Traditional Recipes for Disaster
By Ithiliel Silverquill and Erestor
Disclaimer: Neither of us own Lord of the Rings or anything pertaining to it. This story was written for entertainment only.
CHAPTER TWO
Glorfindel.
I may not be a scholar, but I'm not an idiot, and I know that if Erestor scowls at me and mutters something about rats, he's probably implying something. I do not know why I decided not to tease Erestor, since obviously no matter what I do, he will dislike me anyway.
Erestor, if you want to be grouchy and mean all the time, I'll be oh-so-willing to provide you with a reason for being grouchy and mean, starting now.
First, I take the book from Erestor. The advisor is rather startled, but I pay him no heed. I glance at the page to which the book has been opened and my eyes widen slightly. Erestor wasn't joking. This book is about rats. I gaze at the pictures of the rodents that entwine themselves in and out of the writing. I can't believe that he was enjoying reading about rats. That poor, poor Elf.
I look up. Erestor is glaring at me yet again. He really bothers me. I'm not out to ruin his life! At least, I wasn't out to ruin his life. By now I'm having my doubts as to why I should try to be friendly.
"Lord Erestor," I say sweetly, "this is without a doubt the most uninteresting book in all Imladris. Evidently you are easily distracted."
I put the book on a shelf where he won't be able to reach it, unless he climbs on a table. Knowing Erestor, I doubt he will do something as sacrilegious as that. Then I say, brightly, "Now, do you remember what you were supposed to be looking for?"
If looks could kill, I would be a smoldering pile of ashes for the second time in my existence. I smile at him, wondering when he'll realize that finding the book as quickly as possible will put an end to this torture.
Erestor opens his mouth.
"Don't say anything that you'll regret later," I tell him. Then I go back to the shelves to the left of the library. They are dusty. They smell of old, dusty books. There's dust everywhere. Does Erestor actually like all this dust? It can't be healthy to inhale this all day. No wonder he's such a stuffy Elf.
I sneeze.
Oh Valar! Elves aren't meant to sneeze! I'm probably dying. . .oh dear. . .Erestor is sniggering. I scowl at him and sneeze again. And again. And again.
I feel very sorry for mortals.
Erestor, callous Elf that he is, apparently finds the sight of me sneezing myself to death very amusing. He has a rather wicked smile on his face. I suppose I've been irreverent when it comes to his precious library, but still, he might be a little nicer.
I finally stop sneezing. My head hurts.
"It has been said that Nolendil discovered a remedy for sneezing," comments Erestor.
"Who's Nolendil?" I ask.
"He was the Elf who wrote the book you placed over there," says Erestor with a nod in the direction of the book that had the rats in it.
I grin, having recovered from my sneezing episode. "Yes, that does seem to be the kind of thing he'd write about." I make no move towards the volume, however. I am most certainly not taking that book back down so that Erestor can get his hands on it again. A thought occurs to me. "Lord Erestor, I am gravely disappointed."
"Disappointed?" Is it wishful thinking on my part, or does Erestor look slightly worried? I should have thought of telling him this earlier.
"Yes. Gravely disappointed. What have you been doing all these past years? You hardly ever come out of the library. I had imagined that you were organizing the books or dusting or something." I'm not really sure what people do in libraries. Suffer, maybe. "But no," I continue, "this library is in a state of horrendous disrepair. We should be able to find this book. You have evidently lost it."
Erestor examines the bookshelf. Then he says, "I have done a great deal in this library, Lord Glorfindel, and I have most certainly not lost the book we are searching for."
"Oh?" I raise my eyebrows. "We've been looking for ages – at least, I've been looking – and we have been unable to find this book. The library is cluttered. The book could be buried anywhere. So I would like to know what exactly you've done in this library."
Erestor is trembling. He must be furious. I just insulted his library. "At least I work!" he exclaims finally. "All you ever do is run around playing with your sword."
See? This Elf is no pitiable scholar. He can fight back. I am perfectly justified in waging war against him. All guilt I've ever felt about the way I treat him evaporates in an instant. "Lord Erestor, there are many things that you do not understand," I say gently, but venomously. "Warfare is one of these things."
Erestor somehow manages to contain himself, but he looks furious.
I speak on, "No doubt you feel as though you have a right to pass judgements on my profession, but in reality, you know very little about what I do. Hiding away in your books has not provided you with a viable grasp on reality."
For example, in reality, one can get seriously injured while fighting, and I've not heard of many people being hurt in a library. I think Erestor wants to be the first.
How did he manage to make me feel so angry?
I stride forward until I'm by the shelves on the right side of the room. "I'm done with my side," I say. "We might as well switch shelves."
He hates me. I know he must. The library was his last little domain, and I'm taking over it. Erestor gazes at me expressionlessly for a moment, and then turns and walks to the shelves on the other side of the room. I almost wish he'd snapped at me instead.
