Author's Note - I haven't done my reviewer responses yet, and I had told
some of you that this chapter was done and was about to be posted, and it
is rather embarrassing to think just how LONG it has been sitting here
finished waiting for me to do the responses. I hope you will forgive me
for not getting the responses done, but the number of emails and new
reviews asking for an update finally did get to me and I decided to put
this out here sans responses. I do most heartily apologize. :( But here
is the next installment. I hope you enjoy it. :)
Chapter 17 - The Second Bottle
Sunlight glistened on the last of the morning's dew and the cooing of the pale doves that were strutting along the pathway filled the ears of the two elves that walked there, arm in arm. Celeborn smiled contentedly as he listened to Arwen chirp happily about how everyone but her mother had been right this year with the bets placed on what Thranduil's gift would be. Lothlorien's lord had been impressed - most impressed, one could say he was almost *too* impressed - with the four bottles of Dorwinion, and he wondered what could have made Thranduil part with his most beloved wine, and so many bottles of it all at once.
~That will be an interesting question to ask him when he arrives, ~ the silver-haired lord thought with a slight smile as Arwen chattered about the spider and her inability to 'charm' him.
"Charming the spider?" Celeborn queried, lifting one brow. "Why do you want to charm the spider, mir-nin (my jewel)?"
"It will be good practice," Arwen answered enigmatically, looking very important and full of self-assurance.
"Practice for what?"
His granddaughter merely smiled, her lovely eyes gleaming with that mysterious light that Celeborn had seen in his wife's eyes from time to time as well as in their daughter's.
"Ah, yes," he said quietly. "I don't think you need to say anymore."
Celeborn suppressed a chuckle as Arwen straightened, the strange smile lingering on her full lips, entirely too aware of her power.
~She looks too much like Luthien for her own good, ~ he thought sadly, but then he smiled and said,
"Trust me, mel-nin (my dear), you will be able to charm anyone you so choose," he assured her. "I would tell you to practice on Haldir, but I fear that would be almost too easy."
"I can charm dear Haldir already, daerada. The only one whom I can't charm is Bastryn," she sighed dejectedly, shoulders slumping, her lips thrusting out in an adorable pout, which had a power of its own. "Why doesn't he like me?"
"Well, spiders are quite different, I would guess. I am certain that you will be able to charm him in no time at all, my dear Arwen."
Arwen smiled then, gazing up at her grandfather, who bent to kiss her white brow.
"Just promise me this: do not ever try to charm me. Your daernaneth has tried and I was not pleased. Your naneth, on the other hand, knew only too well how to charm me, but I believe that was because I am her ada. Ada's are especially easy to charm, as I am certain you already know."
Arwen grinned and nodded, the sunlight glistening in her raven locks. Her father was all too easy to charm and not a challenge at all. This did not mean that she didn't turn her wiles upon him from time to time though.
~Truly you are Luthien come again, ~ Celeborn thought fondly, gently stroking his granddaughter's soft hair, a smile on his lips. ~She could charm any living thing, probably even a spider if she so chose. Undoubtedly you will do the same. I pity any poor mortal that crosses your path in the wood. He will stand no more of a chance than Beren did! ~
"What are you thinking about, daerada?" the granddaughter of Galadriel asked, turning to him.
"Just about how lovely you are, Arwen," Celeborn said, his smile widening, his eyes glowing happily; his face was alight with grand-ternal affection. "And so kind and sweet as well. Is there anything I can do for you? Is there anything that you want? Anything at all; all you need to do is ask and it shall be done immediately."
It wasn't until Arwen giggled quite unexpectedly and his face felt rather odd that Celeborn even knew that she had been working her charm on him and he had been unaware of it.
"Arwen!" he reprimanded, feeling his face grow quite red with embarrassment. "Don't do that again. If you need practice, work on Thranduil. He will be as big a challenge as your Bastryn."
"Yes, daerada," Arwen cooed, her eyes filled with triumphant glee.
