Resistance is Futile

italics indicate thoughts | (elvish translations in parentheses) | This chapter un-Beta'd

The Noldorin perspective:

"What happened?" Glorfindel was so angry he was trembling, so angry he did not seem to recall that he was naked save it would be impossible to ignore the disgusting stench of the vile ooze coating his body from head to toe.

He wiped a grimy hand across his brow and flicked a huge glob of goo away from the tips of his fingers. It landed with a heavy plop right in Elrond's cup of tea; tea splashed out and stained the white linen cloth beneath the saucer. The Lord and his seneschal looked there, faces pensive and mouths tautly clamped shut, finding it easier to do so than to continue staring at Glorfindel without either bursting into laughter or gagging on the smell. From the interior of the house, the kitchen staff, the scribes, the pages, and all the lesser servants who were gathered in the staff refectory, newly arrived to start their day, peered agog from the long open arches that let onto the Lord's private terrace.

"What happened?" Glorfindel repeated, exasperated and incredulous. Could they not see and smell what had happened to him? "I am not really sure, Elrond. One minute I was striding across the grounds, looking for sylvan invaders Erestor assured me were there, which of course they were since they were invited, if only by default. The next instant the ground gave way beneath me and I dropped into a hole. This was a most peculiar hole, not that I am an expert on holes, but it was effectively lined with branches bearing very sharp, spiny, gripping hook-like thorns. I did not know such horrendously prickly plants grew here in Imladris. They seemed the sort more likely to thrive in Mordor. Or Mirkwood. Under the weight of my fall, my clothing caught on them, snagged, and was literally ripped from my body as I descended."

Erestor and Elrond made sympathetic noises and shook their heads in dismay. One or two gasps escaped from inside and Glorfindel's baleful glare swept the huddled mass of gaping servants. It was a sufficiently dangerous expression to cause nearly all to withdraw in haste, but only for a moment. They were not about to abandon such rare entertainment. Glorfindel growled deep in his thorax and resumed his recital.

"What garments were not entirely ruined I was forced to remove as the tattered scraps hindered me in my efforts to escape. Somewhere at the bottom of that pit is a very fine pair of boots I had to kick off and my favourite long knife." His regret over these losses was evident, but it was even clearer that he would not be going back in to reclaim them. "It seemed quite a long fall, though it probably was not in truth, but the pit was deep, at that, for I was wholly submerged when I reached the bottom. The bottom, as you may have gathered by my unsightly appearance and atrocious odour, was not empty. The most vile substances known to creation were, indeed, still are, in it."

Erestor and Elrond murmured words of shocked and disgusted outrage on his behalf which the Balrog Slayer acknowledged with a slight nod as he went on in icy fury.

"Of course, I was nearly knocked senseless by the stench alone and thrashed about in the stuff trying to keep my head above the scummy surface. The consistency is like nothing I have ever known, possessing a viscosity unmatched for adherence to the body without actually being sufficient to drag someone under and stifle him." A new thought struck him and his matted brows rose. "However, that may be entirely a factor of the depth of the pit and the amount of putrid sludge it contained. I imagine the Dead Marshes must have some spots that are nearly as rank and redolent with muck and mire as that hole in the earth. Anyway, it was while I was trying to climb out that the horse sh- manure-encrusted walls began to crumble and cascaded atop me. As I was looking up shouting for help at that precise moment, you can envision the result. That is when everything I'd eaten in the last six hours came back up and added another layer."

"Ai, Glorfindel!" Elrond cried but withheld the remainder of his condolences as the august warrior raised a hand to silence him.

"That is not all."

There was a dramatically suspenseful pause.

Elrond cleared his throat, darted frantic eyes to Erestor, and worried his Ring. "It isn't?"

"No."

Another pause, not quite as ponderous, flitted away. Erestor was by this juncture having difficulty suppressing his mirth and Glorfindel was not ignorant of his comrade's inappropriate but also utterly guileless amusement. The slime on his body began to steam as he resumed his discourse:

"No, my debasement was not yet complete. As you may have surmised, I proceeded to attempt clawing my way out again after the conclusion of the excremental deposition, only to find that this, too, had been anticipated. You recall those thorny branches and vines which divested me of my garments?" His friends nodded mutely, Erestor's lips twitching, Elrond's eyes wide. "Yes, well, all of them became dislodged when I tried to use them for foot and handholds. They mixed with the mucilaginous ooze and every move I made thereafter was an absolute torment! Beneath this crust of filth, I am scratched and punctured all over." He paused, inhaled and released a deep breath, and repeated quietly but emphatically: "All over. Even so, I persisted, for the pit was narrow and I deemed I should be able to draw myself up and out of it. This I proceeded to do. Just as I reached the half-way mark, my hands suddenly sank deep into yet another layer of slime and you can guess the result."

