Disclaimer: FWAHAHA!
A/N: This chapter's title courtesy of Vanessa Mae, yes. I know I have not been updating much, that's because I'm on HOLIDAY, an unknown vacation that comes once every while to insane people called writers who supply this nonsense. Ironic, I've just discovered that the first anniversary for this fic (13th of June) was Friday the 13th! Whee! Isn't that funny?
*
Ecthelion trembled visibly as he saw a shadow move in the corridor towards him. Moments later, Ulmo appeared in the living room, looking pointedly at the chair that served as Ecthelion's hiding ground.
'You can come out now, tithen gwathel.' [Sindarin: Small associate.]
Ecthelion felt himself distinctly shiver. Associate? He was no vala's... associate. He had only dealings with Elves, and dearly wished for it to stay that way until the next Age or so. Glorfindel suffered enough as Ulmo's vassal, and the lord of the Fountains had no wish to follow in his friend's footsteps and become a pawn in this complex, maddening game that the valar played to amuse themselves. THe elf thought he saw Ulmo grin; and he had long learnt that when valar were happy, somebody else, usually elves in the near vicinity, were definitely not going to be happy for an indefinite period of time. Probably a very long indefinite period of time.
Ulmo spoke again, and there was most obviously a hint of tolerant amusement in the deep baritone of his voice. Ecthelion's eyes swung madly about in their sockets, looking desperately for an escape route. Any escape route. Ulmo laughed, and Ecthelion suppressed a whimper.
'I know that you are there, Ecthelion. Stop trying to hide.'
The Gondolindrim lord knew he had been cornered. Cautiously and as slowly as possible, he emerged from his crouching position behind the ornate chair. Ulmo stood there, almost impatient. Ecthelion discreetly shoved the dagger he held behind his back.
'Yes, my lord?'
Almost dismissive, the vala waved him into a chair, and obediently, Ecthelion sat. He knew that when Ulmo was in this mood that it was in his best interest to do everything the vala wanted, lest he be relived an an essential thing called his life, social or otherwise. It was never good for a vala to express interest in a single creature. Looking at history... Earendil became a star, Elrond had a twin of a different race, Glorfindel lived two lives in Ennore, the Feanorians ended up as a bunch of deranged madmen (who were currently wreaking havoc around Aman), Elwing had ended up as a bird, just to name a few of the happy encounters the Children of Illuvatar had with the ainur. Ulmo grinned as he directed his attention to Ecthelion.
'Now, Ecthelion, the elves back on Ennore seem to be in need of a representative. As Thranduil will be... Otherwise indisposed when they meet him, they will undoubtedly need backup on this... What was it? Ah, yes, Quest of theirs. You will go to Middle Earth and aid them. Won't you?'
Ecthelion had a sinking feeling that the suffix of "won't you" was there merely to serve political correctness. Think, man! Ecthelion desperately grasped at straws, adamant that he get out of his fix. Anything! Despairingly, Ecthelion blurted out the first excuse he could think of that might possibly get him out of the situation.
'How am I to get to Ennore, my lord?'
Ulmo's smile looked like one Ecthelion had seen on a warg as it approached a hapless victim.
'I am not called the lord of the waters for no reason, Ecthelion...'
*
Later...
*
'ARRRRRRRRRRRRGH!'
Ecthelion screeched as another tidal wave threw him haphazardly in the general direction of Ennore. A very general direction. The elf lord choked on a spray of sea water, mentally cursing every valar and valie he knew as his hroa (physical form) was thrown roughly about the seas. His fea (the more important mental "soul") was already too traumatized to take in what was happening.
*
A few hours later than later... On some not-so-plutonian-but-rather-Ennoreian-shore...
*
Ecthelion was sure that every bone in his body had been reduced to splintered, and he had definitely taken in more sea water than was safe. His hair hung like lead weights upon his shoulders, the silver strands splayed over his face in a shape reminiscent of a battered birds nest. His clothes had been soaked through, although his sword had miraculously stayed attached to his form. He generally felt as if he had just come back from the dead (again), though this time rather forcefully. If this was what Glorfindel had to go through, Ecthelion felt his respect for his friend double twice fold. Coughing, the elf tried to heave himself up for a moment or two before giving up and just lying, prostrate, on the ground until his strength returned.
Oh Eru, he hated Ulmo.
*
Off the Gap of Rohan
*
Glorfindel sighed as he listened to a conversation taking place behind him. The bubbly-yet-depressive, mood-swingish creature named Yvonne had evidently asked of their whereabouts, and the result was not pretty.
'So we are in Lou-Han? Isn't that a fish?'
Ren's exasperated voice floated to the elf.
'Rohan! Ro-han! Not Lou-Han! We are nearing the Gap of Rohan.'
There was a short silence.
'Oh. Why is it called the Gap of Rohan?'
'It is a gap between the mountains near Rohan.'
'Oh. Why are we going through this Gap?'
'To get to the other side of the mountains.'
'Oh. Why are we going to the other side of the mountains?'
'To get to Mirkwood. Greenwood. Taur-en-Ndeadelos. Whatever.'
'Oh. Why are we going to Green-Mirk... Er, Torn-in-Aeglos (A/N: Aeglos is a flower... and a spear)... Woodmirk... Whatever?'
'To get to Thranduil.'
'Oh. Why are we going to get Thranduil?'
'To make this company complete.'
'Oh... Er. Oh.'
Glorfindel sighed. It was going to be a long trip. Ren's voice, which had slowly been rising to the point of hysteria, was punctuated by the sound of one of her books hitting her head at regular intervals as the human drove herself insane. Not that she was not already mental, in a way. Inez, ever the peacemaker, tried to pry the thick binding of paper away from her friend, but Ren had an almost inexhaustible supply of Histories of Middle Earth to bash herself on the head and wallow in misery with. For every one that was taken away, the thudding increased three fold.
*
Thranduil sat on his throne. Thranduil sat on his throne in his throne room. Thranduil sat on his golden throne in his throne room. Thranduil sat on his golden throne in his shining throne room. Thranduil wore a circlet of pretty, pretty flowers as he sat on his golden throne in his shining throne room. Thranduil drank dark wine from a bejewelled cup as he wore a circlet of pretty, pretty flowers as he sat on his golden throne in his shining throne room.
Thranduil was stressed. Thranduil was stressed as he drank dark wine from a bejewelled cup as he wore a circlet of pretty, pretty flowers as he sat on his golden throne in his shining throne room.
Thranduil decided it was time to count his jewels as he sat, stressed, as he drank dark wine from a bejewelled cup as he wore a circlet of pretty, pretty flowers as he sat on his golden throne in his shining throne room.
Thranduil wallowed in self pity and hate for all things dwarven as he decided it was time to count his jewels as he sat, stressed, as he drank dark wine from a bejewelled cup as he wore a circlet of pretty, pretty flowers as he sat on his golden throne in his shining throne room.
No wonder Legolas had fled home on the pretence of acting as messenger and mediator to Elrond.
Damn, Thranduil was hung over.