Celeborn shook his silver head ruefully. This one was going to be quite a handful when she grew up. Males of all species would be throwing themselves at her little feet. ~Or under them, ~ he thought with a sigh.
Arwen giggled once more, pointing ahead of them.
Haldir was staggering across the stones; he looked exhausted, his broad shoulders slumped, long hair hanging on either side of his face.
"They will kill him one of these days," Celeborn murmured, shaking his head.
"But he likes it," Arwen assured him, watching as the young march- warden stumbled away from them without being aware of their presence before disappearing down a side path leading to the greenhouses and potting sheds.
"Of course he does," Celeborn agreed, thinking quite the opposite, but he didn't want to disagree with anything Arwen said. Or could he *not* disagree with anything she said? He scowled a little at this observation. "Of course he does," he repeated, shaking his head ruefully. "Who does not like to have their wits addled by such lovely females as my wife and your mother?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"It must be nice to be a snail."
Glorfindel watched the deliberate progress of the small, shelled being across the mossy stones of the potting shed's floor, the snail's antennas extended tentatively. The elf-lord's eyes traced the silvery trail back to where it vanished beneath one of the tables several feet away. Snails were excellent companions really: silent and nonjudgmental. And they were not scary in the least! Maybe because of the absence of several hairy legs.
"You appear to have no worries whatsoever, tithen randir (little wanderer). Would that it were so for everyone. At present, I have only one worry though: a certain leggy horror that will not leave me alone. Now, I realize that it is rather a ridiculous fear and one that I should be striving to overcome, and indeed I am trying, but it is not easy to convince oneself of this. For though we often know something to be irrational and ludicrous, still we find it almost impossible to slay because of its immensity. I only hope that when young Aralith arrives, with his lovely fair hair that Bastryn seems to like, the little horror's attention will return to him. Or perhaps it is merely time for a visit to - !"
Glorfindel's words to the unconcerned snail were cut off when the potting shed door suddenly opened then closed again quite sharply. The lord of the Golden Flower hunched down in his hiding place, then eased from the stack of empty folded bags that they stored bulbs in over the winter, peering over the tables toward the entrance. He feared that Bastryn the Horrible had found him, and a sharp stab of fear welled in his normally brave heart. But it wasn't the furry arachnid that stood peering cautiously out of the small window gazing toward the pathway. Glorfindel's brows rose in amazement and he cocked his head to one side. There was only one person that this could be, with the long golden hair, the slender build belying youth, and a mottled green tunic trimmed in silver.
The mischievous elf-lord smiled as he stood to his impressive height, folding his arms over his chest and looking imperious as he intoned, "Prince Aralith of Mirkwood, I believe."
The prince started at the sound of his name and spun toward the mysterious voice, blue-violet eyes wide. He stared for a moment at the tall golden haired elf across the room then tipped his head in acknowledgement. At least it wasn't Elladan or Elrohir as he had feared.
"Yes . . . . And you are Lord Glorfindel?" The young voice was steady, only a slight uncertainty belied any hesitancy that he felt.
Glorfindel tipped his head in like manner, then grinned widely, his blue eyes sparkling brightly like polished sapphires.
"Is there a problem?" he asked, nonchalantly, stepping mindfully over the snail that continued on its journey across the stones. "You appear to be . . . hiding."
Color bloomed on the younger elf's cheeks and Glorfindel thought that all Sindar elves he knew blushed quite becomingly. He chuckled slightly and grinned.
"The twins?" he queried, moving to gaze out the window himself. No one and nothing was in sight other than the trees, plants, and a few sparrows twittering on the pathway.
He was rewarded with a nod from the silent, rather self-conscious prince.
"I hope I am not disturbing you, Lord Glorfindel," Aralith murmured, moving slightly away from the window though not so far away that he couldn't see if someone approached.
"No, you are not disturbing me. I was merely . . . contemplating the snail."