"Valar!" exclaimed Erestor, desperately trying not to show any hint of how hilarious this tale was becoming, the image of the mighty re-born Elda plummeting back into the glop appearing in vivid detail within his mind. Glorfindel sent him a glance that might have sent the Balrog running had he employed it all those Ages ago. Erestor murmured an apology and clapped his hand over mouth and nose again, this time to hide his emerging grin.

"Oh yes, amusing isn't it?" snarled Glorfindel. "Submerged a second time, I was not deterred. I am nothing if not persistent. I started again, shifting to a new location, and climbed half-way out before the same thing happened. I tried again and again I fell. Twice more. This took some time and the night wore on. I kept thinking some of my warriors would start looking for me, and indeed they did. Mine was not the only hole dug in Imladris yesterday, I have learned. Once I emerged at last, right at the break of dawn, I headed for the barracks and immediately came upon four elves trapped as I was, all in various stages of climbing out, all of us having discovered the means to do so at approximately the same time. I sent them on home and came here to inform you of this unprovoked and malicious attack, fearing you and Erestor had also been captured. You were not, I am relieved to say." Yet Glorfindel's tone indicated he was instead feeling rather belligerent toward them on account of that.

"How did you manage to get out?" Elrond could not help asking, justifying his curiosity by telling himself that without this last bit of information the tale, that is the report, was incomplete.

"Ah yes." Glorfindel smiled. It was a perilous looking sort of smile, cold and cutting with the promise of reprisal within its frosty contours. "I was ready to give up, reasoning that sooner or later someone would come find me, willing by this time after so many dunkings in that vile stuff to simply stand there in it up to my armpits. At almost the exact instant this notion crossed my mind, I reached out to lean my arm against the wall, close to despair. My hand brushed against a sturdy hithlain rope dangling from the top. Using it, I heaved myself out with all speed and found the rope attached to a tree and not a soul in sight.

"So, I have no idea how it was done, but I am confident I know why it was done. I am just confused as to why it was done to me, Elrond, since I am not the one who has recently behaved in a thoroughly disreputable manner toward a visiting guest. I suspect the Wood Elves know something about it."

This courtly, composed, and heavily sarcastic conclusion was too much; Erestor snorted out a loud, braying laugh even as he turned and fled inside, Glorfindel bellowing and raging in his wake.

The Balrog Slayer's pursuit, made with his customary speed, a swiftness of foot which ordinarily would have yielded a successful tackle, failed. No sooner did his slickly coated sole touch upon the highly polished floor of the morning room than it went right out from under him. Glorfindel described a spectacular backwards fall, arms wide, body briefly suspended a full half metre above the solid surface below, feet skyward. He struck the clean, waxed hardwood boards with a foundation quaking thud of seismic proportions.

Birds stopped chirping and every elvish voice across the length and breadth of the valley stopped singing for a second or two. The next sound was a voluble stream of the most foul and obscene invectives and curses ever loosed into the air against any of the First-born by the First-born since the kin-slayings of the First Age. The entire house cleared as Glofindel scrambled to his feet and rampaged through the halls in search of Erestor, Elrond tearing about attempting to get hold of him without quite being willing to actually touch the warrior in his grotesque state of dishabille.

The erstwhile seneschal, no fool he, decamped for the town with the minstrel right behind him and the two settled in the private room of the best tavern the vale had to offer, there to remain until word reached them that Glorfindel had bathed, dressed, and gone to vent his rage upon the true culprits.

Faron explicates the sylvan view

"Legolas! Muindor, is everything never mind, I can see you're all right," Faron's worry dissolved as he observed his kinsman's swaggering step and glowing countenance, eyes alight with self-satisfied pride and a new air of worldliness. He stopped before the tree in which Faron perched and gazed up, smiling a smug and silky grin.

