Traditional Recipes for Disaster
by Ithiliel Silverquill and Erestor
Disclaimer: Neither of us own anything pertaining to Lord of the Rings. The nimringlas blossoms belong to Ithiliel Silverquill. And I forgot to mention in earlier chapters that Nolendil belongs to her too.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Erestor.
I try to avoid people as I walk down the hallway. Not that this is really unusual, but now I am doing it consciously, instead of just by my nature.
Thankfully, there are not many people here anyway. Almost everyone seems to be in the dining hall, which is perfectly fine with me. Even the Elves that had been loitering around the conference room while Glorfindel and I talked are gone.
It does feel strange, though, to be sneaking through my own house. Is this how a criminal must feel? No… scratch that, I am not a criminal. Elrond is the one who began this mess, Lindir is the one who manipulated it for his own pleasure, and Glorfindel is the one who… well, who is constantly annoying. And invasive. And overbearing. And a hundred other things that I do not have time to mention.
I open the door to the conference room as quietly as I can. The book is sitting on the armrest of the chair, right where I left it. Ah, for once something is going according to plan.
I glance around the room before I leave, remembering my "conversation" with Glorfindel. I am struck by a thought. Why did I say so much? I rarely talk with Glorfindel about anything personal, and I never talk about Nin. How did Glorfindel convince me to talk that much?
I set those thoughts aside to stew over later and leave the room, tucking the book under my arm. I hope I do not look too suspicious.
I am so engrossed in looking casual and nonchalant that I do not see the Elfling in front of me until I very nearly step on him.
"Ressi!" he says, looking up at me with big, teary eyes. He is leaning back on his crutches, obviously trying to look helpless and pathetic. He does look pathetic, but not in the sense of the word that he is hoping for.
"Yes, Elladan?" I answer frostily. Not only is he trying to manipulate me, but he insists on using that infantile nickname.
He looks down at the stairway in front of us. "I can't get down the stairs. Ada says I have to use crutches."
I refrain from commenting that the accident that resulted in his broken ankle was undoubtedly his fault, and that if he would only start being careful, he could avoid such pointless injuries. But instead I only say, "I am sorry to hear that."
He looks back up at me. "Will you help me?"
I do not have time for this! The Lady can only keep Lord Elrond distracted for so long, and if I do not get those herbs, then our plan is useless.
"I think it would be a good idea if you just ask G—" I begin, and then stop myself. I had been about to say I think it would be a good idea if you just ask Glorfindel for help. Glorfindel is in the kitchens sweet-talking Meretheryn (poor woman), and even if Elladan managed to find him, it would be pointless by then to ask for help. I look around the hallways, to see if anyone else is there to help him, but it is deserted. I sigh. "Very well, child."
I pick Elladan up as carefully as I can, so as not to hurt either one of us—if I drop him, then I am sure Lord Elrond will hurt me. Badly. I make my way slowly down the stairs, trying to balance Elfling and book and crutches all at once. Elladan is clinging to my robe with one hand, which is fine, and my hair with the other hand, which is painful.
Finally I reach the bottom, and with a sigh of relief, I start to set Elladan down. But before I can, he grabs me around the neck, very nearly choking me.
"Thank you," he says, smiling up at me. "I knew you would help me. 'Rohir said that you would say to go away, but I knew you wouldn't."
I grimace. What a compliment. "Thank you for standing up for me," I say.
He shrugs as I lower him to the ground and help him steady himself on the crutches. "I knew you wouldn't, because Ada would give you a mean look if you didn't. Like the time Glorfy asked you to help him write a report on the warriors and you said you were too busy."
What wonderful reputation I have. During that incident, I had been busy. Busy avoiding Glorfindel, among other things.
"Bye, Ressi!" Elladan calls, shuffling away gaily on his crutches. I indulge in a glare at his back. The twins spend too much time around Glorfindel, if you ask me. He must be teaching them how to effectively insult me.