Aralith turned to stare at him once more, his face filled with confusion as his eyes flicked to the snail on the ground. He knew that the Noldor elves were a rather unusual group of beings, and he truly didn't know what to expect, especially from a reborn Balrog-slayer, but contemplating snails was definitely not it. He wondered if he had misheard.
"I beg your pardon," he began slowly.
Glorfindel chuckled once more, bending to gaze out the window.
"What have those mischievous sons of Elrond done now?" he asked, moving back to sit on his stack of dusty sacks not seeing any immediate danger in the vicinity. He drew one knee to his chest, clasped his arms about it and waited expectantly for an answer.
Aralith studied him for a silent moment, still very uncertain about this entire conversation. Finally, he drew a deep breath.
"They - the twins - seem to think that I will be able to . . . charm that spider for them," he said in a voice that was entirely too even to Glorfindel's trained ears. The Golden Flower grinned in amusement, but Aralith had noted the odd look that had passed over his face just for a moment, and he wondered what that might mean.
"If you could charm it into staying away from me," Glorfindel said with a laugh, "I would be eternally grateful to you."
"I beg your pardon?"
The two elves started as the greenhouse's back door opened and Haldir staggered in. Aralith stared at the Lorien elf in amazement. He looking quite dazed; the silvery eyes were overly brilliant, the beautiful face somewhat pale.
Glorfindel frowned and moved to catch Haldir beneath the arms when the march-warden lurched forward.
"Whatever is the matter, Haldir?" he asked, his eyes filled with concern as he lead the younger elf to a bench set back against the wall, watching as one of Haldir's slim hand moved to touch his forehead. The march-warden raised his eyes slowly, staring dazedly at Glorfindel, then at Aralith who had moved to stand behind the elf-lord.
"I . . . feel rather . . . odd," Galadriel's young warrior murmured, blinking his eyes several times.
Glorfindel smiled briefly, and then nodded sagely.
"You have been with 'them', haven't you?" he chuckled, patting Haldir's arm in a comforting manner. "Well, you may stay here with the rest of us . . . um. . . ," he glanced at Aralith who gazed from Haldir to the golden elf-lord of Imladris. "Yes, well, Aralith and I are hiding as well, though not from the lovely ladies." A slow smile spread across Glorfindel's lovely face, the blue eyes bright. "My dear travelers," he began, "would you care to join me for a bit of refreshment? I think we three - who are so put upon so very often, or so I assume in your cases- need something to help us relax for a moment, don't you?" He grinned then and rummaged in a large pot, pulling forth a wine bottle wrapped in burlap sacking.
"You keep wine in the greenhouse?" Aralith asked with a frown. His estimation of these Noldors was not rising.
"I guess we do," Glorfindel said with a smile and winked at Haldir, who was frowning also, though he thought a swallow or two might help him to revive a bit. He truly didn't know what was wrong. He had never felt so disoriented before. He always knew exactly what he was doing and what he should be thinking, but now . . . . He gazed blankly at Glorfindel when the elf-lord handed him the wine bottle. "Trust me, Haldir. This will help."
Haldir nodded and took a swallow. It was very good and he took another swallow before handing the cloth-wrapped bottle to Aralith, who frowned slightly eyeing the bottle suspiciously. Then he shrugged. He was put upon entirely *too* often. He took a long swig before giving it back to Glorfindel. And one needed to be polite after all. The lord of the Golden-Flower smiled delightedly and murmured, "Here is to Erestor. You should know you can't outsmart me, mellon-nin." And with that he drank his first swallow of the Dorwinion Erestor had hidden so carefully.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
~The next morning ~
"The sun is too bright. The sun is too bright. The sun is too bright."
This desperate mantra, no more than a mere whisper of sound, was chanted over and over as though its utterance could force the sun into disappearing for a time. When this didn't work, another chant took its place -hopeful, but alas, with the same degree of success.
"The birds are too loud. The birds are too loud. The birds are too loud."