"Aye, all is well, Muindor. In fact, I wish I had not sent for Cel; he will just treat me like a child and try to ruin everything," Legolas' smile slipped a little as he considered this. Yesterday, when the shock of his humiliation was fresh, he'd wanted nothing more than to have his brother beside him to shield him from the consequences of his rash decision to enter the arena of adult pleasures with an ellon he did not know.

Besides, by the time he arrived, Legolas would have Elrond very tightly cupped in the palm of his hand. Cel would not understand and spout a lot of irritating nonsense about the dignity of their House, which he would assert Legolas had now besmirched, the honour of a warrior, which Cel would feel he had apparently abandoned for purely selfish pleasures, and the horror of having the sordid tale travel from Imladris to Greenwood by way of Lorien, spreading even to Mithlond and all stops in between. That was not something Legolas wanted either, but since he knew it must happen, he wanted the tale to be of his own design. He would not suffer pity or smirking disdain from anyone. That he might discover this combination of uncomplimentary emotions in his brother's eyes filled him with desolation.

"Ruin things? What are you talking about? Celon'lir will take your part, Legolas, and demand fitting reprisal from the Noldorin Lord. We have him in a most compromising situation and anything we might want from him is possible," Faron opined, wondering what had come over his cousin in the few short hours he'd gone off by himself yesterday. He leaped down from the tree so to observe Legolas more closely.

"What could any of you possibly want from Elrond?" demanded Legolas irritably. "Are you saying you plan to blackmail him, threatening to disclose his subterfuge unless he gives you treasure or some other thing I cannot even imagine? You cannot mean that Ring! You are not making thinking clearly if this is the case; any disclosure must include my part in it and if you believe I would allow that, you are not my cousin."

"Nay! We were thinking more along the lines of sneaking off to Lorien once Cel gets here and having Elrond cover for us with Toradar," Faron announced and the look on the prince's face made him colour and drop his gaze.

"That is the most absurd proposal I have ever heard!" shouted Legolas. "My first love affair is not to be used as a tool to gain a carefree vacation gallivanting and carousing in Lorien!"

"Love affair? Do you mean you're going to continue seeing him?" Faron's eyes swept his kinsman from crown to soles and his brows rose, comprehension dawning. "Elo! Now I know what you were doing there last night. Did you really claim him?"

"I did," Legolas' chest expanded and his smile returned, radiant and triumphant. "Why should I deny myself this pleasure? Why should I permit Elrond to think he could so quickly cast me aside? When he thought I was any sylvan archer, he meant to keep me as his courtesan. Now it is I who shall have the Lord of Imladris at my beck and call. Indeed, it is I who will break with him the night before we depart from here. Already he pines when we must part for a mere hour or two; by the Solstice he will be completely in my power."

"Tawar nín beria! That is both devious and dangerous, Legolas. He is much older and more experienced; are you sure you want to play such a game with your heart in the balance?" Faron queried, overcome anew with that sense of looming disaster that dogged all his cousin's schemes.

"Pah! My heart is not threatened; it is his that will succumb to me. Elrond Peredhel will never forget Legolas Thranduilion," Legolas announced boldly. This did not inspire an enthusiastic response so he changed the subject. "How did the night raid go?"

"We captured five Noldorin warriors, Glorfindel among them." Now it was Faron's turn to be proud and he got exactly the reaction he'd anticipated from his prince.

"Glorfindel? Well done!" Legolas praised, laughing, and clapped his cousin on the shoulder. "That is most impressive and it will be difficult for them to match such a definitive strike."

"Do you think they will retaliate?"

"I don't see Glorfindel accepting such a mortifying defeat with good grace. We must prepare for a minor war of spectacularly devious proportions. We let them know we are willing to get our hands dirty and so should expect to combat an especially hostile force. By all the intelligence we've ever received, the warriors here, nay, every citizen, holds Glorfindel in high regard, higher perhaps than their Lord. Though an outstanding coup, the capture of Glorfindel predicts an escalation of antipathy."