I shake my head and proceed to the herb closet. I should be using my time trying to accomplish my plan, rather than dreaming up ways to get back at Glorfindel and the twins. I still have yet to thank them properly for the bucket of cold water that was waiting above my doorway this morning, however.
Lord Elrond is nowhere to be seen, so Lady Celebrían must have done her work. I tiptoe over to the herb closet, open the door, and then turn to Nolendil's recipe.
I am glad that at least Lord Elrond is organized about how he stores his herbs, and that no one with organizational skills comparable to Glorfindel's is responsible. I am able to find the herbs that I need quickly.
I am about to close the door to the herb closet, when suddenly I notice a bundle of flowers on a high shelf. They look like nimringlas blossoms!
Nimringlas, as anyone who has taught mischievous Elflings can explain, is a very potent herb. It has very little flavor, only a slight sweetness. A dose of just one petal can cure some maladies, but a dose of two petals has a few interesting side effects: dizziness, blurred vision, and… sneezing.
I reach up to the shelf and take just one blossom. This will come in handy, I think. I drop the nimringlas blossom in my pocket and close the herb closet quietly. I look around the room once more, just to be sure that I am alone, and then leave.
I avoid everyone in the hallways again. It would not do to be caught at this stage of the game.
Glorfindel.
I enter my bedroom cautiously, just in case someone is lurking inside it. Usually I'd be worried about Elladan and Elrohir hiding in my bed or wardrobe, but today I wonder if I'll find Erestor poking through my papers, or Lindir stealing my clothing, or Lord Elrond himself deciding that maybe I'd be friends with Erestor if he throws my weaponry out my window.
When I consider the fact that Erestor has been in my room, I see it rather differently. It must have been quite a shock for him to discover how many things can end up on someone's floor. My bedroom looks like a tip. I pick up a few arrows, twirl one between my fingers, and look around. I should tidy this place.
I wade over to my bed, and try to figure out how the sheets go on. Usually I just pile them up on one side, but I have a vague recollection that they should be tucked in under the mattress.
Tucking sheets turns out to be a dangerous activity. As I attempt to put the corners of the sheets under the mattress, the mattress attempts to fall on my head and pin me to the bedframe. I wrestle with my bed for a few minutes, before smoothing down the blankets and stepping back to admire my handiwork.
It's a little lumpy, but looks rather good for a first try.
I pick my clothes off the floor, and either hang them in my closet or fold them as neatly as I can. I discover a few interesting articles underneath the first layer of debris: a dagger, a fork, and a pot of ink being the most surprising. I could have accidentally crippled myself!
I clear my desk of a few old candle stubs, a dish of dead broccoli, and a report that I apparently started writing four years ago. Finally I scrape spots of wax off the desktop, take my quill pen out of my pocket, and place it reverently in a prominent position. Perhaps Erestor took it because it was half-hidden by my collection of artwork, and he did not realize how important it is to me. Perhaps I had hidden it behind the artwork because I was afraid to look at it and remember my father and my days in Valinor. I shall not hide it any more.
After more than an hour of sorting, rearranging, and frenzied cleaning, I collapse on the chair I discovered under a pile of laundry. I have found seven books. I did not know I had so many in my bedroom! I open the first one, feeling a bit curious. Why did I borrow this one from the library?
I remember after scanning the first page. I borrowed this particular book because I thought it would make a good paperweight. It's nice and heavy, but quite small and square. According to the title page, it is A Thesis on the Most Curious Striped Horse of Far Harad. Apparently some dedicated Elf spent two hundred years stalking a herd of black-and-white-striped horses. Fascinating. I did not know that such creatures existed, but then, I have visited Far Harad only briefly.
After about twenty-five pages, I become aware that my bedroom is growing dark. The banquet will be starting soon! It is to take place after sunset, when the stars have come out. Night is the time when Elves think back to what the world was like in the beginning, before the sun and moon were made. It is an important time of day.
