Traditional Recipes for Disaster
by Ithiliel Silverquill and Erestor
Disclaimer: Neither of us own anything pertaining to Lord of the Rings.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Erestor.
I do not return to the dining hall. I was not really hungry to begin with, and now... Valar, I am such an idiot!
I open the door to my room, shut it soundly behind me, and drop into my desk chair. What did I do wrong? The mortals' language certainly sounded like common Westron, but when I tried to speak to them, they looked at me as if I was a babbling lunatic!
I glance at the half-finished paper on my desk. It is entitled On the Various Dialects of Westron. I had found an obscure volume detailing many different forms of dialectal Westron, and had undertaken a small project on the subject. A lot of help that was. I reach for the parchment, crumble it into a ball, and pitch it into the fire. There is something intensely satisfying about watching the edges turn black, then orange, then gray. The hours of work are reduced to ash in mere seconds, and I cannot really say that I care.
At least they are mortals. Perhaps it is awful of me to think like this, but at least someday they will die and the memory of my idiocy will die with them.
No, wait… Glorfindel knows. Valar, I am ruined.
I stand up and start pacing around the room. What have I done to warrant such a day? First the twins' pranks, then the assignment from Lord Elrond, then searching with Glorfindel, then finding out that Lord Elrond had deceived me because I argued too much with Glorfindel, then ranting at Glorfindel, then conspiring with Glorfindel and Lady Celebrían, then watching Lindir make a fool of himself, then seeing Lord Elrond drug himself, then watching Glorfindel sneeze himself half to death, then looking like a halfwit in front of foreign traders, now pacing around my room while my latest project smolders in the hearth.
I flop back down in the desk chair.
Suddenly I hear a knock at my door. "Erestor?"
"What?" I answer without looking up. I pick up my pen. I might as well get some work done.
The door opens and Glorfindel's face pokes in. "Ah. There you are."
"Here I am."
He frowns. "Is something bothering you?"
I throw down my pen. "Perhaps something is!"
He winces, slips into the room, and shuts the door behind himself.
"Perhaps I am bothered when in a single day I am tortured, lied to, laughed at, humiliated, and made to look like a halfwit! Perhaps I am bothered when you pick on me, laugh at me, and invade my privacy!" I pause to catch my breath. "Perhaps that bothers me!"
He bites his lip. "Well, you certainly have reasons to be upset. But that doesn't mean that you have to be."
I narrow my eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Laugh at it." He takes a seat in the armchair next to my fireplace. "This whole situation is incredibly ironic, isn't it? In the course of this day, you have managed to fool the mortal traders, get revenge on Lindir, conspire with Lady Celebrían, frighten Lord Elrond into drugging himself, and trick me with the oldest Elfling prank in history!" He chuckles. "Who knew that you could be so devious?"
"Deviousness is not the quality that I would like to be known for," I put in darkly. "Besides, what would it matter? The traders think that I have lost my mind completely, and Lindir will be babbling about everything all over Imladris as soon as he wakes up."
Instead of answering, Glorfindel just leans back in his chair and looks at me.
I shift uncomfortably. Glorfindel's stare is... unsettling. Usually, it is easy to think of him as simply an annoying Vanya, the golden Elf beloved by all of Imladris. But when he stares at me like that, I am reminded that he is not just Glorfindel, but Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin. He is easily five times my age, and he has somehow developed the same ability that my father and brother had: their stare makes me feel petty and pathetic, like a silly squawking bluebird. As if they could see through me as easily as if I were made of glass.
"Stop pushing us away, Erestor," Glorfindel says after a few minutes.
I turn back to my paperwork, eager to break that awful, piercing stare. "Who says that I am the one doing the pushing, Lord Glorfindel?"
"I did, and you know it's true." He sighs. "I'm only trying to help you. The only reason that people believe things about you that aren't true is because you never give them reason to believe anything else. You hardly ever talk to us except to correct our grammar or ask us to please pass the salt, and—"
"And to be very honest, I prefer it that way," I say, cutting him off.
He shuts his mouth and looks at me, then sighs. "Suit yourself, Erestor."
I nod absently and shuffle a few papers on my desk. Then I turn to face him. "But there is something that I want to discuss with you."
"And that is...?"
"The mortals. They are obviously here to discuss trade, since they are traders, and with Lord Elrond unconscious, they cannot make the agreements with him. As soon as the banquet is over, they will probably want to discuss some sort of treaty."
He shrugs. "Well, you're the one that usually works out that kind of thing anyway."
"Yes, but I need your help."
"For what?"
"I need you to translate. I cannot speak their language, but you can. Will you help me?"
He smiles. "Of course. They should be almost finished by now, actually. As I finished explaining everything to them, the cooks were serving almond pudding for dessert."
I stand. "Then it would be a good idea to go now."
He follows me as I leave my room and go down to the dining hall.
Glorfindel.
I cannot help but feel elated as I follow Erestor back to the dining hall. He actually asked for my help! I like being helpful. I rather admire the way Erestor was able to talk about being unable to speak the mortals' language without wincing. He's handling all this quite well.
