Disclaimer: You know the drill. All I own is Belegdur. And Aranion and Amondil.

AN: I have no idea which side is the proper side for a wine glass, so just pretend that the rules of etiquette in this are right if they're not. Also, I don't think this one is as funny as the first or even the second, so please pardon me (I promise I'll try to make the next one better).


Episode III: A Troublesome Vintage

Elladan sighed in frustration as he slapped the book he had been trying to read closed. His twin, Elrohir, and his human brother, Estel, were out enjoying the beautiful day but Elladan was stuck inside looking for something he could use against Belegdur.

So far nothing was forthcoming.

Ever since the tar and feathers incident, Belegdur had been hesitant to show his face around the palace. Elladan had heard rumors that it was because Belegdur had had nightmares of a giant chicken chasing him through the forest when he was young, and spotting the tar-and-feathered king had made him think said chicken was finally coming to get him.

It was Elladan's personal opinion, however, that Belegdur was slightly mad.

The dark-haired elf stretched, frowning for a moment as he remembered why he had been in the library on a day like today, researching odd herbs and roots and their effects. Belegdur had happened to cross paths with his younger brother, Legolas, a few hours ago. Temperamental at the best of times, Belegdur had crossed into the realm of unstable volatility due to his fear of giant chickens and had jumped to the conclusion that Legolas had brought "El Pollo Diablo" into the palace.

And thus the young prince had found himself on the full receiving end of his brother's sharp tongue and rather well-read vocabulary. Elladan still winced when he remembered some of the phrases Belegdur had chosen for this particular tirade. Legolas had taken it rather well, he thought. The young elf had turned a remarkable shade of white, tried to stutter something in his defense, and taken refuge away from his brother's anger in the nearest tree.

And so Elladan was desperately trying to come up with another Grand Plan to do something about Belegdur. So far he had nothing.

He sighed. Perhaps he should go and see if Legolas had finally come out of his tree yet. Or, if he hadn't, maybe he should shake the princeling out of the tree, then drug him and bundle him off for a few hours sleep in hopes that he could convince his friend it was just a nightmare.

Wait a minute...Elladan's eyes lit up with glee. "That's it!" he said aloud, laughing. It was so simple.

Elladan bounced out of the library, whistling. He trotted cheerfully down to the healers and charmed a handful of herbs away from the flattered elf-maid who was stuck changing bedsheets on such a beautiful day. Then, nothing else to do but wait for the opportune moment, he valiantly resisted the urge to skip in glee and made his way outside to catch up with his brothers and see if he couldn't shake a certain elf-prince out of a tree and convince him that the giant chicken incident was all in Belegdur's mind.

It would be a few hours later, at dinner, that Elladan could put his plan into effect.

Dinner in Mirkwood seemed to always be a formal affair, Elladan reflected. Then again, when you were guests of the prince and expected to dine with the king—private family dinner though this was—perhaps formal wear was to be expected.

"Hold on a moment," Elladan said in mock frustration, glancing over at Estel and Elrohir. "I've forgotten something...I'll meet you in the dining room!"

Without waiting for their response (sure that they would insist on coming with him) he slipped out of the room and carefully made his way down the hall to the dining room. He smiled cheerfully when he entered, glad that he had chosen just the right moment. The servants had just finished setting up and were leaving, and none of the family had entered yet.

So he had a few moments. He pulled the herbs out of his pocket and carefully counted down four seats from the king's place. He picked up Belegdur's goblet and crushed the herbs into it, careful to swirl the wine to mix it together.

Yes, this one would work. While not necessarily painful or humiliating, drugging Belegdur into a stupor for the next day or so should buy Elladan enough time to work up a decent plan and put it into motion.

He could hear voices coming down the hall, and quickly moved to stand near his own place at the table.

Legolas and his brothers entered, greeting Elladan cheerfully, and carrying on whatever merry argument they'd been having before arriving.

Elladan held his breath as the rest of the family entered, pleased when Belegdur didn't seem to notice anything amiss. The prince did glare at Legolas, however, though the young elf had grown adept at ignoring his brother's silent attacks.

When Thranduil sat at the table the rest of the elves (and one human) sat as well. Conversations silenced as the crown prince, Aranion, suddenly rose in his seat. "I would like to propose a toast," the elf said. "To family and good friends, and the defeat of the shadow."

Aranion raised the glass that was to the right of his plate and held it high.

Elladan paled. All his lessons in etiquette suddenly came rushing back.

What had his tutor told him, time and time again?

"The wineglass goes to the right, Elladan. The right! Someday you'll be in a formal setting a regret it if you don't remember this simple rule!"

He didn't have time to shout out a warning before the elves (and human) around the table all raised their glasses and drank the toast.

Hewas seriously considering disappearing for a century or so as Amondil, Aranion's son and the elf seated to Belegdur's left, suddenly toppled over and passed out, landing facedown in his plate.

Elladan's only consolation was that he hadn't gone with his original plan to poison Belegdur.


Reviews? Flames? Tar and Feathers?