An Honourable Assassin

Strike One

When the twins finally found him it was late afternoon and Lord Elrond was in the laboratory, deeply engrossed in an exhaustive experiment of some sort and surrounded by a daunting agglomeration of bottles and bowls and glass vials, some emitting atrocious odours and unpleasant wisps of suspicious looking smoke. The contents of these various vessels swirled, bubbled, hissed, and filtered through a tangled mass of twisted glass tubing, here condensing and there sublimating, depositing residual solids in one place and out-gassing smelly fumes on the other side of the convoluted connections. The twins regarded him from the doorway in trepidation. Elrond disliked being disturbed when he was in the laboratory.

"What?" he barked suddenly, not bothering to raise his head from the intense scrutiny he was giving the slow drip of pale pink fluid into a closed beaker with what looked, to his sons at least, like dirt in the bottom of it.

"Suilad, Adar," said one.

"Good to be home again," said the other, both voices identically couched in a slightly sarcastic form of winsome melancholy.

Well, Elrond felt bad immediately and briefly shut his eyes, lips compressing in a grim scowl of dismay. He knew his sons had arrived the day before but hadn't come forth to greet them, not even to share the evening meal. He'd been so busy and he'd reached such a critical stage in the procedure that he daren't trust the delicate measurements and observations to his assistant. Still, he could have spared a minute or two to check in with them, see if they had any hurts that needed tending, ask about the orc hunting, vainly venture to enquire whether either one had given any thought to settling down and making children, engage in the kind of generic interest a father is expected to show. He sighed a guilty sigh and straightened up, tearing his sight from the bubbling apparatus and offering a contrite smile.

"Yes, it is indeed good to have you both home, safe and well," he said, coming to meet them at the door. Much as he loved them, skilled as they were in the art of killing things, the lore-master knew not to permit his sons anywhere near the delicate and elaborate equipment in his laboratory.

His raised, outstretched arms promised a tender embrace while effectively shooing them away from the room. He followed them out and they got their hugs in the adjacent study. There his assistant was busy searching through a tremendous heap of scrolls for one in particular which Elrond was sure he'd read years ago and stowed safely somewhere in the vast collection of literature stored haphazardly in a faint semblance of order in the document room. The ellon looked up in surprise to see Elrond there and glanced from one twin to the other in mounting alarm. Without a word spoken he leaped to his feet and pushed past the three Lords into the lab to take over the painstaking observation.

"Did we scare him off?" snickered Elladan.

His father gave him the mild remonstrance of an arched brow and led the way to a semi-cleared grouping of chairs round what was surely a desk, though the proliferation of parchments and scrolls and decrepit books utterly obscured the surface. Elrond heaved the bulk of it onto the floor and a cloud of fine dust arose accompanied by the scattering of pages like leaves from a deciduous tree in autumn.

"The place really is a mess, Ada," Elrohir said, nose wrinkling in distaste as he tried to move a stack of papers that fell to flakes in his hands.

"Yes, I suppose so. Nobody wants to help me sort it out. Mithrandir promised to help me get it catalogued this summer, so there is that to look forward to." Elrond had to tip his chair and shake it a few times to make the jumbled litter in it fall away. He sat and regarded his sons with proud appreciation. They were fine young Lords, dedicated to ridding the world of the terrible blight of orcs, honourable in every way, and as regal and debonair as any of the Noldorin princes of old. His smile slipped a little as he caught them fidgeting and glancing covertly one to the other while pretending to observe the surroundings, a sure sign they were conversing telepathically and trying to hide it from him.

"Stop it!" he bellowed and they both jumped at least an inch in their seats. He raised a condemning fore-finger and shook it at them. "I've told you before; I don't care what you do when you're among the humans, you will not be so rude as to mind-speak about me right in front of me."

"Aye."

"Sorry, Adar."

He eyed them severely in the silence that followed but they refrained from their favoured form of communication and lapsed into mirrored poses of feigned indifference. "What is it?" he demanded testily.

"Nothing, really, it's just that it's autumn now."

"What?"

"Aye, summer's been and gone and we ran into Mith out in Eriador near the Shire."

"Seems he came as promised but you weren't here. Off on an excursion to collect soil samples in Rhovanian or something."

"So you missed him completely but he wasn't put out about it."

"Nay, just suggested you might need a break from all this boring nonsense…I mean academic enterprise."

"Aye, it's partly why we came home."

"Are you all right, Ada?" They concluded in chorus.

"What? Yes, I'm fine." Elrond gaped from one to the other, stunned at the amount of time that had gone by and his lack of cognisanse concerning the state of the world. "Are you certain?" They nodded and he frowned, glancing to the window for confirmation which didn't help because Vilya prevented the seasons from shifting in Imladris. He was getting entirely too absent minded lately. Well, it couldn't be helped now; he'd have to send Mithrandir a cordial letter of apology and a flask of miruvor. At last he heaved a heavy breath, leaned back in his chair, and smiled at them. "I'm gratified by your concern, but all is well. I suppose I need to keep a calendar like the mortals do. Now then, tell me all about the latest campaigns in Eriador. Did you kill lots of orcs? What are the Rangers up to? Have you been to Lindon?"

