Traditional Recipes for Disaster
by Ithiliel Silverquill and Erestor
Disclaimer: Neither of us owns Lord of the Rings or anything pertaining to it. This story was written for entertainment only.
CHAPTER THREE
Glorfindel.
I have been underestimating Erestor. In fact, everyone has been underestimating Erestor. He may seem either pathetic or annoyed, depending on which time of day you encounter him, but he is apparently capable of interesting feats.
Like getting books down from high shelves, for example.
It is obvious that Erestor is not a defeatist, which makes him infinitely more interesting. I had always thought of him as a dismal, boring scholar. The oh-Valar-why-me type of Elf. He has just proved that he's something else. I may dislike him, but I must admit that he has surprised me. I could hear him shuffling about and assumed that he was industriously searching for Traditional Recipes of Nargothrond. Now it turns out that he was retrieving his beloved book from the upper shelves. I don't think I shall ever assume anything about him again.
I would dearly love to figure out how he got his book, but suddenly there is no time. For even as I stand, somewhat bemused, considering Erestor, I realize something.
One doesn't usually find recipe books in libraries. One finds them in kitchens. So it follows that if Traditional Recipes is not in the library (and Erestor has assured me that it isn't) it must be in the kitchen.
Valar, I am an idiot!
I sprint off in the direction of the kitchen, but Lord Elrond encounters me as I dash through a hall."Lord Glorfindel! There you are!" he says happily.
I halt, turning to face Lord Elrond, dazzling him with another one of my brilliant, clever replies. "Yes, here I am."
There really isn't time for this! It may occur to Erestor that recipe books belong in kitchens. I'm surprised that he hasn't thought of this already. He's more logical than I. Perhaps even as I stand here, Erestor is sneaking down to the kitchen, a grin on his face, delighted at having so cunningly tricked me. . .
"I was wondering if you and Erestor were making any headway."
"I'm sorry, Lord Elrond, but we have been unable to find your book." Grovel, grovel.
Elrond has the look of someone who wants to have a very long and boring conversation. I need to think up a good reason to get out of here.
"That's a pity," Elrond says. "Are you and Erestor getting along well?"
"Oh yes," I say, smiling. We haven't hurt each other yet. That's good. I don't plan on telling my lord that Erestor thinks I accused him of lying and left the library in a state of fury. I won't even tell Lord Elrond that Erestor spent half the time reading and the other half of the time trying to get his book back – after I took it from him.
Elrond beams at me. "I'm very glad. I have been worried about– "
Worried. I know how to get Lord Elrond to leave. I put a worried expression on my face and say, "Lord Elrond, you have reminded me of something. I am worried about Lord Erestor."
"Really? What's wrong with him?" Elrond looks at me anxiously.
Lots of things are wrong with him. "He looked a bit peaky," I say, thinking fast. "One of your wonderful herbal mixtures would greatly revive him."
Elrond nods seriously. "Perhaps so," he says. "I'll go and find him."
Elrond walks away, still looking worried. Erestor did look peaky, but I think my presence had a lot to do with that. I can't help but chuckle to myself as I dash to the kitchens. Even if Erestor thinks of looking there, Lord Elrond will find him and drag him away to the infirmary.
I have to find Traditional Recipes before Erestor does.
I enter the kitchen and glance around. A woman comes over. I can never remember her name, but I do remember that she made me delicious tea and biscuits after I got my arm half chopped off in a battle a few decades ago. She'll be the perfect Elf to ask.
"Has Lord Erestor been in the kitchens recently?"
She shakes her head. "No, Lord Glorfindel. Not recently."
I sigh with relief. "Thank you," I say, ever the polite Elf-Lord. "Would you be so kind as to tell me where you keep your cookbooks?"
The wonderful woman shows me the place, I thank her profusely, and sit down to root through the heap of old books. At least these ones aren't dusty. Erestor could learn a lot from this woman.
I can't find Lord Elrond's book. For a moment I stare at the stack, and then I go through it again. I had managed to convince myself that the book would be here, and now that it isn't, I have no idea what to do next.
