Lord Glorfindel

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Thu, 25 Nov 2004 17:15:36 GMT


legolas is love
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This is the way our story begins.

Mon, 15 Nov 2004 06:38:46 GMT

There were many species native to the Bruinen river. Otters could sometimes be spotted at night, though it took a practiced and patient eye. Water-striders collected where the water grew sluggish. Dragonflies skimmed low on warm days, and tadpoles trailed beneath like shadows of their winged counterparts; in time the tadpoles became tiny frogs and chirped lullabies for the stoic turtles. Down in the waters swam perch and pupfish, minnows and darters, and the occasional eel--though they were more likely to be seen in the Isen, it must be noted.

There were also a sort of fish, small and swift, which liked the quiet pools and smaller flows that ultimately threw in their lot with the river. That kind of fish was caught only in glimpses, flashing like rainbows in the light.

That kind of fish was the kind of fish, in fact, being drawn at the moment by the small blonde elf at my writing-desk. I couldn't see from my chair, but I imagined he was doing impressively. He'd gone through half the colours at his disposal already.

I was to write a history, while he taught himself how to draw the little brilliant fish. It surprised me, when he suggested that I should, but the more I thought upon it the more it seemed right to do. The best love stories are only loves that got written down, after all. We had walked down to the river, splashing and skipping stones and scaring fish more than properly examining them, and all the time my fingers had itched for the quill. So this, I thought, was how the story would begin--with fish, and the drawing of them.

How did a green-elf of forty five years come to be at my writing desk, and why was he drawing fish? Who, after all, am I, and what would I know about the creatures in the river? What is the least bit romantic about a love story that begins with trivial ecological ramblings?

We shall tell you, by and by.

Sun, 21 Dec 2003 23:26:48 GMT

My claustrophobia is beginning to ease, though I still find it strange to be so surrounded by tree or rock. My nerves have eased somewhat too, though I admit this is more because I have not yet encountered Thranduil save at a distance than because I have found some reserve of confidence.

The people are friendly enough, which is a pleasant surprise. They have not yet heard my stories, though some know who I am. I'm tempted to introduce myself as "Glorfindel--not that Glorfindel," merely to keep them from asking. But then, I reflect...

They know what it is to fear. Even on this occasion of joy one can tell, can see the thought hanging over every head, pushed to the back of every mind. The attempts to forget, they know them well. And what it is to be afraid of the shadows.

I would not tell the entire story, not all the details--I think, when I can recount it that way, it will be to Legolas first and perhaps to him only. He, of anyone, deserves to know. For many reasons.

But I have told it as a fireside tale many times, and I still can recite as I once did. So when tonight's supper dishes are cleared and the diners sit musing quietly over their goblets, and a young guard declares that he will hear no tale this evening unless it be the firsthand account of the Balrog-Slayer, I accept the request graciously.

After all, the longer my tale spins out, the less time I will find myself alone in the empty (albeit nice) room that has been given to me, hoping a little prince will escape the crowd and come to me to steal a few moments while we may.

I begin like this:

There stood a city, high and bright, spired and breathtaking; fairer yet than any city I have seen this side of the Sea, and it was my home.

GIP

Wed, 19 Nov 2003 17:46:43 GMT

The full-size version, I am sorry to admit, is only slightly better...

Evil writers with poor photo skills.

Tue, 16 Sep 2003 14:40:58 GMT

Look at me, look at me!

Tue, 02 Sep 2003 05:58:27 GMT

New icon. ::shines::

Hmm.

Mon, 21 Jul 2003 06:19:39 GMT

Glorfindel's having a bit of a lie-down. Some careless journaller left

lying around.

ImLin Chatlog.

Sat, 19 Jul 2003 20:29:14 GMT

This is what I've got...I think it's all of it, it's all I could find anyway.

Glorfindel stepped into the library, surveying it in a glance. It had taken damage from the storm, but it appeared to be cleaned up and mostly reordered--he could guess whose doing that was. He deemed the place empty, or at least empty of Erestor, which was lucky enough as he didn't exactly relish explaining how the book he carried happened to acquire a stain that looked suspiciously like spilled wine. He hurried across to a shelf quietly to slip the book back with its fellows, a little guiltily.

Legolas looked up at the sound of someone entering the library. He looked up, but he didn't really see very much, for the piles of books surrounding the cushion where he sat cross legged obscured most of his vision. He hoped it was no one important, or if it were that they would just leave. In Mirkwood he was always being told to take one book at a time and return it when done, but it was just so hard to choose.

