Traditional Recipes for Disaster

by Ithiliel Silverquill and Erestor

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

Author's Note: Due to some confusion between Ithiliel Silverquill and I (but mainly me, I think), the last chapterhas beenpostponed.I'm fairly sure that this chapteris the second to last.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Erestor.

Breathe, Erestor. Breathe in, breathe out. Deep breath, let it out. Concentrate on breathing.

"Erestor, did you hear me?" I can feel Glorfindel tapping me on the shoulder. He frowns. "Are you all right? You look pale."

I shake my head. "I am fine."

"You don't look fine," he says. "Did you hear me?"

I blink. "Did you say something?"

Glorfindel sighs. "That's it. You're going to sit down and have a good meal and a glass of wine. Come on." He grabs me by the sleeve and starts marching toward the dining hall.

"But, Glorfindel…" I start to protest.

He is undaunted. "You need to eat something, Erestor. You look like you're about to faint."

I try to ignore the people that stare at me and Glorfindel as he drags me down the hallway. "I am not going to faint," I say, trying to reassure him. "The last time I fainted was when I was twenty years old, and I have not even come close to it since."

He drags me into the dining hall and pushes me into a chair. "Sit."

I try to glare at him as he tells Meretheryn to bring me a bowl of stew and a glass of wine, but to be honest, I do not feel like glaring.

"Now, what's this about fainting when you were twenty?" says Glorfindel, taking a seat opposite me.

"It was all the fault of my brother's friend Ossendur," I say. "He kept the largest, most fearsome animal in Ost-in-Edhil, and failed to inform me of that fact until I was face-to-face with the beast." I shudder at the memory. "I thought that he and Nin were doing something fun without inviting me, and when I climbed over Ossendur's family's garden wall to see what they were doing, I met that animal at the same time that I met the ground."

Glorfindel lifts an eyebrow. "What was it, a dragon?"

"No." Valar, he is going to laugh at me so much when I tell him this. "It was a dog."

Contrary to my expectations, he only lifts an eyebrow, instead of bursting out into uncontrollable laughter. "It must have been a very large dog, if you fainted when you saw it."

"I had never seen a dog before. I had read about them, but our family never had one, and neither did anyone that lived nearby. The sudden realization that I was staring into the face of this humongous, fanged, slobbering animal was too much for me. I fainted on the spot."

"Is that why you're afraid of dogs?" he asks.

"I am not…" I begin, but I falter when I remember that huge canine face so close to my own, and its horrid breath. I might as well tell the truth. "Yes."

"It didn't harm you, did it?"

I sigh. "No. My brother explained to me that it was actually a very good-tempered dog, and Ossendur even offered to let me keep one of its puppies to raise as my own. I politely told him that such a gift was not necessary."

"Why do I imagine that those were not the exact words you used?"

I shrug, a small smile creeping onto my face. "Well, I was only twenty."

We are interrupted by the entrance of Meretheryn. She walks in with a generous portion of steaming stew and a glass of ruby-red wine, and sets both in front of me.

I try to be as polite as I can. "Meretheryn, to be honest, I really…"

"…need to eat," she finishes, fixing me with a look that dares me to defy her. "You barely touched your stew at dinner, and you're thin as a twig as it is. Eat before you starve yourself to death."

I sigh. "Thank you for your concern, but I…" I catch the look on her face and quickly modify the ending of the sentence. "I think the stew needs a bit of salt."

She chuckles and leans against the doorframe. "The stew is salted, Erestor, and cool enough to eat, and I left out the onions when I made it. It's not going to poison you."

I manage a weak smile. Why did she have to mention poison? "Thank you."

She chuckles and walks away.

I stir the soup and look up at Glorfindel. "You were saying…?"

"Nothing important," he says, shrugging. He chuckles. "Well, this has certainly been an eventful day, hasn't it?"

I take a bite of stew and frown at him over the bowl. "That is not the word that I would have used… but yes, it has been eventful." I picture the furious look on Lady Celebrían's face and flinch inwardly. The Lady is a kind and gentle-natured woman, but she has the same dubious talent that Lady Galadriel has: when she wants to appear fearsome, she can. "Very eventful."

Glorfindel.

I watch Erestor eat his soup. He looks tired. His frowns are becoming more and more pathetic, until he gives up frowning at me altogether, and simply concentrates on finishing his one good meal of the day.

Actually, I think it's nearly tomorrow morning by now.

