Disclaimer: After reading countless thousands of these disclaimer thingees, and not one of them admitting to the ownership of LotR, I have decided that LotR must be a terrible thing indeed. Therefore I am in no way associating myself with this devilry, and if anyone asks, I didn't write this. I've never heard of LotR. What is LotR?
Thank you to all of my reviewers! Your comments are very much appreciated. I wrote another chapter especially for you (awh bless). I had no plans to continue this, but you made me. Darnit. Sorry it's not as good as the last one. Continuations are something that happens to other people (once again, this is not true to LotR, or anything else of Tolkien's, I don't think. Don't say I didn't warn you; I have Tolkien-purist-repellent spray). ^.^
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'Lord Thranduil?'
'Come in.' Thranduil murmured. He did not look away from the glass that spun slowly in his fingertips, watching the red liquid it contained glister in the candlelight. Thranduil admired the way it shone and sparkled; more beautiful than all the jewels he owned, more beautiful than any gem within this realm or those surrounding it, more beautiful than anything in living memory (and by Elbereth, was that a long time). His first love. Wine.
The other elves may have had many laughs at Thranduil's, and his peoples, expense. But then, they did not appreciate the simple beauty and enlightenment that came with wine and sparkly things. Always they sought for something larger, something more important, something that involved the word Doom. No, Thranduil had his own four-letter word that summed up existence and purpose. Wine. He took another sip from the glass. The fate of Middle Earth, did it really matter? After all, a few thousand years and the elves would be away on that 'Go Really Fast Boat' of Círdan's.
The wooden door creaked as it opened to reveal his dark-haired butler. Thranduil idly removed his gaze from the glass, though he did not remove his feet from the desk. An eyebrow arched slightly, just enough to be questioning. 'Mmm?'
Galion cleared his throat; 'You have received tidings from Riven---'
The glass slid from Thranduil's grip, shattering on the floor.
Galion startled, 'My Lord? Are you feeling well?' Thranduil urgently scrabbled to sit up straight in his chair, his already pale complexion had turned almost translucent, his eyes stared wildly at the envelope in his butler's hand. 'Lord Thranduil?'
'No… please no…' Thranduil whimpered, his knuckles turned white as he grasped the arms of his chair.
'My Lord?' Galion said softly, as if coaxing a frightened rabbit. He had never known Thranduil to react so strangely. Or at least, he had never known Thranduil to react so strangely when he was sober; there was no accounting for his reactions when he wasn't. 'What is it my Lord?' he asked again, stepping forward. Thranduil let out a cry and scuttled backwards out of his chair, pinning himself against the wall.
'Come no closer!' He cried, pointing at the envelope Galion held.
'The… envelope?' Galion muttered to himself, his eyebrows knitted with confusion. Cautiously he inspected the letter, lifting the edge of the envelope so as he could see inside it. No, nothing. He looked back to his terrified King. 'My King, Lord Elrond would not send you anything offensive?'
Thranduil did not respond. Still he stared wildly at the envelope. Galion sighed wearily. He hated to do this to his king, especially when he was sober, but sometimes he was left with very few options. He lifted the letter up to the light. 'Look, my King, it sparkles in the light.' He moved the paper around slowly, to make sure Thranduil saw it glitter.
Thranduil relaxed slightly at the sight of the reassuring sparkle. His breathing slowed and he stopped trying to dig his way through the wall with his shoulder blades. Galion smiled and held the envelope out to the Elvenking. Reluctantly, Thranduil walked over to his butler, and removed the paper from his hands.
'The stationery of Imladris always shines.' Thranduil said softly, his voice no more than a whisper as he gazed sadly at the envelope. He took a deep breath and continued with a stronger voice, 'But it is a trick. Elrond knows us to be fond of things that sparkle. He will lure us with his shiny stationery, but within - ' He shook the envelope beneath his butler's nose '- within lies a herald of Doom!'
'Elbereth…' Galion whispered, 'I thought Lord Elrond saved that word for special occasions?' He watched as Thranduil timidly opened the envelope.
'No, Galion, times have changed.' The Elvenking muttered as he unfolded the letter with shaking hands, the envelope falling forgotten to the floor. He lifted top edge of the parchment; the words revealing themselves slowly as the shadows fled for shelter beneath the fold in the paper. Suddenly Galion leapt backwards with a cry of terror.
There it was, in terrible black letters, domineering over the other notes on the paper: The Great Tyrant of Words.
DOOM
'Elrond Peredhil grows weak.' Thranduil said gravely, unable to hide the despair he felt.
Galion did not reply. He stood shaking; his gaze fixed on The Word, unable to move it elsewhere lest The Word should come to pass and all would fall to darkness. Already the world was growing dimmer, Thranduil's voice further away, and The Word before him the only truth. He battled to look upon something else, yet he could not divert his eyes. The Word held him within its poison talons, all faded to darkness…
And then he beheld the floor.
