Traditional Recipes for Disaster

by Ithiliel Silverquill and Erestor

Disclaimer: Neither of us own anything pertaining to Lord of the Rings.


CHAPTER NINE

Erestor.

I give the herbs and recipe to Meretheryn and then dash back to my room to change. People are beginning to gather in the dining hall, and I should already be there! On time is ten minutes early, as my father used to say, and it would not do to be late. Especially since tonight we are going to poison—er, drug—Lindir. No, it would not be a good idea to be late at all.

I rummage through my wardrobe and quickly find the robe that I wear to formal dinners: dark blue velvet with silver trim. Simple, yet elegant.

I change quickly, brush my hair, and then hurry back to the dining hall, making sure that I take the nimringlas blossom from my pocket. I will need it later on.

The dining hall is full of people. There are a group of traders, conversing back and forth in accented Westron. Glorfindel is sitting straight in his chair, looking around the room. If I did not know that he was involved in a dastardly plot, then I must say that I would not suspect him. However, since I know that he is involved in a dastardly plot, it is obvious to me that he is practically on pins and needles. Do I look that suspicious?

There is an empty chair next to him, so I sit down. Dinner is about to be served, so the conversation is dying down.

He looks over at me and gives a little start. "Erestor."

I lift an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I didn't see you sit down."

I start to push back my chair. "Were you saving this seat for someone?"

"No, stay," he says. Then he gives a wry grin and lowers his voice. "We're partners in crime, so I suppose that we should stick together, right?"

I avoid looking him in the eyes. "You are not making this any easier, Glorfindel."

He snickers. "Forgive me."

I decide not to answer. It is hard to tell whether Glorfindel is being sarcastic or not, so I shall simply assume that he is. It is the safest solution.

Elrond begins the dinner with a short speech that no one listens to, and then the cooks bring in the food and drink. I cringe inwardly as Meretheryn sets Lindir's goblet of miruvor down with a glance in my direction. Does she have to be so obvious about it? Everyone is going to think that something is wrong…

Suddenly I hear Glorfindel's voice next to me. "Erestor?"

"Yes?" I answer without looking up.

"Is there a particular reason that you are trying to tear the fringe off the tablecloth?"

I look up at him in confusion, then look down at the tablecloth. I must have been absentmindedly tugging at the fringe. I put down my hands. "No, not really."

He smiles. "That I should live to see the day when you get fidgety…"

"Quiet," I hiss, as the Elf-maiden to my left asks me to pass the bread. She looks at me for a moment, her face stricken, and then I realize my mistake. I pick up the plate of bread and hand it to her. "I was not speaking to you, miss."

She gives me an insulted glare and turns to the person on her other side to start a conversation.

Glorfindel elbows me in the ribs, and I turn to him with an irritated glance. "What?"

He lifts an eyebrow. "No wonder you are so popular. Everyone thinks that you are disgusted with them."

"Hmph," I answer. "At least they are not under any false impressions."

He blinks once and then takes a sip of his drink. "You should try being easier to get along with."

"Thank you for the advice," I say darkly. I look around the table. Everyone is either talking, eating, or drinking. A small group of minstrels is clustered at the back, playing light music that adds a pleasant background to the light conversation.

Someone taps me on the shoulder. It is the Elf-maiden to my left again.

"Lord Erestor, would you mind handing me the salt?" There is a cautious edge to her voice, as if she thinks that I am going to bite her head off.

I sigh and pick up the salt. "Not at all, milady." I hand it to her, and she takes it with a murmured "thank you."

Glorfindel chuckles. "Not bad for a first try. Next time, maybe you could even smile."

I shoot him a glare. "Enough, Lord Glorfindel." Yes, he must be where the twins learned how to effectively insult me. I finger the nimringlas blossom in my pocket. Wait for the right moment, Erestor…

Lindir still has not touched his drink. At the moment, he is engaged in lively conversation with a flirtatious Elf-maiden beside him. I swallow and begin to stir my dish of stew, trying to keep an eye on Lindir and look casual at the same time. Does he know what is going on? Is he trying to make me suffer?

Glorfindel elbows me in the ribs again. "Erestor," he whispers, "if you are trying to be subtle, then you are failing miserably."

"So are you." I glance around at the other guests, suddenly feeling nervous. Is it true?

The young Elf to Glorfindel's right asks him a question about whetstones, apparently to continue an earlier conversation, and Glorfindel sets down his drink and turns to talk to him.

I take a small sip of my own miruvor and make another careful observation of everyone else to make sure that no one is watching me. Silently, I break two petals of the nimringlas blossom off in my pocket, then crumble them between my fingers.

Glorfindel is completely involved in his whetstone conversation, and everyone else is either eating or talking. No one is paying any attention to me at all.

There is a small dish of butter behind Glorfindel's goblet. With one motion that I hope is subtle and quick, I drop the powder into the clear miruvor as I reach for the butter.

Once I draw back my arm, I try to act as if nothing is unusual. I simply spread butter on my piece of bread, set down the dish, and then risk a glance around the room. No one is looking at me strangely, and Glorfindel is still animatedly talking with the young Elf, so apparently no one noticed.

I look back down at my bowl of stew. Am I actually supposed to eat? Valar, I am nervous… uncommonly so. How did the Elves in Nolendil's account manage to remain so calm when they poisoned the ambassador? Let alone the Elflings in my classes whenever they tried to trick me…

Suddenly there is an uproar on the other side of the table. Everyone looks up, startled, even Glorfindel.

