Chapter 3: Dates, Plots, and Plans
There was yet another problem. Lindir had nothing to wear.
"You can borrow some of my clothes," offered Erestor.
"Too skinny," said Lindir after trying.
"You can borrow Glorfindel's."
"NO. I WON'T LET YOU."
"Anyways, they're far too big. We're not the same height."
Erestor thought for a moment, and went to get a random elf from the hall for advice.
"Silinde," said the elf, who was one of the cooks. "He's got the most clothes."
"…but he likes lavender. I look terrible in lavender."
Erestor frowned.
"Well, he does have that dark purple tunic. Violet. It would go with your hair."
"Go with my–!"
"Bother you, Lindir," scolded the cook. "Anyway, my sister is a tailor. I'm sure I can arrange for her to make you some suitable clothes. Say– you don't wear dark colours all the time, do you?"
"Yes, I do, in fact."
Lindir was beginning to feel frazzled. No wonder Glorfindel didn't like fashion.
Meanwhile, the twins were snickering in Elrond's study.
"Perfect!" crowed one of them (Elrohir, I think).
"She's just perfect!" he continued. "Let's see again: outgoing and cheerful disposition, very charming, epitome of happiness. Bit sardonic, a bit sarcastic. Glorfindel will love her!"
"Or hate her," said Elladan. "Glorfindel despises disgustingly happy people."
"No," said Elrohir. "He just hates happy people. Everyone hates disgustingly happy people. And besides, she radiates energy. And to top it off, she's never heard of him!"
"Not a fan!" gasped Elladan. "The horror!"
The twins collapsed in laughter, and Silinde, who was nearing the library (searching again for love poetry, no doubt), wondered what was so funny.
Finally! It was the day!
Lindir wiped his forehead. He had just asked Lainen to be his date for the festival five minutes ago, and she had said yes. He hurried to the baths– the Mirkwood elves (not to be outdone by the Lothlorien citizens) had arrived two hours early. When the Lothlorien elves came, everyone would settle down and arrange their belongings. The baths would be full (which was why Lindir was coming before time), the tailors would be stressed (doing last-minute corrections), and in the afternoon, the festival would start.
Last year the celebration lasted for the entire two weeks of their vacation. Most likely it would be the same this time, too.
Lindir checked the schedule again. Elrond was in a panic (someone had misplaced his robes), and Lady Celebrian had handed him the responsibilities.
He read through the ten-page booklet (seeing if the performances were overlapping, or if anyone was absent), made a few corrections, handed it to Silinde (with instructions to return the papers to Celebrian), and went for his bath.
Minutes later, Lindir emerged, clean and donning a dark purple tunic (not belonging to Silinde, thank the Valar). It was from the very back of his closet; a nearly black lump of cloth that the cook's sister had turned into proper clothing. It was rather stunning, really, after it had been washed and tailored. There was a silver clasp at the neck and tiny gold buttons down the front. Dark blue veins ran through the cloth, and were only seen if one looked closely. Another vest-like robe, of redder shade than the tunic, was to be worn on top. It had no sleeves, was very long, and gave Lindir a rather elegant look.
He didn't mind his appearance much, though, because as he stood next to Lainen, he knew he looked far duller. Lainen, who was wearing a simple dress, had her smile lighting up the room. Her lovely pale hair was not braided intricately as any other maiden's, but was flowing free like it was when they first met.
"Lothlorien's here!" someone shouted.
Lindir jumped to attention.
Sure enough, a long line of glowing elves, dressed in pale golds and silvers (some in white, others in a shimmering grey) paraded into Rivendell. Leading the line was Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Both looked as if the long walk had taken no effort.
And, at their arrival, the fuss began.
"Phew," said Erestor. "That was close."
"What?"
Glorfindel, wearing silver-grey, scowled and pulled at his shirt.
"Oh, stop that." Erestor gave his friend a look, and waved over Silinde.