After a few more minutes of fruitless searching, I still cannot find Traditional Recipes of Nargothrond. I think that if I did find it, I would hurry to Lord Elrond, present it to him, and then go and eat dinner. . .I'm hungry.
Or what if. . .no, this doesn't bear thinking about. . .
What if Erestor found the wretched book first? He would gloat about it for ages. He would constantly remind me that he had found Lord Elrond's book before I had.
Or perhaps he wouldn't. Erestor doesn't really seem to be the gloating type. I can't remember seeing him being pleased or happy before, except that time when I wasn't looking where I was going and I walked into a door and practically broke my nose. Odd. . . Most Elves have something to be happy about. When it comes to Erestor, I keep expecting to catch him wringing his hands and saying, "Oh Valar, why me?"
I remind myself that every time I start feeling sorry for Erestor, he does something to make me feel annoyed with him again. So much about him irritates me, and I try to be kind to him, but I end up coming across as condescending or mocking or mean. I wish I could be less impulsive and thoughtless. I wish I understood him better.
Erestor.
I almost feel sorry for Glorfindel. Is not one of the first rules of combat "know your enemy"? I am no warrior, and I know that. He is at a distinct disadvantage. I know him well. He does not know me at all. For example, if he knew me, he would know that I have never had a problem with reaching books on the top shelf.
I wait until his back is turned and silently make my way to the shelf. I almost spoil it by laughing at him: so much for his being known as Imladris's finest warrior; he is not paying attention to what is going on behind him. If I was an orc, I could have—would have—killed him several times by now.
If he was paying attention to his surroundings, he might have noticed several elaborately carven pillars next to the shelves. He probably thinks they are only for decoration and architecture. I did myself, until one day I needed a book on the top shelf. Those pillars have a purpose. Only a desperate scholar would see that purpose, which is why they are strictly set aside for the use of desperate scholars such as myself who are—to put it politely—vertically challenged. At least compared to the likes of Glorfindel.
Climbing pillars is as easy as climbing trees. All I have to do is grab on, then slide up, using my knees to hold on. I easily reach the level of Nolendil's book, then with a quick motion I reach out and snatch it. Getting down is even easier than getting up.
Really, Glorfindel. I do not know how you survive in the wilds of Middle-earth. A pack of orcs could run up behind you and you would never know it until they had a scimitar in your back. You should pay more attention to what goes on around you.
I decide against reading Nolendil further. I would enjoy this book a lot more beside my fireplace with a cup of mint tea, rather than in the library with Glorfindel when he is making himself an annoyance.
I scan the remaining shelves. There is order in this library, whether Glorfindel the Incredibly Dense Vanya can see it or not. I would explain it to him, but I do not have the time and he does not have the mental capacity. And as for dusty… I happen to like the dust. It adds to the ancient feel of the room. If Glorfindel wants to see a messy room cleaned, he can go tidy his disgusting study and leave the library to me.
It is settled. The book is not in this library. Judging by the disgruntled look on Glorfindel's face, it is not on the right side, and I know the titles of all these books by heart. For once, I am eager to leave.
I walk up to Glorfindel. "I have searched thoroughly," I say, and enjoy watching him jump nearly five feet in the air. There, Glorfindel, that is what you get for not paying attention. "The book is not in this library. It must be somewhere else."
He scowls at me. "Are you so certain, Erestor? I don't know how you could say anything for certain about this musty old room."
I do not rise to the bait. I know he is just trying to be insulting. "I know my library, and I know the book is not here. We would be wasting our time if we were to linger here any longer."
He huffs. "Well, where are we supposed to find it, then?"
I try to restrain myself from rolling my eyes at him, but I am unsuccessful. "Lord Glorfindel, if I could give you an answer to that question, would I have spent the last hour searching the library?"
"You mean, spent the last half-hour searching the library, and the half-hour before that reading a book."
"You know what I mean." If he is trying to drive me to hit him with Nolendil, he is going about it the right way.
He shrugs. "I say we should take a break and have dinner, then look for the book later."
I raise my eyebrows. This is not what I was expecting… for once, I agree with Glorfindel. Something must be wrong with me. "Very well. If we take one hour for dinner, we can resume our search afterwards."
He smiles and nods, then notices the book I am carrying. "What do you have there? It isn't Traditional Recipes from Nargothrond, is it?"
My mouth falls open. "You think I would lie?" I sputter. "I told you the book was not in this library! What would be the purpose of my taking the book and then lying to you about it? I have never told anyone a lie in my life!"
He hesitates. "What book is it, then?"
I hold it up. I am strongly tempted to hit him with it. The nerve of that insolent wretch! Accusing me to my face of being a liar! "The Lost Writings of Nolendil of Sirion."
His eyes grow wide. He looks up at the shelf, and then down at me. "How did you get that book? You didn't climb on a table, did you?"
I refuse to even dignify his question with an answer. I glare at him, then turn around and walk away.
TBC
