Traditional Recipes for Disaster

by Ithiliel Silverquill and Erestor

Disclaimer: Neither of us own anything pertaining to Lord of the Rings. This story was written for entertainment, and not for money.

Author's Note: This, it would seem, is the second to last chapter. Enjoy!


CHAPTER TWELVE

Erestor.

My mind is whirling as Lady Celebrían walks away. How could she suspect us?

How could she suspect me?

This is quite possibly an even worse discovery than that of Lord Elrond's plan. It is one thing for my lord to try to trick me into working with an annoying associate, but another for the Lady to suspect me of outright treason and disloyalty! I would never think of drugging Lord Elrond… after all, I swore my service to him when I was named chief advisor. Even more than that, Lord Elrond is one of the only people who knows everything—well, almost everything—about me, and still seems to think that I can be trusted. I would no more think of drugging him than I would think of drugging my own mother.

Lindir is another matter. He is annoying and nosy. I would drug Lindir, but I would never drug Lord Elrond. The idea is simply… staggering.

And to think that Lady Celebrían believes that I would really do it, and then lie to her about it…

There is no adjective in Sindarin or Quenya to adequately describe how I feel about that.

Glorfindel takes advantage of my temporary stunned disbelief to reattach himself to his dessert. He seems unsettled by this turn of events, but not remarkably so.

Is Glorfindel ever remarkably unsettled about anything?

He polishes off the pudding, then reaches for the marzipan and pops a green bunch of grapes into his mouth. "I can't believe that she would think that," he says.

I swallow and sit down in a nearby chair. I need to sit down. "I suppose that what we were told as Elflings is true."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Sit still and stop making faces at the tapestries?"

"No, not that," I say. My parents never had to tell me to stop making faces at tapestries. Tapestries are inanimate objects, unable to register or respond to communication. I can, though, imagine a young Glorfindel squirming and sticking his tongue out at a wall hanging, and the mental image is slightly amusing. "I mean, that those who lie will never be believed, even when they tell the truth."

"Ah." He takes a marzipan strawberry and munches on it contemplatively. "Well, if I had to find a moral for our situation, that one would serve as well as any." He reaches for an apple. "Are you sure you don't want anything to eat, Erestor? You haven't eaten all day."

I eye the marzipan warily. I remember one evening when my brother smuggled a whole handkerchief full of the sweets out of a banquet hall. We ate marzipan in his room until we were nearly ill, and I have never cared for it since. "No thank you," I say.

He shrugs and eats the last marzipan fruit, a rosy peach. "It looks like the traders are finished."

I look over, and sure enough, the mortals are conversing among themselves, looking around to see what is supposed to happen next. I stand. "Come, then. The sooner we negotiate this treaty, the sooner they can leave."

"You're so friendly tonight," he comments dryly.

The mortals seem comfortable with Glorfindel—or, at least as comfortable as any mortal could be when confronted with the merry grin of a reborn Balrog-slayer who has had too much marzipan and pastries—but they regard me with caution. I think they expect me to say something else completely nonsensical.

Glorfindel takes a seat next to them, greets them in their language, and then says something that I cannot understand. A few of the mortals look at me, snickering, and I feel heat rush into my face. What is Glorfindel saying about me?

He turns to me. "The traders wish to discuss modifications to the rice treaty, they say. A drought has damaged their ability to grow rice, and they need to ask a higher price until there is enough to feed them as well as us."

I frown. The price for our rice imports is ridiculously high as it is. "What do they want?"

He turns back, converses with them, and then names me a price. My eyes widen. "Lord Elrond would never accept that offer. Tell them that it is outright robbery."

He hesitates. "Erestor, they say that they need the higher price to feed their families."

"They are getting too much as it is. Imladris can only give so much. If they wish aid, they can wait until Lord Elrond wakes and ask him. We are not going to raise the price that we pay for their rice." I sigh. "Besides, traders have been known to exaggerate their stories to strike a better bargain. Do not believe everything they tell you."

He frowns. "Why do we trade with them if we don't trust them?"

"Because someone has an unnatural love of rice pudding with his breakfast, and we cannot grow rice in the stables," I say darkly. "They are usually honorable traders, though, once the bargaining is done and an agreement is made. It is during the negotiations that we must be watchful."

"Whatever you say," he says uncertainly, before relaying my message to the traders.

I relish a small moment of triumph while the traders discuss this new development. Whatever I say, indeed.

Glorfindel talks with them, then turns back to me. "They say that they can afford to accept a lesser rise in the price, but they have to have something." He lifts an eyebrow. "What do you say?"

I shake my head. "Tell them that they will not get a single more gold coin than they get already." When the mortals begin to look unsettled, I add, "And that if there is trouble, we can find other sources for rice."

Glorfindel dutifully relays the message, then returns with, "They say that they need the money desperately."

"Then they can take their rice to another settlement. Tell them that we have found another colony of rice farmers that asks even less for rice than they already do. There have been no droughts there."