Well, as long as Erestor wasn't here, Glorfindel thought he could get away with taking a few more volumes than usual. There were some translations of Dwarvish histories that he had been meaning to take a look at for some time, and of course their companions in Elvish history for comparison. He wandered towards the back of the shelves, pulling out and stacking the books one by one, nearly tripping over Legolas's pile as he rounded a corner. He blinked down at the figure that he could have sworn was not there a minute ago, then beamed as he recognised the other elf. "Prince Legolas! Good day."

Legolas frowned gravely at the floor, then took in a deep breath and smiled up at Lord Glorfindel, scrabbling to his feet in the most princely manner possible to greet the other elf. "Good day, my Lord. I assure you I was not intending to abscond with all of these books. Simply comparing a few to see which ones I did wish to take." He looked down at the pile up round his waist. "Perhaps I got a little carried away."

Glorfindel grinned and glanced down at the stack of books in his arms. "I won't tell if you won't....though you may want to have them mostly back on the shelves when Erestor comes back. I don't think his fragile heart could take so many books on the floor at once!"

"Erestor?" Legolas gave a slight grin in return. "Is that by any chance the elf I encountered when I came in here, whose eyes practically raked my body, looking, I suppose, for jam, mud or other sticky, messy items that elves my age are supposed to have constantly clinging to their person?"

That made the elder elf laugh out loud. "Oh, you've met him then?" He glanced over Legolas in an unconscious mockery of Erestor's scrutiny, shifting the books in his arms. "Anyway, I think it's elves my age he's got to watch out for. I'm afraid I spilled wine on the last one I brought back."

A little giggle rang out as a quieter echo to the elder elf's laughter. "Then I can only hope it was a dull book and an even more dull page. Perhaps no one will ever find out."

Glorfindel grinned down at the princeling, affecting a mortally wounded tone. "You think I read dull books, do you?"

Blue eyes widened. Legolas had not meant that at all, certainly not to offend. What was it about this place that made him so ungainly in manner? "No no, in fact, I am sure all of the books in this place are well worth the time it would take to read them. If I were to be here long enough, perhaps I would find out. I simply meant that if, and only if it were, perhaps it would save you from being found out about, with your wine stain."

"Do not look so horrified, little prince, I was only teasing you. If I did not know Erestor so well, I should think I would never be found out, as it was a book of recorded council votes on city taxes over the past century. Only bearable through a glass or two of wine, and not so much even then." Glorfindel leaned down to pick up one of the scattered pile. "What are you reading? I am glad to see you've found something to do. I worried you'd be frightfully bored while everyone else was so busy with repairing storm damage."

"No, in fact I am glad of the free time. Ai'mithe has a gift for keeping those around him busy, as I believe the High King is finding out as we speak." Legolas patted the top of one book pile, "History books. Mostly. Some of them are a little confusing."

Glorfindel smiled. "I'd imagine. He did seem to have rather enough energy for two or three." He seated himself on the floor, glancing through the piles with interest. "Confusing how?"

"Well. Backwards." Legolas found himself looking at the top of a golden head, and sat down also, back on his cushion and almost eye level with Glorfindel. "Sort of topsy turvy. Or right but not quite right. Like I know the stories, but the pages are mixed up."

Glorfindel blinked and reached for another book, opening and glancing through it as if expecting to find pages put in upside down. "Mixed up?"

"Yes. Contradictory to the facts."

The lord lifted one eyebrow, and began to suspect this was not going to be the best of literary discussions. "Er, which ones?" He had a feeling he could pick them out himself, but he left it to Legolas and pondered how, to explain differing histories to a son of Thranduil.

Legolas tutted and reached for one of the thicker books in the pile, flicking through it, he stopped his fingers in several pages, from the earliest mentions of his kind, through to the founding of Rivendell. "Well these ones were the first I noticed...."

Glorfindel glanced over the indicated pages and made a noncommittal noise. "In comparison to your own books in Mirkwood, yes?"

"The ones I have read, yes."

He drummed his fingers on the cover of one of his own stacked books, fishing for the most tactful explanation. "Well, history--that is, it's not always--hmm. Let's just say, it depends on who has the pen in his hand. I suppose we teach it as if it's fact, but to be quite truthful, it's more...subjective."

"You mean that the person who wrote this lied to make the truth fit his own wants? He has painted our people in a terribly bad light." Legolas took the book back and flicked to the author page, then frowned at the name there.

"I mean," Glorfindel tried again, "that any author records the truth as he sees it, and no one knows everything."

"It still seems strange to me. That the prejudices of one person should colour the knowledge and learning of all those who followed." Legolas snapped the book shut and set it down. "Perhaps I am not enough of a scholar to understand."