Indeed the sweet singing of the avian inhabitants of Imladris was a symphony of pain to the elf lying oh-so-very-still on the bed. He swallowed uncomfortably, grimacing at the dryness that plagued his mouth. He felt completely sapped of energy and he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but his pounding head wouldn't allow it. Groaning in defeat, he opened his eyes, mere dark slits, but immediately clamped them shut again as the light pierced them like hot needles.
"Valar help me," he moaned, flinging one arm over his offended orbs, and then groaning at the dull, insistent pain in his head.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" a voice queried politely, or nearly politely, for laughter colored each word. "You were quite stupid."
Tanglinna opened his eyes, grimaced at the pervasive brightness in the room, and forced himself to a sitting position. He instantly regretted it, bending forward rather too quickly, and clutching at his throbbing temples, teeth clenched as he gasped in agony.
"I cannot believe that you did this to yourself. I thought you were smarter than that. You are certainly too old for such nonsense - "
"Don't . . . speak so loudly. Please," the archer croaked out, sounding rather like a frog with a head cold. He stared fixedly at the weaving of the sheet between his legs, fingers digging into his temples as if this pressure could squeeze the pain out. It didn't.
"I am speaking in a normal tone, I assure you. I am not given to loudness usually. The morning after is never much fun. Perhaps you should remember that the next time you are presented with a similar situation."
Tanglinna ground his teeth together, forcing his head up, blinking blearily as he tried to locate the owner of the voice.
"I am right across from you," the voice said with a hint of amusement.
The silver-haired archer's gaze slid across the room and settled on the dim form sitting in the shadows.
"It is about time you woke up. There are many questions that need answers, and soon." The figure stood, moving slowly into a shaft of sunlight, which glinted on the long silver hair.
Tanglinna's silver eyes widened in shock and his mouth fell open as he stared in amazement at the tall elf before him. He was dressed in one of Tanglinna's blue tunics, the silver hair braided loosely.
"I. . . I. . . I am talking to . . . myself?" he murmured incredulously. "I am talking to myself?!" He choked slightly in his overly dry throat, wondering if this was a rather strange effect of mixing Vandal Root with wine. "I am talking to myself!"
The other silver haired elf merely shrugged.
"Perhaps you are," he said enigmatically closing the distance between them, a wicked smile on his lips. "Perhaps you are."
TBC
Chapter 17 - The Second Bottle
Sunlight glistened on the last of the morning's dew and the cooing of the pale doves that were strutting along the pathway filled the ears of the two elves that walked there, arm in arm. Celeborn smiled contentedly as he listened to Arwen chirp happily about how everyone but her mother had been right this year with the bets placed on what Thranduil's gift would be. Lothlorien's lord had been impressed - most impressed, one could say he was almost *too* impressed - with the four bottles of Dorwinion, and he wondered what could have made Thranduil part with his most beloved wine, and so many bottles of it all at once.
~That will be an interesting question to ask him when he arrives, ~ the silver-haired lord thought with a slight smile as Arwen chattered about the spider and her inability to 'charm' him.
"Charming the spider?" Celeborn queried, lifting one brow. "Why do you want to charm the spider, mir-nin (my jewel)?"
"It will be good practice," Arwen answered enigmatically, looking very important and full of self-assurance.
"Practice for what?"
His granddaughter merely smiled, her lovely eyes gleaming with that mysterious light that Celeborn had seen in his wife's eyes from time to time as well as in their daughter's.
"Ah, yes," he said quietly. "I don't think you need to say anymore."
Celeborn suppressed a chuckle as Arwen straightened, the strange smile lingering on her full lips, entirely too aware of her power.
~She looks too much like Luthien for her own good, ~ he thought sadly, but then he smiled and said,
"Trust me, mel-nin (my dear), you will be able to charm anyone you so choose," he assured her. "I would tell you to practice on Haldir, but I fear that would be almost too easy."
"I can charm dear Haldir already, daerada. The only one whom I can't charm is Bastryn," she sighed dejectedly, shoulders slumping, her lips thrusting out in an adorable pout, which had a power of its own. "Why doesn't he like me?"