We enter the dining hall, and nearly all the Elves remaining in the room turn on me and begin frantically asking questions.
"Lord Glorfindel, has Lindir gone mad?"
"Lord Glorfindel, where is Lord Elrond?"
"What is going on, Lord Glorfindel?"
I raise a hand for silence, and the room goes quiet in a very satisfying manner. Then I announce, "I apologize for the disruption of this banquet. It seems that Lindir has temporarily gone mad, but it's nothing serious. Lord Elrond is dealing with the problem, the situation is completely under control, and there is plenty of almond pudding for everyone. Please, do not worry."
Most of the Elves seem sated by this brief speech. I can see the mortals sneaking up to the dessert table for seconds. The almond pudding of Imladris should be famous throughout Middle-Earth, it's so good.
"So, what should we do now?" I ask. "Would you like to try some of the almond pudding?"
Erestor shakes his head. "No."
I look at the dessert table. There's not just almond pudding there. I can see pastries drizzled with honey, marzipan of different colors shaped into various fruits, and a long, dark loaf sprinkled with sugar and filled with cream. My mouth waters. How could Erestor not be hungry? "I am getting a bite to eat," I tell him. All my meals today have been interrupted.
I stroll over to the dessert table with my usual nonchalance, grab a plate and put a sticky pastry on it. The pastry looks lonely. I add a dollop of almond pudding. Then, barely suppressing a squeak of delight, I cut myself a generous slice of the loaf.
I meander back to where Erestor is standing. He looks at my plate and raises his eyebrows with his aggravating supercilious air. I stop licking the cream off my fingers and give him a rather guilty grin. "I'm hungry," I explain.
"I can see that." Erestor watches as I sit down and start munching my pastry. The outside is crispy and sweet, but the inside is very soft and practically melts in my mouth. Meretheryn has truly outdone herself this time.
"Would you like to try some marzipan?" I ask. "Or a piece of this bread?"
Erestor sits down. "No, thank you." He's back in one of his sulky moods again. And after my profound speech on pushing people away, too. I thought it had gone down well, after he asked for help, but now he's regressed to staring at the table and thinking gloomy Erestor-thoughts.
"Something good must have happened to you today," I remark. He'd made his day sound absolutely awful, but surely it couldn't have been that bad. I am sure the 'tortured' part must have been an exaggeration.
Erestor thinks for a moment, just to raise my hopes, and then says, "No."
The pastry finished, I sample some of the almond pudding. It's perfect; not too sweet at all. I hand Erestor a little marzipan apple. "Here. Try this."
Erestor holds the apple, looking at it blankly. He takes a tentative bite. He carefully places the apple on a napkin. I do not think he likes marzipan. Then he says, "I just want this day to be over."
I nod.
"So let's talk to the mortals now instead of delaying like this," says Erestor firmly.
I look sadly at my pudding. "All right."
I suppose I could put my foot down and say that I am not going to move until I've finished eating, but if Erestor wants the day to be over, the least I can do is help him finish it on a positive note.
Erestor and I advance towards the mortals. As we are doing so, Celebrían comes sidling over, looking very casual and mildly annoyed. She smiles brightly at us. "Lord Glorfindel, Lord Erestor, could you two perhaps explain why I cannot open the door to the infirmary?"
Erestor appears startled by this new information. "You cannot open the door?" he asks. He glances at me in a very pointed way.
The key to the infirmary suddenly feels very heavy in my pocket. "Er, I locked the door, Lady Celebrían," I say guiltily.
"You what? Is my husband in there?" demands Celebrían.
"Yes."
"With Lindir?"
"Yes, Lady Celebrían."
Celebrían looks at me, her head tilted to the side. "May I ask why?"
Immediately I suffer from an inopportune moment of incoherency. "Well, you see, er, Lord Elrond– "
"We did not want to worry anyone unduly by mentioning this,"explains Erestor calmly, "but Lord Elrond accidentally drugged himself."
"Really," says Celebrían flatly. She crosses her arms and glares at us.
Erestor and I realize something. We exchange a brief, horrified look, and then say, in unison, "We did not drug him!"
Celebrían smiles that bright, annoyed smile. "I agreed to help you with your little revenge, but I did not agree to let you drug my husband."
"But we didn't!" I say. "He drugged himself! He was making a sleeping draft for Lindir, and then he accidentally drank it."
"You expect me to believe that? Elrond would not make such a silly mistake," says Celebrían. "And why did you lock the door?"
Why did I lock the door? I can't remember. I panic quietly.
"He locked the door so that Lindir would not escape and cause even more mayhem than he has already," says Erestor. Thank you, Erestor. Thank you thank you thank you.
"Yes, that's why I locked the door," I say.
Celebrían gives us both a skeptical look. She holds out her hand, and I give her the key. "When Elrond wakes up, I'll ask him what happened," she says, "so if you would like to confess to anything right now, you may."
We shake our heads, subdued. I can't believe she suspects us of drugging our lord! That would not be proper. He's the one Elf we didn't drug.
So much for Erestor's day ending on a positive note...
TBC
