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Greenleaf & Imladris 2 - With Friends Like These	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 3336 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Part 1
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 1
- 2
Title: Greenleaf & Imladris 2 - With Friends Like These

Author: Eressë (eresse21@yahoo.com)

Pairing: Elrohir/Legolas (eventually)

Summary: Legolas’ first visit to Rivendell proves educational in more ways than one when he learns of the choice of the Peredhil then stumbles upon a tryst with an unexpected twist.

Disclaimer: All Elves are Tolkien’s property. Only the story is mine.

Author’s Note: This story follows the evolving relationship between Legolas and Elrohir. Regarding Arwen’s age: at nine years she would actually be, in human terms, four-years-old if one goes by the premise that an Elf reaches his or her majority at 50 years of age. As for the games mentioned in the story, you might consider them the elvish equivalents of Chess, Monopoly and Poker.

With Friends Like These

Imladris, Viressë-Yavannië TA 250

Part I

Legolas felt his breath hitch when he caught the aromatic scents of pine and heather just as he came to the very brink of the ridge that descended abruptly into a vale alike to so many others and yet was not. Following the narrow path, he urged his horse down the steep slope, allowing the beast to gingerly pick its way along the loosely pebbled track. Behind him, his friends, Mithrael and Heledir, were heard to mutter curses as they, too, turned their steeds onto the seeming treacherous trail. The half dozen Elf-warriors in their wake quickly followed suit.

The Elven prince grinned. His friends had never yet left the bounds of Greenwood, not even to visit the human cities and settlements nearby. As such, they’d seldom had need to trek along such paths of dubious safety. That it had taken several weeks travel to get to their destination did little to improve their already low opinion of such distant journeying.

It was more than three weeks since they’d left Eryn Galen’s borders behind. Nearly a week on horseback to reach the eastern base of the Misty Mountains, another week or so to get over the range finafinally the last leg across the plains upon leaving the mountains behind. In truth, this part of the trip had taken the most time as they sought the secret paths that would lead them to their objective.

He heard Heledir grumble about the confounded inaccessibility of so fabled a destination. His grin broadened.

Yes, the way into the narrow valley did seem unreasonably difficult to access not to mention locate. But then, Rivendell had been founded as a refuge not a kingdom and no refuge worth its name would leave itself so open to the evils of the world without. He gently reminded his friend of this fact, educing sage agreement from scholarly Mithrael who nevertheless decried the inconvenience of such rigorous endeavors to inexperienced travelers such as himself.

On the verge of making a retort, Legolas suddenly stiffened before a beatific smile broke upon his sculpted lips. The faint strains of music, of fair elvish voices lifted in song, wafted up from the vale, beguiling and welcoming. And then he felt it: the awesome power that sheltered the haven. Vilya, the ring of Air, had found its long home in this valley, held by Elrond Half-elven to whom it had been bequeathed by Gil-galad, the last High King of the Noldor. Few knew that the Peredhil wielded this greatest of the elven-rings of power wrought by Celebrimbor. Indeed, that Legolas knew this at all was due to the trust put in him by Elrond’s sons, Elladan and Elrohir.

It was nigh sixteen years since the twins and their parents first journeyed to the Woodland Realm of Eryn Galen, the forest more commonly known as Greenwood the Great. Though long promised this chance to visit Rivendell in turn, the youngest son of King Thranduil had been unable to do so.

Held back by duty and responsibilities, he’d first had to complete his most basic training as prince, politician and warrior, a course the twins themselves had urged upon him just before they departed from the forest realm. Happily, they’d kept their word that they would return to the woodland kingdom should Legolas not be able to claim his promised reward soonest. Elladan and Elrohir made three visits to Eryn Galen in the years that followed and their great friendship with the Elf-prince had deepened accordingly. Now, it was his turn and he felt his heart race as they neared the bottom of the cleft.

The pine trees had long given way to oak and beech and a few scattered willows and it was warmer as well, pleasantly so. The singing was louder now as was the sound of fast running water. He had a moment to recall the stream that was a tributary of the Bruinen close to the Last Homely House that the twins had spoken of at their last meeting before the music abruptly stopped and his party was suddenly surrounded by warrior Elves bearing the colors of Imladris. Where they had come from he had no idea; they’d been as stealthy as his father’s woodland rangers. Considering the sparser cover in this place, he had to admire their skill.

