Again, many thanks to marcia for betaing this chapter.

Chapter 3: Of Elven Diplomacy

'Hereafter, in a better world than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.'
As You Like It, Shakespeare.

The unease had been growing inside him all day. It reminded him of the moments just before a thunderstorm, when the air was heavy and still, pregnant with menace. He had returned to his rooms swiftly after the swords practice and indulged himself in his beloved books for several hours, forgetting for a time the storm that might be about to break.

It was only when the bell rang out for dinner that he returned to the world. Realizing that he had not only forgotten his duty as herald, but was also going to be late for the feast, he hurried to stow away the chronicles of Eregion that he had been reading and began searching for suitable clothing. With no time to change his tunic, he wrapped himself in a robe of rich blue, the sleeves embroidered with curling leaf patterns in gold thread. As he shook his hair free from its braid, he found a small leaf stuck there from his spar with Eámanë.

Eámanë.

He did not know what she thought of him now. They had had a fight like none he had ever known. Such intensity, such joy... it had almost been a violent dance. He smiled, rubbing the bruise on his shin where she had kicked him. No Elf of Rivendell would have fought like that.

But she had seemed pretty keen to be away from him afterwards. His smile faded. Perhaps he had gone too far and offended her. He had strayed beyond gentlemanly conduct, and she had been forced to lash out. He realized, a cold feeling running through his bones, that perhaps he had put himself at odds with the entire Sylvan contingent staying in Rivendell.

Stupid, stupid Erestor.

Sighing, he placed one hand to his head, as the many feet on the stairs and voices heralded the start of dinner. He was going to have to go and face her sooner or later. Perhaps, if he apologized, she would forgive him. Or perhaps not.

Sighing, he left his chambers and went to the dining hall where he discovered, to his dismay, that the meal had already begun. Over a thousand years in Imladris, and this was the first time he'd ever been late for a meal. What impression was he giving to the guests?

Worse, several mouth-watering plates were being uncovered, rich smells filling the air; he began to realize how hungry he was from the day's exertions.

He took the seat between Eámanë and Mithrandir and politely sipped his wine, waiting for Elrond to arrive.

He noticed that no one had started eating yet, and all the delicious food was going cold. He gave a half-smile, picturing Elrond, engrossed in some book or his studies, keeping his guests waiting all night, all too polite to do more than sip wine. Either that or the lord of Rivendell had stolen a precious moment away with his family before the big festivities and had lost track of time. Either way, someone would need to give the guests leave to start dining soon, and unless Glorfindel decided to step in, that someone would be him.

He used the opportunity of scanning for new faces. There were some; they must have arrived during the day. It warmed his heart, the feeling that in the tide of coming war, Rivendell was not a lone island.

The reason for the delay became apparent when the Lord Elrond appeared at the door. His sons had arrived from the wilds and they must have spent some time sharing the report and news from the outside world. Celebrian gently guided he husband to the table. The twin brothers escorted Arwen. If last night Elrond had too many ladies, this evening the ladies had one gentleman too many. Not that they minded. The hall filled with even more laughter as Elrond contemplated the possibility of having one more daughter. To balance it out, he said, making Arwen chuckle.

Retrieving his daughter from Elrohir and Elladan, Elrond placed a gentle kiss on her brow and directed her to the front of the hall, so all could have a good view of the Evenstar. "Gentles all," he said, his voice loud and clear. "Friends of old. My heart is doubly glad in having you here with us today as we celebrate and give thanks for a great blessing received. My daughter's begetting day is much more than just an excuse to reunite such fine company around us."

"You should be called Silver Tongue, ada," Arwen spoke quietly. Squeezing his hand she turned to her brothers and then to the guests again. "Welcome and thank you for sharing this joy with us. And now, we must make good use of all this food Tulquar has made us."

"Your daughter is much wiser than you are, Master Elrond," Glorfindel cried.

"She understands you better, indeed," Elrond replied. "Let us eat!"

Erestor turned to his left side to face the sylvan lady. The fair-haired elf looked rather rattled, quite possibly with him.

Give me an obscure manuscript in any language of the world, he thought, for it would be easier to decipher than people.