"Aye. We have the advantage, however, for we know their style of battle from Filigod and Lasrondo who both fought in the Last Alliance. "

"It would be a mistake to assume so," Legolas cautioned. "Glorfindel has spent a great deal of time in Aman before returning to Middle-earth. Who knows what new tactics and strategies he has learned whilst there? We must not be complacent. You and Filigod must stretch your imaginations to pierce the veil of any hidden talents of a destructive nature he may have developed. Just one prohibition, Faron. Elrond is not to be targeted. He is mine."

"As you wish," Faron was not surprised to hear this, but not pleased either. Capturing the Lord of the land would effectively teach all the folk of the Hidden Vale that Wood Elves were not only a superior fighting force and worthy of their respect, but that anyone who toyed with their princes would suffer. And, that would ensure their swift departure from Imladris, allowing plenty of time to enjoy a respite in Lorien before facing the ire of the Wood Elves' King. "Will you be leading this evening's sortie?"

"I will operate on a different front. As for a night attack, I believe that would be unwise. The correct strategy at this time is invisibility and reconnaissance. Let them be ready and tense and experience only the frustration of a completely obscure enemy force. Glorfindel will know, but he will chafe over it and his dissatisfaction over the lack of a target for his wrath will be an even greater insult. He will resort to appeals to our honour, issuing insults and taunts in hopes of inspiring unthinking rage such as we have already displayed in the kitchens. We will not succumb to that ploy. We play a waiting game now, Faron, and Glorfindel will break first."

"Legolas, I understand the personal nature of your conflict with Lord Elrond, but we sorely need you on this campaign," announced his cousin, admiring Legolas' ability to size up a situation so easily and determine a fitting plan of action, or in this case inaction.

"I am not going anywhere, muindor," Legolas laughed, pleased by the compliment. "We will have ample opportunity to consult and confer. For now, carry my thoughts to Filigod and gather news of the enemy's preparations. I'll check in with you at annûn. Utilise okta kwetta lepen for all vocal commands for now."

"No bird-song?"

"Nay, Glorfindel will surely know most varieties of that. You were safe last night because he was not expecting an attack. The element of surprise gave us the lead, but now is gone and we must work diligently to hold our advantage until we force a surrender."

"As you command," Faron gave a half-bow and smiled, almost pleased about the turn events had taken save for that nagging undertone of vengeful anguish in Legolas' speech. The stakes were too high, but Faron could not do less for his kinsman than support his decision to demand retribution in kind. He almost felt sorry for Elrond. "Come and meet with us now, for it will do our comrades good to see you fit and strong and hear your commendations for the raid."

"Nay, I am to meet with Elrond soon."

"You must have time before then." Faron was disappointed and the warriors would be more so. "Why else come seeking me?"

"To hear news, of course," Legolas smiled. "You are handing this masterfully, muindoren, and do not need me to oversee the campaign."

"I need not flattery from you," his cousin snapped, suddenly prickly and insulted. "We have your interests in mind foremost, Legolas. I hope you do not discount such loyalty."

"I know it and I do not discount it. So be it; if you deem the company requires my approval, though nearly all members are veterans of numerous conflicts against Shadow, it shall have it. I've need for fresh garments anyway. Lead on."

With a grimace and a constrained sigh, Faron did so, allowing his kinsman to sidestep the problem once more. Not for the first time, he thought Legolas childish and headstrong and too comfortable in the tyranny of his title. Spoiled, favoured son. Lord Elrond would not be likely to defer to such trifling notions of self-importance.

"In light of this unprovoked attack from our guests, it is my counsel that you convince your prince to conclude his visit immediately," Erestor intoned, eyes assessing his counterpart across the bare surface of the Council Table in the Minor Hall where the day o day business of Elrond's estate was conducted. No need to meet in Lord's study, as yet. The matter was of minimal importance, as yet, despite Glorfindel's embarrassment and ensuing outrage.

"Attack? Hardly that," Filigod laughed, underscoring his contempt with a casual wave of his hand through the air, as at an annoying bug. What gall to send for him and then to sit him here in this paltry room where the shopping list was drawn up! Of course, the insult was meant to sting, indicating the Wood Elves still held the ascendancy in the contention, and so it bit less than the virtual gnat he shooed away. "This is what we were sent here to do: test our young princes against the elite of the Noldorin fighters, so renowned throughout the lands. Ernil Legolas does not expect to conclude the trial without learning what methods Glorfindel might use to counter such a victorious first volley."

"I see," Erestor did, too, and did not like the view.

