A Little Problem
A/N: I got the idea for this story from the film "Honey, I Shrunk The Kids!", but this is not a crossover. The story doesn't involve any scenes or characters from the film. Nor is this supposed to be a humorous story... it's all very serious for poor Elrond!
The Red Venomous is my own invention, as far as I know there's no spider like that, and if it's actually a biological impossibility, do excuse me!
Mistress Alyssa is a creation of my own. So is mistress Sárie, a shameless Mary-Sue who must be forgiven, since she never does anything important at all... or appears in any story for more than a few sentences.
And yes, I do know the title is really bad...
~~*~~
Rivendell, summer of year 2612 T.A.
The bright sun rose, ready to send her warming rays towards the elven sanctuary hidden deep in the valleys of the Misty Mountains. The early birds were already up in the sky, or chirping on the branches of the trees; going along with their normal bird-businesses, what ever those were.
A lonely figure, which had been up even before the birds and the sun, would have been able to tell us, for Elrond Peredhil had always held birds dear to him. His people suspected this was because of his mother, lovely Elwing, and they might have been right. It was hard to tell for sure. Most of the time it was nearly impossible to tell what Lord Elrond was thinking. Except for one person: Lord Glorfindel always knew what was happening behind his friend's thoughtful, grey eyes.
And today was no exception.
Glorfindel had noticed the restlessness of his friend already last night, and knew exactly what caused it. Elrond's twins had promised to return today. Their hunting trips always made their father sick of worry, and Glorfindel wanted to do everything he could to support his friend. Not that he was overly enthusiastic about the twins roaming the wilderness himself; he worried nearly as much as Elrond did, thought not /i as much: nothing can reach the level of worrying of a parent.
Glorfindel suspected Elrond had been up all night, tossing and turning in his bed until he finally could not take it anymore, and moved to his familiar place on the balcony overlooking the valley. A casual observer, like the birds, could have spotted the small figure leaning against the beautifully carved wooden railing, stretching his neck so he could see the path leading to the Last Homely House from the Ford. Strictly speaking Elrond did not need to do this: he usually knew when someone crossed the Ford, but he did it anyway. Glorfindel suspected it was a parent thing.
The blond elf lord had taken an advantage of the only person who was usually up even before Elrond: mistress Sárie, whose principle was that one never served old bread during breakfast, if one could wake up before the sun, the birds and Lord Elrond. He had made his way to the kitchen, and told bad jokes to the cook until she had agreed to give him some food if he promised to go away. Glorfindel was rather amused to notice her distress, when today's bread had still been in the oven and she was forced to offer him some made yesterday. Not that it was bad yet, to Glorfindel's inexperienced eye it still seemed perfect. Glorfindel suspected this was a cook thing.
Elrond did not bother to turn around when he heard the balcony door open: he knew who it was anyway.
"Good morning, Glorfindel"
"Good morning, Elrond", came the reply, followed by the cling of dishes.
Elrond finally gave up staring at the still-empty path, and turned around. The cling had not been expected.
Glorfindel was arranging the breakfast onto the bench located in the corner of the balcony. Mistress Sárie had even made him some tea, but then again, the jokes had really been bad. And slightly vulgar.
"You shouldn't have", said Elrond, walking to the bench.
"Are you trying to tell me you are not hungry, after being up most of the night?" Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at Elrond, with a knowing smile.
Elrond let the comment about his sleeping habits pass, but decided to stick to the truth with eating. He could not fool Glorfindel anyway.
"I might be ravenous, it makes little difference. I'm so sick of worry I cannot even think about food", he admitted.
Glorfindel shook his head. "I've never been able to understand your way of reacting with your stomach. Every time something distressing happens, you stop eating. I believe there is a medical term for it".
Glorfindel gave a stern look to his friend, who in turn arranged his face to be completely blank. They had had huge rows in the past, with Glorfindel lecturing while Elrond moved his food back and forth on the plate like a sulking child.
