Siege Mentality
Chapter Five
Nemis: Yep, the stuff in chapter three was peanut butter.
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Legolas surveyed the heap of cloaks on the floor of the study in amusement.
"Good day, my lord," he called cheerily.
Elrond raised his head and regarded him blearily.
"What can you possibly want at this hour of the day?"
"Anor has risen and the sky is bright."
"And I repeat," the elf-lord snarled, "what can you possibly want?"
Legolas looked down at him with growing mirth. It was a rare thing indeed to see the ancient and wise elf caught off his guard and he was not about to miss the opportunity to make the best of it.
"I was wondering why the great Master of Imladris sleeps on the floor?" he chuckled.
Elrond sat up, scrubbing one hand across his tousled hair, his eyes boring into the prince's smirking countenance.
"Where else was I supposed to sleep, pray?" he snapped. "Glorfindel was occupying my room, singing truly appalling ballads of Gondolin in a fit of drunken high spirits. I tried his room, but Erestor had passed out in the chair. When we … I mean I … proceeded to Erestor's room, you were there, as I recall, with yet another of those terrible girls. All the guest rooms are full of either Hobbits or gouty men of Gondor. So I have slept here. Now, please ask more sensible questions, or leave me in peace."
As his voice grew louder, until it reached a volume which had daunted even Kinslayers, a single deep blue eye peered out of the folds of cloth. Settling on the unwelcome visitor, it promptly disappeared.
"I wished to know if your sons and I might use the archery range," Legolas inquired. "We wish to hone our skills through friendly competition."
Although Elrond knew that any competition between the three was liable to degenerate into a fight which would make the Kinslaying at Aqualondë look like a mild discussion of political principles, he was beyond caring.
"Yes, yes, do what you will."
Legolas began to depart, but then he remembered something and turned back.
"Tell me, Master Elrond. Is that the standard of the High King I see?" he asked merrily.
"What of it?" The Noldo pulled the banner tighter round his shoulders. "I had forgotten that Gil-galad had left it here by accident until I found it in the stores, and, as certain people were using all the clean linen in Imladris for their own nefarious pursuits, I found that it had an additional use as a blanket. Now GET OUT before I find my sword."
Once Legolas' harmonious yet grating whistling had retreated down the corridor, Celebrían slowly emerged from the covers.
"Ai, dear Eru," she groaned. "Why do you suffer that irritating child to remain here?"
"In truth, I do not know, except that Thranduil sent a missive pleading with me to relieve him of his youngest son, or else his sanity would be forfeit," he replied in a weary tone.
"'Tis not a sufficient reason, I find, when one wakes up with a crick in one's neck and cold feet," she groused.
"Indeed, I too am getting to old for this," her husband sighed.
"Are you indeed?" Celebrían decided to investigate the truth of his claim in the most pleasant way.
"Stop, stop!" He stilled her wandering hands. "I concede defeat, but what if some wandering busybody chances upon us?"
His words, it seemed, were prophetic, for at that moment a grizzled head poked round the door.
"Elrond, why in the name of Mandos when I went to take counsel with you did I find Glorfindel snoring under your bed?" the Istar demanded.
"I know not." The Elf grimaced, reconciling himself to a day of disturbances. "I left him there last night when he would not cease his inane chatter except to sing. As you can see, I have not yet returned this morning."
Gandalf harrumphed, and left, grumbling under his breath about the appropriateness of naming Imladris the Last Homely House.
Celebrían curled into Elrond, trying to avoid the sore patches lingering from their ill-fated experiment with alien substances.
"Meleth-nîn?" she asked innocently. "Why do you suppose Erestor was in Glorfindel's chambers?"
"I try not to ask questions when I fear the answers." Unwillingly, he dragged himself from the impromptu bed. "Come, my love, we must evict the Slayer of Balrogs."
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A hideous scream rent the air. Leaving his old friend clutching his pained head in his hands, Elrond pounded through the corridors of Imladris, terrified that he might discover that the Ringwraiths had penetrated his sanctuary. Instead, he beheld the Grey Pilgrim standing in the middle of the gardens, clutching his hat in both hands. An arrow impaled the point jauntily. He spent a good deal of time soothing the feelings of wizard and ensuring that he would not blast the perpetrators into small heaps of steaming powder, a task only accomplished with a great deal of diplomacy and the promise of a bottle of miruvor. Then the elf shooed his guest back into the house.
He turned to the shrubbery with his hands on his hips and an unreadable expression on his face.
"Come out, Legolas, Elladan, Elrohir. I know you are there."
The branches trembled, but only two figures emerged. Elrond's jaw dropped as he looked upon his only daughter, and, a little behind her, looking abashed, the heir of Isildur, covered in leaves. Both of them held bows in sheepish hands.
"What is the meaning of this?" the elf stormed. "I have had to give Mithrandir a bottle of a vintage older than either of you for this piece of foolery."
"Well, Ada," Arwen attempted to explain, "Legolas and the twins were using the archery ranges, but Estel wanted to practice…"
"So you decided that any passing Istari were appropriate targets. If that was the case, you should have tried to shoot Curunír, or at least Radagast."
"Oh not just Istari," the Man responded guilelessly, before realising what he had just said.
"So which members of my household shall I be treating?" Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Umm … just Erestor … and one of those girls," Aragorn said, and the elf cheered up immediately at the prospect of one less foolish female drooling over the irresponsible youth from Mirkwood.
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Unluckily for Elrond, the girl had only stumbled over a tree-root when running from the laughing maniacs hiding in the trees.
Finishing binding the cut on her knee, he released her into the lecherous care of Legolas, whom she latched onto with a fervour which would alarm Shelob herself. As the two left, already wrapped round each other, the Sindar elf cast a wicked look back over his shoulder, and Elrond grimaced.
"Nice shiny pretty things," Erestor babbled, clutching his forearm. "Nice shiny yellow things. So lovely…"
"Yes, Erestor, I am certain that yellow things are very nice," the bemused healer reassured him.
"No y'do not understan, m'lord," the dazed elf slurred. "The yellow things are scary … so scary…"
Elrond decided that his only recourse was to dose his healer very heavily indeed – preferably so heavily that he would not wake for weeks. Lifting Erestor's head, he poured the draft down his throat, and watched in satisfaction as the other's head lolled onto the pillows.
As he tidied away the medicines, a sudden, unwelcome thought occurred to the Master of Imladris.
"Estel is spending time in the bushes with my daughter … He needs to be taught a lesson."
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