"My lady," he said, and then changed his mind, deciding not to dwell on formality. "Eámanë. I... wanted to apologies for insulting you earlier. It was unbefitting, and I should not have allowed myself to get angry." He paused. "I hope I can convince you to accept my humblest apologies."

Interesting, no doubt, Eámanë thought, feeling most of her anger drifting away ... though not all of it. So the High and Mighty Elf Lord could admit a wrong, even thought it should have never occurred in the first place. Eámanë did not know the custom of Rivendell, but in Mirkwood no Elf with an ounce of self-respect would admit being called an orc!

"Let us put an end to the matter. It never happened," Eámanë said with the quietest voice she could muster. It was not her place to put her people at odds with one of the most influential Elf Lords of Imladris. Mirkwood was isolated enough as it was... So Eámanë decided to swallow her pride and make an effort at diplomacy.

Erestor fought not to narrow his eyes when Mithrandir glanced in their direction. The old rascal was known for meddling in every kind of affair.

More to provide them with some privacy than out of any desire to be too close to the hellion, Erestor bent his head in her direction. "I fear your champion, my lady. Glorfindel has made it clear that my life is in peril should I not win back your good graces, and the Grey Pilgrim has already looked our way three times."

Eámanë felt the corners of her mouth lifting upwards and fought it. "Afraid of my champion? Are you not afraid of me, as well?"

"Well, of course," he replied, completely serious. "Do I look stupid?"

At that the wood-elf lost the battle and burst out laughing. "Kind words, my lord, are but the beginning of the path to friendship. Should you make it words and action, I would be glad to start over."

"The lady is gracious." Erestor said, reclining on the chair. So there would not be a diplomatic incident between the realms. And just as important, Glorfindel would not behead him.

Not to mention, he felt genuinely relieved to have made peace with this sylvan elf.

"Does this mean that you will show me how to do that maneuver?"

"No," she said, filling her plate with grilled venison.

He filled both their cups. "Not even if I beg?"

She stopped her fork in mid-air to stare at him. "Not even then."

"Pity."

Eámanë concentrated in the food for a while, and it occured to Erestor that she had said there was peace between them merely for the sake of courtesy.

"You fight very well for someone who claims to have forsaken the sword for books."

"Some things cannot be entirely forgotten. You are very skilled, too. I have the bruises to prove it."

"I should not have done that. I apologize."

Erestor raised his eyebrows before he had time to school his features into neutrality.

"You did not think I would perceive my own wrong, my lord?"

"I did not think you would feel the need to apologize for doing what you were told."

"You were exceedingly angry. I realized that perhaps you thought me a cheater."

Erestor placed the cup back onto the table very carefully. "Indeed I did, and for that, too, I beg your pardon. A very wise friend of mine has reminded me that we must use all of our advantages in a time of need."

"Glorfindel has been too hard on you, my lord. He is somewhat overprotective so I must tell you not to berate yourself too much." She wetted her lips. "Besides, I have learned a thing or two from our game."

"It was not Glorfindel who told me that." He held her eyes for a moment and considered telling her exactly who had berated him. But the wood elf spoke before he could make up his mind.

"We will never put this behind us if we keep talking about it. Although…" she glanced around to the spot where another woodland elf was seated. "I think I will take advantage of you, my lord Erestor, and have no shame whatsoever in doing so."

Erestor tensed. "If there is anything within my pervue that I can do for you, you have but to name it."

She bent her head to whisper in his ear, utterly shocking him with her request.

"It is said you are great among the masters of lore still in these shores." She retreated minutely. "Would you teach me for a while, Master Erestor?"

His breath escaped in a sigh and he smiled. "What do you wish to learn?"

Eámanë bit her lower lip and looked up to the ceiling, lost in thought. "Everything."

"Everything would take a rather long time."

She snorted. "I know. But you asked me what I wanted to learn, not what you would teach me."

"True. What do you want me to teach you?"

"Why don't we find out as we go?"

"I'd rather have an idea of what is most important to you, so we can study it before you depart for Thranduil's Halls."

"I will not be going home for a while yet." She sighed. "This is the first chance I have had to see the world as one could before the Shadow fell. I intend to seize the opportunity before I return to my father's house."

"'Twas a rather long night." Erestor said, thinking of the War of the Ring. "You should enjoy the light."

"I will," she stated quietly, her eyes fierce. "Believe me, I will.'