Inebriation in Mirkwood
Disclaimer: don't own them. Never have done. Never will do.
A/N: I know I told you all that I'd be posting this on Thursday, but I'm posting it a day early because I'm away for a few days and will be back on Monday, which means the final chapter will probably be up on Tuesday (if not, definitely Wednesday).
A/N 2: I urge you guys to check out MagickalStar135's fics – they're fantastic.
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Chapter 5
Glorfindel was desperately wondering where Elrond's wife was when she was really needed.
Back in Imladris, he thought glumly to himself. Elrond was staggering, inebriated, along the halls of the King of Mirkwood's palace. Glorfindel was struggling to keep him on a (relatively) straight course.
Elrond did not want to be led. "I c'n mng," he insisted (which Glorfindel interpreted as 'I can manage', although he wasn't entirely sure if that was what his friend had actually stated).
"No you cannot," replied the Balrog slayer, equally firmly. "You are going to bed, and I am taking you there." And locking you in your room afterwards, he added mentally.
"Y'r no fun."
"Nope. I'm not," was the agreeable reply.
"Wanna shiiiiiiiiiiing!"
"You've done that."
"The whole thing – I detest interr…intr'…interrep…y'know what I mean."
Glorfindel suspected he was trying to say 'interruptions'. He chose not to impart this information to the intoxicated Peredhel, instead remaining silent.
Elrond hiccuped, stumbled, and nearly pulled Glorfindel to the floor (again). A nearby bookshelf saved Glorfindel.
But not Elrond.
The lord of Imladris let out a yelp of surprise as he found himself landing rather unceremoniously, hard, upon his rear end. Glorfindel stifled a smirk; it would never do to laugh at one's lord (even if he was one of your closest friends).
Sighing wearily (something he'd been doing a lot today, he reflected), the blond Elf once again hauled Elrond to his feet. "Stay with me and you will be fine," he ordered.
"Bu' I wanna shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!" Elrond protested, attempting (and failing) to pull free.
"Why sing when there is no audience?" said Glorfindel, frantically thinking of ways to keep Elrond from carrying out his promise (or threat, depending on how one looked at it – drunk Elves were atrocious singers, Lindir especially).
"Then we shall shummon an audiensh [hiccup] by the shweet shounds of our voishes."
"No, really – I would rather not. They are all in the Great Hall, after all. None would come." Valar help me! My ideas are running low!
"But they would if we shang!"
"No. Trust me; they would not."
"How d'you know?"
"I have Lady Galadriel's foresight," Glorfindel said, loading his voice with heavy sarcasm.
Which unfortunately made no impact on the rather-more-than-tipsy Elf. He blinked seriously at Glorfindel. "Really? You do? Shinsh when?"
Glorfindel really was struggling to prevent himself from violently throttling his friend. "I was being sarcastic," he informed Elrond brusquely.
Elrond's eyes widened with comprehension. "Ohhhhhh. You were sharcashtic!"
Glorfindel nodded patiently, as though Elrond were a particularly slow child. "I was."
"I did not think that any but my mother-in-law had the gift of foreshight. And after all, you have shown no shigns of it sho far."
Glorfindel nodded again (he was doing a lot of that as well, he realised). "Come. You should retire now."
"Yesh, Glory…Glorfy…Glorfinny…Why musht you have shuch a long name?"
"Ask my mother."
Elrond smiled and nodded as they continued to meander down the hallway. Before long they encountered a statue of a beautiful female Elf. From where he was stood, Glorfindel decided that the statue bore some resemblance to Celebrían (currently looking after her sons back in Imladris). Elrond's eyes lit up.
Glorfindel groaned.
He was dreading what Elrond would do next.
Elrond pulled free of Glorfindel and stumbled up to the statue. He bowed, believing the movement to be elegant.
Unfortunately he promptly lost his balance. However, he remained undeterred and got to his feet (admittedly rather unsteadily). He stood in front of the statue and bowed again, though not quite as deeply this time, resulting in his staying upright (provided that one conveniently ignored the fact that he was swaying rather alarmingly from side to side).
Glorfindel could barely look.
"My lady," stated Elrond, slurring his words somewhat. He frowned in annoyance when the addressed statue did not respond. "My lady…Perhaps you care to dansh?" He held out his arms to her. "My lady? My dear wife, do you refushe your hushband a dansh?"
Glorfindel screwed up his eyes and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Were anyone to encounter them at this moment in time, they would both be highly embarrassed.
Well, amended Glorfindel, perhaps not both of us; perhaps it would be just myself that would be highly embarrassed.
Elrond stepped up to the statue, and placed one hand in the statue's outstretched one and his other arm around her waist. His face grew concerned. "My wife, why are you sho cold? You are Elfkind; you should not be shuffering ailmentsh shuch ash the rashe of Men ish prone to."
Glorfindel could not bear to see his friend embarrass himself further and gently placed a hand on Elrond's shoulder. "That is not your wife, mellon nîn. It is but a statue. Your wife remains in Imladris."
