Chapter 2: Potential Dates and Awkward Situations
Morning came, with bright and furious spendour. Lindir was still snoring slightly, wrapped in no less than three blankets, so Erestor did not enter his room. He peeked in the next room, and saw Glorfindel unsuccessfully trying to tame his shining (and tangled) locks.
"Need help?"
"No, I don't. Go away."
Erestor wisely slipped out of his room and into the hall. He followed the smell of honey cakes into the kitchen, where ten cooks were arguing over a recipe.
"You don't need a taster this morning?" he asked.
"No, thank you," said the prettiest one. Celenil– that was her name, maybe. "But we would appreciate if you went to get a few more jars of honey from the storeroom. We're out again."
"Anything for you," said Erestor without thinking.
Nine cooks erupted into shrieking laughter. One turned a brilliant red.
Erestor was the same matching red. He decided to escape while he could. Never mind the honey.
It seemed now, dear Reader, that two of the three reluctant friends have potential dates for the upcoming festival.
If, horrors of horrors, Erestor would ask her.
Time passed, as the elves of Rivendell swept and mopped, polished and scrubbed. Soon, it was four days until the festival.
Glorfindel and Erestor would both turn vermilion when any elf asked them about who they would go with (that is, Glorfindel would stutter and gradually turn redder, while Erestor would mumble and immediately turn a glaring bright red).
Lindir did not know what was wrong with them.
Silinde was happy as a daisy in the breeze– his beloved Elwen, after fifteen hundred attempts, had accepted and for the first time in his life, he had a lady friend.
As for Haldir, rumour had it that Uruviel had abandoned him for Rumil.
No one really knew whether it was accurate or not, but then again, the Marchwarden was as prickly as a porcupine (despite his many fans).
Half the elves hummed and flushed pink as they floated round the halls, and the other half scowled and kicked the ground. In both Mirkwood and Lothlorien, elves were doing the exact same thing: even Prince Legolas (I shan't tell you which one, though, or he'll have my head). Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn waltzed round the Mirror, King Thranduil held his wife in his arms, and Elrond and Celebrian smiled at each other underneath an arch of dew-spotted flowers. The "famous" elves of Middle-Earth (being Haldir, Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel, and Legolas) were surrounded by a swarm of lovestruck ladies.
Needless to say, Elladan and Elrohir enjoyed this greatly.
Love was in the air.
Glorfindel absolutely hated it.
"Flowers of mine, fragrance divine
Red, white, and pink, all roses in shine
So this is love, a feeling so fine
My friend Glorfindel
Will sulk, pout, and whine…"
"Oh, shut your trap," snapped Glorfindel.
"I take it that you like my poem," said Erestor drily. "It's for Celenil. Should I give her red or pink roses? Do you think Elrond would mind if I got them from his rosebush?"
"I don't care about festivals," spouted the aggravated elf. "I don't give a hoot about love, flowers, or– or– or anything!"
"The twins haven't told you their choice of beautiful lady-elf, then," said Erestor, grinning.
Lindir was regretting telling him the rumour about Glorfindel's blackmailed date.
"Oh, be quiet, and wipe that lamp over there."
Glorfindel, who was skillfully concealing his worry, went back to polishing Lady Celebrian's antique spoons. He had decided that he was sick of antique everything.
Lindir, on the other hand, was also worrying himself sick.
I don't have a date, he thought. Usually I wouldn't care, either. But at my age, male elves are expected to at least have courted one lady. Usually I wouldn't care. Why do I care whether I have a date or not?
He shrugged it away. If he had a future wife, it wouldn't be very soon, anyway, and besides, all the female elves his age found him odd.
Erestor stopped wiping the lamp, and gave both his friends a glance.
"You do realize that in three days, we will be dancing with fair maidens?"
Glorfindel grunted.
"And giving them flowers? And eating honey cakes? And drinking Unky Thranduil's best rose nectar?"
Lindir refrained from reminding the pink-cheeked Erestor that the King of Mirkwood did not like being referred to as "Unky Thranduil".
"And– oh dear, I need to ask Silinde to register me for dance lessons. Tomorrow there's a waltz class and the limit of elves allowed is two hundred."