The half-elf shrug off his friend's comments about medical terms, and sat down on the bench.
"Fine, I'll have a cup of tea, if that will make you happy", he took two mugs, and poured some tea for both of them.
They sat in silence for a while, admiring the valley below them. Some of the birds, who recognized a feeder when they saw one, flew closer and finally landed on the railing. It seemed to Glorfindel they were whistling innocently, as if bread crumbs were the last thing in their minds. Elrond laughed and started to break the bread to smaller pieces for his hungry little friends.
"Any excuse to avoid eating it yourself, eh?" asked Glorfindel, and Elrond threw him with a slice. Glorfindel snatched the ballistic bread from his hair, and hurled it towards Elrond again. There was a pause, when both of the noble elven lords stared at each other challengingly, and then the air was suddenly full of bread.
"Are you trying a new way to force-feed me?" jested Elrond, "Your aim is less than perfect though, my mouth is not over there... NO! Don't throw that apple!"
Finally the slightly stronger Glorfindel had managed to wrestle Elrond to the floor, and was just about to stuff his mouth full of bread when the half-elf's eyes suddenly turned vacant. Glorfindel knew instantly what the matter was. He stood up, and offered a hand to Elrond. Together the two elves started to make their way towards the main gate, leaving a small trail of bread crumbs after them.
The hunting party was entering the courtyard when Elrond and Glorfindel walked down the steps from the main hall. The twins rushed to give their father a hug, but suddenly froze, staring at the two older elves with wide eyes.
"What in the name of Elbereth have you two been doing!?" Elrohir almost screamed. Elladan was unable to ask anything, he was howling with laughter.
Elrond gave his sons a confused look, and then the realization dawned. He turned to look at Glorfindel by his side, covered in crumbs. He looked down at his dress, and came to the conclusion he must have been in a similar state.
"Oh..."Elrond trailed on, trying to find a suitable explanation.
"Just a small bird-feeding accident", Glorfindel cut in, giving the twins an innocent smile.
"I see", Elrohir sighed. "I'm sure you will tell us all about it after we've looked after the horses. I certainly have something to tell you."
He walked away, muttering to himself about the madness of older elves, who obviously had too much free time in their hands, followed closely by still grinning Elladan. As a matter of fact, most members of the small hunting party seemed to be sniggering.
"There goes their respect..." mumbled Elrond.
Glorfindel chuckled, and lead Elrond away. The familiar pattern had been repeated, with slight variations, and the peredhil twins were home once again.
The now-less-respectable elven lords made their way back inside. The Last Homely House was awakening to a new day, and several elves passed them along the corridors. They continued to receive odd looks.
They finally escaped to Elrond's chambers, and as soon as the door closed behind them, they started to brush their clothes frantically. Elrond was just in the process of trying to remove a particularly persistent lump of marmalade from Glorfindel's hair, when the twins walked in.
"It doesn't help" said Elrond, stepping back and holding a handkerchief, "You will have to wash your hair... You haven't even changed yet!" he suddenly directed his attention towards his sons. "You must be dirty after three weeks of camp life."
Elrond made a gesture suggesting he might lick the handkerchief and start rubbing his sons' faces, and they both instinctively too a step back. Elrond gave a vacant look to the small piece of cloth, and then put it on a table.
"What is wrong?" he asked. He was not the Lord of Rivendell for nothing. He saw something was bothering Elrohir, and it was not the thread of being treated like a child.
"It's probably nothing", Elladan snorted, earning an annoyed glance from Elrohir.
"Why don't you tell me anyway?" Elrond sat down on the sofa, and started to fidget with Vilya while he concentrated on his sons.
"We were in this small village near Esgaroth" began Elrohir, "and they had this dead sorcerer in there..."
"He was not a sorcerer!" interrupted Elladan, "Old wives' tales, just because he had red hair and green eyes, humans think he's a sorcerer..."