One of them stepped forward to address the Elf-prince; Legolas recognized him at once. It was Enedrion, the warrior who, with Glorfindel’s second-in-command, Daurin, always accompanied the twins on their sojourns in the green wood.

“My lord,” Enedrion intoned, bowing slightly before him. “We have been awaiting your arrival these many days.”

Legolas smiled and nodded in acknowledgement. “‘Tis not so simple a matter to find the way here,” he said. “We were delayed somewhat by a lack of certain direction.”

“Meaning you got lost,” a familiar voice commented.

Legolas glanced to his left, a brilliant smile lighting up his face. Without further ado, he swung off his horse, almost directly into Elrohir’s welcoming embrace. A moment later, he was clasping hands with a grinning Elladan as well.

Exchanging jovial greetings, they near forgot the prince’s companions until Elladan espied Legolas’ two childhood friends who had dismounted as well.

“Mithrael! Heledir!” he cried and strode to them. “How fare you?”

Though rendered shy by the strangeness of their environs, both Elves hearkened to his warm manner and replied in kind. Elrohir further eased their diffidence as he kindly inquired as to their folk.

“But where is Sirgon?” he suddenly queried after a cursory look at the woodland warriors. “Why did he not come with you?”

“Alas, our friend is no longer of Eryn Galen,” Legolas explained ruefully. “His mother pined for the Golden Wood and would have faded had Counsellor Beldoron not removed her and Sirgon to Lórien. They have been three years gone from Greenwood now.”

“A pity,” the younger twin remarked. “It must have been difficult for him, leaving all that he knows behind. Mayhap Elladan and I will be of comfort to him when next we visit our grandparents’ realm.”

“But enough melancholic talk,” Elladan said, noting the others’ sudden pensiveness. “Come, Adar and Naneth await you. And Arwen as well.”

“I have long desired to meet your infant sister,” Legolas smiled.

“Not quite an infant any longer,” Elladan chuckled. “She is a mettlesome creature for all her tender years. Adar claims she is too alike to us in character and prays Imladris will withstand the attentions of yet another Peredhil child.”

Chuckling, they walked the rest of the way to the Last Homely House east of the Sea.

********

Six weeks into his stay, Legolas found himself wishing that he did not have to return to Eryn Galen. At least, not within the foreseeable future. It wasn’t that he desired to forsake his family; never that. But life in Rivendell was so different, so utterly enchanting, that he longed for his visit to go on indefinitely. Open spaces, warm breezes and heather carpeted hills beckoned each morning from his windows when he awakened, a far cry from the closed, sometimes stuffy feeling of Greenwood. Not that he couldn’t endure the forest that was his home. He loved Eryn Galen with all his being and would willingly suffer for its continued well-being. It was simply that he appreciated the very differentness of Rivendell from his forest abode.

There were so many attractions that enthralled him both within and without the Last Homely House. The crystalline waterfall cascading down the sides of the sheer drop by the river; a perfect place for bathing, picnicking or napping. Evenings in the Hall of Fire, by turns merry with poetry, music and laughter, quiet with conversation and contemplation or tense with mind-sharpening games of Strategy, Realms and Enigma. Sprawling forests with wide paths and open grassy plains within easy reach that allowed for swift, exhilarating rides on horseback. Challenging bouts of archery, wrestling, swordplay or knife work in the wide exercise yard beside the house with nary a tree to hinder one’s way. And most wondrous of all for an Elf who lived in the thick wood of Eryn Galen: the sun and moon dappling the entire valley with their light since no dense canopy shut out the former’s golden radiance and the latter’s silvery glow.

The refuge also had a character so unlike the Woodland Realm’s primal personality. It was steeped in culture and learning, was as deliberate as Eryn Galen was mercurial. And nearly every Elven inhabitant was Noldorin; like Glorfindel, Rivendell’s noble captain, these were amongst the last of the exiles who had returned to Middle-earth in the Elder days.

