-Note- I should probably tell you all this: Elves live together not only in Thranduil's forest, but also with Cirdan, who has taken up residence somewhere on a coast. I've always thought that Cirdan was extremely powerful, so I'm going to say that it is partially his power that keeps his settlement hidden- it is also well placed, away from human civilization.
I won't be home much for the next few days- lots of concerts and rehearsals for various orchestras, so I won't have any time to update. I promise you, I'll have a chapter up by the 24th. Because Hobbits give presents on their birthdays, and I love Hobbits!
:D
-Disclaimer- Please see chapter 1.
A Gift
He went back to work early the next morning. He had left his Vice President in charge, and Glorfindel was happy to see that the mountain of paperwork he expected on his own desk seemed more like a small hill.
He had settled in comfortably by the time his employees arrived. He watched through the glass of his office as computer screens glowed to life, desk lamps were switched on, coats hung over cubicle partitions.
He turned back to his work. The morning passed in a flurry of papers, coffee, and phone calls. His vice president arrived, bearing a ham-and-cheese sandwich.
"Brought you this," he said, setting it on his desk. "You never take off for lunch."
Glorfindel shrugged. "How did it go?"
"Fine, the Man said, pulling up a chair in front of Glorfindel's desk. "We can look after ourselves, you know." He grinned, pushed the sandwich forward.
"I know," Glorfindel replied. And he did. The Man in front of him- David Walker- was the most capable of his employees (which, he supposed, was why he was his second-in-command). He was older, with peppery hair and thick glasses.
He knew the Man wondered about Glorfindel's aging- or lack thereof, but he never asked, nor did he seem to care.
They discussed what had happened while Glorfindel had been gone (not much had, it seemed). David left, Glorfindel ate his sandwich, prepared for tomorrow's meetings, and caught up on business news.
It started to snow. The glass façade of the high rise office building across the street faded away in a blur of white, street lamps cast an eerie, orange glow in the disappearing daylight. The radiator in his office began to clunk loudly.
One by one, the computer screens flicked off, the hum of chatter died down, the cubicles grew dark. He welcomed the solitary feeling of the place after hours.
He picked up his coat, turned off his own computer, shut off the lights, locked the door behind him. Outside the window, the snow blew sideways, white flurries against gray-black sky.
(l)
The month passed like that, quiet and unremarkable. Holiday displays appeared in storefronts, advertising sales, new styles, and must-haves. Midwinter that year was on a Saturday, and he spent the day in his apartment.
It was a dismal feast, by all accounts. He had never grasped the concept of modern cooking, but he attempted to make spaghetti, as Elladan had taught him. His finished product was more like noodles with burnt, rubbery sauce.
Not even Alyaran wanted to eat it.
Glorfindel watched with a mixture of amusement and despair as his dog slinked up to his dish, sniffed gingerly, licked the "spaghetti", and walked away.
And so, he ended up throwing the whole meal into the garbage and ordering Chinese.
The delivery man arrived at his door half an hour later. Glorfindel thanked him, tipped him, and sent him on his way. As he turned back to his apartment, his eyes caught on a package outside his door. Curious, he brought it in, narrowly missing knocking over his coat rack, holding his ratty old cloak and his business jacket.
He placed the box across from him on the table as he ate, and when he had finished and put the leftovers in the refrigerator, he took out a pair of scissors and cut away the packaging tape.
It was addressed to him, Gordon Findel, and postmarked Fauske, Norway.º There was no return address, no name of the sender.
He opened it, saw a swath of green fabric. Holding his breath, he unfolded the brand new, grasshopper green cloak. Tears pricked at his eyes. A note fell out of the sleeve.
Love,
El & El
He let out a long breath, put it on. It fit perfectly.
"Elrohir?" asked Elrohir. "It doesn't sound Germanic…"
"It is. Those tribes…up north."º
"Ah."
So they had gone north. To Scandinavia. And if Glorfindel knew the twins well (and he did), the choice of location had been one large joke.
He pulled the cloak closer about him. He did not know whether he should laugh or cry; in the end, he did neither.
(l)
This was short, I know. Next chapter looks to be quite a bit longer.
º Fauske is a city in northern Norway.
º The section in italics is taken from "A Neighbor". I had to adjust it a bit so we'd know Elrohir was a speaker.
Thanks for reading! Review responses:
Kazbels: Thanks! That's the nicest thing I've heard for a long time.
Stuntz: It gets confusing, doesn't it? You have to think differently…it feels weird, at first!
Crystal113: Of course- there is absolutely nothing wrong with talking to one's dog (and if there is, I'm guilty of it a million times over). I fixed the little discrepancy- thanks!
Melannen Halfelven: What a strange coincidence! Elliot was the only 'E' name I could think of, so that's why I chose it. :P
Starlit Jewel: Thank you!
Ithiliel Silverquill: I'm glad you approve of Ruth. Mrs. Rosenthal can't live alone forever!
Osaya: Thanks! I'll try to update soon!
Vana Tuivana: Thank you! I like a laid back story…it's very relaxing to write! As for Ruth, she appeared quite by accident as I was writing. Don't worry, she'll be back!