"Hold on!" Elrond lifted his hand up. "Why was he dead? Where did he come from? Why was he in the village, and most importantly, why does *Elrohir* think he was a sorcerer?"
Elrohir took a deep breath. "Maybe, if my idiotic brother stops interrupting me, I can answer to your questions."
Elladan grabbed the abandoned handkerchief swiftly from the table, rolled it into a ball, and threw it to the direction of his brother.
"And now I know where they get it from..." said Glorfindel with a grin.
Elrond merely humphed and motioned his sons to continue.
"So we were stopping in this village", began Elrohir again, "It was called Amirth, by the way. We were only planning to ride around it in the beginning, but some old farmer noticed us, and stopped us."
"He assumed that because we were elves, we knew everything about magic", interrupted Elladan.
"Yes, I was just getting into that", said Elrohir, rather impatiently, and continued: "He asked if we could come to his village, and take a look at the sorcerer. They were afraid of burying him, because they thought he might come back to life."
"And how did he die?" asked Elrond again.
"He had cheated in a game of chance, and one of the villagers had hit him with an axe", explained Elrohir.
"Sure!" Elladan interrupted again, "As if a great sorcerer would allow some peasant to hack him to death!"
"They never said he was great, he might have been a very poor sorcerer", Elrohir disagreed, "And they didn't hack him to pieces, the man just hit him in the head once."
"Why did he come to the village in the first place?" asked Elrond quietly.
"If we believe the villagers, he came without a doubt to put a terrible spell on their homes", snorted Elladan. "Though, according to the local horse-breeder, he had originally been looking for a horse..."
"And *where* did he come from?"
"East", replied Elrohir, "That is all they were able to say for sure. He had appeared from the direction of the Iron Mountains, but they don't know if he lived there, or for how long he had travelled westwards."
"Right", Elrond thought about this information for a while. "Can you give me a bit more detailed description of him? You said he had green eyes and red hair, but what about his features? Was he tall or short, fat or thin? What kind of nose did he have?"
The twins hesitated. "We don't know", admitted Elladan finally.
"You don't know? But did you not see his body then?"
"Oh, we did", replied Elladan, with some passion.
Elrond raised an inquisitive eyebrow at this.
Both his sons looked rather sheepish. "The summer has been hot", offered Elrohir and wrinkled his nose, "And he had been death for three weeks when we got there..."
Elrond raised a hand again. "I see. A bit on the smelly side, was he?" He sounded quite compassionate now.
The twins sighed with relief. "Yes, you could say that". Father always understood. They did not, however, see it necessary to confess that after that single, hasty glance towards the dead man they had both thrown up. The villagers had been less impressed by that.
"And now" began Elrond again, "Why does Elrohir think he really was a sorcerer?"
"Because of the book", came the reply.
"Book?"
"Yes, he had a book with him. The villagers claimed it was a book of spells. We do not know if it is, we thought it better not to open, let alone read it. Just in case", explained Elrohir.
"A very wise action", agreed their father, "But again, anyone can own a book."
"It feels strange", answered Elrohir to the unspoken question, "When you look at it, you get a feeling it's looking right back!"
Elladan made a face to this.
"Apparently Elladan does not share this opinion", observed Elrond. "What did you do then?"
Elladan grinned. "We told the villagers it was quite safe to bury the man. He was /i dead."
"It was definitely safer than keeping him up", told Elrond, "He was quickly becoming a health-hazard, sorcerer or not."
"Yes", agreed Elladan, "So we told them to bury him, and then, when they were worried about the book, we said that a great elven magician lived in our realm, and that we would take the book for him to be destroyed."
"A great elven magician?" repeated Elrond, offering his sons another eyebrow-raise. "I believe I can guess who you were referring to."
Elrohir just smiled, and turned to pick up his bag that he had tossed carelessly to the floor when he had arrived. After digging its contents for a moment, he produced a small, blue-covered book.