A few, such as Elrond himself, his lady wife and children, the haven’s chief steward, Erestor, and some of the warriors and retainers, were either of mixed elven heritage or wholly sprung from the Sindar. But these were Sindar who had long resided in Lindon when Gil-galad still reigned or dwelt in Eregion under the lordship of Celebrimbor ere it was overrun by Sauron’s hordes. They were far removed from the Grey-elven nobles of Greenwood’s court. Only Thranduil himself could be deemed their equal in lore and nobility.

The other members of the household had also endeared themselves to the woodland prince with their kindness and care. Aside from Glorfindel and Erestor and Elrond’s other counsellors, there was witty Lindir, house-master, tutor and minstrel nonpareil; straightforward Iorwen, the Last Homely House’s formidable mistress of the kitchen and store-rooms and maker of the most delicious pastries ever to grace an elvish feast; merry Gildor, the son of Inglor, who oft traveled about the northern lands with wandering companies of Elves, bringing news from without to the hidden vale; and beauteous Almariel who had taken care of the twins in their infancies and was now nurse to little Arwen.

Arwen was a delight and a revelation. The tiny elleth, now a precocious nine-year-old, had all the promise of the great beauty of Elrond’s foremother, Luthien of Doriath, and all the spunk and spirit of her brothers. She was a veritable whirlwind despite her tender years, refusing to allow her age or size to hobble her in the pursuit of childish pleasure and adventure. No wonder Elrond questioned the ability of Rivendell to last the age.

These were, for the most part, the folk of Imladris though Legolas had been astounded to see, on one occasion, men walking the halls of the house and, on another, two dour Dwarves. The Dwarves, he soon learned, hailed from Khazad-dûm, the great dwarven realm beneath the Misty Mountains. Every so often a few of its citizens would come to Rivendell bearing precious wares of gold and mithril; Elrond did not shun trade with the Khazad.

The men, however, were Edain from the North-kingdom of Arnor now ruled by Valandil, the only surviving son of Isildur who had paid the ultimate price for his ensnarement by the One Ring in the disaster of the Gladden Fields, taking his three older sons down into the darkness with him. Through the convoluted lines of Peredhil descent, the king was actually Elrond’s distant kin, a nephew several times removed, one might say, through Elros, the loremaster’s twin, who had loved a mortal woman and thus joined his heart and fate to hers many generations of men ago.

Dressed in attire fit for hard walking, Legolas finally left his chamber and headed for the main hall where he was to meet the twins and his friends. As he passed the many passages that branched off from the corridor, he espied a couple in the far end of one.

Peering idly at them, he realized who they were. He stifled a chuckle as he observed the Elf-warrior, Daurin, plying Arwen’s nurse, a charmingly coquettish Almariel, with freshly picked blossoms, honeyed words, and what looked to be a small basket of dainty cakes, no doubt courtesy of Iorwen’s skillful hands. So, he grinned, Glorfindel’s lieutenant was a-courting. He went on, leaving the two to their privacy.

A moment later, a small projectile on legs ran straight into him, nearly toppling him over. Grabbing at the recalcitrant sprite, he found himself with an armful of wriggling Elfling, the braids of her midnight tresses all undone, the pretty trim on her bodice consigned to near-oblivion and the hem of her gown sadly ripped where she had apparently trod on it.

“Let me go, ‘Las!” she cried, trying to escape his grasp.

“Arwen!”

The twins rushed up, shaking their heads in botherment.

“We are sorry, meldir,” Elladan said. “But Almariel is missing and Naneth asked us to keep an eye on this little hoyden for the moment.”

“I am not hurt,” Legolas assured him, handing him the said little hoyden. “And as for Almariel, I believe she is busy at the moment with Daurin.” He indicated the general direction of the courting pair’s location with a jerk of his chin.

Elrohir clicked his tongue. “That is a flagrant dereliction of duty,” he remarked disapprovingly. “What if we were not available to take care of Arwen?”

Legolas guffawed. “The dutiful brother of a sudden, Elrohir?” he teased. “You are not yourself!”

The Elf-knight mock-scowled then broke into a grin. “I am only jesting,” he said. “Let Almariel have the time with Daurin. She deserves a respite from Arwen’s antics. Elbereth, Legolas, I wager she would best us in mischief were she a boy. ‘Tis not meet that a girl should be so unruly.”