Glorfindel reached for it, replying almost distractedly. "That is why there are multiple books on any one subject. So that one can see the entire story." He got another look at the book and realised with a sinking feeling where this was going. This wasn't the original, but now he recognised it; his own record of the events. "If you have a suggestion for finding totally impartial authors, young prince, I would be most obliged to know it."

"I suppose I just don't see why there should be different sides for a person to be partial to in the first place. But then, if there were not, there would be no wars to record, of course." looking up, Legolas met the gaze of the other elf unflinchingly, "You have been in many of them?"

"Fair enough." He was well aware the question did not hold the usual awe young elves spoke it with, and that, too, was fair enough. "A few, yes, though I would much rather be recording wars long ended than participating in them."

"If Adar reads some of these, there may yet be another." Legolas sighed softly, a slight frown still tugging the corners of his mouth downwards. "You did not like my Grandfather much, did you?"

"No, I am afraid I did not." Glorfindel felt it would be best not to elaborate unless it was necessary; trying to justify his dislike would only make the elfling defensive. "Do you only read histories? Our ballads, perhaps, might be more to your taste--they mostly only vary in wording, and rarely in perspective."

"I love ballads, though we do not have so much singing in our realm, I have learnt all that I can. It seems every story is so much more beautiful when put into verse. I do not have so much of a talent for it myself, but a great appreciation." the young prince offered Glorfindel a brief smile, "I am sure it takes equal talent to carry off so smooth a subject change."

Glorfindel chuckled. "You don't miss much, do you?" He dug through his stack and passed over a few of the thinner volumes. "I think you will enjoy evenings in the Hall of Fire, once the place returns to normal. Elrond is a master harper, you know, and we follow his example mostly in the love of music."

Legolas nodded, accepting the books and selecting several others from his piles before separating the rest out to be put back. "Thank you, and so long as I am not put in care of 'mithe every night until we depart, I hope that I will have many evenings of such enjoyment." he paused, moving Glorfindel's history from the pile to be returned into the one he would take with him, "His portrait is everywhere, you know. Adar says we have much to learn from him."

The lord smiled. "Perhaps we may persuade you to share one of the Greenwood's songs before you depart." He cringed inwardly when the book was moved--he'd been hoping at least to take it and reread what he'd said, and possibly keep the book aside if it were too unforgivable. And as for Oropher-- "There is always much to be learned from one's ancestors," he managed agreeably. He supposed so long as he did not cause awful offence it didn't matter much if the Prince of Mirkwood thought Elrond's seneschal less than likeable, but for some reason he longed to leave a good impression.

"And what did you learn from yours?' standing up, Legolas wobbled his pile of books over to a desk, then moved back to start restocking the shelves with his discarded tomes.

Glorfindel set his own books aside, dividing the pile on the desk into two--he doubted the prince could get all of them back to his room without assistance--and considered. "Most of what I know, though admittedly experience has improved upon their teachings. The use of a blade and the command of a horse, how to read and the difference between edible mushrooms and poisonous, not to hit my cousins when they stole my toys. What all elders teach, I should think."

Peering round from behind a book case, Legolas shook his head, "Horses, blades and mushrooms each have their own instructor, that is how I learnt of them. That and the fact that my cousins can hit back awfully hard."

Glorfindel chuckled. "I was the eldest of my cousins, so I was the one hitting the hardest. Anyway, they were merely examples. I believe my own grandfather shaped much of my outlook on the world, one way or another. Of course, I was fortunate enough to know him, so I cannot compare between us."

Oh Eru, the writer's doing memes.

Sun, 29 Jun 2003 01:07:46 GMT

crowning_glory
Magic Number	11
Job	Politician
Personality	Multiple
Temperament	Cool And Calm
Sexual	Whatever, Whenever, Whoever
Likely To Win	Another Gold Star
Me - In A Word	Unique
Colour
Brought to you by MemeJack

Anticipation

Fri, 13 Jun 2003 00:16:39 GMT

And now, finally, we have arrived upon the borders of the Greenwood.

I think somehow I ought to be more nervous than I am--of course, I am, but there is also a sort of exhilaration which tempers it. It has been rather a long time since I have attended wedding festivities, now that I think upon it, and longer still since I have seen anything like the marriage of a prince. I do sometimes miss the royal court of Gondolin, the dancing and festivities and gossip; in this Age, it seems, we have less use and leisure for such things. But the occasion certainly merits a bit of courtly frivolity, and I for one look forward to it.

Though, I suppose, I may not dance with whom I would prefer. Nor make cause for any gossip, though I can share that which I hear without causing any trouble.

And secret romances were always another staple of Turgon's court. I believe I shall feel right at home.

Travelling Music.