"See, doesn't look too threatening, does it?" jested Elladan. Then he turned serious. "Father?"
Elrond had frozen. Glorfindel, who was sitting next to him on the sofa, felt him shaking and took his hand. Elrohir threw the book on the table, and within a second the twins were by their father's side too. Elrond did not notice any of this though; he was still recovering from the cloud of darkness, which had brushed through him, briefly suffocating his soul.
He closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself looking at the concerned faces of his twin sons. Glorfindel was also still by his side, his arm wrapped around him protectively. Arwen was standing in the doorway, and there seemed to be a frantic discussion between her and the other three. Elrond turned his attention to the book.
It looked old. The blue covers were slightly worn, and there seemed to be a stain too. Something told Elrond this book had been used for ages. There was no name or an inscription of any kind though. Elrond did not even need one, he already knew the most essential part about this book: it was evil.
Books of spells were strange things. It would be wrong to say they had minds of their own – a book does not do anything as precise as thinking – but the fact is that if you turn your back at one of them at the wrong time, you can count yourself lucky if you will still be in the same shape after the encounter. In general they were not evil though, they just did what they had been written to do, in a same manner than packs of wolves do what they have been designed to do. If you happen to be in a wrong place at a wrong time at the end of a particularly hard winter, you can be sure your shape will be altered. Wolves are not evil either they just want to fill their stomachs like the rest of us.
It took a trained mind to handle a book like that. Elrond's mind was definitely one of them, but part of the training was to know your limits. This was not an ordinary magical book, and Elrond sensed that it would be a big mistake to approach it with arrogant confidence. He needed help.
Elrond left his musings, and concentrated on his surroundings again. Arwen had joined her brothers in front of him, and they all looked equally worried now. Glorfindel was shaking him slightly and repeating his name.
"I am well", he managed to say, though it did not sound convincing even to himself.
The children looked relieved only to hear him speak.
"There is indeed something strange about this book", he continued. "I need to look into it."
He looked at the twins. "I suppose you should bathe now, and Glorfindel could wash his hair too. I need to write some letters."
After some serious convincing everyone finally believed he was alright, and went on their way. Arwen seemed particularly reluctant to leave her father, but she was also anxious to hear about the trip of her brothers'. Glorfindel gave him a final worried look before closing the door.
Elrond was sincerely happy they did not know how dangerous the book really was. He did not need them worrying over him right now: he had enough problems dealing with his own worrying. He had brushed his previous collapse off as an odd premonition, and felt guilty about it now – he hated lying to anybody, but particularly to his children and his best friend.
He sat still for a moment, staring at the book, gathering his thoughts. Then he stood up and headed determinately towards the library.
~~*~~
A dark-haired elf sat in the corner of the large library, patiently copying iThe Valaquenta/i to the blank page in front of him. A quiet cough made him look up from his work to find a slim figure standing next to a smartly placed bookshelf that made this corner isolated from the main library hall, and thus so peaceful.
"My Lord Elrond, what can I do for you?" asked the elf, putting his quill down.
"Good morning, Erestor", said the elf lord, and walked to the desk. "I was hoping you might do me a favour, and find a messenger to search for Mithrandir and deliver this letter to him".
"Certainly, my lord", agreed Erestor with a smile, that suddenly froze. "My lord... It appears you have... something... in you hair..." Erestor's voice trailed off.
"Still!?" exclaimed his lord, "And I thought I had them all brushed off".
Elrond gave an annoyed sigh, and then smiled at Erestor. "Thank you again, my friend, you are a gift from Elbereth!"
With that, the Lord of Rivendell strode off, leaving a slightly puzzled Erestor staring blankly at the sealed envelope on the desk.
~~*~~
TBC – I'm not entirely certain about this story... I fear the idea's stupid, so I'll probably only continue it if people like it. Or then not, once I have a story in my head I can't find peace until I've written it down...