“Am not unruly!” Arwen protested and stuck a delicate tongue out at the younger twin for good measure.

“See what I mean?” Elrohir said pointedly.

At that moment, a flustered Almariel came into view to retrieve her willful charge. As they walked away together, Elladan regarded his little sister with fond exasperation.

“‘Tis just as well Adar and Naneth are taking her with them to Lórien,” he commented. “Let her plague the Galadhrim for a spell.”

“And you have not done your share in upending all of Arda?” Legolas retorted with raised eyebrows.

“Aye, that we have and continue to do,” Elladan laughed. “But as my esteemed brother pointed out, ‘tis unseemly for a female to behave in such a manner. At least, that’s what Naneth claims when she tries to rein her in!”

Eventually, Heledir and Mithrael showed up and the young Elves headed outside. It was a glorious day and perfect for walking and the brethren had promised Heledir the chance to explore the high hills behind the Last Homely House.

Viressë-Yavannië - Quenya for April-September

Edain - men of the Three Houses of Elf-friends in the First Age

meldir - friend

Elleth - Elf-maid

Adar - Father

Naneth - Mother

Part II

A few days later, Elrond and Celebrian departed for the Golden Wood, Arwen and her nurse, Almariel, in tow. It would be the little girl’s first visit to her mother’s parents and her first sojourn away from Rivendell as well. The twins were originally supposed to go on this long-scheduled trip but upon receipt of Legolas’ letter informing them that he could at long last come to Imladris, both had backed out of the journey at once.

Friendship notwithstanding, this did not sit well with Elrond’s household at all. For as sure as the sun rose each morn, they would likely bear the brunt of the twins’ machinations. Add a spirited woodland prince and that could only mean headaches at best and full bodily collapses at worst. Only Glorfindel did not seem overly concerned but, as Erestor grumbled, that was to be expected since the twins knew better than to test the deceptively mild-mannered captain’s patience or temper.

The elder Elves’ dire predictions soon came to pass. Within days of their parents’ departure, the brethren and their noble guest engaged in a series of scrapes surely meant to hasten a reasonably sane Elf’s passage into the Halls of Waiting. One by one, Elrond’ hapless counsellors and retainers fell victim to his sons’ well-planned capers in which they were ably assisted by the Greenwood prince.

Having been spared timorous Ailios’ embarrassingly noisy encounter with bristly spiders and horned beetles in his beddings, Erestor thought himself quite lucky. And when it was staid Gilrion who found himself with a lapful of quarrelling red-crested hens after he’d inadvertently dozed off while reading in the tranquil shade of one of the porches, the steward had reason to believe that perhaps the twins had finally decided to leave him alone. Until he became the butt of the age-old prank of a bucket of water perched atop his bedchamber door.

It was all Glorfindel could do not to laugh out loud when he saw the dignified, always meticulously attired advisor storming through the hallways, trailing brackish pond water behind him and fuming that he would hang, draw and quarter the first of the miscreants he came upon. It took all of the fair-maned captain’s diplomacy to convince his colleague to forego that barbaric form of punishment.

In the wake of Erestor’s inelegant dousing, Gildor Inglorion suddenly decided it was time for him to take another journey. Better to sleep and eat under the open skies and in all weathers than run the risk of being the princelings’ next victim, he reasoned with all the logic of one bent on escaping insult and injury to one’s dignity.

Two days before his departure, a small company of Elves arrived in the valley. Legolas watched curiously as Gildor avidly welcomed them. He and Elrohir were perched upon the balustrade of one of the porches that faced the courtyard of the house languidly observing the comings and goings of the afternoon. It was one of the few times they were not engaged in an activity of a more energetic or purposeful nature.

“Who are they?” he asked Elrohir.

“They are members of one of the wandering companies that roam the north,” the Elf-knight explained. “Gildor travels with them quite often for they once dwelt in Lindon where he has kin.”

“Lindon!” Legolas’ eye’s lighted up with fascination. Lindon was but a name to him; as much the stuff of legend as the Golden Wood. To behold Elves of that realm was no little thing to him, so sheltered had he been in the fastness of his father’s kingdom in Eryn Galen.