Tue, 01 Apr 2003 20:05:41 GMT

An Elvish tune is good for the Hall of Fire, for the treetops of Lorien or the cavern chambers of the Greenwood palace. But there's nothing quite like a Mannish tune for travelling by. They aren't supposed to be perfectly balanced in harmonics, or exceedingly meaningful, and nobody minds if you make up half the words because you've forgotten them or simply because you think the song ought to have a few extra verses.

Besides, you can't help but smile. When a song doesn't need to have much meaning it can be delightfully cheerful and just as irreverent.

The Fox
The fox ran out on a chilly night
He asked Ithil to give him light
For he'd many a mile to go that night
Before he reached the town-o.
He'd many a mile to go that night
Before he reached the town-o.

He ran till he came to the farmer's pen
The ducks and geese were kept therein
He said: a couple of you are going to grease my chin
Before I leave this town-o...
A couple of you are going to grease my chin
Before I leave this town-o.

He grabbed the great goose by the neck
Threw a duck across his back
And he didn't mind the quack-quack
And the legs all dangling down-o.
He didn't mind the quack-quack
And the legs all dangling down-o.

The old grey woman jumped out of bed
Out of the window she popped her head
Crying John, John! The great goose is gone
And the fox is on the town-o.
John, John! The great goose is gone
And the fox is on the town-o.

He ran till he came to his nice warm den
And there were the little ones, eight, nine, ten
Saying Daddy, Daddy, go back again!
It must be a mighty fine town-o.
Daddy, Daddy, go back again!
For it must be a mighty fine town-o.

The fox and his wife, without any strife
They cut up the goose with a fork and a knife
And they never had such a supper in their life!
And the little ones chewed on the bones-o.
They never had such a supper in their life!
And the little ones chewed on the bones-o.

John Grumlie
John Grumlie swore by the light o' the moon
And the green leaves on the tree,
That he could do more work in a day
Than his wife could do in three.
His wife rose up in the morning
With cares and troubles enough;
John Grumlie, bide at home, John
And I'll go hand the plough.

Singing fal de fal lal de ral lal,
fal lal lal lal lal la!
John Grumlie, bide at home, John,
And I'll go hand the plough.

First ye must dress your children fair,
And put them all in their gear,
And ye must turn the malt, John
Or else ye'll spoil the beer.
And ye must reel the tweel, John
That I spun yesterday;
And ye must put up the hens, John
Else they'll all lay away.

Singing fal de fal lal de ral lal,
fal lal lal lal lal la!
John Grumlie, bide at home, John,
And I'll go hand the plough.

O, he did dress his children fair,
And he put them all in their gear;
But he forgot to turn the malt,
And so he spoiled the beer,
And he sang aloud as he reel'd the tweel
That she spun yesterday;
But he forgot to put up the hens,
And the hens all lay'd away.

Singing fal de fal lal de ral lal,
fal lal lal lal lal la!
John Grumlie, bide at home, John,
And I'll go hand the plough.

The pretty cow would spare no milk;
The churn no butter gave;
And all went wrong, and naught went right;
He danced with rage and raved.
Then up he ran to the head o' the hill,
And for his wife called out
She heard him as she heard him not.
And steered the stots about.

Singing fal de fal lal de ral lal,
fal lal lal lal lal la!
John Grumlie, bide at home, John,
And I'll go hand the plough.

John Grumlie's wife came home at e'en,
And laughed as she'd been mad
When she saw the house in such a state
And John so glum and sad.
Quoth he, I give up my housewifeship,
I'll be never more a wife.
Indeed, quoth she, I'm well content,
Ye may keep it the rest of your life.

Singing fal de fal lal de ral lal,
fal lal lal lal lal la!
John Grumlie, bide at home, John,
And I'll go hand the plough.

A curse upo' ye, quoth surly John,
I'll do as I've done before.
With that the goodwife took up a stout rung,
And John made off to the door.
Stop, stop, goodwife, I'll hold my tongue,
I know I'm well to blame;
But henceforth I shall mind the plough,
And ye can bide at home!

Nin Daedelos

Thu, 06 Mar 2003 21:49:46 GMT

I'm packing, and thinking; I'm nervous, I can't help it. Oh, excited too, of course--I suspect I will see the Greenwood with very different eyes on this trip than ever I have looked with before, and I do expect to enjoy the finer points of Thranduil's realm as upon any diplomatic voyage. But I wonder whether I will even dare to breathe, for fear I'll give myself away. My gaze may linger too long or my tongue slip in overly casual address or the chain he wears fall into view or any number of little things which would betray us.

And then I torment myself with the thought of opening my mouth and shouting it for all to know, of being deliberately incautious, of causing a scene the way we did here. I entertain such folly just long enough to be thrilled by the danger before dismissing it. For now it entertains me, but when I am there I fear having had such things ever in my mind will only serve to heighten my paranoia.

