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meretriculaangst! drama! humor! no real kissing! ...sorry.
The Estel arc had to culminate somewhere, I guess. Kisses to you, Sylvie!
The day that Lord Elrond's wayward foster son returned from his travels in the wild was one of great excitement in Rivendell, but it began quite slowly in the house of the half-elf. The previous evening had been a feast of some note, so many of the inhabitants of the fair valley had elected to remain in bed on that fine spring morning.
"Good morning to you all!" Elrond proclaimed brightly as he entered the feast hall. He alone of all those present was not suffering the unfortunate aftereffects of overindulgence. He was thus met with a variety of unfriendly looks.
"Good morning my - " Glorfindel began, but was cut off before he could voice whatever foul obscenity was lurking on his tongue.
"And where is our dear Master Erestor?" Elrond inquired, his usually solemn expression lit with the sparkle of mischief.
"Sleeping off his hangover, like a sane person," Glorfindel muttered.
Lindir raised his head off the table to fix his blood-shot gaze briefly upon the blond warrior. "That lightweight. He barely drank a full bottle."
"There may have been hard liquor licked off of various body parts after we retired to our rooms," Glorfindel admitted without the faintest trace of shame.
"He'd kill you if he heard you say that," Melpomaen remarked, his voice muffled, understandably since his face was hidden in his arms from any adventuresome ray of light.
"Then it's a good thing he isn't here, isn't it?" Glorfindel contemplated calling over a servant and requesting breakfast. His stomach rolled unhappily, and he reconsidered.
The doors of the great hall crashed open. Every elf within hearing distance, except Lord Elrond, winced and covered his ears in pain. Glorfindel went one step further, and squeezed his eyes shut against the light let in - the servants, with their usual thoughtful foresight, had covered all the windows before retiring the previous night, but the sun was in full evidence beyond the open door.
Thus he was completely unprepared for the slap of leather across his cheek. Without reopening his eyes, Glorfindel sighed, "Look, I haven't seduced an elf-maiden in centuries, so whatever your daughter or sister or wife says I did, it wasn't me - "
"Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower," proclaimed the man, who was standing far too close for the comfort of Glorfindel's ears, "I, Aragorn son of Arathorn, do hereby challenge you to a duel, for the honor and affection of one Erestor of Rivendell."
Now Glorfindel cracked his eyelids slightly. "Excuse me, what?"
Estel glared down at him. "I swore to reclaim Erestor from your evil clutches, you lecher, and I will, as soon as I utterly humiliate you with my skill with the sword."
Glorfindel twitched. "If I agree to duel you, will you go away and let me nurse my hangover in peace?"
"You may have until this afternoon to prepare yourself," Estel agreed magnanimously.
"Oh, joy," Glorfindel muttered, and let his head fall down onto his folded arms. Estel stalked out of the hall, thankfully shutting the door behind him, although not without slamming it loudly enough to make all the elves in the hall cringe again.
"So," Lindir murmured to Elrond, "who wants to break it to Estel that dueling for another elf's lady is no longer considered valid legal practice and can lead to prosecution for rape?"
Elrond snorted. "If he'd paid attention to his books during his history lessons instead of staring at Erestor, he'd know that already. Besides, this is even more amusing than watching all of you flinch at loud noises."
"I'm glad my pain is serving you as entertainment, my lord," Glorfindel groaned sarcastically. "What would your medical advice suggest?"
"Hair of the dog that bit you," Elrond replied promptly, and raised his voice to shout, "Someone bring Lord Glorfindel a goblet of mead! We have to get him in top form for his duel this afternoon!" He took a certain sadistic pleasure as everyone around him went pale(r) and clutched at their ears.
*
Several hours later, Glorfindel was feeling considerably less pain. Lindir, who had partaken almost as heartily in Elrond's "medicine," and Melpomaen, who had exercised a bit more restraint, finally stopped drinking in favor of watching Glorfindel. "Should you really be drinking before you fight?" Lindir asked curiously, if a trifle belatedly.
"I would think the alcohol would dull your reflexes," Melpomaen chimed in, frowning.
Elrond chuckled. "Ah, Glorfindel fights beautifully in a drunken stupor. The brawls in the Men's camp the night before we stormed Mount Doom... a sight to behold indeed."