I suppose I could get dinner. Wouldn't do to die of starvation. Then Lord Elrond's book would never get found.
As I walk slowly to the dining hall, I ponder the problem. And once I start thinking about problems, I begin thinking about Erestor. His behavior in the library was very exasperating. He didn't even act as if finding the book was important. He just read most of the time.
I wonder if he knows where the book is? That would account for the way he acted. If he knew where the book was, he wouldn't have to assist me in looking for it. He could sit and read and watch me make a fool of myself. I know that Erestor loves watching me make a fool of myself. And sadly, I frequently entertain him in this way.
He was terribly offended when he thought I had insinuated that he was a liar, but maybe he was just worried that I'd work out. . .No. This is foolish thinking. Erestor may be many things that I don't like, but I doubt he's hiding the book. It would be pointless. He would want to please Lord Elrond, and thus finding Traditional Recipes of Nargothrond would be high on his list of priorities.
Maybe he is easily distracted, like I said. Even I spent some time gazing dreamily into the distance and imagining all the other things I could have been doing, other than looking for Lord Elrond's impossible-to-find book.
Erestor.
As I walk down the hall, I cannot help but feel ashamed of myself. Perhaps screaming at Glorfindel and stomping out of the room was not the most brilliant idea I have ever had. Looking back, he did not exactly call me a liar anyway. I know he talks without thinking, and that was probably what happened.
He probably now thinks that I am unstable as well as pointless, which is a pity since I am neither. At least I would like to think so.
I am heading in the wrong direction to be going to the dining hall, so I decide to simply proceed to my room. I was not hungry anyway. Besides, Glorfindel will be there, and I do not want to be present when he tells all of his adherents the amusing story of me losing my temper at him.
Suddenly I see Lord Elrond walking down the hall in my direction. "Erestor!" he calls.
"Yes, milord?"
He stops and begins to look me over with a critical eye. "You look a bit pale. Are you feeling all right?"
I force a smile. "Yes, I am feeling fine. Why do you ask?" Lord Elrond watches all of us like a hawk for any sign of ailment. I once had a twisted ankle that I managed to keep hidden from him for two whole days, but I know that to be a record. Usually, none of us can even get a headache without being confined to the healing chambers for an entire week. If Lord Elrond had heard Glorfindel coughing on the dust in the library, then Glorfindel would be drinking his third cup of healing tea about now. And they call me paranoid.
Lord Elrond does not seem convinced. "You seem a bit peaky. Glorfindel told me that he was worried about your health."
Ah, so that is the reason. I am impressed, Glorfindel. That was a clever move. "Actually, I am feeling perfectly wonderful. The lighting in the library is a bit peculiar if you are not used to it, so Glorfindel probably just mistook it for pallor."
Lord Elrond looks over me once more before he finally nods. He almost looks disappointed. "Very well. How is your progress on finding the book?"
"We have looked all over the library, and we are taking a small rest of one hour before we resume our search."
"Excellent. I am glad to hear that the two of you are getting along so well."
My first thought is to laugh, but then Lord Elrond might think I am hysterical and confine me to the healing chambers for a month. So I settle for a smile that is only slightly sarcastic. "I have never had an experience quite like working with Lord Glorfindel."
He looks pleased. "I am so glad to hear that! The two of you have been bitter enemies for long enough."
I freeze. It seems as if he is about to go into one of his meaningful speeches. Normally I do not mind them, and as long as both of us are in the right mood I often enjoy them, but now is not the time.
Suddenly one of the apprentice healers runs up to him. "Lord Elrond! You must come quickly! Elladan fell down the stairs and his ankle is broken!"
Lord Elrond's face drains of all color. "I will be right there!" He turns to me. "Erestor, I hate to interrupt our conversation, but—"
I hold up a hand. "No apology is needed. Your son needs you. I understand completely."
He flashes me a thin smile and rushes off with the healer. Poor Elladan… this is the third time in two months that the hapless Elfling has broken a bone. I feel sorry for him, I really do, even though he and his brother do delight in torturing me. They are young and they do not know any better—especially since Glorfindel seems to be their role model for proper behavior. Those poor children.