A/N: I got the idea for this story from the film "Honey, I Shrunk The Kids!", but this is not a crossover. The story doesn't involve any scenes or characters from the film. Nor is this supposed to be a humorous story... it's all very serious for poor Elrond!
The Red Venomous is my own invention, as far as I know there's no spider like that, and if it's actually a biological impossibility, do excuse me!
Mistress Alyssa is a creation of my own. So is mistress Sárie, a shameless Mary-Sue who must be forgiven, since she never does anything important at all... or appears in any story for more than a few sentences.
And yes, I do know the title is really bad...
~~*~~
Rivendell, summer of year 2612 T.A.
The bright sun rose, ready to send her warming rays towards the elven sanctuary hidden deep in the valleys of the Misty Mountains. The early birds were already up in the sky, or chirping on the branches of the trees; going along with their normal bird-businesses, what ever those were.
A lonely figure, which had been up even before the birds and the sun, would have been able to tell us, for Elrond Peredhil had always held birds dear to him. His people suspected this was because of his mother, lovely Elwing, and they might have been right. It was hard to tell for sure. Most of the time it was nearly impossible to tell what Lord Elrond was thinking. Except for one person: Lord Glorfindel always knew what was happening behind his friend's thoughtful, grey eyes.
And today was no exception.
Glorfindel had noticed the restlessness of his friend already last night, and knew exactly what caused it. Elrond's twins had promised to return today. Their hunting trips always made their father sick of worry, and Glorfindel wanted to do everything he could to support his friend. Not that he was overly enthusiastic about the twins roaming the wilderness himself; he worried nearly as much as Elrond did, thought not /i as much: nothing can reach the level of worrying of a parent.
Glorfindel suspected Elrond had been up all night, tossing and turning in his bed until he finally could not take it anymore, and moved to his familiar place on the balcony overlooking the valley. A casual observer, like the birds, could have spotted the small figure leaning against the beautifully carved wooden railing, stretching his neck so he could see the path leading to the Last Homely House from the Ford. Strictly speaking Elrond did not need to do this: he usually knew when someone crossed the Ford, but he did it anyway. Glorfindel suspected it was a parent thing.
The blond elf lord had taken an advantage of the only person who was usually up even before Elrond: mistress Sárie, whose principle was that one never served old bread during breakfast, if one could wake up before the sun, the birds and Lord Elrond. He had made his way to the kitchen, and told bad jokes to the cook until she had agreed to give him some food if he promised to go away. Glorfindel was rather amused to notice her distress, when today's bread had still been in the oven and she was forced to offer him some made yesterday. Not that it was bad yet, to Glorfindel's inexperienced eye it still seemed perfect. Glorfindel suspected this was a cook thing.
Elrond did not bother to turn around when he heard the balcony door open: he knew who it was anyway.
"Good morning, Glorfindel"
"Good morning, Elrond", came the reply, followed by the cling of dishes.
Elrond finally gave up staring at the still-empty path, and turned around. The cling had not been expected.
Glorfindel was arranging the breakfast onto the bench located in the corner of the balcony. Mistress Sárie had even made him some tea, but then again, the jokes had really been bad. And slightly vulgar.
"You shouldn't have", said Elrond, walking to the bench.
"Are you trying to tell me you are not hungry, after being up most of the night?" Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at Elrond, with a knowing smile.
Elrond let the comment about his sleeping habits pass, but decided to stick to the truth with eating. He could not fool Glorfindel anyway.
"I might be ravenous, it makes little difference. I'm so sick of worry I cannot even think about food", he admitted.
Glorfindel shook his head. "I've never been able to understand your way of reacting with your stomach. Every time something distressing happens, you stop eating. I believe there is a medical term for it".
Glorfindel gave a stern look to his friend, who in turn arranged his face to be completely blank. They had had huge rows in the past, with Glorfindel lecturing while Elrond moved his food back and forth on the plate like a sulking child.
