.

"Are you ashamed of me?" he asked.

"No, Elladan," was the reply again, this time laced with mirth. Elladan looked up. "I am merely amused at your adventuresome spirit, and also at your ability to prove yourself wrong. Sometimes it is better to prove yourself wrong than wait for someone to do it for you."

Elladan let out a deep sigh and sat down on the bridge, letting his boots hang down above the water. His father paused before crouching next to him.

"What troubles you?"

"Well, a headache, for starters."

"Besides?"

"Why do you always find the silver lining?" he asked, and surprised himself. Yes, that is what he'd been meaning to ask, wasn't it? For years now. "I thought the young were supposed to be full of hope and bright-eyed, and the old were supposed to have conservative judgment and a bitter outlook."

"I am not that old… And I do have my bitter side. You know that." His father settled into a kneel at his side, and watched the spruce tops wave for a moment. "I can't always find the silver lining, Elladan. Sometimes there are simply too many clouds to trace."

"You're the only elf I know that would not be bothered by the fact that a dwarf forgot about the Nauglamír," he said, exasperated.

"That does bother me, Elladan," replied Elrond. "It bothers me deeply. But it does not enrage me. That would do no good. Anger rarely does."

"Yes, but Ada…." Elladan tried again, still struggling for control over all of his words and thoughts, "The danger you have foreseen in Khazad-dûm is grim. It would affect us all. Any elf of old in their right mind surely would have sought to destroy such enemies whose actions could result in such abominations. Not made them biscuits."

"Let me put this into words that might make sense to you in your present state, Elladan: the moment you hand a fresh biscuit to your enemy, your newest friend takes it, for you have destroyed your enemy."

"But… what if they won't agree to stop mining?"

"If we part on good terms despite that, we still will have destroyed our enemies."

"With biscuits shall we destroy our enemies. Who knew."

"You need to rest," said Elrond decisively, standing up and taking Elladan's hand to haul him upright as well. Once Elladan was on his feet, Elrond opened a pocket in his robe and drew out a small pouch. "I put this together for you before I came out here. I knew you'd follow."

"What is it?" he asked, taking it.

"Some herbs. Trust me."

"What are they for?"

"If you don't take them, in the morning your head will feel like an orc's been dancing on it. I'd let you find out the hard way but I think you've had enough embarrassment for the time being." With that, Elrond shooed him down the bridge back towards the buildings, and Elladan headed for his quarters. On the way he sorted through his thoughts (which were currently vague and elusive) looking for the silver lining to his current situation. As he passed by the hall of the dwarves' chambers and heard their raucous snoring, he smiled a little, and realized that once again Elrond's words had come true. Elladan had found that the company of dwarves was not always so distasteful. Even Crúen had forgiven him his verbal assault at dinner, possibly because of how amusing it must have been to see the son of an elf lord addled by drink. In the morning he figured all would be wary of what they said, owing to the slip-ups of both races the night before. Not that he would know. He figured he would be making himself scarce for much of the next day; meditating off the headache (which hadn't yet subsided), and learning how to make biscuits.

A/N: Thanks for reading, you lovely person you. My sincerest hope is that you smiled once in the past few minutes. Next oneshot: Elrond and the customs and traditions of Man.