At least Thranduil cannot look into minds. Else I would be pincushion-full of arrows before I crossed the Greenwood's borders.

A letter

Thu, 20 Feb 2003 00:22:39 GMT

Nín emlin,

I'm sorry it only rhymes in the common tongue. My writer refused to cooperate with a translation.

Below us the river (beside me a star)
Behind you the doorway. inside only dark
Above us the evening; before me êl-nín
You light balcony, doorway, evening, ravine.
Your skin glowing faintly (which you cannot see)
Around you a city. before you just me
Upon us the moonlight; within me such peace
To make Loudwater quiet and chaos surcease.
What fire unexpected (such passionate eyes)
How open you break me. what need by surprise
Beneath you the tiles; behind me the night
I leave it, embrace you
Galad-nín.
My light.

Gerich meleth nín,
Glorfindel

I Amar Siila na Glaur o Miil, a Linnon an Glass-niin.

Tue, 18 Feb 2003 08:01:26 GMT

E ista. E ista ha thel i amar na nin, ha thel i fea-niin. A E den aniira. E den si gar, ned iidh bain, ned haust-niin.

::gladha moe:: E conui a e nin trenar, den uu-awarthon; harthon nin uu-awartha. Idhon sen maer.

Darthatham ned Eryn Galen ir sen istannen, egor darthatham ned Imladris. Uu-bach na nin. Uu-idhon sen...galad...na anrand.

A im uu si eredhel.

He knew. He knew what it was and what it meant to me. And he wanted it. He wears it now, sleeping beautifully in my bed.

::soft laugh:: He commands me not to leave him, ever; I can only hope he will not leave me. But I think it is enough.

Maybe we will stay in the Greenwood when everything comes to light, or maybe in Imladris. It matters little to me. I have not felt so...light...in an Age.

And I am not, for once, alone.

Nin Ernil-neth uin Eryn Galen

Sat, 15 Feb 2003 23:09:39 GMT

E tool na riiloth a aes, an Mereth uin Ind o eryn. Im boe den. Men gerim; niin ind gar diin mereth-garn.

Idhin anann o ant aniiriannen anno. Ha uu-thel (im goston) aglar an pen, sen ha thel an nin...Gondolin edlenn, niin herth cuin ned nin, a ir inc uu-thel si bach. Ha nad-bain... E mellatha diin siilol, a im istathon ha thel.

He comes to me with a flower-crown and chocolate, for the woodland Festival of the Heart. I have missed him so. We celebrate; my heart has its own festival.

I have thought long on a gift I wish to give. It may not (I fear) mean so much to any but me...Gondolin is gone, my house alive only in me, and the symbol does not stand for much any longer. But it is still a fair thing. He may like its look, and I at least will know what it once was.

That Which Is Expected Of Me.

Fri, 17 Jan 2003 05:36:55 GMT

I know Elrond thinks me foolish. I know he thinks Legolas merely a product of Thranduil's upbringing, and I know as well that he is entitled to his opinion as surely as I am to mine.

I worry, however, about disappointing. It is one thing if he thinks me foolish in personal matters, for it is well known that the heart does not trouble itself with logic and reason. But if I should fail to keep up with my duties, that is an entire other realm. I shall not give him cause to think me unreliable, nor shall I disappoint his idea of me. I value his esteem.

There is always, alas, so much to be done; and I take much of it in hand. It would hardly reflect well if I took things in half-measures just to get done early and spend time that Elrond, no doubt, thinks shamelessly wasted.

And now with Thranduil's men here I don't even dare to look at Legolas too long at a stretch for fear they'll be off tattling to their master about the filthy Noldo with his hands all over the Greenwood's favourite son. I wonder whether Elrond is worried that I will give the game away. Then again, I imagine I am doing enough worrying for the both of us.

Usually I prefer the warmer months, but I'm beginning to wish that winter weren't so far off. The first snow usually gets rid of all but the most permanent visitors, and there is always less work to be done when travelling is at a minimum.

Then again, I don't suppose Mirkwood would dream of leaving its prince walled in with the Noldor and no supervision for an entire winter. Which means they'll either steal him back or we'll be sentenced to a season cooped up with these horrid counselors of Thranduil's.

I hardly expected to find myself this lonely when he still resides in the next chambers over from mine.

Writer: There was supposed to be a sheet, I swear.

Tue, 07 Jan 2003 02:22:13 GMT

Pencils and a sketchbook on a long weekend trying to ignore the family, with Glorfindel in my head demanding things.

There was supposed to be a sheet. The sheet didn't work out, so. Full frontal nudity.