The half-elf shrug off his friend's comments about medical terms, and sat down on the bench.
"Fine, I'll have a cup of tea, if that will make you happy", he took two mugs, and poured some tea for both of them.
They sat in silence for a while, admiring the valley below them. Some of the birds, who recognized a feeder when they saw one, flew closer and finally landed on the railing. It seemed to Glorfindel they were whistling innocently, as if bread crumbs were the last thing in their minds. Elrond laughed and started to break the bread to smaller pieces for his hungry little friends.
"Any excuse to avoid eating it yourself, eh?" asked Glorfindel, and Elrond threw him with a slice. Glorfindel snatched the ballistic bread from his hair, and hurled it towards Elrond again. There was a pause, when both of the noble elven lords stared at each other challengingly, and then the air was suddenly full of bread.
"Are you trying a new way to force-feed me?" jested Elrond, "Your aim is less than perfect though, my mouth is not over there... NO! Don't throw that apple!"
Finally the slightly stronger Glorfindel had managed to wrestle Elrond to the floor, and was just about to stuff his mouth full of bread when the half-elf's eyes suddenly turned vacant. Glorfindel knew instantly what the matter was. He stood up, and offered a hand to Elrond. Together the two elves started to make their way towards the main gate, leaving a small trail of bread crumbs after them.
The hunting party was entering the courtyard when Elrond and Glorfindel walked down the steps from the main hall. The twins rushed to give their father a hug, but suddenly froze, staring at the two older elves with wide eyes.
"What in the name of Elbereth have you two been doing!?" Elrohir almost screamed. Elladan was unable to ask anything, he was howling with laughter.
Elrond gave his sons a confused look, and then the realization dawned. He turned to look at Glorfindel by his side, covered in crumbs. He looked down at his dress, and came to the conclusion he must have been in a similar state.
"Oh..."Elrond trailed on, trying to find a suitable explanation.
"Just a small bird-feeding accident", Glorfindel cut in, giving the twins an innocent smile.
"I see", Elrohir sighed. "I'm sure you will tell us all about it after we've looked after the horses. I certainly have something to tell you."
He walked away, muttering to himself about the madness of older elves, who obviously had too much free time in their hands, followed closely by still grinning Elladan. As a matter of fact, most members of the small hunting party seemed to be sniggering.
"There goes their respect..." mumbled Elrond.
Glorfindel chuckled, and lead Elrond away. The familiar pattern had been repeated, with slight variations, and the peredhil twins were home once again.
The now-less-respectable elven lords made their way back inside. The Last Homely House was awakening to a new day, and several elves passed them along the corridors. They continued to receive odd looks.
They finally escaped to Elrond's chambers, and as soon as the door closed behind them, they started to brush their clothes frantically. Elrond was just in the process of trying to remove a particularly persistent lump of marmalade from Glorfindel's hair, when the twins walked in.
"It doesn't help" said Elrond, stepping back and holding a handkerchief, "You will have to wash your hair... You haven't even changed yet!" he suddenly directed his attention towards his sons. "You must be dirty after three weeks of camp life."
Elrond made a gesture suggesting he might lick the handkerchief and start rubbing his sons' faces, and they both instinctively too a step back. Elrond gave a vacant look to the small piece of cloth, and then put it on a table.
"What is wrong?" he asked. He was not the Lord of Rivendell for nothing. He saw something was bothering Elrohir, and it was not the thread of being treated like a child.
"It's probably nothing", Elladan snorted, earning an annoyed glance from Elrohir.
"Why don't you tell me anyway?" Elrond sat down on the sofa, and started to fidget with Vilya while he concentrated on his sons.
"We were in this small village near Esgaroth" began Elrohir, "and they had this dead sorcerer in there..."
"He was not a sorcerer!" interrupted Elladan, "Old wives' tales, just because he had red hair and green eyes, humans think he's a sorcerer..."