He shifted in his chair, frowning, for he could not really come out and reveal what Elrond had confided to him. Yet he must prevent his kinsman from this inexplicable and wholly uncharacteristic obsession with the sylvan youth. He could not permit him to attempt courtship of a lowly Wood Elf anymore than he could stomach the idea of keeping Thranduilion as a catamite. He admired Legolas and deemed him a worthy mate for anyone, just not the Lord of Imladris. The Twins or himself, even, were fitting companions for this lesser prince of the trees. Elrond would make a fool of himself if he formally petitioned the Sindarin King for Legolas' hand. Given that he already had a mate in Aman, surely Thranduil would refuse such a suit, deeming his House horribly abused by such a proposition. The embarrassment would be profound. Imagining Galadriel and Celeborn's reaction to such an infatuation nearly made him shudder. The import as to hostility between the Hidden Vale and the Dark Forest was grave. He put aside his diplomatic mien and spoke frankly.

"Filigod, it must not go further. Surely you perceive the danger as much as I."

"Indeed?" Filigod was surprised by Erestor's candour and he replied in kind. "Yet his heart has not been injured, though the public revelation of his loss of innocence and the manner in which it was accomplished were inexcusable. A regrettable combination of errors by both parties, but Lord Elrond has wisdom sufficient to comprehend the delicate nature of the circumstances. You certainly appreciate how detrimental it would be to send Legolas home like an errant child after this encounter. I believe Elrond means to accord him the dignity due so important an event. A summer love is not something that need hurt Legolas."

"Oh no, it cannot be permitted. Certainly you know your King better than I, but what father would wish his son to be " he almost said used and had to bite his tongue quickly, stalled there as he sought a more acceptable term. Filigod seized the opportunity the seneschal's unexpected silence afforded.

"It must be permitted," he insisted, eyes sharp as they bored into Erector's', fully cognisant of the real import of the statesman's falter. "What father would have his son stripped of virginity by a Lord incognito and then banished from the realm by that very Lord, sent away as would any courtesan be once his lust was satisfied. I do not think Elrond would so humiliate anyone, much less my King's favoured younger son."

A pensive silence proceeded as the two traded unspoken pronouncements of dire possibilities and came to stalemate. Erestor could not betray his Lord's folly even to spare Thranduilion; Filigod would not accept such cursory and dismissive treatment of his prince's status.

Erestor sat back, unhappy now that his own prideful prejudice had relegated this advisor to the Wood Elves' King to so demeaning a venue for their conversation. How had he imagined any other outcome than the one in which he was now mired? Regrets were meaningless unless he could reverse the attitude that spawned them. He drew breath to speak.

"As you have described it, the connection would indeed be dishonourable for both of them. I do not want that for your prince or my Lord. Filigod, I find myself in error and must now beg your pardon." He stood and formally bowed, watching as Thranduil's stunned advisor hastily stood and offered the same, the expression on his features inscrutable.

"Of course, granted, Lord Erestor," announced Filigod and they both sat down. A new silence invaded the room for a second or two as the new allies considered one another carefully, and then Erestor pushed back his chair and once more stood.

"Come. These negotiations require a higher level of privacy than I assigned them. Let me correct that mistake first." He led Filigod away, appreciating the wily Wood Elf's mute complicity, and ushered him into his personal office. "Please be comfortable," he said, indicating a very inviting arm chair before the empty hearth. As Greenwood's Mayor settled himself, Erestor poured them both a refreshing and bracing glass of wine. They saluted one another and sipped and then the seneschal took the seat opposite his colleague. "I will do what I can to mitigate the harm done and harm potential, but Elrond is strong-willed."

"As is Legolas," grimaced Filigod. "Well, that they have in common. What is to be done? Legolas will stay and I cannot say his motives are admirable, yet neither is he malicious."

"No, no assuredly not," Erestor agreed. "He is just young."

"And beyond his depths I fear," nodded Filigod. "It will have to fall on Lord Elrond to manage it. Surely age and wisdom count for much in such a scenario."

"Normally, I would agree," Erestor admitted and bit at his lower lip. How far could he go? Was it not better to protect the reputation of the whole of the realm rather than allow its Lord to embark on an unprecedented reversal of his marital bond, disgracing himself and the object of his desire? Would not that be worse than a brief affair with the young sylvan prince? What if Elrond means it?

