Chapter 2 - Hell Hath No Fury Like A Carpenter Scorned
There are few experiences more bizarre than teetering across three miles of Elven woodland in diamante stilettos and a ball-gown alongside a grinning imbecile of an Elf and his spoon-fixated brother. The next few hours of Steve's life were one long, painful discovery of this fact, and suffice to say it was an experience he was in no particular hurry to repeat. Elladan had taken quite a shine to him, and proceeded to spout truly distressing love-poetry for the duration of the journey. He even broke into song on several occasions, and Elrohir's comment about steel-studded maces was beginning to make more and more sense. Elrohir himself did very little but twitch and grumble to his spoon in muted tones and cast his two companions the occasional scowl. By the time they drew close to Rivendell, Steve was practically ready to bludgeon them both.
However, causing Steve even more confusion was the fact that he appeared to have stumbled into Middle-Earth. Middle-Earth, of all places! He suddenly wished he had read the Lord of the Rings, or, for that matter, paid attention to something other than Orlando Bloom during the films. He hadn't heard of these two Elves, Elladan and Elrohir, though he had a fairly good idea why they might have been left out of things. Still, his memory of the plot was so incomplete that he couldn't actually remember any of the characters' names. Except Legolas. Obviously.
By the time the three of them reached Rivendell, Steve had managed to glean a little information concerning Lord Elrond. He was apparently thousands of years old, widely acclaimed as Middle-Earth's wisest counselor and healer, and one of the most revered figures in Elven history. But he was first and foremost a failed carpenter, and exceedingly bitter about it. Steve noticed that ramshackle wooden benches and splintered carvings crouched sinisterly in the darkened corners and secluded nooks of Rivendell, as testament to the Elf-Lord's chosen profession. They seemed incongruously grotesque amid the graceful, sweeping architecture of the Elven dwelling.
"Whatever you do, don't make fun of the gazebo," Elladan warned Steve as they passed beneath a pair of breath-takingly ornate double doors and entered the main hall of Rivendell. Steve nodded, wincing at the sight of a particularly unpleasant trestle-table with nails protruding from its surface like a hedgehog's spines. He paused to stare at the horrible thing, oblivious to the sudden appearance of a tall and stately figure at the doorway directly before them.
"Daddy!" Elladan squealed with delight. "We're home!" The excitable Elf charged over to his father and caught him in a fierce embrace.
"Indeed." Elrond answered distinctly, extricating himself from his son and smoothing down his ornate robes with an air of ruffled dignity. The Elven lord was pale and imposing, his long raven hair drawn back to accentuate the sharp contours of his face. He nodded curtly to each of his sons, then turned to Steve with a shadow of mild curiosity touching his austere features.
"Lord Daddy of Imladris," Elladan declared with attempted dignity, "May I introduce Lady Summer-Jayne Sawyer. We found her in the woods, isn't she simply scrumptious!"
Lord Elrond, already frowning at being addressed as 'Lord Daddy', cast a grave eye across Steve's face and apparel. Steve flushed, and lowered his eyes to the polished floor. Admittedly, his disguise had been sufficiently cunning to bamboozle Elladan and Elrohir, both of whom barely had IQ's to rival their shoe sizes, but whether it would stand up to the scrutiny of Lord Elrond was another matter altogether.
"Welcome to Imladris." Elrond declared formally, inclining his head without removing his sharp gaze from Steve's face. "Here you may find rest and shelter. Should you wish it, I grant you leave to abide here in my halls for as long as you will. However…" and here he paused, as though unsure of how to phrase his thoughts, then continued slowly, "I would ask what business brings you to these lands. Whence came you? Do you journey this realm alone, and if so, for what purpose?"
"I am lost," Steve whimpered plaintively, at last beginning to get the hang of his high-pitched Southern drawl, "I am from far away. How I came to be here, I – I simply do not know." He wished furiously he had a more plausible story, but he didn't know nearly enough about the history and geography of Middle-earth to formulate a convincing lie. Lord Elrond raised a cynical eyebrow, and seemed about to make a cutting remark before Steve interrupted him, struck by a sudden idea.