“And does the noble shipwright, Cirdan, still ply his craft?” he asked.

Elrohir nodded. “Now more than ever. Many of our kindred are leaving these shores. Our time in Middle-earth is slowly but surely drawing to a close and we will all have to make the choice whether to sail West or remain in these mortal lands, to become a hidden people.” He suddenly turned pensive. “At least, others will have that choice. My siblings and I do not.”

Legolas wondered at his friend’s sadness.

“What do you mean?” he softly prodded.

Elrohir glanced at him. “What do you know of the choice of the Peredhil?”

The prince shrugged and duly recited: “‘Tis told in Eryn Galen that your father and his brother, Elros, were given the choice to be either of the Edhil or the Edain. Lord Elrond chose to be of the Firstborn but Elros became as a mortal man and was thus appointed the first king of ancient Numenor.”

Elrohir nodded. “Elladan, Arwen and I must also make that choice,” he soberly explained#147#147;But we must do so before father departs these lands or forfeit our immortality.”

Legolas frowned. “That doesn’t sound too difficult,” he remarked. “Surely you would choose to be of Elvenkind. ‘Tis the only life you’ve known.”

Elrohir shook his head. “‘Tis not that simple. To claim our Edhil heritage we must perforce take ship with Adar when he leaves Middle-earth whether we are ready to forsake these shores or not. ‘Tis what the Valar decreed when first they gave our family the choice.”

Legolas stared at the Elf-knight. “That is--that is not--fair,” he protested. “Why should your destiny be ruled by another’s desire?”

Elrohir sighed. “Only the Valar can answer that question. Elladan and I try not to think on it as yet. After all, Adar will abide here for many more years.”

“But your choice?” Legolas pressed. “You do not sound certain as to what it will be.”

“I am not,” Elrohir admitted. “Elladan seems inclined to cleave to Elf-kind but I do not know for certain what path I am meant to take. My father’s or my uncle’s.”

Legolas was astounded. “How can you choose to become mortal?” he gasped. “‘To willingly embrahe ahe accursed Gift of Men? ‘Tis madness to seek their doom!”

“Nay, ernil nîn, not if one carries the blood of Men in one’s veins. I feel the Gift’s lure, Legolas, its siren call.”

“What call?” the archer asked bewilderedly.

“The call to freedom. To not be bound to the circles of the world. To be unencumbered by the ever growing weariness of living for centuries uncounted.” The twilight eyes were aglow with a strange fire. “Only the most profound of reasons could make our eternal lives worth living, would ensure never-ending bliss.”

“And what reason could this be?” Legolas queried, awed by the fire in the darkling Elf’s silvery eyes.

“Love, Calenlass,” the Elf-knight quietly replied.

The prince regarded his friend curiously.

“And think you that love will come your way?” he asked.

Elrohir sighed. “I hope so,” he murmured. “Else the shortness of men’s lives will prove the more tempting if I must exist in loneliness, alone, unloved.”

Legolas’ eyes widened at this alarming pronouncement. “Then I most sincerely pray you will get your wish, Elrohir,” he declared tightly. “I do not want to lose you or your friendship. Swear that you will not make this choice without letting me have my say,” he suddenly insisted with startling vehemence.

“Legolas--”

“Swear!”

It was Elrohir’s turn to stare at his friend. Legolas looked positively haunted. His sapphire eyes burned with unmistakable fear.

“Legolas!” Elrohir exclaimed. “I did not mean to upset you so deeply. Forgive me.” He clasped the prince’s suddenhillhilled hands. “I swear, meldir nîn, I will not make that decision without your counsel.” Seeing that the golden-haired Elf was still troubled he raised one hand and cupped the other’s chin reassuringly. “If it will console you, know this, the love of friends can be as potent as the love between spouses. You may very well be the one to hold me to our kindred for your friendship is something I treasure above all others.”

Legolalt hlt his dread fade away as the Elf-knight’s words washed soothingly and tenderly over him. With a tremulous smile, he gripped Elrohir’s hand tightly and turned his head to press his cheek into the cup of the Elf-knight’s warm palm.