"Normally? What do you mean?" Filigod felt such a heavy burden of foreboding that he shrank down in his chair. He would never betray his prince, but he was sworn to protect him. This decision to pursue the Noldorin Lord and pay him back hurt for hurt, revealed by Legolas himself at the morning meal, was sure to end in tragedy. Was it not paramount to preserve Legolas from the consequences of this spiteful attempt to regain his honour by destroying another's? The prince was angry, his pride and self-esteem sunk low by Elrond's dismissive demeanour, and Filigod understood. He could not, however, condone Legolas' plan and had counted on Elrond to correct the situation himself.

"I fear there is more to this than either of us may have envisioned," Erestor continued, leery of the Wood Elf's response. "Lord Elrond has expressed the desire to formally court Thranduilion."

"What?" Filigod was certain he had misheard but his reaction was immediate and completely unconscious as he leaped upright. "Impossible!" Instantly the arguments against this paraded across his inner sight and left the inevitable conclusion that Elrond was either mad or wanted to purposely debase and demean Thranduil through Legolas. "This is an offence Aranen (my King) will not excuse!"

"Which is why we must determine how to stop it," Erestor stated and rose also.

"We?" Filigod scoffed. "You. It falls to you; I have no influence on Lord Elrond."

"Nay, but if he hears from you the degree to which he has wounded Legolas' feelings he may "

"Stop!" Filigod actually held up his hand. "This is not about a young heart stung by rejection. This is about the decision of your Lord to place the prince of a foreign land, already abused within his borders and by his own deceptions, under the pall of such a disgrace as must ruin him! Has Elrond no shame? Why would he do this to Legolas? It is so personal, so utterly inappropriate! The only cause can be some particular grudge against Thranduil himself."

"I assure you that is not the case," Erestor attempted to explain, but as he did not know what was fuelling Elrond's actions he hadn't the means. Like Filigod, he could not believe the Lord of Imladris was smitten with the lesser Prince of Greenwood.

"And I assure you I will not stand by and permit this to happen. I must inform Thranduil at once and have Legolas ordered home. I thank you for your candour, Lord Erestor, and pray no fault is assigned to you by upsetting Elrond's plot."

"Nay spare no concern on my behalf, only wait a moment, Filigod. The letter will take time to send and Thranduil's orders longer to arrive back. Think! We must do something in the interim to stop this from coming to pass."

"Indeed. Do you remonstrate against your Lord and turn him from it, while I do the same with Legolas."

Erestor shook his head in rueful misery. "I will do all I can, but he is stubborn at the best of times and I have never seen him like this. If Arwen were here she might be able to move him, but I fear the harder I strive to thwart his goal, the more entrenched he will become."

"I worry the same result will follow my efforts to dissuade Legolas. So it has been with my initial arguments."

Another moody silence coalesced and threatened to smother all hope of averting the disaster, each advisor's heart filled with the dread of either a fourth kin-slaying or the breaking of the younger prince of Greenwood. Neither prospect was acceptable.

"We have to act," intoned Erestor. "We cannot standby and let ill-fate engulf us all."

Before Filigod could answer there was a brisk, brief rap on the door and Glorfindel let himself in.

TBC

© 03/10/2017 Ellen Robey

Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's. Elvish names and such:

Celon'lîr (River Song - Thranduil's eldest)
Ûrrusc (Fire Fox - Thranduil's nephew)
Tuiw. (Sprout - a pet name for Legolas)
Faron (Hunter - also Thranduil's nephew)
Mallavorn (Black and Gold - one of the warriors)
Filigod (Little Bird - Thranduil's councillor)
Condir O Gladgalen (Mayor of Greenwood - Filgod's Official Title)
Giliach (Star Crossing - Cel's false identity while in Lorien)
Tôradar (brother-father: uncle)
Hîren Adar (My Lord Father)
Hîr Adar mín (our Lord Father)
Ernil (Prince)
Ernil Vain, (Pre-eminent Prince)
Ernil Daid (Secondary Prince)
ion-an'weath (son-by-bond - son-in-law)
aurlinn (day-bird, a wood thrush)
Minya'mmë (grandmother)
thêl dithen. (little sister)
muindor laes, (baby brother)
nâr (rat)