Elrond turned to look at him and blinked, perplexed. "We are not in Imladrish?"
Glorfindel groaned inwardly, impatiently, irritably, and spoke slowly and clearly. "No. We are not in Imladris. We are in King Thranduil's palace, and we are attending the celebration of the birth of his son, Legolas."
"We are?"
"Yes. Now come. You were retiring to bed because you felt exhausted."
"I wash?"
"Yesh – I mean, yes."
"Oh."
Glorfindel placed his arms around Elrond's waist and, mustering up all his strength, yanked him backwards, away from the statue.
He then landed on his rear end, Elrond directly on top of him and struggling to break free, yelling all kinds of Dwarvish obscenities at his blond friend. Glorfindel rolled over so Elrond was lying on his stomach on the floor before breaking free, standing, and hauling the Peredhel to his feet. Elrond staggered a bit to gain his balance, but with much waving of arms, eventually achieved it.
Glorfindel glanced up, suddenly aware of the presence of another. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of the ethereal beauty that was Olwen.
Wife of Thranduil.
Queen of Mirkwood.
Queen of this palace.
Glorfindel gulped hard. "Y-Y-Your Majesty," he stammered, bowing quickly. He frowned. "You are not at the feast?"
Olwen shook her golden head gently, a pleasant smile on her face. "I cannot attend, not with a tiny baby. Such beings need constant attention and feeding – something that cannot be done at a feast."
"Oh." Glorfindel turned a deep red at the mention of feeding (he had never been entirely comfortable with what he referred to as "female business"). "I – I apologise."
Olwen laughed lightly. "It is no problem. No need to apologise."
"Oh." Glorfindel turned even redder and his face now resembled a tomato. A very ripe one. "Sorry."
Olwen glanced at Elrond, who was staggering towards the wall. "Is Lord Elrond unwell?"
Glorfindel's face was quickly relieved of the excess colour and he scowled instead. "No; he has merely had a little too much wine."
"Ah, I see. You are retiring elsewhere away from the feast?"
Glorfindel nodded. "I plan on returning to the feast," he informed her, "after I have returned Elrond to his bedroom. He needs to sleep it off. I just need to find someone with the key to his room."
"You plan on locking him in, then?" Olwen was clearly fighting back laughter.
"Oh yes," Glorfindel replied determinedly, face set.
"I shall send the servant with the keys, to you." Olwen left, hurrying silently down the corridor. Glorfindel turned to Elrond and proceeded to haul him none too gently down the corridor, despite Elrond's (rather loud) protests, to his room.
They were met there by Olwen and a servant, the latter of whom bore a large bunch of keys. Glorfindel smirked as the door was opened, and he and the servant dragged a hiccuping Elrond into the room. They threw him to the bed, checked the windows were locked and that the Lord of Imladris had plenty of water, and raced out. They slammed the door behind them and the servant locked it.
Olwen smiled. "Mission accomplished?"
Glorfindel nodded firmly, a wicked smirk upon his face. "Oh yes. He will suffer in the morning. And he is to have no remedy whatsoever to prevent him from overindulging in the wine again." He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "And I shall enjoy every single minute of it." With that, the Balrog slayer sauntered back to the feast, aforementioned wicked smirk still firmly fixed upon his face. Oh, he was going to enjoy the next morning!!
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TBC
Author thanks for chapter 4:
Deana, banana nut muffin, prettyfoot, Tyrian Woodrose (a new reviewer! Yay!), crazy-haldir-fancier
Lutris: of course Thranduil's evil – he has (rightly) no sympathy for Elrond!
Aerlalaith: I couldn't have Elrond sing a serious song, now, could I?! He's far too drunk!
Haldir's Heart and Soul: Ah, I get you. I also agree. You liked?
Radioactive Bubblegum: (accepts more Pixy Stix gleefully and supplies Rad with more Fizzing Whizzbees and a Curly Wurly) Glorfindel needs all the hugs he can get!
A Monkey's Harp: it may well be 50 years – I'm not sure and I'm just going by stuff I've read in other fics (it's longer than humans, at any rate!)
Lucidity: you have a point about Elrond having a hard time with the twins!
Mirielle: I think you could be right about Lindir…perhaps yet another humour fic?
MagickalStar135: Wow! SERIOUSLY long! I'm working on the Glorfindel-tormented-by-Haldir-and-brothers!!
Coolio02: Glorfindel is suffering a lot, poor guy. As for Elrond – he can only blame himself. I have no sympathy.
Lady of the Twilight Woods: 'Perilous' indeed!
Akstinger: Thranduil is the king of calm and collected, plus it's a formal occasion – as a result, you'd expect the whole of Mirkwood to behave in a similar manner.
Uineniel: The reason Lindir is alcohol-tolerant is because he spends far more time in Mirkwood than Elrond does. As for Glorfindel telling Elrond what he's done…look out for a one-shot once I've posted 'The King and "It"', called 'I did WHAT?!' that I'm about to write.