“I will remind you of your oath as often as I must,” he solemnly stated. “I will hold you to our kindred as best as I can.” He took a deep calming breath. “I will not be parted from you by fate itself, Elrohir. That, I swear.”

Elrohir stared at the prince with wonder.

“You feel strongly about this,” he remarked.

“I feel strongly about anything that concerns my closest friend.”

A sable eyebrow rose in surprise.

“I am your closest friend?” he inquired. “But what of Heledir and Mithrael? Of Elladan?”

Legolas fell silent for a moment. At length he said: “‘Tis difficult to explain. Heledir and Mithrael are the friends of my growing years; as such, they will always have a place in my heart. But you and Elladan I consider my very best friends despite the brevity of our acquaintance. Such is the pull both of you exert upon me. Yet you alone seem to know me better than anyone else, Elrohir, even better than I know myself. Seldom has anyone shown me such trust and concern as you do or doted on me without shame or regard for the opinion of others. In this you are closer to me than my own brothers, my old playmates and Elladan. In this, you are dearest to me of all my friends.”

Elrohir looked at him wordlessly for several heartbeats. “I am...deeply touched, Calenlass,” he whispered at last.

“Then you understand why I cannot do without you,” the prince said quietly. “‘Twould be like losing a part of myself.”

The Elf-knight nodded somberly. “‘Tis an honor that you should feel thusly about me,” he murmured. “I will confess, I have never felt such profound affection for any not of my kin as I do for you, Legolas. I, too, cannot conceive of a life without your friendship.”

The golden Elf smiled happily at the other’s admission. Then the smile faded somewhat and he looked at Elrohir uncertainly. “Should Elladan find out about my sentiments, would--would he--?”

“Resent you?” Elrohir shook his head, beaming gently. “He would understand. Indeed, I think he already knows for he has many times remarked upon my swift and unwonted regard for you and your ungrudging return of it.”

The smile returned to the prince’s lips. “I am glad for I would not like to lose his esteem either. I am twice blessed in having met both of you. Few ever come to know the love of a true friend, let alone two of them.”

The darkling Elf beamed with pleasure then glanced over the prince’s shoulder to espy his brother approaching. Elladan had that peculiar gleam in his slate blue eyes that boded ill for whoever was on his mind.

“May I assume that you are planning something wicked, gwaniuar?” the younger twin mildly inquired.

“Indeed you may,” Elladan grinned. “Tell me, muindor, when was the last time you saw the interior of Iorwen’s bedchamber?”

Elrohir stared at him. “Iorwen? Valar, Elladan, that was a long time ago. We were but Elflings then. Why do you ask?”

The grin widened and the gleam brightened. “Do you not think it time we took pity on the counsellors?” he murmured with spurious compassion. “I would that we turned our attentions elsewhere for a change.”

Elrohir and Legolas looked at each other then grinned as well.

“Aye, a change would be interesting,” Elrohir agreed. “What do you have in mind?”

“Come and I will show you what I have in mind.”

********

Rivendell’s golden-haired captain strode out of the house and scanned the garden in perplexity. He had been searching for Erestor for the better part of an hour to no avail. The only possible clue to the Elf’s whereabouts was a muted burgundy robe the chief steward had been seen to be wearing earlier in the day. Glorfindel had found it carelessly flung over the back of a chair near the doors leading outside.

Seeing no sign of Erestor, the Noldorin Elf decided a further exploration of the garden was in order. He walked on, following the grassy slope that led away from the river and towards the well-kept orchards beyond, looking to and fro for some sign, any sign, of the steward’s passage. Finally, he came to a stop below a thickly crowned oak of immense age.

“Erestor?!” Glorfindel shouted, wondering where the steward had taken himself. “Where in Arda can he be?” he muttered in frustration.

A sudden hiss caught his attention. It came from the thick foliage directly above him. The warrior Elf looked up and gaped in astonishment.

Perched amidst the branches was the wontedly impeccably attired and well-mannered steward clad only in a lightweight tunic, sturdy long breeches and light shoes. The better to climb a tree, Glorfindel mused, torn between amazement and hilarity.

“What are you doing up there?” he demanded.

“What does it look like, Glorfindel?” Erestor replied tersely. “I am trying to get some peace and quiet!” He glanced up and into the distance, stiffening at whatever he beheld. He looked down and sharply told the other Elf: “If you intend to prolong this conversation, get up here this instant!”