"I wouldn't say beautifully," Glorfindel sighed, "but better drunk than hungover, at any rate." He gazed mournfully down at his empty goblet, then set it aside. "Enough of that. I want to be able to move tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow morning, you'll be too dead to worry," Estel proclaimed grandly. He had entered the hall just in time to catch Glorfindel's last comment.
"Estel!" Elrond said sharply. "There will be no killing, or talk of killing, in my home!"
"Sorry, Father," he said sheepishly, any trace of menace instantaneously gone. "First blood?"
"Acceptable," Elrond replied snippily. "This is nonsense and both of you know it."
"It is not nonsense!" Estel protested passionately. "Erestor is far too good for a brainless, muscle-bound idiot like Glorfindel!"
"And Erestor would probably be the first to agree with you," Elrond sighed, "but it was his choice and not yours and you really aren't listening to me, are you?"
"No, Father," Estel answered automatically. Elrond buried his face in his hands.
"All right, let's get this over with," Glorfindel suggested in resignation, climbing to his feet. "Does anyone have a sword I can borrow?"
Estel spun around to glare at him. "You mock the gravity of my challenge!"
"No, I just don't have a sword," Glorfindel replied patiently. "I was eating breakfast when you stormed in to demand a duel. Well, I was thinking better of eating breakfast. Since then, I have been steadily drinking in the hopes that this will all disappear in a haze of alcohol. Thus, I have not had an opportunity to retrieve a weapon. So, either lend me one, or prepare to fight bare-handed."
Estel scowled, tried and failed to find fault with Glorfindel's explanation, and then unsheathed a long hunting knife from his side. "I don't have two swords. We'll have to use knives."
"Fair enough," Glorfindel said agreeably, and took the blade from Estel. He hefted it. "Nice knife."
Estel eyed him suspiciously. "It was a parting gift from the Dunedain."
"I'll do my best not to damage it, then." Glorfindel settled back into a fighting stance, as naturally as breathing, in the open space that had been cleared between tables. Estel matched him with a more conscious grace.
As Estel began his first swing, and Glorfindel started to shift into a parry, they were both distracted by a shriek from the doorway. Glorfindel jerked around to look; Estel completed his motion and sliced into the blond warrior's arm. "Glorfindel!"
Erestor bolted across the hall in a flash, seized Estel's knife by the blade, and threw it aside. "You idiot!" he shouted furiously, his voice cracking. His face was a sickly shade of white, and he appeared not to have noticed that his palm was bleeding profusely. "You STUPID, HALF-WITTED - "
"Don't EVER do that again!" Glorfindel screamed back at him. His face was ever paler than Erestor's. "Running into the middle of a duel, you could have been KILLED, what in the name of all the gods were you THINKING!"
"What was I thinking? What were you thinking?! You moronic twit, what were you doing, fighting in the middle of the hall - " Erestor scrubbed impatiently at the tears tracking down his cheeks, leaving bright red smudges of blood from the slice on his palm.
"Erestor. You're bleeding." Glorfindel grabbed his hand, any remaining trace of color draining out of his face. "Erestor. Erestor!" He pulled his lover into a strangling embrace, burying his face in Erestor's tangled dark hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Erestor, I'm sorry, please, just let Elrond look at your hand, all right?"
"You scared me half to death," Erestor whispered into Glorfindel's chest.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Glorfindel kept murmuring, pressing frantic kisses to the top of Erestor's head. "Please, let Elrond make sure you're all right?"
"It's just a scratch," Erestor said gently, holding up his hand for Glorfindel to see. "I'm fine. What about your arm?"
"What about it?" Glorfindel asked, distracted, as he examined the cut on Erestor's palm.
"That's rather more than a scratch," Elrond interrupted, gazing at the wound over Glorfindel's shoulder, "but you don't really need my help with it. It's a clean slice. Glorfindel, you're certainly competent enough to take care of it. And have Erestor wash off your arm before you bandage it up."
"Thank you, Lord Elrond," Erestor replied for both of them, as he and Glorfindel supported each other out of the hall.
Estel stared after them. "But I won."
Elrond started to laugh, still shaken by all the sudden action. "Try telling Erestor that."