I'm off to hide behind the sofa now.

Steps in the Wrong Direction

Wed, 01 Jan 2003 19:46:40 GMT

I should have known better, really. I should have gone to Elrond right away and told him. Instead I kissed the Greenwood prince in the main hall and let the gossips do it for me, brought Legolas into the middle of it.

He was still here when Elrond came to talk to me about it. That, predictably, didn't go over well. It should have been me telling Elrond, before all this, and him being angry with me. Instead Legolas was here being lectured with me, bearing the brunt of it when it's been my fault.

Glorfindel: ::curled up happily against Legolas, suddenly remembers what's been nagging him:: Damn it. The correspondences from Erebor. ::they're sitting on the bedside table, when he was supposed to take them to Elrond early this morning::

Elrond: [knocks on Glorfindel's door as if on cue] Glorfindel?

Legolas: Hmm? *Almost on the verge of drifting off, and not quite sure what Glorfindel is on about, leans forward to nibble the tip of the elder elf's ear* You get letters from the dwarves?

Elrond: [knocks louder] Glorfindel. I know you're in there; you're not anywhere else in the manor.

Glorfindel: ::groans:: All right, Elrond, all right. Just a minute. ::untangles himself reluctantly from Legolas and climbs into his robe, scooping up the papers; opens the door just enough to be seen and hands them out to Elrond:: Sorry. Forgot.

Legolas: *slowly works his way down under the covers, flattening himself just enough to peek out, but forgetting his blonde hair fanned across the pillow*

Elrond: [doesn't miss the scent of sex on his counselor] Are you hiding in there who I think you're hiding in there. [not a question]

Elrond: [takes the letters calmly]

Glorfindel: ::blushes slightly despite his efforts not to, but plays dumb:: Hiding? I don't know. Who is it you think I'm hiding?

Elrond: The blond prince of Greenwood you weren't very discreet about in the great hall. [voice deceptively calm; eyes however do not mask his great displeasure]

Legolas: *secures himself a bit further under the covers, not sure if it would be best to jump up and make a break for it instead*

Elrond: [arches eyebrow] Well?

Glorfindel: ::blushes more, trying to keep his features stoic:: Well? If I were?

Elrond: Then I would attempt to refrain from butchering you in front of him.

Elrond: You know what is at stake here, Glorfindel. I thought you had more respect for me, as your lord if nothing else.

Glorfindel: ::sighs softly and steps back from the doorway, allowing Elrond in:: Go ahead. You might as well spend your wrath now while it's fresh.

Elrond: [pockets the letters in one of his deep robe pockets and comes in] Legolas, get out of that bed and come here. Glorfindel, sit down. [gestures to one of the nearby chairs]

Glorfindel: ::seats himself, deeply chagrined::

Legolas: *sits up, pulling the covers around him and glaring quite fiercely at the lord his landlord* I haven't got any clothes, so I will not get out. And if you lay a finger on him, let alone butcher him I'll..I'll....

Glorfindel: ::holds a hand up pacifyingly:: He would be well within his rights, princeling. But I think Lord Elrond was expressing his anger rather than truly threatening me.

Elrond: Then wrap the sheet around you, but get out of that bed.

Legolas: He has no....*looks down as Elrond speaks, biting his lip, and finally gathers the sheets up around him and climbs out of the bed, bowing his head, but still grumbling slightly* I don't see why.

Elrond: [silently gestures to another chair for Legolas to sit in, a good distance away from Glorfindel]

Glorfindel: ::sighs and crosses his arms a little defensively, knowing he's in for it::

Elrond: [working himself up for a good, long lecture]

Legolas: *Isn't sure whether to shout or cry, finally doing neither and picking his way dejectedly over to the chair, not looking at either of them*

Elrond: [watches him go, and fixes a most disapproving look upon him when he sits] At least have the decency to be proud of your defiance, Prince of Greenwood.

Glorfindel: ::laughs mirthlessly at the absurdity of the statement:: Tear into us, already, Elrond. The suspense is killing me.

Legolas: *looks up* You have, as yet, not given me anything important enough to defy you over, Lord Elrond. I will move to any chair you wish if you ask it. Ask me something else and I may not be so compliant. *tilts his chin up*

Elrond: [reaches over and slaps Legolas across the face, not hard enough to really hurt, but hard enough to show Legolas who's in charge] You were not asked to speak.

Legolas: *touches his face in complete shock, frozen for a minute*

Glorfindel: ::sits forward a little angrily, shocked, a hand raising a little automatically though he immediately puts it back down:: Elrond...!