"It's just that everyone's waiting for a turn at the baths," he replied. "In the males' room, Elladan and Elrohir have plastered soap all over the floor. There's a bunch of patients in the medical room right now."
"Stupid twins," said Glorfindel.
"Hello!" called Silinde, walking over to them. He was with a beautiful elf maiden, with the typical dark hair and grey eyes of all Rivendell elves. She smiled too, and her light blue gown sparkled.
"Elwen, this is Glorfindel and Erestor," said Silinde. Elwen poked his shoulder.
"I already know them, silly," she sighed.
Erestor did not know whether 'silly' referred to Silinde's current unintelligence, or whether it was an abbreviation for his name.
"I heard you're going with Celenil," said Elwen to Erestor.
"Yes, I am," he said, surprised.
"Well, she's been waiting for you at the entrance for about two hours already."
"Yikes!"
Erestor made a beeline towards the flowery arch (where Celenil was patiently standing).
Glorfindel snickered.
"And you, Glorfy," said Elwen. "I know who the twins have chose for your date today. I'm not surprised, she's the perfect match. But I'm warning you: you're in for a shock."
"I am?" asked Glorfindel warily. But Silinde had whisked away his lady, and they were now going to the refreshments table.
Glorfindel took a last look in the mirror, straightened his hair a bit, and marched outside.
I hope the twins haven't chosen a scary girl, was all he could think.
Celenil was blushing terribly by the time Erestor had led her towards the refreshments table. Erestor did not have the pluck to ask why. Instead, he offered her a tart and a glass of rose nectar. She clapped a hand to her mouth, turned pinker, and ran away, green and white skirts fluttering about her.
Erestor stared after her with his mouth open, absolutely befuddled.
He went to ask Silinde for advice.
Once he had gotten hold of the lavender-scented ninny, he explained the situation.
"You haven't done anything wrong," assured Silinde. "She's just getting used to seeing you in your handsome clothes."
Erestor looked down at his navy blue tunic.
"Er… really?"
"Yes. Just go find her and ask her for a dance. She'll be fine, I promise."
"O-Okay."
Glorfindel had forgotten about his date. He and Haldir were catching up after a long while. Rumil and Orophin, also hand-in-hand with pretty elven ladies, were raiding the honey cakes, so Haldir had freedom to speak.
"They asked Uruviel," he said. "I never said anything about wanting to go with her. Frankly, she isn't impressed with me, and I never spoke to her before."
"But… you like her," said Rumil, who reappeared.
The Marchwarden's face was slowly turning a baked potato purple, and he did not answer. Glorfindel smiled grimly.
"I don't know who my date is," he said. "The twins blackmailed me into letting them choose a maiden for me, and I'm not really looking forward to dancing."
Haldir grimaced. "Well, good luck. I'm about to ask Uruviel for a dance myself."
Uruviel appeared out of nowhere (with Orophin as well) and held Haldir's hand.
"All right," she said. "I accept. But it better not be a fast dance."
Haldir looked at her, her hand, his hand, her again, and turned pink.
Glorfindel coughed, trying to hide a laugh.
Haldir and Uruviel disappeared into the crowd, where Lindir and Lainen were setting up for the first five performances (which was entirely instrumental). Glorfindel was about to return to the refreshments table when he heard a familiar voice.
"GLORFY!"
Glorfindel turned paler and ran for his life.
"What is it?" said Erestor irritably. Glorfindel had interrupted his second dance, and he was not very happy about it.
Glorfindel explained quietly, and Erestor sighed.
"Go meet her," he said. "It's just a dance, Glor. Remember what I taught you? If you feel uncomfortable, ask if you can sit down or something. And don't go overboard with those honey cakes."
With that, Erestor pushed Glorfindel towards Elladan and Elrohir's direction.
Traitor. Glorfindel glowered as Elladan waved at him, a lady elf next to him (her face was concealed by a hood, so he did not get a glimpse of her).
It was only seven footsteps away from his date. He felt another panic attack coming, and attempted to calm himself down.