"Well, spiders are quite different, I would guess. I am certain that you will be able to charm him in no time at all, my dear Arwen."
Arwen smiled then, gazing up at her grandfather, who bent to kiss her white brow.
"Just promise me this: do not ever try to charm me. Your daernaneth has tried and I was not pleased. Your naneth, on the other hand, knew only too well how to charm me, but I believe that was because I am her ada. Ada's are especially easy to charm, as I am certain you already know."
Arwen grinned and nodded, the sunlight glistening in her raven locks. Her father was all too easy to charm and not a challenge at all. This did not mean that she didn't turn her wiles upon him from time to time though.
~Truly you are Luthien come again, ~ Celeborn thought fondly, gently stroking his granddaughter's soft hair, a smile on his lips. ~She could charm any living thing, probably even a spider if she so chose. Undoubtedly you will do the same. I pity any poor mortal that crosses your path in the wood. He will stand no more of a chance than Beren did! ~
"What are you thinking about, daerada?" the granddaughter of Galadriel asked, turning to him.
"Just about how lovely you are, Arwen," Celeborn said, his smile widening, his eyes glowing happily; his face was alight with grand-ternal affection. "And so kind and sweet as well. Is there anything I can do for you? Is there anything that you want? Anything at all; all you need to do is ask and it shall be done immediately."
It wasn't until Arwen giggled quite unexpectedly and his face felt rather odd that Celeborn even knew that she had been working her charm on him and he had been unaware of it.
"Arwen!" he reprimanded, feeling his face grow quite red with embarrassment. "Don't do that again. If you need practice, work on Thranduil. He will be as big a challenge as your Bastryn."
"Yes, daerada," Arwen cooed, her eyes filled with triumphant glee.
Celeborn shook his silver head ruefully. This one was going to be quite a handful when she grew up. Males of all species would be throwing themselves at her little feet. ~Or under them, ~ he thought with a sigh.
Arwen giggled once more, pointing ahead of them.
Haldir was staggering across the stones; he looked exhausted, his broad shoulders slumped, long hair hanging on either side of his face.
"They will kill him one of these days," Celeborn murmured, shaking his head.
"But he likes it," Arwen assured him, watching as the young march- warden stumbled away from them without being aware of their presence before disappearing down a side path leading to the greenhouses and potting sheds.
"Of course he does," Celeborn agreed, thinking quite the opposite, but he didn't want to disagree with anything Arwen said. Or could he *not* disagree with anything she said? He scowled a little at this observation. "Of course he does," he repeated, shaking his head ruefully. "Who does not like to have their wits addled by such lovely females as my wife and your mother?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"It must be nice to be a snail."
Glorfindel watched the deliberate progress of the small, shelled being across the mossy stones of the potting shed's floor, the snail's antennas extended tentatively. The elf-lord's eyes traced the silvery trail back to where it vanished beneath one of the tables several feet away. Snails were excellent companions really: silent and nonjudgmental. And they were not scary in the least! Maybe because of the absence of several hairy legs.
"You appear to have no worries whatsoever, tithen randir (little wanderer). Would that it were so for everyone. At present, I have only one worry though: a certain leggy horror that will not leave me alone. Now, I realize that it is rather a ridiculous fear and one that I should be striving to overcome, and indeed I am trying, but it is not easy to convince oneself of this. For though we often know something to be irrational and ludicrous, still we find it almost impossible to slay because of its immensity. I only hope that when young Aralith arrives, with his lovely fair hair that Bastryn seems to like, the little horror's attention will return to him. Or perhaps it is merely time for a visit to - !"
Glorfindel's words to the unconcerned snail were cut off when the potting shed door suddenly opened then closed again quite sharply. The lord of the Golden Flower hunched down in his hiding place, then eased from the stack of empty folded bags that they stored bulbs in over the winter, peering over the tables toward the entrance. He feared that Bastryn the Horrible had found him, and a sharp stab of fear welled in his normally brave heart. But it wasn't the furry arachnid that stood peering cautiously out of the small window gazing toward the pathway. Glorfindel's brows rose in amazement and he cocked his head to one side. There was only one person that this could be, with the long golden hair, the slender build belying youth, and a mottled green tunic trimmed in silver.
