There were a few minutes when Elrond seriously considered the possibility that he was trapped in a nightmare or an alternate reality in which the sole purpose was to humiliate and break him. But then common sense- and the presence of others- came back and he simply nodded woodenly. "Give them entrance but let armed guards escort them here."

A fresh guard rode off with the message and the Elf Lord turned to find Erestor standing behind him. "Prepare rooms, mellon nin," he sighed tiredly, "I'm afraid all of Arda is landing up on our doorstep. It would not surprise me in the least if Mithrandir were to appear now with a contingent of hobbits and dwarves!"

"It is to be hoped that he will not," Erestor declared, "Go inside and sit, Elrond. I'm sure that Elladan and Elrohir may greet him on your behalf."

"I do not intend in the least to greet him," Elrond pointed out, "Indeed, I will refuse to do so. He is not welcome here."

"Then why give him permission to enter?"

"Imladris is open to all who seek it. And King Gorrofer deserves an explanation to recent happenings. After all, he is still missing his mating slave."

Erestor merely compressed his lips and said nothing, bowing slightly to indicate his willingness to carry out the instructions of his Lord and left, calling imperiously to the elves of the household to hasten preparations. Elrond stayed at the entrance for a few minutes, thinking intently. He had not, perhaps, been as honest as he should have been; for he was more interested in seeing what his destiny might have been, had his rescuers not found him.

Legolas, naturally, did not take the news so well.

"He allowed him entrance?" the archer demanded, almost quivering with indignation.

Glorfindel exchanged glances with Elladan and Elrohir, the two moving to stand behind their elvish friend in readiness for any trouble. "He has," the seneschal agreed, "And he has his own reasons for it."

"I can well imagine," Legolas bit out, fuming as he paced the room, "But this is surely not the best time to bring him in! Elrond has barely recovered!"

"Legolas, please do not make this harder than it will be," Elladan soothed, "Ada cannot deal with your tantrums now as well as all the publicity these trials will surely bring. And King Gorrofer will still need to be spoken to, even if he is to be allowed in on sufferance."

"I do not intend to create uproar! But there is no sense in this. What is Elrond trying to prove?"

"Perhaps that I am capable of making decisions without anyone to hold my hand?" the dry answer came. Elrond shut the door and waved a dismissive hand to his friend and sons. "Nay; stay where you are. This conversation is not private. Legolas, I do not intend to do more than explain the situation to him. That is all."

The blond looked mutinously at his former lover from the other side of the room, blue eyes heated and ominous. Elladan crossed his fingers in hope and then the slim shoulders slumped. "I understand," the Prince muttered, "I only worry for you. What if this is some kind of plan to wrest you away by force? Or to take Bronwe from us?"

"Bronwe will be guarded at all times; you need not fear that!"

The Mirkwood Prince shrugged and strode past the Elf Lord, evidently not in the mood to discuss the subject any further. "Pray excuse me," he muttered in passing, brushing against the sleeve of a thick robe on his way, "I will be back before night fall."

And that was the best that Elrond could possibly hope for.

Preparations were made, and all of Imladris readied themselves, agog with curiosity and excitement. Elves whispered of foreign Kings and runaway slaves, exotic lands and betrayals, prisoners and trials... and through it all, the nobles of the land would say nothing except that there were indeed prisoners and Kings from exotic foreign lands, and that there would be a trial soon and that none needed to concern themselves just yet with the whys and wherefores.

Bronwe chose the moment to be cranky and disturbed, crying and whimpering as if in distress, her pretty blue eyes still interestingly free from tears. Arwen sat with her little half-sister, playing with her and soothing her evident injured feelings, singing lullabies in a sweet voice.

Erestor and Glorfindel were on hand to receive the King, standing stiffly in attendance and prepared to show the man with words and demeanor that he was not welcome.

Trumpets sounded and a sweetly harsh jangle of bells grew louder.

The two exchanged glances of dread.

Two guards of Imladris rode into view, their faces clearly showing their shock and delight. They were soon followed by a procession of horses decked in gold and scarlet, gleaming darkly under the early evening sky. Humans in the splendid livery of personal bodyguards rode starkly into sight, their burnished skins gleaming like the coats of their mounts.

Erestor felt his eyes widen at the magnificent sight. "Seemingly a rich nation," he murmured to his companion.

Glorfindel gave a curt nod of agreement. "But skilled," he pointed out, "Those weapons are beautifully forged and those soldiers move as if born to use them."

"Thank you, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower," Erestor sighed, turning to glance at the blond with an annoyed look, "When my head is cut off for the insult done to their King, I will think of your admiration for my murderers."

"Halt!"

The cry startled the both into looking back to the approaching procession. Both grey and blue eyes were drawn instantly to the four riders in the middle- two abreast- who carried the poles for a large overhead covering of scarlet cloth, for under that cloth sat the biggest man they had yet beheld! Indeed, Glorfindel was certain that the man contained some amount of troll blood in him, for nothing else to his mind could explain the solid look of those bones.

"Greetings, elven folk," a guard began, his peculiar accent invoking the words of the Common Tongue with a strangely melodic tune, "His Royal Highness, King Gorrofer of the Kingdom of Tulhuinen presents his compliments and his thanks for admittance to the Noble House of the Lord of Imladris. We crave pardon for this rude invasion into your nation and pray that it will not prejudice you against our cause, for we come on a matter of great urgency. Betrayal and fraud has been done to His Royal Highness King Gorrofer of the Kingdom of Tulhuinen, and he seeks his unclaimed property in your fair country. He charges me to present to you his hope that this distasteful business may be settled with as much amiability and speed as is possible."

