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. Ithiliel Silverquill is the one who comes up with all these OCs, so Meretheryn and Maikandro both belong to her and were used with permission.


CHAPTER SIX

Erestor.

Glorfindel frowns and puts one ear to the painted surface. His expression is at first confused, then disbelieving, then finally disgruntled. He straightens. "Of all the traitorous, deceitful, manipulative things to do!" he hisses, so that I can hear him painfully clearly but Elrond cannot. "Oh, when I get my hands on that miserable peredhel…"

"What will you do?" breaks in an eager voice. Lindir again.

Glorfindel sends Lindir a glare that is even angrier than the one he sent me when he thought I had stolen his pen. "I will feed him to angry wargs, very slowly and very painfully. And you will be the second course."

Lindir's face assumes an expression of almost childlike innocence. "Me?"

"Yes, you! You knew about this the whole time, didn't you?"

The mischievous glimmer of glee that finds its way into Lindir's eyes makes his façade of innocence even less convincing than it already was. By now he looks about as innocent as Morgoth. "I know not what you mean, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel looks as if he is about to toss another remark in Lindir's direction, but then he frowns and looks at me. "Lord Erestor, are you all right? You look pale."

I try to swallow, but my throat feels very dry. "I… I think I need to sit down." My mind is swirling. Bad influence… clever plan… cooperate…I walk past Lindir and Glorfindel and sit down on a small bench in the hallway, between a potted plant and a mural of Lindon.

Lindir breaks into a wide smile. "I think it was very clever of Lord Elrond, actually," he says gaily. "To force you to work with one another so that you weren't at one another's throats!"

Glorfindel looks from the door, to Lindir, to me, and then his frown slowly lessens. "Well, it didn't work, anyway. Lord Erestor still hates me, and we ended the entire situation by screaming at one another." He chuckles. "It's actually humorous, in a way. Ironic."

I look up at him. "Humorous! How can you call it humorous? This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me!" Then I stop as my brother's face appears before my mind's eye, and I remember giving Captain Maikandro's letter to my mother. "No… no, I amend that. Not the worst."

Lindir's eyes light up and his ears prick forward. "What are you talking about, Erestor?" If there is anyone in Imladris that could be called a gossip, it would be Lindir. He knows everything there is to know about almost everyone, and he frequently alludes to embarrassing situations in his songs, subtly or not so subtly. However, he is never satisfied, and is always on the lookout for new material.

Suddenly I hear Glorfindel's voice, as stern as I have ever heard it. "Lindir. Back off."

Both Lindir and I glance up at Glorfindel in surprise. The golden-haired Elf has his arms crossed over his chest, and a look of warning in his eyes. "What did you say, Glorfindel?" asks Lindir.

"I said, back off. Erestor's concerns are none of your business. If he wanted to tell you, he would have told you a long time ago."

Lindir's eyes widen with shock and his mouth drops open. "I—I was only going to ask him what he…"

"I know. And I said to back off. You're too nosy for your own good. Leave him alone."

Lindir shuts his mouth with an audible snap. "Very well, then. Good day, my lords." He turns and walks away with an air of insulted pride.

I stare up at Glorfindel. "What was that all about?"

He glances down at me with an expression somewhere between guilt and pity, then shrugs nonchalantly. "Well, I thought it would be rude of him to pry."

I can tell by the way he refuses to look me in the eyes that he must be hiding something. "But that is not the only reason, is it?"

He opens his mouth, then slowly closes it. "No, it isn't." He glances around the hallway as if to make sure that no one else is listening, then motions for me to follow him. "There's something I need to tell you."

Mystified, I stand and follow him into one of the council-chambers that is not being used. It is large enough that a few people can sit comfortably, but small enough to be perfect for private conversations. Glorfindel takes a seat, shifts around in it and squirms, then finally gives up sitting down and walks over to the window. I wait for him to begin talking; whatever he wants to say is obviously important.

"You know that I—that we—went through one another's rooms," he says.

I feel a bit ashamed of myself. I was being nosy. I should not have gone in Glorfindel's rooms, and I really should not have taken his belongings without asking him. "Lord Glorfindel, if this is about the quill pen, then I am sorry. I truly only needed to borrow it for some formal invitations that I have to send to King Thranduil in Greenwood. I assure you that it will not happen again."

