Author's Note: I quite like Gorrofer actually! In case anyone was wondering, I'm basing his people on Indians (not Native American; the Asian kind!). Tell me whether it works, but I just loved the thought of Elrond as the favorite wife in an Indian harem! Have I mentioned I love writing this series?

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Legolas had not returned by late evening. The meal was due to be served in three hours and he was still not returned! Elrond muttered darkly and rudely to no one in particular and Erestor had returned from his walk with Thranduil surprisingly ready to forgive Glorfindel.

"The King of Mirkwood offered excellent advice," he explained coolly.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow and looked an enquiry.

"He reminded me that you were a warrior with no subtlety and that I should not expect you to display tact when you have none," the steward glimmered, walking away without a backward glance and leaving his blond friend to glower at his back with his mouth open.

Thranduil, on being sought out to provide an explanation for this treachery, kindly reminded him that Erestor was only upset and would no doubt ask for him on the morrow when his sweetly persuasive nature was needed to pacify some disgruntled elves made nervous by too many honoured guests. Having calmed both Steward and Seneschal down, the King went back to his bedroom to plot his latest scheme. This time, he hoped it would end more with an alliance in Imladris than an actual argument. Though he had to agree that as far as its Lord went, he was not particularly interested in the Elven State at all.

Only Bronwe seemed in the mood for play, and she kept her three older siblings very happy for two hours by gurgling and smiling for all she was worth. The twins were already speaking of the tricks they would teach her, and of the weapons they would show her to use. Arwen had rolled her eyes and sighed. As the daughter of her father, she had early learned how to use a sword to best advantage, and Glorfindel had kindly shown her how to thrown sharp pointed objects with greatly accurate aim. Growing up around her brothers, she reminded them severely, would make self-defence a matter of necessity!

To which a royal battle had ensued that might have continued if their father had not walked in and fixed his coldest, most unnerving glare of disapproval at them.

Words stopped and all three shuffled their feet and stared at the ground as if caught in a prank again.

"I would hate it to be known," he said softly, "that my children are still immature enough to throw things at each other." Bronwe let out a sudden sound and he scooped her out of her crib, carrying her away as it were a punishment to his sons and daughter, "Only one of you has the excuse of age, and since Bronwe was not involved in such childish behaviour, I can only conclude that she is your better."

Having delivered this sternly disappointed little parting shot, he left them to creep to their separate rooms and reflect. All three had vivid memories of their father's temper. While he had never done as other parents and spanked them, he tended to be very creative when it came to taking punitive measures.

But the hour for dinner finally arrived and Elrond could not possibly postpone it. He would have to attend. And there he would meet his alternate destiny. He wondered anew what the King was like. An excited servant had been more than happy to tell him of the splendour of his retinue, and to express her opinion that the man was quite attractive in a human way.

So the Lord of Imladris dressed accordingly, sighing as he swathed himself in warm crimson velvet. It was far too bright a colour for his tastes, but it would at least give him a hint of colour. Besides which, the delicate silver embroidery over the high colour was tasteful but simple; he did not have to worry about looking ridiculously over-dressed.

His daughter was watching him from her place on his bed. Rather, she was watching the ceiling. He picked her up before doing his braids, knowing it would be a lost cause to do otherwise, for she would only upset them with her little hands.

"You, my dear, have too much energy," he sighed, tickling her under the chin.

She took the moment to cough slightly, startling her father and worrying herself. She began to cry as Elrond undid the little woollen vest to touch her skin. It was not heated, and as he pressed his fingers gently over her lungs, it did not seem that she breathed with difficulty.

Hearing a particularly loud wail, he concluded that it must have been a particle of dust.

"Very well, then," he soothed, "Tell me all! You certainly are not upset about not being invited to the Dining Hall, are you? It would be most unwise of you if you were!"

Bronwe began slowly to quieten down, sucking on a finger and then pushing it away, only to ask for it back again just so she could repeat the process.

"Yes," Elrond sighed with mock frustration, "You will unfortunately make many males miserable. You will flirt and dance and chew them up, only to spit them out when you have had your way with them. Well, you never got such bad manners from me, iel nin. And I am afraid your father is exhibiting the exact opposite- I fear he may cling so close as to cause us to argue."

It was too early still to make his way to the dining hall and since Bronwe was in the mood to play, he played with her, discovering that she was especially partial to having the perfect tips of her little ears caressed. It would probably give him nightmares when she was old enough to- ahem- find other uses for such actions, but for now it seemed to be lulling her into a kind of lethargic squeaking.

And that was how Erestor found them.

On the spur of the moment, Elrond decided that his Bronwe did not need to be segregated from the rest of the household, or hidden like a shameful secret, and asked his old friend to arrange for a bassinet to be placed beside him at his seat. He hurriedly braided his hair and suffered Erestor to twine silver ribbon through them and then left, feeling very much like a decorated solstice tree.

Bronwe he carried on his arm, decked out in white with warm blanket, and he dared anyone to look the least bit surprised as he swept imposingly through the door. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Glorfindel and his children. Erestor was at hand as well and it seemed they had all had the good sense to dress for the occasion.

Elladan and Elrohir were in green, the slight ornamentation of their apparel alone telling them apart. Arwen was decked in green as well, but a darker green that reflected the darkness of her hair and the cream of her skin. All three bowed mockingly to him as he entered and then came forward to attempt to steal their little sister away.

He rebuffed their attempts by side-stepping them and walking swiftly to Glorfindel's side. "Protect me, mellon nin," he pleaded playfully in an undertone, "My child will be kidnapped!"

Glorfindel laughed and put a hand to the pocket with the dagger that all the household knew about. "Stand back, thieves and vagabonds," he declared theatrically, "Or I will be forced to shed blood here!"

