Authors' Note: Well, here is my ninth chapter. I am so glad that so many of you are enjoying it and find it funny. Thank you so much for all your positive feedback. Happy reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien's work.

Chapter 9 Manners and Dancing

            Arwen was pacing the room. Her soft silk gown rustled ever so slightly as though it had been stirred by a gentle breeze. A frown creased her fair brow and she pursed her rose red lips. This was not well; this was not well at all. No, this would never do, never ever. She glanced up at the sun dial outside her window. Figwit was at least three minutes late! How dare he keep her waiting! Their lesson had been set for ten thirty; it was now at least ten thirty three by her calculations. Thank the Valar, that he had her as a teacher. Imagine if he had been on his way to meet the Lorien maiden! She would be furious, no doubt. Oh where were his manners? Finally, after about another precious minute had passed, the door to the room opened quietly. In stepped Figwit, completely out of breath. He was soaked with sweat and his suede robes were all in disarray. His breath was coming out in spurts and he struggled to make a rather clumsy bow.

            "Hiril nin," he panted. "Please forgive my lateness. "I had to run here from the library, which is a distance away."

            "Humph," Arwen sighed as she began circling the young elf. "Do you know that your bow was completely improper?"

            "No, I am sorry, I did not," if it was possible Figwit began to sweat more.

            "And had you been on your way to see Minyoiel, she might have been enraged at your lateness. You had better thank Eru, that it was me instead of her!" The advisor gulped; maybe this had been a bad idea. Arwen was nice enough most of the time, but then there were those other times. Suddenly, the maiden gasped and pointed at the hem of his robes. "Look! Look!" she squeezed her eyes shut as if she had seen some terrible sight.

            "What? What is it?" Figwit whipped around, trying to find the offending piece of material.

            "You have a grass stain on your robes!" the lady's voice was shrill, as if the male had just said one of the most distasteful curses. The councilor trembled under her frigid stare. "My, oh my," the tone of her voice frightened him greatly. "We do have work to do."

            Haldir was in a bad mood, a very bad mood in fact, which meant that every living creature would be smart to cower and flee from his presence. The Captain and some of his soldiers had become quite suspicious of the calmness of the Imladris residents. That troublesome young councilor had not been seen in several days. This troubled Haldir greatly. What was he planning? What was he going to do? Paranoia did not come easily to the March Warden, but this was a different situation. If anyone, no matter they be lord or servant, laid a hand upon his dear Minyoiel, then there would be trouble. In fact, trouble was quite an understatement compared to what Haldir would do to the poor individual. So, with all the planning and cunning that came from years of being a commander, he sent his brothers to trail Minyoiel when he was not with her. It was not that he didn't trust her, he just didn't trust certain others. The rest of his soldiers acted as messengers and scouts. If anything strange began to take place, he was to be alerted immediately. By the Valar, no one was going to ruin his wedding!

            "See Figwit! Do you not look so much better?"

            "Err, yes I suppose. But Arwen?'

            "Yes dear?"

            "Do my new robes have to be pink?" The elf held out the flaring sides of his new attire with a skeptical look. Did maidens really like this color? Arwen laughed happily. She seemed in a much more pleasant mood than she had been when he had first arrived. It had been his quick ability to master a "proper bow" that had put her in a good mood once more. So far she had instructed him in the many ways off grooming oneself. He did like his new hair style though, the braids on the side of his face, showing off his pale cheeks, but the robes, they might have been a bit much.

            "Oh, Figwit, these robes are not pink," she patted his arm gently. "They are off white! There is a big difference between off white and pink."

            "Well, you are right, I suppose. Do you have time to teach me something else before my lesson with Glorfindel and Erestor?"

            "No I am afraid not," she glanced once more at the sun dial. "It is near noon and you promised to meet them soon. But tomorrow, I will be happy to continue my lesson. You need to learn how to properly address a maiden and all the subtle intricacies of courting." Figwit nodded as he stood, trying very hard not to wrinkle his new outfit. He did not want Arwen to go into cardiac arrest. Then, pretending that he still had the book atop his head, he made his way proudly from the room.

            Glorfindel and Erestor were lounging in chairs and waiting for the arrival of their student. No one was around, but still, the lords were rather nervous that they might be spotted. At about a quarter past the hour, Figwit arrived, walking slowly, in a manner very similar to that of Lord Elrond. At first they had not been able to discern the exact color of his robes. But it was quickly confirmed, that they were indeed, pink. Glorfindel opened his mouth to let out a laugh, when he was silenced by a look from Erestor.

            "Let us not scare the poor thing away," he growled out of the corner of his mouth. "He just spent an hour and a half with Arwen, so please, be kind to him." The golden haired elf nodded and willed his face to be serious. The elves greeted each other, Figwit being noticeably self-conscious about his robes. To smooth over his awkward state, the two lords got to work immediately.

            "Now, my lad," Erestor took on the fatherly approach. "When dancing with a maiden it is important to remember, never ever step on the hem of her dress, or her foot."

            "Well that is quite obvious," Glorfindel drawled from beside him.

            "Be quiet, I am trying to teach him."

            "How dumb do you think he is Erestor? You treat him as though he was an elfling!"

            "I would like to see you do better Glorfindel. Besides, do you not recall the year when you, yourself were waltzing with that young maiden." The elf-lord swallowed hard when Erestor said this. "I believe you tripped on her skirt and fell flat on your face in front of everyone. And believe me, she did not find that bloody nose attractive in the least bit!"

            "Oh, like you are so holier-than-thou! Recall the time when you became intoxicated…"

            "What does that have to do with dancing?"

            "That's not the point!"

            "Umm, excuse me," Figwit's timid voice broke through their brawl. "Why don't you both just show me how to dance? I would probably learn easier that way."

            "Oh of course," Glorfindel linked arms with Erestor and began to move him gracefully across the polished floor.

            "Let me lead, moron!"

            "Why?"

            "Because I am better than you!"
            "No, you are not."

            "Yes, I am!" The raven haired elf was adamant.

            "If I let you lead you'll trample my poor toes."

            "No, you're trampling my toes now!" They continued to fight as they danced, each one switching to leadership until a rather amused voice broke in.

            "What is going on here?" They both fell silent and glanced up to see Elrond standing next to Figwit, a board grin upon his face.

            "It was his idea!" Both elves pointed towards the other, panic clearly spreading across their faces as Elrond laughed merrily.

Hiril nin: My Lady