"Hold on!" Elrond lifted his hand up. "Why was he dead? Where did he come from? Why was he in the village, and most importantly, why does *Elrohir* think he was a sorcerer?"
Elrohir took a deep breath. "Maybe, if my idiotic brother stops interrupting me, I can answer to your questions."
Elladan grabbed the abandoned handkerchief swiftly from the table, rolled it into a ball, and threw it to the direction of his brother.
"And now I know where they get it from..." said Glorfindel with a grin.
Elrond merely humphed and motioned his sons to continue.
"So we were stopping in this village", began Elrohir again, "It was called Amirth, by the way. We were only planning to ride around it in the beginning, but some old farmer noticed us, and stopped us."
"He assumed that because we were elves, we knew everything about magic", interrupted Elladan.
"Yes, I was just getting into that", said Elrohir, rather impatiently, and continued: "He asked if we could come to his village, and take a look at the sorcerer. They were afraid of burying him, because they thought he might come back to life."
"And how did he die?" asked Elrond again.
"He had cheated in a game of chance, and one of the villagers had hit him with an axe", explained Elrohir.
"Sure!" Elladan interrupted again, "As if a great sorcerer would allow some peasant to hack him to death!"
"They never said he was great, he might have been a very poor sorcerer", Elrohir disagreed, "And they didn't hack him to pieces, the man just hit him in the head once."
"Why did he come to the village in the first place?" asked Elrond quietly.
"If we believe the villagers, he came without a doubt to put a terrible spell on their homes", snorted Elladan. "Though, according to the local horse-breeder, he had originally been looking for a horse..."
"And *where* did he come from?"
"East", replied Elrohir, "That is all they were able to say for sure. He had appeared from the direction of the Iron Mountains, but they don't know if he lived there, or for how long he had travelled westwards."
"Right", Elrond thought about this information for a while. "Can you give me a bit more detailed description of him? You said he had green eyes and red hair, but what about his features? Was he tall or short, fat or thin? What kind of nose did he have?"
The twins hesitated. "We don't know", admitted Elladan finally.
"You don't know? But did you not see his body then?"
"Oh, we did", replied Elladan, with some passion.
Elrond raised an inquisitive eyebrow at this.
Both his sons looked rather sheepish. "The summer has been hot", offered Elrohir and wrinkled his nose, "And he had been death for three weeks when we got there..."
Elrond raised a hand again. "I see. A bit on the smelly side, was he?" He sounded quite compassionate now.
The twins sighed with relief. "Yes, you could say that". Father always understood. They did not, however, see it necessary to confess that after that single, hasty glance towards the dead man they had both thrown up. The villagers had been less impressed by that.
"And now" began Elrond again, "Why does Elrohir think he really was a sorcerer?"
"Because of the book", came the reply.
"Book?"
"Yes, he had a book with him. The villagers claimed it was a book of spells. We do not know if it is, we thought it better not to open, let alone read it. Just in case", explained Elrohir.
"A very wise action", agreed their father, "But again, anyone can own a book."
"It feels strange", answered Elrohir to the unspoken question, "When you look at it, you get a feeling it's looking right back!"
Elladan made a face to this.
"Apparently Elladan does not share this opinion", observed Elrond. "What did you do then?"
Elladan grinned. "We told the villagers it was quite safe to bury the man. He was /i dead."
"It was definitely safer than keeping him up", told Elrond, "He was quickly becoming a health-hazard, sorcerer or not."
"Yes", agreed Elladan, "So we told them to bury him, and then, when they were worried about the book, we said that a great elven magician lived in our realm, and that we would take the book for him to be destroyed."
"A great elven magician?" repeated Elrond, offering his sons another eyebrow-raise. "I believe I can guess who you were referring to."
Elrohir just smiled, and turned to pick up his bag that he had tossed carelessly to the floor when he had arrived. After digging its contents for a moment, he produced a small, blue-covered book.