I can't believe how many things have happened today. This morning seems so long ago. I vaguely remember Elrond's door; I discovered that the twins had chewed on it. I snatched Erestor's Nolendil book from him. I read Erestor's letters. I scared Erestor half out of his mind when I came to retrieve my pen from him. Erestor ranted, apologized, plotted, and then drugged both Lindir and I in one fell swoop. He failed to communicate properly with the traders, but (with my humble assistance) managed to deftly handle an unusual situation.

Then Celebrían turned up and thoroughly interrogated the two of us. Was she trying to complete Erestor's transition from scholarly advisor to nervous wreck?

I sigh. When I look at Erestor again, he is all slumped over in his chair. At first I think he's dead. Then I think he's going to drown himself in his own stew.

I prod him, and he looks up and blinks at me. "I think you should go to bed now," I say.

Erestor favors me with a half-hearted glare. I smile. Your glares were much more intimidating this morning, Erestor. Back then, you reminded me of the balrog that managed to kill me.

"If you don't go to bed now, then you'll fall asleep in here, and I shall be forced to carry you to your chambers," I tell him.

Erestor wakes up rapidly. This time his glare is far more sincere.

Things aren't about to go back to normal, Erestor, not even if you want to cling to the past.

"I'm too lovable to be glared at continually," I say, and he smiles at me. Erestor's smiles are scarier than his glares, by now. When he smiles, I know that something bad is about to happen to me.

"Perhaps you should hurry to bed, Glorfindel," he says, "before you babble more nonsense. You will only embarrass yourself."

"I don't babble nonsense," I say, offended.

"Oh, I am sorry. What do you babble, then?" asks Erestor sweetly.

I don't hesitate. My pause is only due to the moment I take to thank the Valar that Erestor is half-asleep and only relatively dangerous. This done, I say, "I don't babble."

"I suppose what you say must sound very wise to you," comments Erestor. "Not like babbling at all." He's getting the vague, nearly dreamy look that means he's enjoying himself. This must be his idea of playful banter. Nasty little cut-tongue.

I simply love it when he reminds me that he could dance verbal circles around me.

Erestor suddenly loses the dreamy look and jumps to his feet with startling agility. "Oh, Valar! I have forgotten the invitations to Greenwood!"

"Were they important?" I ask, somewhat bemused.

"Important? Of course they were important!" cries Erestor. "And I entirely forgot about them!"

Tsk, Erestor, I wonder why? Maybe it's because you've been... oh, I don't know... drugging people?

Erestor scampers out of the dining hall, a rather familiar expression of panic on his face. I follow him. I'm not tired, and I want to see what he's up to now.

Erestor is heading to his rooms, where he keeps all his inks and papers, but when he sees Lady Celebrían wandering casually down a hallway in front of him, he screeches to a halt. I bang into him, and he hits the floor with a painful whumping noise.

"Are you all right?" I whisper, helping him to his feet and yanking him through a doorway as Celebrían glances in our direction. I hope she didn't see us.

"Just a few broken bones, that's all," says Erestor, fairly calmly for someone who's just been hit by a Balrog-slayer moving at a high velocity. Then he says, "I have to give the invitations to Lord Elrond tomorrow! I have not yet finished them!"

"I don't think Elrond will have been woken up by then," I say reassuringly.

"Oh yes..." Erestor remembers.

"Do you remember the wording of the invitations?"

"Of course. And what I cannot remember, I can rewrite," says Erestor.

"I have some paper and ink in my room," I say, "if you'd like to write them there."

"Very well," says Erestor.

We walk through Imladris without further encounters with Celebrían, and when we enter my chambers, Erestor raises his eyebrows in surprise.

I remember that he's been here before.

"I... er... I cleaned it up a little," I say, going to my desk and pulling out all the stationery I possess.

"Indeed you did. I can see the floor now."

I roll my eyes. Valar spare me from more of Erestor's playful banter.

"Here. Is this what you need?" I demand, plonking the papers and inks on the desk.

Erestor picks up the paper, and rubs it between his fingers. I hope he likes the quality. It's good paper, even if it is about seventy years old. "Yes. This will do," he says. "But I need a pen."

Oh.

"You don't have any with you?" I ask. "I thought you carried pens with you."

"No," he says. I think he's realized too, because he glances at the Valinor pen out of the corner of his eyes. The white plume looks more beautiful than ever. He averts his gaze to the floor when I glare at him.

"If you like– I mean, since you need a quill, you can borrow mine," I say rapidly.

He looks up, eyes a little wider. "Your pen?"

I pick it up and hand it to him. "You won't damage it," I say. "It's time someone put it to use."

Things have definitely changed.

TBC