He chuckles and gives me a pained smile. "It isn't about the pen, Erestor." He takes a deep breath. "I was looking for Lord Elrond's book in your room, and I… found something."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "You found something?" This does not sound good.

"There were papers sitting by your bed."

Well, that could be any number of things. "I always read in bed."

"Well, yes… but I accidentally started reading them."

"Reading them?" Usually, the only thing I read to relax is history, along with the occasional Quenya grammar. "So you do read. Though I fail to see how one can read accidentally. What did you find so entertaining about essays on the various aspects of Quenya?"

He swallows. "There weren't any essays. They were… well… letters."

Letters? I almost never receive letters. Most of what comes addressed to me is complaints about negotiations and failed treaties. I have not kept up a steady correspondence by letter since…

Suddenly I understand.

"Well, I didn't read all of them!" he says as if defending himself. "I stopped as soon as I realized what I was doing. But I went to put them away and one fell out. It was the one from…" His voice trails off.

"From Captain Maikandro," I finish wearily, leaning back and closing my eyes. "Informing me of my brother's death."

I hear nothing in response. He must have just nodded again. "I didn't know," he says quietly. "Why didn't you ever tell anyone? We could have helped you."

That was almost the exact same thing that Nin asked me once when he caught me trying to reach a book on top of the bookshelf. I still remember the way he said it half-playfully, picking me up by the waist and setting me atop his shoulders so that I could reach what I needed. "It happened long ago, Lord Glorfindel. No one can do anything about it now."

He turns and walks back over, sitting down in the chair again. "But you haven't forgotten, have you? You still think about it. Even if it leaves your mind for a while, it comes back to you when you're quiet and alone. You never really forget." He sighs. "I know."

I leap to my feet. "How would you know?" I say, anger rising in me that I neither understand nor try to control. "How could you understand? Your life is perfect! You have everything you could ever want! Everyone adores you; everyone names you a beloved hero; everyone thinks that you are the greatest Elf who ever lived!" I can see the utter astonishment on his face, but I do not stop. "Do not try to tell me that you care, that you understand. You can never understand, Glorfindel! Soroninquë was more of a hero to me than you could ever become! It nearly killed my mother to learn of his death, and my sister followed her to Valinor. But I stayed here, performing my duty to the very best of my ability, learning to live with the fact that everyone I ever cared about is gone. What more do you want of me?" By now I am shouting, and I do not doubt that if anyone were to walk by the doorway, they could hear me quite clearly. But I am past caring about that. "What more do all of you want?"

Glorfindel is silent while I finish my tirade, watching me with a strange expression on his face.

I collapse back into my chair, feeling completely drained. "I cannot be what my brother was. I cannot be what you are."

"No one ever asked you to be," he answers. I look up at him, and his eyes are full of understanding. "I thought the same of myself when I was first sent back. Why was I so chosen, while my family and friends and those worthier than I remained?" He sighs. "You are right, Erestor, in that what happened to him cannot be changed. I wish I could. I wish I could undo every terror that the Shadow has inflicted on our people. But I can't. The only thing I can do is help is those who still remain." He looks out the window at the blue sky overhead. "It took so long for me to heal. Some nights I could even hear the voices of those I loved in Gondolin, and see their faces in my mind. It seemed as if I was supposed to live for them, to carry out what they could not. That I was supposed to be what they would have been. I have never felt so inadequate, so painfully small. It was not until I talked with Elrond that I began to realize the truth."

"What did he say?"

Glorfindel smiles. "That I cannot live any life but my own. The Valar did not send me back to be the Great Hero of Gondolin, the Last Living Memory of the Fallen City… they sent me back to be Glorfindel. I do not fully understand why I was chosen, but I know that I am that: chosen. Manwë did not choose Ecthelion, or King Turgon, or my father—but he chose me. If I try to be anything but myself, or if I try to change to be anything other than what I am, then I am defeating Manwë's purpose for my life." He leans back in his chair. "It's the same for you. Don't try to be like me, or your brother, or anyone else. Be yourself, and let us love you for who you are."