You are a Balrog-slayer, Glorfindel! he scolded himself. And yet you are afraid of a lady. A lady! Do not be frightened of such a little thing.
Straightening his posture, Glorfindel walked towards them.
Elrohir smiled at him.
"This is Maeweth," he said.
The maiden drew her hood back a little, revealing a tumble of red-gold hair. She drew it even more back, and Glorfindel spotted a ghost of a smile lingering on her lips. She drew it behind her head, and Glorfindel suddenly could not breathe.
Ai Valar.
He coughed, and took deep breaths.
Maeweth was a stunning beauty. Her hair was not as long and straight as the other elves', but curled wildly to a few inches beneath her shoulders, and was adorned with two small braids draping down her front. She had sharp amber eyes, cunning and piercing. Her skin was pale and smooth, and her nose was sharp and pronounced. Maeweth wore a very simple dress, one that had long, clinging sleeves and a loosely gathered neckline.
She was the most beautiful maiden Glorfindel had ever seen.
Glorfindel could feel a word tickling its way out of his mouth.
What word was it again?
He racked his head.
Suddenly, it was squirming in his throat again. The last thing he thought before he uttered it was, I hope it's nothing stupid.
"Turnips," Glorfindel said promptly (and confidently).
Elrohir and Elladan collapsed in shrieking laughter.
Glorfindel felt heat rise to his face and his tunic felt a whole lot warmer.
Maeweth tipped her head like a cat and examined him for a silent ten minutes (the twins chuckling in the background).
"I," she said finally, dignified, "am not a turnip."
Elladan clutched his stomach and rolled around helplessly.
Maeweth gave him a chilling look. Then, she rolled up her sleeves (Glorfindel watching her quizzically) and took his arm. He stared at her.
"Well, you didn't look as if you were going to offer it, so I figured I better be the first," she said, and, swallowing, he led her to the refreshments.
Elrohir sniggered and leaned on his brother's shoulders.
"This is going to be a very fun rest of the day."
Oh, bugger. I am screwed.
Erestor shut his eyes and opened them, craning his neck up.
Minutes ago, he and his date had been shoved, by no other than Lords Elladan and Elrohir, into a small clearing, two trees arching their branches over their heads. And guess what was hanging from those branches?
Mistletoe, that's what!
Ai Valar! Ai elves and men and hobbits! ACK! WHY, LADY OF LIGHT, WHY!? I know this is the Lover's Day festival, but why this monstrosity!?
They have mistletoe at Yuletide. Only Yuletide. It's not even close to winter! WHY IS THERE MISTLETOE NOW?!
The Lady of Light, who happened to be standing not but four arm's lengths away from the small glade of grass, met his eyes. He gulped.
Oops.
She raised an eyebrow.
"Erestor, is it?" said her voice, only it was in his head.
Erestor clutched at his ears and immediately began sweating.
"I take that as a yes. This year, my elves have requested mistletoe, for a reason I cannot fathom. Perhaps they plan to shove two elves together under this unfortunate plant, and see what happens. I see the sons of Elrond have already accomplished this."
Some elf whistled slowly. Celenil stood still as a statue, red from head to toe.
"What are you waiting for?" prodded another voice.
A very familiar voice.
WHY CAN THE TWINS DO THIS TELEPATHIC THING? thought Erestor furiously.
"This 'telepathic thing' comes naturally to very intelligent individuals, which you are not exactly being the ideal model for. Kiss her already!"
Many elves were gathering round the small, leafy glade, whistling and shouting encouragement and clapping their hands. And they were chanting, as well.
Erestor blanched as the words reached his ears.
Celenil flicked him a glance.
She mumbled something that sounded like, "If you don't, I will", and plunged headfirst into his face.
Erestor yelped. And blushed. And began sweating again. And cursed those sneaky, nosy, idiotic twins.
But not for long.
Before he knew it, he was smiling like a moron under the unexpected (and still stupid) branches of mistletoe.