Elrond: [to Legolas] Your father has placed you in my care, which means your well being is my concern. You know well that you are not of the age set forth by our customs to take a lover. You did it anyway. It was my responsibility to see you unsullied during your time here. You know that anything you do falls upon my shoulders when the time comes for me to answer to Thranduil. I am very displeased with your decision, and I will contrive a fitting punishment for you at a time when I can think more clearly on the matter. Do you have anything to say?

Legolas: *pulls his hand away from his face and looks at it, then up at Elrond* Without speaking to my Ada, you have no right to state what his opinion on the matter would or would not be. And striking me because you did not give me permission to speak is no kind of fair discipline since, as I remember, you did not forbid me to either. Glorfindel has had his worries about talking to you on this matter, and I thought I knew why. But I don't. I don't see why he is afraid of you, because you are clearly afraid of my Adar. I had heard that the Lord of Imladris was both fair and just, the tales would appear to be wrong on both counts. *Is speaking in just as calm a manner as Elrond had initially* And I am sorely disappointed. I had also heard that you were friend to the Lord Glorfindel. In that also I would appear to be wrong, as you have left him with drink as his sole solace for who knows how many years.

Glorfindel: ::puts his head in his hands, thinking Legolas has surely pushed every one of Elrond's buttons in a few sentences::

Legolas: *smiles and folds his hands in his lap* Do you have further questions?

Elrond: It might have been nice if the two of you had included me in this from the beginning, because I am responsible for both of you. Fairness, justice, I cannot give you that now. This affair was tainted from the beginning. And a friend does not keep secrets from one who would stop at nothing to help him, if only he knew there was a problem that need fixing. And you, Legolas, are in my house and will abide by my rules. You may be prince of Greenwood, but you are not prince of Imladris.

Elrond: [turns to Glorfindel] Glorfindel, you of *anyone* here should have known better than this. How many other willing women and young men are there in the city who would've leaped at the chance to sate your lust? Thranduil hates me, and you have just given him a way to act on his hate. Whatever wergild he demands for his son's lost purity, I must give him; and in return, I will avenge honor upon you.

Elrond: You were my friend, Glorfindel. Now, I am not so certain.

Glorfindel: ::mouth turns into a thin line:: If that was all I wanted, my lord, to sate my lust--why should I have waited until now? I have been here for many long years, as has the city, as have the people here. I do not doubt I deserve whatever punishment you lay on me, but I assure you, I would not risk your friendship on so simple a thing as that. I am sorry for what ill may come of this, but I do not regret it.

Elrond: [sighs, anger replaced more by weariness and sorrow] I am not unsympathetic. You know that I've sheltered lovers in Imladris on many occasions, sometimes even in my own house. But this is different, and you know it. I know not if I can protect the two of you against Thranduil's perceptions of what's happened here. I may not have been able to even if you had come to me when this began.

Legolas: *softly* I'll talk to my Ada. I'm not afraid of him like you are. He loves me and if he loves me he will accept me. I can't end this. *looks at Glorfindel for reassurance*

Glorfindel: Then do not try. I will take responsibility. I went behind your back and acted in direct opposition of what I knew your wishes to be, and I will tell Thranduil as much. If he wishes my life, then he may try for it.

Elrond: [moves over to Legolas and tilts his chin up, carefully healing the redness and swelling caused by his own slap] We will see what happens, my friend, but I do not know what Thranduil will think of any of this, and I do not think this will cause this gap between he and I to lessen any.

Legolas: *looks up* Between gaps, do you not build bridges? *points at self* Beloved of him. *points at Glorfindel * Beloved of you. *quietly* And of each other. Forming the join.

Elrond: Forgive me if I think your father the kind to burn bridges out of spite, for I know little else of him but his cruelty and hatred. But I will try, though I risk much in doing so.

Glorfindel: ::takes a deep breath and puts a hand on Elrond's shoulder:: Thank you, meldir.

Elrond: [soft chuckle] Am I truly so untrustworthy that you couldn't tell me about this sooner? You've no idea how stressful this sort of situation is.

Glorfindel: ::pinches the bridge of his nose, smiling weakly:: How was I to broach the subject?

Legolas: *stares at the floor as they talk*

Elrond: [turns to the prince] Legolas.

Legolas: *stares harder at the floor*

Elrond: Please look at me. [lifts the elf's head up]

Legolas: *looks waveringly at him* Cruelty and hatred? That is truly what you think? Cruelty and hatred and nothing else?

Elrond: There must be something else, or else he would be an orc and not an elf. But I have not seen it, and I think that something else is not meant for a twice tainted Noldo to ever see.

Elrond: I apologize for slapping you. It was uncalled for.