The mischievous elf-lord smiled as he stood to his impressive height, folding his arms over his chest and looking imperious as he intoned, "Prince Aralith of Mirkwood, I believe."
The prince started at the sound of his name and spun toward the mysterious voice, blue-violet eyes wide. He stared for a moment at the tall golden haired elf across the room then tipped his head in acknowledgement. At least it wasn't Elladan or Elrohir as he had feared.
"Yes . . . . And you are Lord Glorfindel?" The young voice was steady, only a slight uncertainty belied any hesitancy that he felt.
Glorfindel tipped his head in like manner, then grinned widely, his blue eyes sparkling brightly like polished sapphires.
"Is there a problem?" he asked, nonchalantly, stepping mindfully over the snail that continued on its journey across the stones. "You appear to be . . . hiding."
Color bloomed on the younger elf's cheeks and Glorfindel thought that all Sindar elves he knew blushed quite becomingly. He chuckled slightly and grinned.
"The twins?" he queried, moving to gaze out the window himself. No one and nothing was in sight other than the trees, plants, and a few sparrows twittering on the pathway.
He was rewarded with a nod from the silent, rather self-conscious prince.
"I hope I am not disturbing you, Lord Glorfindel," Aralith murmured, moving slightly away from the window though not so far away that he couldn't see if someone approached.
"No, you are not disturbing me. I was merely . . . contemplating the snail."
Aralith turned to stare at him once more, his face filled with confusion as his eyes flicked to the snail on the ground. He knew that the Noldor elves were a rather unusual group of beings, and he truly didn't know what to expect, especially from a reborn Balrog-slayer, but contemplating snails was definitely not it. He wondered if he had misheard.
"I beg your pardon," he began slowly.
Glorfindel chuckled once more, bending to gaze out the window.
"What have those mischievous sons of Elrond done now?" he asked, moving back to sit on his stack of dusty sacks not seeing any immediate danger in the vicinity. He drew one knee to his chest, clasped his arms about it and waited expectantly for an answer.
Aralith studied him for a silent moment, still very uncertain about this entire conversation. Finally, he drew a deep breath.
"They - the twins - seem to think that I will be able to . . . charm that spider for them," he said in a voice that was entirely too even to Glorfindel's trained ears. The Golden Flower grinned in amusement, but Aralith had noted the odd look that had passed over his face just for a moment, and he wondered what that might mean.
"If you could charm it into staying away from me," Glorfindel said with a laugh, "I would be eternally grateful to you."
"I beg your pardon?"
The two elves started as the greenhouse's back door opened and Haldir staggered in. Aralith stared at the Lorien elf in amazement. He looking quite dazed; the silvery eyes were overly brilliant, the beautiful face somewhat pale.
Glorfindel frowned and moved to catch Haldir beneath the arms when the march-warden lurched forward.
"Whatever is the matter, Haldir?" he asked, his eyes filled with concern as he lead the younger elf to a bench set back against the wall, watching as one of Haldir's slim hand moved to touch his forehead. The march-warden raised his eyes slowly, staring dazedly at Glorfindel, then at Aralith who had moved to stand behind the elf-lord.
"I . . . feel rather . . . odd," Galadriel's young warrior murmured, blinking his eyes several times.
Glorfindel smiled briefly, and then nodded sagely.
"You have been with 'them', haven't you?" he chuckled, patting Haldir's arm in a comforting manner. "Well, you may stay here with the rest of us . . . um. . . ," he glanced at Aralith who gazed from Haldir to the golden elf-lord of Imladris. "Yes, well, Aralith and I are hiding as well, though not from the lovely ladies." A slow smile spread across Glorfindel's lovely face, the blue eyes bright. "My dear travelers," he began, "would you care to join me for a bit of refreshment? I think we three - who are so put upon so very often, or so I assume in your cases- need something to help us relax for a moment, don't you?" He grinned then and rummaged in a large pot, pulling forth a wine bottle wrapped in burlap sacking.