The Estel arc had to culminate somewhere, I guess. Kisses to you, Sylvie!
The day that Lord Elrond's wayward foster son returned from his travels in the wild was one of great excitement in Rivendell, but it began quite slowly in the house of the half-elf. The previous evening had been a feast of some note, so many of the inhabitants of the fair valley had elected to remain in bed on that fine spring morning.
"Good morning to you all!" Elrond proclaimed brightly as he entered the feast hall. He alone of all those present was not suffering the unfortunate aftereffects of overindulgence. He was thus met with a variety of unfriendly looks.
"Good morning my - " Glorfindel began, but was cut off before he could voice whatever foul obscenity was lurking on his tongue.
"And where is our dear Master Erestor?" Elrond inquired, his usually solemn expression lit with the sparkle of mischief.
"Sleeping off his hangover, like a sane person," Glorfindel muttered.
Lindir raised his head off the table to fix his blood-shot gaze briefly upon the blond warrior. "That lightweight. He barely drank a full bottle."
"There may have been hard liquor licked off of various body parts after we retired to our rooms," Glorfindel admitted without the faintest trace of shame.
"He'd kill you if he heard you say that," Melpomaen remarked, his voice muffled, understandably since his face was hidden in his arms from any adventuresome ray of light.
"Then it's a good thing he isn't here, isn't it?" Glorfindel contemplated calling over a servant and requesting breakfast. His stomach rolled unhappily, and he reconsidered.
The doors of the great hall crashed open. Every elf within hearing distance, except Lord Elrond, winced and covered his ears in pain. Glorfindel went one step further, and squeezed his eyes shut against the light let in - the servants, with their usual thoughtful foresight, had covered all the windows before retiring the previous night, but the sun was in full evidence beyond the open door.
Thus he was completely unprepared for the slap of leather across his cheek. Without reopening his eyes, Glorfindel sighed, "Look, I haven't seduced an elf-maiden in centuries, so whatever your daughter or sister or wife says I did, it wasn't me - "
"Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower," proclaimed the man, who was standing far too close for the comfort of Glorfindel's ears, "I, Aragorn son of Arathorn, do hereby challenge you to a duel, for the honor and affection of one Erestor of Rivendell."
Now Glorfindel cracked his eyelids slightly. "Excuse me, what?"
Estel glared down at him. "I swore to reclaim Erestor from your evil clutches, you lecher, and I will, as soon as I utterly humiliate you with my skill with the sword."
Glorfindel twitched. "If I agree to duel you, will you go away and let me nurse my hangover in peace?"
"You may have until this afternoon to prepare yourself," Estel agreed magnanimously.
"Oh, joy," Glorfindel muttered, and let his head fall down onto his folded arms. Estel stalked out of the hall, thankfully shutting the door behind him, although not without slamming it loudly enough to make all the elves in the hall cringe again.
"So," Lindir murmured to Elrond, "who wants to break it to Estel that dueling for another elf's lady is no longer considered valid legal practice and can lead to prosecution for rape?"
Elrond snorted. "If he'd paid attention to his books during his history lessons instead of staring at Erestor, he'd know that already. Besides, this is even more amusing than watching all of you flinch at loud noises."
"I'm glad my pain is serving you as entertainment, my lord," Glorfindel groaned sarcastically. "What would your medical advice suggest?"
"Hair of the dog that bit you," Elrond replied promptly, and raised his voice to shout, "Someone bring Lord Glorfindel a goblet of mead! We have to get him in top form for his duel this afternoon!" He took a certain sadistic pleasure as everyone around him went pale(r) and clutched at their ears.
*
Several hours later, Glorfindel was feeling considerably less pain. Lindir, who had partaken almost as heartily in Elrond's "medicine," and Melpomaen, who had exercised a bit more restraint, finally stopped drinking in favor of watching Glorfindel. "Should you really be drinking before you fight?" Lindir asked curiously, if a trifle belatedly.
"I would think the alcohol would dull your reflexes," Melpomaen chimed in, frowning.
Elrond chuckled. "Ah, Glorfindel fights beautifully in a drunken stupor. The brawls in the Men's camp the night before we stormed Mount Doom... a sight to behold indeed."