"Funny," Arwen giggled, "You will be forced to use force! It is a funny thing."

Erestor joined the small group, still in his customary black. But all could tell that the robe was expensive and costly, worn not because Erestor wished to blend into the background, but because he knew how well it became his winter looks.

Lindir hovered ethereally into view and stared around short sightedly for a while before making for the exit on the other side of the room. Glorfindel stopped him with some remark and the serene face turned revealingly sharp eyes to laugh some witty rejoiner back to them all.

"Oh," he exclaimed, blinking in the dreamy way he had, "Prince Legolas has returned and desired me to tell you that he will be here directly he has changed. He ordered a bath and then locked himself in his room. I hope he does not fall asleep. He returned with Estel after all."

Having added that thoughtful little aside, the scribe moved away to find the Hall of Fire for some unspecified reason.

Elrond smiled and shook his head as Elladan wrinkled his nose in reflection. "Are we certain that Lindir is quite aware of reality, Ada?" the eldest asked anxiously, "Why would Aragorn put Legolas to sleep?"

Erestor smiled as well and demurely clasped his hands in front of him. "He means, Elladan," the dark haired elf sighed, "That Legolas and Aragorn usually manage to arrive either wounded or exhausted from some misadventure. In such a case Legolas will certainly fall asleep in the bath."

"Oh."

They were joined not long after by Galadriel and Celeborn, both resplendent in white. Bronwe suffered herself to be held by the Lady, crying only a few notes as Galadriel smiled down on her. And then the moment arrived- King Gorrofer was announced.

Galadriel looked up, the pleasantness vanished to be replaced by a look of steel in her eyes. Celeborn, as usual, drifted a little to the side in order to watch the drama unfold. But the three Peredhil children clustered around their father as Glorfindel assumed a deceptively relaxed position.

The human entered, followed only by his personal assistant, large and solid and dressed in gentle blue. The long, flowing tunic fell in silken folds to his knees, the same material evidently used to make his leggings. The sides of the tunic were slitted and then bound with silver thread, a pattern of startling complexity repeated in silver and gold around the collar and cuffs. A delicately wrought ring with a blood-red ruby graced a large finger.

Elrond felt his eyes widen as the man's presence swept alarmingly over him. What was more, he did not recall ever having met anyone who outlined their eyes with thick black paint before, or coloured their mouths with red. The vision made for a startling one.

"Lord Elrond. Greetings and may the blessings of the Gods shower on your house."

The voice was musical, sensual and very insolent. Elrond felt his spine stiffen at the words. But he inclined his head and stepped forward, prepared to do his duty as host. "Greetings, King Gorrofer of Tulhuinen. My apologies for not meeting you at your arrival, but I was resting. Your journey has not incapacitated you, I trust?"

The king shrugged, hard muscle rolling easily beneath skin and silk. "I am never incapacitated in a new land, my Lord. You have many strange customs here."

Grey eyes began to glitter even as they gazed upward to maintain eye contact. Elrond knew well when he was being patronized; he had heard that tone of voice often enough in his youth from those who had thought his half-elven state made him unfit for the respect due to one of his station. "Indeed?" he asked silkily, "Nothing too serious, I hope."

"One of a serious matter," Gorrofer grinned, "My property was interfered with."

Everyone in the group stiffened and Glorfindel only just stopped himself from drawing his weapon. But as the human behind the King still carried a weapon that, though appearing to be ceremonial, might be perfectly capable of killing someone, he held still. But Gorrofer was not done and he strolled closer.

None noticed the two figures who had walked insolently in at the door. But the two figures were instantly on their guard, ears pricked and alert for the conversation that carried not only to them but to every servant in the near vicinity.

A hand reached out and touched a dark braid, smooth fingers gliding down it with a sensuous rasp until the soft pads caught on a twist of ribbon. "Very pretty," the human mused, "You are too thin, too pale and perhaps not as strong as I have been led to believe. But pretty nevertheless. You will serve me well."

Long fingers grabbed his wrist before his hand fluttered down the half-elf's neck. "I would not be so presumptuous," Elrond warned quietly, tightening his fingers to vices in warning.

"And spirited? We will suit well, then. I do not like meek slaves who simply lie back with blank minds."

"And I," a clear voice rang out, "Do not like your insinuations. Unhand the Lord of Imladris, your Majesty, and I will be less disposed to cut your throat."

Gorrofer stepped back with amused surprise and looked to the owner of the voice. As one, all the elves turned to find Legolas standing coolly in the doorway with Aragorn at his side. His father had evidently entered behind them both, for Thranduil directly an equally supercilious look to the human who dared stare so searchingly at his son.

"Saes, ion nin," he said gravely, "Standing in doorways serves no purpose. Is the dinner in Imladris changed, Lord Elrond? And here I thought I would be late."

For the first time in his life, and for what he fervently hoped was the last, Elrond smiled with genuine gratitude at the Mirkwood King and gracious waved to the prepared tables. Erestor appeared from nowhere to lead the two humans to their seats. Aragorn took his place with the family, as he always did when home. But as if on mutual agreement, all placed themselves with the assurance that Legolas would desire to sit as Elrond's right.

He did.

Elrond looked from his right, where his former lover was currently lounging with icy beauty in his seat in dull gold silk, to his left, where Glorfindel was sitting with equally deceptive easiness. The prettily wrought handle of one of Legolas' fighting knives protruded from a dull gold pocket and Aragorn had had the temerity to add his sword to his usual ensemble of black clothes suitable for a ranger in good company.

It was, he concluded jadedly, as Bronwe laughed with delight in her bassinet, going to be a long evening.