I am silent. I had forgotten about Gondolin, really… well, one would think that if Glorfindel truly understood, then he would not torment me on a daily basis as he does. Love me for who I am… as if the likes of Glorfindel ever would. For all his kind speech, he is probably just groveling so that I will be moved and forget how mean and callous he always is to me. Only Nin could ever be what Glorfindel is pretending to be. Keep groveling, Glorfindel. If nothing else, I am entertained. But now that I consider everything that is going on, I really do not have time for this.

"I am sorry for my outburst, Lord Glorfindel," I say in as sincere a voice as I can muster. "It was wrong of me."

Glorfindel gives me an understanding smile… it seems to be genuine, and if I did not know what he really is, then I would almost be fooled by it. "Don't worry, Erestor. I'm not angry at you." He looks toward the door. "There are others, though… I cannot believe Lord Elrond and Lindir!"

I decide to let the former subject drop, as it seems that Glorfindel is trying to move on to something else in the conversation. "You seem very certain that they will regret what they have done."

"They will, by the time I am finished with them," he says deviously.

I raise an eyebrow. "Do you have anything particular in mind?"

He grins. "Revenge."

Glorfindel.

Erestor looks at me blankly, his eyebrow still arched, and then frowns a little. "Revenge... on Lord Elrond?" he asks.

Oh Eru, I had forgotten that Erestor's natural inclination is probably to go and beg Elrond's forgiveness for being a bad influence on society. The poor Elf needs to have some more righteous indignation... No, actually, he has plenty of righteous indignation , and this is not the time to dwell on his startling outburst. I can think about it later.

"Maybe just on Lindir, for starters," I say. That double-crossing, two-faced little bandicoot. . . "I thought you might have some good ideas?" I know that Erestor has a devious mind, and I'm not particularly clever at plotting.

Erestor considers this briefly. "I would have to have some time," he says. "I apologize. I do not feel quite myself."

I think that's an understatement, but I don't mention this. It's odd, but for once I don't feel like antagonizing Erestor. I feel like tiptoing carefully around him.

"You didn't come to dinner, did you?" I ask suddenly. He glances up, startled. "You're probably hungry," I explain.

"Hungry? No, I am not hungry," Erestor says. He stands up. "If you will excuse me, there are some duties I must attend to." He makes a move for the door.

"No, please, I'm sure you should eat something," I say in as nonthreatening a tone as possible while lunging (nonthreateningly) to intercept him.

Erestor hesitates. I know he must be hungry, so I'm fairly sure the hesitation is due to him pondering over whether taking my suggestion would be some sign of defeat or not. "Very well," he says. "I will have a cup of tea."

"Good, I shall have some tea also," I say. Erestor seems irritated, but unsurprised, by this development. I open the door for the two of us and step out into the hallway.

I am very good at telling when Elves are loitering. The four or five Elves in the hall are doing just that. I expect they heard Erestor shouting at me and now they're waiting to see who will emerge from the conference room alive. They appear relieved to see that both of us are unscathed.

Have we really been disturbing the peace? I did not think that our dislike for each other was so obvious. Perhaps it was. Elrond seemed to think that it was time to take steps to end our bickering. Can't say I agree with his steps, but...

I glance back at Erestor. Judging by the look on his face, the same thoughts are running through his head. I almost expect him to retreat into the conference room again, but instead he walks past me and down the hall, ignoring the Elves who watch him go.

"Lord Glorfindel," says the Elf who is pretending to water the potted plants, "is everything all right?"

"Oh, yes. Everything's simply brilliant," I say. "Please excuse me." I hurry after Erestor, fighting my growing sense of doubt. Is this the right time to bother Erestor, or should I just leave him alone?

No, I think he wants to be left alone, and that's why I should stay. I told him that we could have helped him, so I'm going to try to help now. Except I'll probably bungle things... like I always do when it comes to Erestor...

I've caught up with Erestor. He doesn't look at me, so I simply walk alongside him. No reason to talk, we're trying not to aggravate each other. No reason to talk at all.

"Er. . .how did you get that book down?" I ask. I've been wondering about this all day.

"The book?"

"The ra– the Nolendil one."

After a moment, Erestor says, stiffly, "I climbed up the pillar."

The pillar? I think about this. There is a pillar right next the bookshelf, and I suppose someone could climb up it, but Erestor? I think about this some more. I imagine Erestor scrambling up the pillar, and it does explain all the scuffling noises I heard, and, well, the thought of it is quite amusing. I never would have thought of climbing up a pillar. I might have jumped up and down for a while, or gone off to find a ladder, or stood on the table, but I wouldn't have tried to climb up a pillar.