"See, doesn't look too threatening, does it?" jested Elladan. Then he turned serious. "Father?"
Elrond had frozen. Glorfindel, who was sitting next to him on the sofa, felt him shaking and took his hand. Elrohir threw the book on the table, and within a second the twins were by their father's side too. Elrond did not notice any of this though; he was still recovering from the cloud of darkness, which had brushed through him, briefly suffocating his soul.
He closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself looking at the concerned faces of his twin sons. Glorfindel was also still by his side, his arm wrapped around him protectively. Arwen was standing in the doorway, and there seemed to be a frantic discussion between her and the other three. Elrond turned his attention to the book.
It looked old. The blue covers were slightly worn, and there seemed to be a stain too. Something told Elrond this book had been used for ages. There was no name or an inscription of any kind though. Elrond did not even need one, he already knew the most essential part about this book: it was evil.
Books of spells were strange things. It would be wrong to say they had minds of their own – a book does not do anything as precise as thinking – but the fact is that if you turn your back at one of them at the wrong time, you can count yourself lucky if you will still be in the same shape after the encounter. In general they were not evil though, they just did what they had been written to do, in a same manner than packs of wolves do what they have been designed to do. If you happen to be in a wrong place at a wrong time at the end of a particularly hard winter, you can be sure your shape will be altered. Wolves are not evil either they just want to fill their stomachs like the rest of us.
It took a trained mind to handle a book like that. Elrond's mind was definitely one of them, but part of the training was to know your limits. This was not an ordinary magical book, and Elrond sensed that it would be a big mistake to approach it with arrogant confidence. He needed help.
Elrond left his musings, and concentrated on his surroundings again. Arwen had joined her brothers in front of him, and they all looked equally worried now. Glorfindel was shaking him slightly and repeating his name.
"I am well", he managed to say, though it did not sound convincing even to himself.
The children looked relieved only to hear him speak.
"There is indeed something strange about this book", he continued. "I need to look into it."
He looked at the twins. "I suppose you should bathe now, and Glorfindel could wash his hair too. I need to write some letters."
After some serious convincing everyone finally believed he was alright, and went on their way. Arwen seemed particularly reluctant to leave her father, but she was also anxious to hear about the trip of her brothers'. Glorfindel gave him a final worried look before closing the door.
Elrond was sincerely happy they did not know how dangerous the book really was. He did not need them worrying over him right now: he had enough problems dealing with his own worrying. He had brushed his previous collapse off as an odd premonition, and felt guilty about it now – he hated lying to anybody, but particularly to his children and his best friend.
He sat still for a moment, staring at the book, gathering his thoughts. Then he stood up and headed determinately towards the library.
~~*~~
A dark-haired elf sat in the corner of the large library, patiently copying iThe Valaquenta/i to the blank page in front of him. A quiet cough made him look up from his work to find a slim figure standing next to a smartly placed bookshelf that made this corner isolated from the main library hall, and thus so peaceful.
"My Lord Elrond, what can I do for you?" asked the elf, putting his quill down.
"Good morning, Erestor", said the elf lord, and walked to the desk. "I was hoping you might do me a favour, and find a messenger to search for Mithrandir and deliver this letter to him".
"Certainly, my lord", agreed Erestor with a smile, that suddenly froze. "My lord... It appears you have... something... in you hair..." Erestor's voice trailed off.
"Still!?" exclaimed his lord, "And I thought I had them all brushed off".
Elrond gave an annoyed sigh, and then smiled at Erestor. "Thank you again, my friend, you are a gift from Elbereth!"
With that, the Lord of Rivendell strode off, leaving a slightly puzzled Erestor staring blankly at the sealed envelope on the desk.
~~*~~
TBC – I'm not entirely certain about this story... I fear the idea's stupid, so I'll probably only continue it if people like it. Or then not, once I have a story in my head I can't find peace until I've written it down...