Glorfindel: ::sighs softly, quelling the urge to go and wrap his arms around Legolas::

Legolas: *hugs himself* It was. At some point I may forgive you. Not today. And perhaps if you did not fear his wrath you would not see so much of it. He doesn't respect those who cannot stand their ground.

Elrond: [it's low and dishonorable, but he can't resist] As I recall, it was not the Noldor who couldn't stand their ground.

Legolas: *Looks at him, then stands up and walks past* .....Maybe not tomorrow either, then. *out the door and through into his own room next door, locking it.*

Glorfindel: ::sighs heavily:: Some bridge, my lord.

Elrond: He seems to think that I require his forgiveness. And he seems to think that his being a prince makes him lord of the manor. He's got a lot to learn about me standing my ground.

Glorfindel: I don't question that. Your retort, however, was hardly in good taste.

Elrond: Given the history between his father and me, it was remarkably appropriate.

Glorfindel: He is not his father, nor should he be struck at through his love of Thranduil.

Elrond: I suppose you're right. On the other hand, Legolas is prideful and arrogant and we're not going to get along very well while he doesn't accept that I'm his superior while he's under this roof.

Legolas: *bundles Glorfindel's sheets onto his own bed, dressing hurriedly in his traveling clothes, taking a few small objects from his drawers, and retrieving his diadem, setting it back on his head where it has not been since its arrival.*

Glorfindel: May I go and speak with him, Elrond, or will you hold me here?

Elrond: [smiles] Seeing as how you've done a great deal more than speak with him already, and I couldn't stop that either, then I see no reason why you cannot speak with him now. I do expect you to be able to keep up with your work, if you two choose to continue with this. I was the lover of the high king, and he granted me no quarter in my duties.

Legolas: *hops out of his room and up onto his balcony, leaping to the next one, the opposite way from Glorfindel's room*

Glorfindel: ::inclines his head deferentially:: Of course. I assure you, the correspondences were an oversight. I *have* done more than spend time with Legolas today.

Elrond: [chuckles] But not much more, I'd wager. Next time you decide to do this, if there is a next time, please keep me informed. [goes to the door and leaves] I'll see you in the morning.

My little bird is a terrible tease...

Sat, 21 Dec 2002 23:30:38 GMT

...but ai, how can I resist him?

It scares me that I cannot. My weakness.

And, in some strange measure, delights me. How easily I am overthrown. How odd it feels to relinquish control.

I shake a fist at him playfully, and tell him if he ever draws me out like that again...

He laughs, and says, "You'll beg me harder?"

It is true. Dear me.

And I've nearly let my vodka run out. Eru.

Greenwood Poetry

Tue, 17 Dec 2002 08:28:43 GMT

My Legolas.

I am his, and he mine.

I have not Elrond's gift with words, but I would write him volumes if I did.

The twins, predictably, did not listen to a word I said during their lessons. After all, they are in the best position to hear the gossip of Imladris, and we did rather make a scene at breakfast. And the braids defeated any thought of blaming gossips for an outlandish tale.

Elladan told me I looked like one of Thranduil's people, to try and get a rise out of me. He seemed rather miffed when I told him that was the point.

Elrohir just smiled sweetly and asked me how to say "lecherous" in Quenya. I maintain I was perfectly justified in assigning him twenty pages of copywork.

But they both apologized without prompting. Whatever else they may be, the twins are not mean-spirited. I suspect they find it more amusing that their stolid tutor has a lover at all, than that the details of the relationship are questionable.

Now to face Elrond, and Thranduil.

Even that prospect doesn't ruin my mood.

Christmas Cake.

Tue, 17 Dec 2002 07:36:20 GMT

Someone sent the writer an email with a recipe for Christmas cake. I've never been particularly interested in cooking, but I think this one bears testing out.

1 Cup of Water 1 Cup of Brown Sugar
4 Large Eggs Lemon Juice
1 tsp. of Baking Soda Nuts
1 Cup of Sugar 1 Bottle of Vodka
1 tsp. Salt 2 Cups of Dried Fruit

Sample the vodka to check quality Take a large bowl, check the vodka again.
To be sure it is of the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink. Repeat.
Turn on the electric mixer. Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl.
Add one teaspoon of sugar. Beat again. At this point it's best to make sure the vodka is shtill OK. Try another cup...just in case.
Trun off the mixerer.
Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit.
Pick fruit off floor. Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers pry it loose with a drewscriver.
Sample the vodka to check for tonsisticity.
Next, sift two cups of salt. Or something. Who giveshz a shit. Check the vodka.
Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find.
Greash the oven. Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over.
Don't forget to beat off the turner, throw the bowl through the window, finish the vodka and kick the cat.

CHERRY MISTMAS!!!!