"I wouldn't say beautifully," Glorfindel sighed, "but better drunk than hungover, at any rate." He gazed mournfully down at his empty goblet, then set it aside. "Enough of that. I want to be able to move tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow morning, you'll be too dead to worry," Estel proclaimed grandly. He had entered the hall just in time to catch Glorfindel's last comment.
"Estel!" Elrond said sharply. "There will be no killing, or talk of killing, in my home!"
"Sorry, Father," he said sheepishly, any trace of menace instantaneously gone. "First blood?"
"Acceptable," Elrond replied snippily. "This is nonsense and both of you know it."
"It is not nonsense!" Estel protested passionately. "Erestor is far too good for a brainless, muscle-bound idiot like Glorfindel!"
"And Erestor would probably be the first to agree with you," Elrond sighed, "but it was his choice and not yours and you really aren't listening to me, are you?"
"No, Father," Estel answered automatically. Elrond buried his face in his hands.
"All right, let's get this over with," Glorfindel suggested in resignation, climbing to his feet. "Does anyone have a sword I can borrow?"
Estel spun around to glare at him. "You mock the gravity of my challenge!"
"No, I just don't have a sword," Glorfindel replied patiently. "I was eating breakfast when you stormed in to demand a duel. Well, I was thinking better of eating breakfast. Since then, I have been steadily drinking in the hopes that this will all disappear in a haze of alcohol. Thus, I have not had an opportunity to retrieve a weapon. So, either lend me one, or prepare to fight bare-handed."
Estel scowled, tried and failed to find fault with Glorfindel's explanation, and then unsheathed a long hunting knife from his side. "I don't have two swords. We'll have to use knives."
"Fair enough," Glorfindel said agreeably, and took the blade from Estel. He hefted it. "Nice knife."
Estel eyed him suspiciously. "It was a parting gift from the Dunedain."
"I'll do my best not to damage it, then." Glorfindel settled back into a fighting stance, as naturally as breathing, in the open space that had been cleared between tables. Estel matched him with a more conscious grace.
As Estel began his first swing, and Glorfindel started to shift into a parry, they were both distracted by a shriek from the doorway. Glorfindel jerked around to look; Estel completed his motion and sliced into the blond warrior's arm. "Glorfindel!"
Erestor bolted across the hall in a flash, seized Estel's knife by the blade, and threw it aside. "You idiot!" he shouted furiously, his voice cracking. His face was a sickly shade of white, and he appeared not to have noticed that his palm was bleeding profusely. "You STUPID, HALF-WITTED - "
"Don't EVER do that again!" Glorfindel screamed back at him. His face was ever paler than Erestor's. "Running into the middle of a duel, you could have been KILLED, what in the name of all the gods were you THINKING!"
"What was I thinking? What were you thinking?! You moronic twit, what were you doing, fighting in the middle of the hall - " Erestor scrubbed impatiently at the tears tracking down his cheeks, leaving bright red smudges of blood from the slice on his palm.
"Erestor. You're bleeding." Glorfindel grabbed his hand, any remaining trace of color draining out of his face. "Erestor. Erestor!" He pulled his lover into a strangling embrace, burying his face in Erestor's tangled dark hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Erestor, I'm sorry, please, just let Elrond look at your hand, all right?"
"You scared me half to death," Erestor whispered into Glorfindel's chest.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Glorfindel kept murmuring, pressing frantic kisses to the top of Erestor's head. "Please, let Elrond make sure you're all right?"
"It's just a scratch," Erestor said gently, holding up his hand for Glorfindel to see. "I'm fine. What about your arm?"
"What about it?" Glorfindel asked, distracted, as he examined the cut on Erestor's palm.
"That's rather more than a scratch," Elrond interrupted, gazing at the wound over Glorfindel's shoulder, "but you don't really need my help with it. It's a clean slice. Glorfindel, you're certainly competent enough to take care of it. And have Erestor wash off your arm before you bandage it up."
"Thank you, Lord Elrond," Erestor replied for both of them, as he and Glorfindel supported each other out of the hall.
Estel stared after them. "But I won."
Elrond started to laugh, still shaken by all the sudden action. "Try telling Erestor that."