I continue toward my room, and then come to a complete stop in surprise. Glorfindel left the door to his room open. He may not be the most brilliant Elf in history, but even he knows not to leave doors open. The twins are not tall enough to turn doorknobs yet, but they can push open a door that is not closed. To leave a door open is to ask for trouble!
I reach forward and put my head in to look around and make sure that neither of the twins is inside. I know Elladan is having his broken ankle set, but Elrohir might have—no, I do not see either of them. Glorfindel is one lucky Elf.
I frown at the mess inside the room. Glorfindel has to be the most disorganized person I have ever seen! This room is a disaster. Clothes and papers and arrows—thank the Valar the twins are not here, they would have murdered one another with the arrows! —are all over the floor. It is a wonder he can find anything in this room!
Wait a moment…
Could it be that perhaps Elrond's book is in Glorfindel's room? It seems unlikely, since even by his own confession he dislikes reading, but at the same time it makes sense. I have known him to get one or two books to reference something, and then the rest of Imladris never sees the books again. Perhaps Glorfindel used the book and forgot to return it.
I step inside, shutting the door behind myself, and look around. The most likely spot for a book in Glorfindel's room is—well, anywhere. I set down Nolendil of Sirion and decide to start with the shelves in the corner.
The shelves are stacked with papers. I catch a glimpse of a stack of drawings done by children, complete with signatures. Most of them are by Elladan and Elrohir—they only initial their work, but it is easy to tell them apart because for the longest time Elrohir always drew the capital letter E backwards—but there is art here from almost every child in Imladris. Some of these children have grown and now serve in the Guard under Glorfindel's command. Here is one from little Sírildë, the daughter of one of Lord Elrond's other advisors… she married not long ago. It seems as if Glorfindel has collected an entire history of Imladris and its residents, based solely on children's artwork.
I flip through a few more drawings. Most of them are entitled "Me and Glorfindel," with various spellings of Glorfindel's name. Apparently, Glorfindel is popular with everyone. I am not surprised.
Suddenly, I catch a glimpse of something peculiar on the shelf, under another stack of childhood masterpieces. It is a quill pen. It looks out of place on this shelf… not that anything appears to have a place or be in the right place anyway.
I examine the pen more closely. I have never seen the like of it! It looks as if it is only slightly used, almost new. I have never seen such a pure white plume, not even on the swans that grace Lothlórien. The tip is not even bent. Think of the wonders that such a marvelous tool could produce!
Glorfindel will never use this quill. He hates all manner of paperwork with a deadly hatred, and I have known him to use the most ridiculous excuses to get out of having to write anything. I cannot understand how anyone could hate pen and parchment as much as Glorfindel does. Why does he have such a beautiful pen when he will never write?
I could certainly put this to good use for a few formal invitations I have to send to Greenwood…
We advisors tend to borrow things from one another often. We always ask permission if we can, and only borrow without permission if it is obvious that the owner of the object is not using the object. We all share pens, jars of ink, notes on meetings… even one particular jar of special red ink that has been passed around so many times that we have long forgotten who was the original owner. Of course, we make it a habit to return objects promptly, with gratitude. No one has ever been more than mildly inconvenienced, and no one has ever become angry. It is simply an accepted part of our role in Lord Elrond's household.
If Glorfindel were here, I would certainly ask if I could borrow the pen, but he is not here. He is obviously not using it… it was underneath a stack of dusty drawings. The only thing I need it for is the invitations, and I doubt that Glorfindel would even notice that it was missing before I returned it to him. I do not think he would mind.
I turn the quill around in my fingers. What potential! Such a beautiful pen makes me eager to write. How could Glorfindel have had such a marvelous thing in his possession and never use it? He is even more odd than I thought he was at first.
I glance around the rest of the room. I see a few books, but a quick look tells me that not one of them is Traditional Recipes of Nargothrond.
I walk towards the door and open it, making sure that I pick up Nolendil of Sirion as I leave.
TBC