"You keep wine in the greenhouse?" Aralith asked with a frown. His estimation of these Noldors was not rising.
"I guess we do," Glorfindel said with a smile and winked at Haldir, who was frowning also, though he thought a swallow or two might help him to revive a bit. He truly didn't know what was wrong. He had never felt so disoriented before. He always knew exactly what he was doing and what he should be thinking, but now . . . . He gazed blankly at Glorfindel when the elf-lord handed him the wine bottle. "Trust me, Haldir. This will help."
Haldir nodded and took a swallow. It was very good and he took another swallow before handing the cloth-wrapped bottle to Aralith, who frowned slightly eyeing the bottle suspiciously. Then he shrugged. He was put upon entirely *too* often. He took a long swig before giving it back to Glorfindel. And one needed to be polite after all. The lord of the Golden-Flower smiled delightedly and murmured, "Here is to Erestor. You should know you can't outsmart me, mellon-nin." And with that he drank his first swallow of the Dorwinion Erestor had hidden so carefully.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
~The next morning ~
"The sun is too bright. The sun is too bright. The sun is too bright."
This desperate mantra, no more than a mere whisper of sound, was chanted over and over as though its utterance could force the sun into disappearing for a time. When this didn't work, another chant took its place -hopeful, but alas, with the same degree of success.
"The birds are too loud. The birds are too loud. The birds are too loud."
Indeed the sweet singing of the avian inhabitants of Imladris was a symphony of pain to the elf lying oh-so-very-still on the bed. He swallowed uncomfortably, grimacing at the dryness that plagued his mouth. He felt completely sapped of energy and he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but his pounding head wouldn't allow it. Groaning in defeat, he opened his eyes, mere dark slits, but immediately clamped them shut again as the light pierced them like hot needles.
"Valar help me," he moaned, flinging one arm over his offended orbs, and then groaning at the dull, insistent pain in his head.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" a voice queried politely, or nearly politely, for laughter colored each word. "You were quite stupid."
Tanglinna opened his eyes, grimaced at the pervasive brightness in the room, and forced himself to a sitting position. He instantly regretted it, bending forward rather too quickly, and clutching at his throbbing temples, teeth clenched as he gasped in agony.
"I cannot believe that you did this to yourself. I thought you were smarter than that. You are certainly too old for such nonsense - "
"Don't . . . speak so loudly. Please," the archer croaked out, sounding rather like a frog with a head cold. He stared fixedly at the weaving of the sheet between his legs, fingers digging into his temples as if this pressure could squeeze the pain out. It didn't.
"I am speaking in a normal tone, I assure you. I am not given to loudness usually. The morning after is never much fun. Perhaps you should remember that the next time you are presented with a similar situation."
Tanglinna ground his teeth together, forcing his head up, blinking blearily as he tried to locate the owner of the voice.
"I am right across from you," the voice said with a hint of amusement.
The silver-haired archer's gaze slid across the room and settled on the dim form sitting in the shadows.
"It is about time you woke up. There are many questions that need answers, and soon." The figure stood, moving slowly into a shaft of sunlight, which glinted on the long silver hair.
Tanglinna's silver eyes widened in shock and his mouth fell open as he stared in amazement at the tall elf before him. He was dressed in one of Tanglinna's blue tunics, the silver hair braided loosely.
"I. . . I. . . I am talking to . . . myself?" he murmured incredulously. "I am talking to myself?!" He choked slightly in his overly dry throat, wondering if this was a rather strange effect of mixing Vandal Root with wine. "I am talking to myself!"
The other silver haired elf merely shrugged.
"Perhaps you are," he said enigmatically closing the distance between them, a wicked smile on his lips. "Perhaps you are."
TBC