Glorfindel curled his lip and polished the last spoon.
"Do you think–" began Erestor.
"Oh, just go and boil your head," said Glorfindel, and stalked away.
Fortunately for Erestor, there was still a little room for the dance class. Silinde, who was giddy with excitement, had written his name down backwards, rendering it unreadable, but Elrond had spotted the mistake and given Silinde a rap on the head (in case he had bees in his brain).
The morning and afternoon went by quite smoothly, but Lindir spent most of it in bed. The night before had not been kind to him; he had not slept a wink.
"Two days before Lovers' Day!" said Erestor brightly. "Today, and tomorrow!"
"Yippee," said Glorfindel gloomily. "You still haven't asked Celenil, I noticed."
"Er… about that…"
Lindir was not listening. He was lost in memory lane, or, to be particular, thinking about what had occurred thirty-five minutes ago.
He had been strolling through the trees, and had seen something falling from the sky. Mistaking it for a star, he wished on it, and thought, "I wish I could meet my true love today".
It turned out to be a cherry pit, and it hit Lindir on the nose.
Rubbing it, and sighing (shooting stars didn't come out during day, after all), he had felt miserable, and ran towards the garden for comfort under the shade. He was almost there when he bumped into another elf and they went sprawling on the grass.
Lindir felt around and he figured he had a bruise on his cheek. It hurt when he pressed it.
He then remembered that he had bumped into someone.
Lindir quickly got up. "I'm sorry–"
He gasped. The elf, who had run into him, was very frail and fragile-looking.
No. Not a male elf. It was a maiden.
And a very beautiful one.
He figured most people thought her to be plain, since she did not wear bright fabrics. Her hair, pale and flaxen, was straight and unadorned. Her face was normal enough: small, straight nose, a small mouth, and softened cheekbones. But what really entranced Lindir was her eyes. They were a pale green-blue, framed with short lashes, and shone with amusement perpetually.
The elf maiden stood, brushed dirt off her dress, and smiled at Lindir.
It was that moment that Lindir decided he was in love.
"Good morning," she said. "You are Lindir, I presume? Lord Elrond told me that you might be here."
She struggled with many of the Elvish words, and Lindir wondered where she was from.
"Y-Yes," said Lindir. "My name is Lindir."
"Oh, good," said the maiden. "I do not know Rivendell. King Thranduil sent my friends and I to bring the nectar. Lord Elrond said… uh… that you would be able to show me around."
"Oh. Yes. Okay," he had said. "What's your name, by the way?"
"Lainen," she replied. "My father was an Elf and my mother from the race of Men. Father died from orcs, and Mother did not know Elvish, so my words are little."
"That's all right," said Lindir. "I will teach you."
And he did. For twenty minutes, they strolled through Rivendell, greeting everyone, while Lindir taught his new friend words such as 'library' and 'Lovers' Day'. Silinde spotted them as he went through a shelf of love poetry, and whistled loudly.
This caused Lainen to giggle and Lindir to turn purple-pink.
After, he had shown her to her temporary quarters (it was a good thing that Rivendell was full of empty rooms; the entire of Lothlorien, Rivendell, and Mirkwood would be staying for three weeks as a Lovers' Day holiday. Besides, it was too much of a bother to walk all the way to Rivendell, stay for one day, and walk back.), Lindir had rejoined Glorfindel and Erestor. They were just finishing up chores; the other elves were now helping with decorations and cooking (three realms' full of elves was a lot to feed).
"I asked Celenil to the festival," admitted Erestor, breaking Lindir's train of thought.
"Did she say yes?"
Glorfindel, for the first time ever, sounded the slightest interested.
Erestor, face as deep red as Lord Elrond's premium rosebushes, nodded.
Glorfindel cracked a grin.
Lindir smiled, too.
"I have a potential date for Lovers' Day," he announced. Glorfindel and Erestor nearly fainted.
"You?" snorted Glorfindel.
"No kidding," gasped Erestor.
"Her name is Lainen and she's from Mirkwood," said Lindir triumphantly.
"Who would've known?"
"Lindir dancing! Lindir can't dance to save his life!"
Unfortunately, that was completely true.