"Have you really?" asks Glorfindel.

"Yes."

The traders look panicked, and they converse hurriedly in their quasi-Westron before answering Glorfindel. "They say that they will do anything to keep our trade routes open."

"Then tell them that we will pay our current price, and no more."

Glorfindel gives them the message, and the leader looks relieved. One of them fires off a string of words that sound rather impolite, but when he is faced with a glare from both his leader and Glorfindel, he falls abruptly silent.

"Shall we consider it done, then?" I say.

Glorfindel talks and then turns back to me. "They say that they are content, and they will take your message back home."

I smile. "Ask them if they wish us to send a squadron of warriors to assist them with recovering from the drought."

The mortals, startled, decline vehemently.

"Very well, then," I say, smiling at them.

Glorfindel.

Erestor looks pleased. I suppose he must be happy that a trade agreement has been reached so quickly and conclusively. As for me, I am trying not to imagine the poor traders and their families languishing beside their dried out rice paddies.

Maybe their tale of woe was true, but then, maybe it wasn't. Erestor knew what he was doing.They seem glad that we're still doing trade with them, even though their price has not changed. They promise to bring the usual amount of rice at the usual time, now that everything is worked out. Then they announce that they are leaving.

"Would you not like to stay the night here?" I ask. I think a few of the mortals have eaten too much of Meretheryn's almond pudding. I hope they don't need medical attention, since Lord Elrond is not here to give it to them.

"No," says the spokesman. "We'd rather not." He shoots an annoyed and nervous look at Erestor, who smiles smugly. He may not know the language, but I think he has a very good idea of what is going on. "We'll leave tonight," finishes the trader.

"All right," I say.

Erestor and I walk the mortals to the door and say our farewells. When Erestor isn't looking , I hand them a small wall ornament as a memento of their stay. The traders stumble off through the darkness to find their horses and carts.

"That went very well," says Erestor, as happy and satisfied as I've seen him. Then his expression changes drastically as he spots Lady Celebrían advancing towards us. I cannot quite describe the look on her face, but I do think she appears a lot like her mother at this moment.

Celebrían jabs her finger at Erestor, and he takes an understandable step back. "You– you poisoner!" she says fiercely. "My husband is completely insensible, and it would seem that he has been given a double dosage of his most effective sleeping draft! You cannot tell me that he drank such a potent mixture in a moment of mental abstraction!"

Now that he is the one under attack, Erestor seems unable to say anything to defend himself. The amount of shock in his expression would convince me of his innocence, but Celebrían just continues to rant at him.

"He was going to give it to Lindir," I interject. "Then he drank it accidentally." 'A moment of mental abstraction' describes it well, though.

"Why, then, did he double the amount of ingredients necessary?" Celebrían is furious. She brandishes the infirmary key threateningly in my face. "And why did you lock the door?"

"I don't know why he doubled the ingredients," I say, quite calmly, "but Lindir was being very... energetic, and he probably wanted to make sure Lindir was well-rested. How can a humble warrior understand the mind of a healer?"

I think this sounds very profound. I glance at Erestor to see what he thinks of my explanation. Unfortunately, I can't be sure if he liked it or not, since he continues to look absolutely horrified by our lady's accusation. The poor Elf's day must be getting worse and worse.

Celebrían's eyes are sparkling –with anger, I think– and she is glaring at the two of us, obviously unpersuaded. She turns back to Erestor, which seems somewhat unfair to me, since he looks about ready to keel over in a dead faint. "You have shown yourself to be capable of poisoning people, Erestor," she says firmly. "After drugging Lindir, why would you draw the line at Elrond? And perhaps you have poisoned others...?" She glances at me idly.

Erestor is stricken. He just stands there, his eyes very wide, dithering in distress.

"Lady Celebrían, I know that Erestor would not drug Lord Elrond," I say. "Even if he did, he would not lie about it. Lord Erestor never lies."

Erestor practically whimpers in relief. Celebrían is smiling brightly again. "Perhaps you did the deed, then, Lord Glorfindel, since Erestor is above all this?"

I am prepared for the question. "I know nothing about herbs, Lady Celebrían, and I was never very angry with Lord Elrond anyway."

"Erestor?" she asks.

He looks up. "Yes, Lady Celebrían?" he replies, anxiously.

"Did Glorfindel drug anyone?"

Erestor shakes his head. "Oh, no, Glorfindel didn't drug anyone."

"And he wouldn't have drugged my husband while you weren't looking?"

"No," says Erestor, with reassuring conviction. "Glorfindel wouldn't drug Lord Elrond."

"Well, then, it seems that both of you are innocent." Celebrían looks delighted, like she didn't want to prove us guilty. "But I think that perhaps you should both be careful about getting revenge on people, in the future. And don't let too many Elves in on your plans."

She glides away, leaving two stunned Elves in her wake. Erestor sinks down into a chair and puts his head in his hands. He takes a few deep breaths.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like anything to eat now?" I ask him.

TBC