The guard ended and Glorfindel finally allowed himself to blink, still reeling in the face of all those words. Erestor, however, seemed much more at home with words. "We welcome you with all good wishes to Imladris," he said pleasantly, "And are charged by Lord Elrond to convey his hope that you will be comfortable amongst us for as long as you choose to reside. He is indisposed at present but we are aware of the nature of the business which brings you to our door and Lord Elrond is as desirous of suitably settling it as His Royal Highness King Gorrofer of, uh, Tulhuinen."

Glorfindel relaxed as his old friend deftly made whatever polite sounds were needed and left him with nothing to do except keep his hand as close to his sword as he dared without causing insult and look intimidating. Not that the Tulhuinon looked capable of being intimidated. Their deep, dark eyes were fixed straight ahead and their backs were ramrod straight beneath their luxurious surcoats. Even their mounts were perfectly in formation. Glorfindel was not certain that he had ever seen soldiers this well trained before!

But trouble seemed to be brewing- "Lord Elrond is not in attendance to greet His Royal Highness? But that is an insult!"

Erestor bowed in apologetic agreement. "He has been severely ill and is recuperating. While his strength returns to him, he sends his most trusted advisers to bid you welcome."

The guard seemed mollified by that and nodded curtly. Introductions were made, all of which the King did not partake in, and then Erestor quickly showed them to the rooms that had been prepared for them. Glorfindel said nothing but accompanied Erestor, not liking to leave the steward alone with those he did not quite trust. In a fight, he knew as well as anyone that he would probably be no match for eight warriors of the kind he judged them, but the odds for two were better than for one.

The apartment reserved for the King of Tulhuinen was large, spacious and beautifully appointed enough to justify the fame of the elven State. The King and his personal attendant, a dark-skinned human who towered over Glorfindel let alone Erestor, seemed well pleased with it.

Erestor murmured the few sentences of reassurance and politeness that a good host always offered and made his way softly as a cat to the door where Glorfindel waited.

"Lord Steward..."

He stopped and turned.

King Gorrofer turned his face from the window and smiled, a slow smile of clever contemplation fanning over his fleshy face until his mocking eyes were almost slits. The elves were fascinated to note that for all his bulk and ostentation, he was a very handsome human.

"Present my thanks to my slave and tell him that he has taste enough to satisfy me."

Glorfindel growled at the insult. Erestor turned with a warning on his lips but the Seneschal had already jumped to hasty speech without another thought- "The Lord of Imladris is no slave to you, human! You would do well to remember that!"

The dark-haired elf closed his eyes, swallowed, and waited patiently for the storm.

"Perhaps that is the truth," King Gorrofer replied, more cordial in tone of voice though his eyes continued to laugh with aloof amusement, "We shall see."

Erestor nodded, said something suitably non-committal and shoved Glorfindel from the room before him. Once outside, he set his jaw and said nothing until they were both well within the bounds of the family wing, where none but the most trusted of servants would hear their quarrel. He beckoned the blond into the nearest room, closed the door behind him and then decked him.

Glorfindel staggered back but long years of practise allowed him to recover his balance in a trice and he only just stopped his own fist from returning the favour. Instead he clasped his injured jaw and glared his anger and hurt.

"What in Mordor were you thinking," the steward hissed, grey eyes flashing fire, "Have you taken leave of your senses? Or did you leave them all in the Halls of Mandos when you returned to inflict yourself on us?"

Glorfindel heard movement behind the unlocked door and attempted to make that known to his raging abuser. "Erestor, if you would..."

"No! Another word and I will really lose my temper..."

"But there is a..."

"And you did not even think! How is that possible? Are you a child, Glorfindel, that you would do something so detrimental as reply with such thoughtlessness?"

The door opened and Erestor whirled, white-faced and glittering-eyed. Thranduil raised an eyebrow but did not seem too upset by being confronted with the stare of someone who might want to tear him limb from limb. He walked in and calmly shut the door.

"I see you are in a rage for something," the King of Mirkwood remarked, "Might I be of service?"

"This is a private conversation," Erestor snapped, "Please leave!"

"Oh? Private? I hope not a quarrel of, uh, passion?"

Erestor looked rather as if he was physically revolted by such a thought. Unfair though it was to Glorfindel, the steward really did feel his stomach turn. He had been friends too long with the Blarog Slayer to see him as a potential romance. Even an appreciation for his looks would not be much incentive to mix business and pleasure, and with the way he felt right now!

"No," he said stiffly, drawing himself to his full height and daring his gentle interrogator to say a word more.

Thranduil smiled, almost as if the answer gave him relief, and then nodded decisively, a curiously long look directed in Glorfindel's direction. "Then perhaps you will permit me to offer an ear? When one is angered, often talking helps."

"He was already doing so," Glorfindel said dryly, still cradling his bruised jaw, "And I have the battle scars to prove it."

"Excellent! Come, Lord Steward, walk with me in the gardens and tell me all about our glorious Balrog Slayer's obvious fallibilities."

Erestor tossed a venomous look to the blond he left behind, and swept off with reluctant slowness with the other, confident that there was a conspiracy against him but feeling strangely more willing to spend time with Thranduil than Glorfindel.