I leap to my feet, and put the book on my desk, marking my spot with the fork. I fling on my nicest robe, and stand in front of my mirror, braiding my hair away from my face as quickly as possible. I gaze at my reflection for a moment. Do I look guilty? Do I look capable of concocting wicked schemes to drug poor harpists? Do I look anything like Erestor?
No, I look completely clueless and innocent. Except I don't want to look clueless; I would rather look wise but innocent. Is that possible? I frown wisely at my reflection. There. Much better.
I open the door and nearly walk into Lord Elrond, who is standing by the door about to knock on it. "Glorfindel!" he says.
I recover quickly from my shock. "Lord Elrond!" I squeak.
"Ah, I see you are ready to attend the banquet," says Elrond.
"I am," I reply. And then, since he doesn't seem to be about to go off into a lengthy spiel, I ask, "Is something wrong?"
"Er... not wrong exactly," says Lord Elrond nervously, "but something unexpected has come up."
Some very unexpected things are going to come up soon. I wonder if Lord Elrond caught Erestor rifling through his herb cabinet. Should I confess quickly and get it over with? I open my mouth to say, "I can explain everything", but Elrond cuts me off with an explanation of his own.
"Some mortals have arrived," says Elrond. "They are traders who have been traveling for some time."
"They will be attending the banquet, perhaps?" I ask.
Elrond smiles. "Yes. We could not turn them away. I do not think they will make trouble."
"That's good, though one can never tell with mortals," I say. Then I remember that Elrond has mortal blood in him too. "With most mortals," I add rapidly. "Some mortals are very well-behaved, I imagine."
Elrond nods. "True."
"Is there anything I can do for you, Lord Elrond?" I ask politely, wondering why he showed up to tell me this.
"Could you take the mortals to the dining hall for me? Do you not speak several mortal languages?"
"I do." I have traveled around Arda for years, and languages are one thing that I learn easily. "I shall certainly take the mortals to the dining hall."
"Good. I knew I could rely on you."
Elrond turns to go, and I say, in my most apologetic tone, "And Lord Elrond, I am very, very sorry, but Lord Erestor and I have been unable to find your book. Will you please give us more time? We'll find it as soon as we can."
Elrond looks at me guiltily, and then, with a weak smile, says, "Don't worry about the book, Glorfindel. You can take your time looking for it."
I nod. "Erestor and I hate to inconvenience you," I say humbly.
Elrond is twisting the sleeve of his robe into a crumpled ball while trying to look relaxed. "Please," he practically begs me, "don't worry about it at all."
"All right," I say cheerfully, feeling bad for teasing him so much. I sweep an elaborate bow and hurry merrily through the halls to find the mortals.
The traders are congregated in the hallway. They do look like decent mortals, and, like most outsiders who enter Imladris, they have a half-awed, half-stunned look in their faces. They stare at me when I enter the room, and I smile brightly at them. I like mortals. They are vastly interesting creatures.
It turns out that they speak a rather obscure mortal language, one rather similar to Westron, but different enough to be tricky. Fortunately, I speak it fluently, since I spent several years patrolling their region of the world. I soon make the traders feel comfortable, and when I ask them if they would like to eat with us, they say that they would be delighted to do so.
As I proceed towards the dining hall, mortals in tow, a thought occurs to me. It is not exactly a happy thought. Meretheryn will have drugged Lindir's drink by now, all being well. At the banquet, if Erestor is correct, he'll start acting as though he has gone insane.
What, in the name of Elbereth, are the mortals going to think of all this?
I answer my own question. They are going to think that the Elves of Imladris are bonkers. And then they'll wander around Middle-Earth, trading things with people and talking about the time they visited Imladris and one of the Elves went mad right before their eyes.
I halt nervously before one of the doors to the dining hall, and the mortals look at me in confusion. Should I warn them about what's going to happen? Or should I just act clueless?
I'll act clueless. I smile at them again, politely tell them not to stick their hands in the stew-pot, and then open the door wide.
Dinner is about to be served.
TBC