Glorfindel did not hesitate but jumped lightly to grab a branch. With practiced ease and agility, he swung himself onto a limb hardly wider than his own arm. He looked in the same direction that Erestor was intently staring at.

The twins and Legolas were sprinting at full speed down the slope, laughing uproariously. Bearing down on them with most unfeminine rage was Iorwen. The cook was brandishing a homegrown weapon, one of her heavy skillets. She looked more than intent on using it on the younger Elves. The reason for her vengeful attitude was all too apparent. She was drenched in the same pond water the twins had used to such spectacular effect on Erestor previously. Only they had embellished their earlier endeavor by adding dye to the water. Thus, the Elf-woman’s head and shoulders and a goodly portion of her torso were a disconcerting shade of bright orange.

The two counsellors remained absolutely still and quiet as the lordlings dashed by beneath them followed closely by the infuriated Elven lady. Only when the voices of both perpetrators and victim had faded into the distance did they release their breaths, which they had not realized they were holding.

“I suppose we should be grateful that Legolas’ two friends do not often join in these activities,” Glorfindel commented shortly.

“‘Tis because Heledir and Mithrael are sensible, considerate Elves who know better than to plague their elders and court retribution!” Erestor scowled, his usual equanimity and haughty mien breaking down under duress of a most uncommon nature. “I will never agree to baby-sit this motley crew again!” he growled. “Elbereth, ‘tis at times like these that one wishes one were not immortal!”

“Take heart, meldir,” Glorfindel consoled him. “They will sober quickly enough when Elrond and Celebrian return.”

“Would that Imladris will still be standing when they do!”

“Aye,” the captain agreed with a faint smile. “I have oft feared these past three months that our beloved refuge would pass into legend way before its time.”

The intrinsic humor of the notion drew a gust of laughter from the normally grave steward. “Ai, you are fortunate that they fear you too much to play such pranks as they have foisted on the rest of the household,” he said.

“But not enough to keep them from tormenting me just the same,” Glorfindel replied. “I have had much to do trying to keep them from breaking their precious necks. I warrant Elrond will not be too pleased to be presented with less than live princelings upon his return. His rage should that come to pass would be far more dreadful than unbidden baths or creatures in our beddings.”

Erestor shook his head in exasperation. “And I’d thought Legolas would have a calming effect on the twins.”

Glorfindel guffawed. “As much chance of that happening as an orc devoting itself to a life of good works!” At Erestor’s resigned sigh, he added, “Thranduil said much the same thing to Elrond regarding the twins’ hoped-for effect on Legolas.”

Erestor gaped at the fair-haired captain, dignity forgotten for the moment. “He thought the twins would calm Legolas down?” he gasped. He rolled his eyes. “‘Tis most apparent he knew nothing about our resident terrors.”

“He does now,” Glorfindel smirked. He turned serious once more. “The reason I sought you was to inform you that I am leading a patrol out tomorrow at first light. We should be back in a week’s time.”

Erestor nodded. “Good hunting then.”

Glorfindel rose to his feet on the branch. “Are you not coming down?” he asked when Erestor made no move to follow suit.

“Nay, I will stay here for as long as they are up and about.”

Glorfindel laughed. “You would spend the night up here?”

“‘Tis safer up here than in my own chambers with those three planning their next prank.”

With a last chuckle, the warrior Elf nimbly dropped to the ground and sauntered away. There were certain advantages to being known as the Balrog slayer of Gondolin, he thought good-humoredly. At the very least, it spared him the worst of the twins and Legolas’ frightful schemes. What they did dare to play on him he had thus far been able to stomach with adequate grace. The Valar willing, they would continue to hold him in enough awe to stay their all too gamesome hands.

His thoughts went to his less fortunate associate. Poor Erestor, he grinned. Mayhap I should hide him in my quarters until Elrond and Celebrian get back!

Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir's pet name for Legolas)

Peredhil - Half-elven

ernil nîn - my prince

meldir nîn - my friend

gwaniaur - older twin

muindor - brother

TBC
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Greenleaf & Imladris 2 - With Friends Like These