"Why sir, I do declare!" he exclaimed huskily, turning to the hedgehog-reminiscent trestle-table he had been nauseated by only minutes before, "What a simply – exquisite – table! Why, I'd heard that these halls were beautiful beyond the dreams of mortals, but never did I think to behold an object of such magnificence in my lifetime! It's so innovative, so unique, so beautifully…knobbly. Who crafted this heavenly thing?" Wincing inwardly at his rather crude imitation of Lord-of-the-Rings-esque speech (not particularly helped by his rather sub-standard Texan accent), and hoping his true thoughts concerning the reprehensible piece of carpentry were not as utterly transparent as he feared, Steve turned to smile sweetly at Lord Elrond, whose alabaster face had turned a most curious shade of magenta.
"Oh well," the Elf-lord muttered, trying to quell the coquettish grin beginning to spread itself across his blushing face, "It's…well, it's…since you should ask…it's one of mine, actually."
"Surely you jest!" Steve exclaimed, his dark eyes wide with affected surprise. Lord Elrond tittered, and waved a coyly dismissive hand at Steve.
"Well, no I…I confess I have been hailed as a leading exemplar of the Elvish architectural movement, but well, I don't like to boast. Naturally, my creative flair is simply too ground-breaking for some," he paused, sniffing bitterly, "but at least there are some folk still living who appreciate the true value of art. Ooh I say! Would you care to take a gander at the gazebo? I crafted it myself from toothpicks and troll-spittle, you know…"
"That's delightful, daddy, truly, but oughtn't I to escort Summer-Jayne to her rooms now?" Elladan suggested gingerly, clamping his hands over Steve's shoulders and edging him towards a door to their left. Elrohir also seemed to be pondering escape, and was shuffling off in the opposite direction, clasping his spoon tighter than ever.
"Well, really!" Elrond thundered, his already flushed face suddenly deepening in colour until he resembled a simmering beetroot. "I am ashamed! Ashamed to call you my sons! Where is your appreciation for fine art, you putrescent dunderheads! but nay, I forget! You'd rather be off pursuing fair maidens or…or…items of cutlery." He finished in disgusted tones, whereupon Elrohir cleared his throat, slinking guiltily towards a side door and muttering something about going to bed.
"Bed, indeed!" Lord Elrond boomed, not to be dissuaded. "It is barely three o'clock in the afternoon! And unless I'm very much mistaken, that door leads to the kitchens…"
"I didn't say my bed…" Elrohir murmured creepily, his eye twitching as he caressed the spoon at his chest in a most distasteful way and scuttled out of the hall before his father could prevent him.
"Ghastly," Elrond sighed, shuddering, "what ghastly offspring to call my own."
"Yes, we are most frightful" Elladan agreed offhandedly, "but father, Lady Summer-Jayne is much wearied from her travels. Surely you wish to detain her no longer…"
"Oh, very well!" Elrond snapped at his son, "You may go!"
"It is an honour to have met you, Lord," Steve lied, curtseying to the frowning Elf, "and I would dearly love to see your gazebo, once I am rested…such talent as yours is rare indeed." He thought it best to compliment the Elf-lord as extravagantly as possible, as it had worked wonders for him so far. Sure enough, Lord Elrond's expression softened at Steve's words, and he smiled indulgently as Steve was ushered from the room by Elladan.
"Seldom have I encountered a maiden so discerning and gracious," Elrond responded, beaming, "or indeed– if I may say it – so beauteous. I look forward to our next meeting." Turning to catch a final glance of Elrond, Steve was left in some doubt as to whether the Elf shared in Elrohir's unfortunate tendency to twitch, for otherwise, he realized with a shudder, the venerable Lord of Imladris has just winked at him.