***
The world had changed.
He felt it in the water.
He felt it in the earth.
It was ringing through the air.
'YOU - YOU - YOU---!!' Elrond screeched as he paced back and forth across his room in a flurry of burgundy robes.
'Pathetic excuse of an elf?' Glorfindel volunteered, glumly watching his friend pace the room. What had the world come to when Elrond Peredhil, Peredhil, half-elven, without even the decency of being a real elf, could charge around ordering far superior-yet-overlooked elves, full elves, that glowed in the dark, had super pointy-ears and everything, to do chores for him, then scold them for doing so? Glorfindel drummed his fingers on the desk. A lot had changed since his day.
'You sent Thranduil the wrong invite!' Elrond whined, anger giving way to sorrow. He collapsed into the chair opposite Glorfindel's, his arms folded on the table. Glorfindel smiled sympathetically.
'I am sure he will understand, Elrond. Has he not made enough mistakes of his own in the past? It may bring him closer to you, knowing you are only of elf-kind, and can make mistakes as well as he can.' Glorfindel assured him.
'I didn't make the mistake though, did I, Glorfindel?' Elrond's grey eyes fixing on the blond elf, accusing him of all the evils in the world. Glorfindel cowered. 'It was you, wasn't it? Glorfindel?'
'Well… maybe.' Glorfindel mumbled, refusing to admit to anything should it break his pride.
'Thranduil will not be impressed.' Elrond sighed, 'Do you know what I wrote on that invite?' he said wearily, his shoulders slumped with resignation.
'No, but I feel if I did you would not be best pleased with my reaction.' Glorfindel risked a smile, glancing across to the over-flowing Swear Box, and back to Elrond. The elf-lord's chambers were nearly empty of decorations, save the Swear Box, which glittered happily in a corner. Elrond himself was in a sorry state, with nothing to hold his hair away from his face, no crown on his brow. Everything had been thrown into the Swear Box.
'Yes, yes, you're right. I shouldn't tell you. I have nothing left for that… that Box.' Elrond said bitterly. Throwing a glare at the Box, and then at Glorfindel, who was now grinning smugly to himself.
'So you admit it, then?' The elf continued to grin.
'Admit it?' Elrond frowned, knowing full well what he had just admitted to, yet he was not ready to admit that he had admitted it.
'You said - no - wrote it?' Glorfindel grinned more broadly. Elrond bit back a curse. Glorfindel had caught him again.
'What, may I ask, is "it"?' He asked innocently.
'Usually a two letter word, my Lord, but in this case, it has four.' Glorfindel stifled a triumphant laugh. Elrond rolled his eyes. It wasn't often Glorfindel referred to him as his lord, the noldo tending to see himself as being above every other elf in the entire of Imladris, or more likely, Middle Earth. Well, he could play games as well as Glorfindel…
'Four letters?'
'Yes, my Lord.' Glorfindel still did not wipe the bordering-on-unnatural grin off his face.
'First letter?'
'Sorry?' The grin disappeared.
'First letter! Guess it.' Elrond stole the grin for his own.
'Well, er…' Glorfindel stumbled over his words, 'that would be D? Wouldn't it?' His expression was now one of complete confusion.
'Hm-hmm. Correct. Second letter?' Elrond smiled cruelly.
'O.'
'Wrong!' Elrond laughed, and pulled a piece of parchment across the desk to him. Without much thought, he drew vertical a line on the paper. He turned back to the other elf. 'Guess again.'
'What -?' Glorfindel shook his head in confusion. 'It must be O, there is no other way of spelling it.'
'Really? I thought O didn't come into "it"'. Elrond chuckled. Glorfindel frowned disapprovingly.
'Elrond, really, I thought you would have grown out of such immature games at your a-'
'Guess!' Elrond pestered.
Glorfindel pouted. 'Elrond, you can only spell Doom with an O. It is spelt phonetically, D-O-O-M. You cannot spell it any other way, it would become a different word.' Glorfindel prepared himself for a discussion on the spelling of the word Doom, but instead, and to his disappointment, Elrond burst into fits of laughter. 'Now what…?'
The elf-lord made no reply, except of course, to giggle ridiculously. He stood and took the Swear Box from the corner of his room, and carried it over to Glorfindel.
Glorfindel sighed. Well, at least Elrond had forgotten the invite incident for now. He slid a ring from his finger and dropped it into the Swear Box. 'Elrond, I believe you have been at the wine.' He said thoughtfully.
'Yes. Thranduil and I aren't so different, after all.' Elrond mused; taking Glorfindel's ring from the Box, casting a critical eye over it, and dropping it back in again. 'Or at least, I think we aren't. I'm not so sure if we'll ever find out now.' He smirked, watching as guilt ate his old friend. 'You said Do - that word twice, if you remember.' He stated matter-of-factly. Glorfindel looked as if he was about to argue, but then he shrugged.
'At least I didn't sing it.'
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