I am staring directly at Lindir and his visibly empty glass.

Glorfindel.

Lindir's goblet is empty; he must be drugged by now. I continue to speak with the warrior beside me, trying at the same time to watch the harpist out of the corner of my eye. Erestor, who is sitting beside me, practically radiates anxiety. He must have plotted lots of revenges, but I do not think he has carried many of them out.

Lindir now appears to be completely discombobulated. Then he begins laughing quietly to himself. I continue to listen to the warrior's monologue on whetstones (something that he seems to feel strongly about), nodding and looking Wise and Innocent. At the same time, I'm nearly breathless with suspense.

Lindir stands up, grins confusedly for a moment, and then, shunning his chair, clambers up onto the table. Now is a good time to notice what is going on. I turn around with a gasp that is only half-feigned, as Lindir loudly asks the maiden, "What on Middle-Earth are you wearing? It looks as though you've wrapped a skunk around your neck."

I choke. The maiden is wearing a striking black and white scarf, though it makes the think of the horses of Harad, not skunks. She is also wearing an expression of pure outrage. I do not think she likes Lindir anymore.

Lindir kicks a bowl of fruit off the table, sweeps a low bow to his horrified audience, and begins talking. "What fine weather we're having for this time of night. Why are you all looking at me like that? I'm here to tell you a story. You see, there was a Half-Elf, and his name was Lord Elrond. Actually, his name still is Lord Elrond. And one day he was walking along in Lothlorien and he saw a bird. The bird was called Gorelen, but that's not important. In fact, not even the bird is important. This story is about Lord Elrond."

Lindir briefly halts his monologue, and half-dances along the table top, nimbly avoiding flower arrangements and platters of food. The Elves are all staring at him, aghast. I realize that I'm hardly breathing, and that I'm chewing my knuckles with excitement. Elrond's mouth has dropped open, and he's standing by his chair, apparently unable to move. The mortals are gawking at the spectacle, cutlery held in midair. As for Erestor, he's leaning forward in his chair, clutching the table with both hands, obviously torn between horror and delight at the success of his plan.

"Lord Elrond was in love," continues Lindir. "He wanted to impress Lady Celebrían."

It seems as though I will not have to explain the Elrond-rumor to Erestor, since Lindir himself is telling it to us. I sit back in my chair, and nibble on a pasty.

Lindir picks up three apples, attempts to juggle them, and ends up dropping them all on my dumbstruck lieutenant. "What was I saying?" he asks us all, frowning slightly. Elrond recovers his composure and leaps at the harpist, but Lindir skips merrily away from his frantic lord, bows again, and goes on. "Lord Elrond wanted to impress Celebrían. But," (here Lindir sniggers) "he didn't quite manage to. In fact, it so happened that he ended up falling face-first in the Nimrodel." (At this point, perhaps to Elrond's relief, the story becomes slurred and incoherent, but the words 'much amusement' and 'angry marchwardens', and 'had gone fishing' can be made out with difficulty. At last he seems tired of the story changes the subject.) "You!" (Lindir turns on a dignified Elf-Lord) "You were the one who said your father-in-law is an ugly old geezer! And you," (he spins around and points at a now-cringing maiden) "you told your little brother that there was a warg in his closet, and now he refuses to change his clothes!"

Erestor glances at me and I grin. "Congratulations, Lord Erestor, on thinking up a perfect revenge," I say, with a gracious nod. I reach for my goblet. "Lord Elrond will certainly be busy healing him."

Erestor smiles his wicked smile. "I would not be surprised if Lord Elrond keeps Lindir in the infirmary longer than necessary."

"Or if Lord Elrond makes a longer stay necessary," I add. I'm about to take a drink, but Lindir has grown bored with humiliating the various Elves of Imladris, and moves on.

"And now I am going to sing a song," announces Lindir with alacrity, eluding Elrond's grasp once more. "It is a song about Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor, and it is called The Lay of the Lunatics."

The two of us leap to our feet as one. Erestor looks a bit panic-stricken, and I suppose I appear the same. Elrond makes another snatch at Lindir's robes. Celebrían has a mildly interested expression on her face. The other Elves still don't know what to do. They, at least, think that Lindir is insane.

I run forward, clutch at Lindir's ankle, but miss. Erestor, evidently realizing that sinceI'm going to make a fool of myself, he might as well simply watch, is standing by the table, looking amused. I lunge at the harpist again and manage to grab him by the wrist.

Lindir bursts into song as I haul him bodily from the room.

"Oh dear! I do not know what happened!" cries Elrond, dashing to where I am attempting to get Lindir quiet. I am also trying to be optimistic. Probably the other Elves didn't hear the part of the song about 'the half-witted, scatterbrained Vanya'. They were in shock. They'll forget.

But maybe they'll remember the part about Erestor... such an apt description...

Erestor materializes in the hallway, still looking very entertained. He watches as Elrond tries to calm down Lindir, and then sidles over to me. "That went very well," he comments.

I nod, and then notice he's carrying a goblet of wine. In fact, it's my goblet! Does Erestor have some weird obsession with stealing my things? "That's mine," I tell him.

"What?" Erestor looks at me blankly.

"You're holding my goblet, aren't you?"

He stares at it as though he's never seen it before. "Oh, so I am," he says. "I apologize. I must have snatched it up in the excitement of the moment." He hands me the goblet with a bright smile. (Seeing Erestor smile so much is scaring me.) "Shall we accompany Lord Elrond to the infirmary?" he asks.

I grin. "Yes, let's."

TBC