I try not to laugh, but I can't help it. I remember standing by the bookshelf, puzzling over how Erestor could have gotten the book, with the solution to the problem right in front of my nose.

Erestor halts and glares at me. "Lord Glorfindel," he begins, sounding very severe and annoyed, "I would prefer to have my tea by myself."

"I'm sorry," I say penitently, once I can speak. "Please do not think I was laughing at you. It's only that I have been wondering about how you could have retrieved your book, and I never thought of the pillar. It's such a marvelous solution!"

Erestor seems surprised, and then he snaps, "Well, I am sure that the next time you snatch a book from me, you will remember not to place it in the vicinity of a column of any sort."

Ah, he is determined to be angry. I suppose I deserve it. "Lord Erestor, I shouldn't have snatched the book. I'm very sorry that I did." I'm good at groveling, I think. My motto has always – at least, has mostly– been 'it's safest to be sorry'. It's one of the things that makes me lovable. And I am sorry, very much so.

Erestor is softening a little. Perhaps. His eyes aren't so narrowed, and he doesn't seem so vague and uncomprehending. Previously I was worried that he was having a nervous breakdown of some sort. At my apology, he makes a noncommital sound that might be interpreted (by an excessively optimistic person) as 'I forgive you', or (if translated by an excessively negative person) as 'you disgust me'. I decide to think of it simply as a noncommital sound.

We arrive at the kitchens. The Elves who work there are the Elves who love to cook, and who have spent hundreds of years perfecting recipes and inventing their own. They are always producing delicious treats. The woman who I encountered earlier today is standing by the door, drying her hands. One glance at the two of us and she says, "Lord Erestor, are you all right?"

"Yes, Meretheryn, I am well," mumbles Erestor. Tsk, and he said he's never told a lie in his life.

"He's just had a shock," I say, "and now he needs a cup of tea."

Meretheryn nods understandingly, looking concerned. "I made some flakemeal biscuits but a few minutes ago. Would you like some of them too? You can't have tea without biscuits."

Flakemeal biscuits? I love those things! Meretheryn's biscuits are absolutely wonderful. "Yes, please," I say hungrily. Now that I think about it, I haven't had much to eat either. Lindir devoured my pastry.

Erestor and I sit down at a table and stare at it as if it was the most interesting table in the world. It is not. We are simply trying not to look at each other. Perhaps having tea together was a bad idea. Not only will we have to attempt to make light conversation, we will have cups of boiling water on hand when – if– the conversation becomes violent. However, I would prefer to keep Erestor's attention on getting revenge on Lindir and Elrond, and off such touchy subjects as, just for example, him getting revenge on me.

Meretheryn brings us some tea and a plate of biscuits. Flakemeal biscuits are small, unleavened cakes, mouthwateringly crisp and crunchy, made of buttery oats and various other ingredients. I pick one up and take a bite. Mmm, these are good.

Erestor's cup of tea smells of mint. Mine is vanilla. I love vanilla tea. Meretheryn is such a wonderful Elf. She knows exactly what we like.

I am feeling very happy and contented, and I hope Erestor's mood is somewhat improving. However, he is staring fixedly at his biscuit as though there's the possibility that it might get up and walk away. Bother. This is all my fault. I'm sitting here harassing him by my very presence.

I take another biscuit. All right, now for some light conversation. "So, what should we do to Lindir?" I ask.

Erestor smiles a little. I have seen that smile before, on occasion. It the smile of an Elf who is trying to make the best of things. It is one of the only smiles I've seen him use. "Lord Elrond is quite desperate to heal someone," he says. He sips his tea calmly.

"Meaning we should shove Lindir down the stairs or something?"

Erestor shakes his head. I can only imagine what he's thinking now. That imbecilic Elf, he's not comprehended my clever plan immediately despite my vague and enlightening hint. "No," he says. "We should merely prove to Lord Elrond that Lindir has lost his mind."

I smirk a little. "And how shall we prove that?"

Erestor's smile widens slightly. Now he looks far more devious than longsuffering. "Oh, it should be very simple," he says.

TBC