"We always kill lots of orcs."

"And there's really nothing new, Ada. The orcs and the humans multiply at roughly the same rate so we never seem to get ahead."

"It's an ugly stalemate, but of course the Rangers persist and the struggle goes on."

"We've not visited Lindon in what feels like an age."

"Ah, perhaps you two need a holiday, for this is grim work and I sense deep weariness in your auras," said Elrond solemnly. "A trip to the falas would be most invigorating and perhaps you might meet someone there. Someone to marry and make grandchildren with."

The brothers startled sharply and in concert, scowling over this persistent demand of their Ada's for grandchildren. Yet, the comment did provide a fitting segue into the real reason for their visit. They shared cunning looks; this would take a delicate bit of subterfuge if they hoped to hide the nature of their interest in the new ellon.

"Oh, it's to be that look, is it?" huffed Elrond. "Please, it gives you away every time. Fine, what is it you want from me?"



"We are not going wife-shopping in Mithlond," announced Elrohir, voice filled with dismay while his mind was smiling.

"Why not? Good people there, strong bloodlines. Just don't bring back one of those rustic Avarin maids."

"We don't want wives and children," Elladan insisted, sounding aggravated while silently he shared his glee with his brother. "Yet a time of rest here at home is in order. What is new in Imladris?"

"New?" Elrond's brows rose. "Nothing is ever new in Imladris; that is the whole point of Vilya. The valley remains unchanged, a symbol of elven culture and heritage in a world of decaying morals and lacklustre ethical values. Why don't you want wives and children? We need to keep the lineage going and there are few enough elves left as it is. Is it so much to ask to have a couple of grandchildren? Thranduil has great GREAT grandchildren, lots and lots of them. Every letter he sends is filled with anecdotes about them and little sketches in the margins."

"Let Arwen do it, then," suggested Elrohir. "Isn't she getting cosy with Haldir?"

"Perhaps, but…"

"We couldn't possibly commit to marriages and families what with the Vow and all," Elladan interrupted. "You wouldn't want us to renounce the solemn Vow we made to Nana, would you?" This always stopped Elrond cold and it was rather a low blow but the twins were willing to endure only so much of the 'grandchildren' harangue. This time they welcomed it for it provided a suitable screen for their real purpose. "So," Elladan ventured, "are there any new folk about? Anyone visiting or perhaps even here to stay?"

"No, should there be?" Elrond peered at them suspiciously.

"Oh, not really," drawled Elrohir, "we just saw Erestor with someone we didn't recognise, that's all."

"Who?"

"We don't know, that's what we're asking you."

"Describe this person."

"I don't know if I can do so adequately; we only saw him for a moment or two," Elladan scrunched up his brow as though making the effort to recall something about the ellon. He then shrugged, glanced at his brother and proceeded: "Well, long blond hair, big blue eyes, warrior's physique. What else?" he asked his brother.

"That's about it," Elrohir shrugged. "Youngish, slender, more an archer's bone structure than a swordsman."

"Sounds like Rumil to me," Elrond glowered. "I have told Celeborn not to send him here again for at least a century or until he proves to have achieved some semblance of maturity. That whole stunt with the horse manure and the wine bottles was inexcusable."

"It's not Rumil," they chorused, stifling smiles over the memory of that amusing little event.

"Then," Elrond rose and came out from his desk, extending his arm in the direction of the exit, "I suggest you ask Erestor since he was with the elf. Perhaps it is someone he invited from Mithlond. He was there last year for Cîrdan's emigration conference." His sons stood and moved with him to the door, shaking their heads.

"Erestor was reluctant to introduce us," said one.

"We thought it odd and so came to find out what all the secrecy was about," added the other.

"Sorry, I haven't any idea who it could be," Elrond said. "Now, I must get back to my studies. Perhaps we'll dine together later, hmmm?" He gave them each a pat on the back that was half a push out the door, a brief smile, and then disappeared back inside the laboratory.

Rein. Defeated.

Nay, we learned something important: Erestor is keeping this ellon all to himself. Ada would remember if ever he'd seen him.

Which means what? We already knew it would not be easy competing against Erestor.

No, you're missing the point. He must feel terribly insecure about his ability to hold onto his delectable golden sylph. That will make him much easier to defeat. We've as much as won already.

Don't be over confident. Remember, we don't even know who he is yet.

True, but there are secondary sources.

Lindir.

Right.

The brothers strode back through the garden to the main house, eager to locate the famed minstrel and see if they could induce him to share a little information, never realising their father was observing them and had noticed their silent têt-a-têt. Elrond chuckled, a dark low rumble of menacing mirth that made his assistant cringe. He accidentally knocked a glass beaker with his hand and it clanked loudly against a metal clamp.

"Be careful!" Elrond bellowed, wheeling and storming to the spot, waving away the hapless ellon. He inspected the apparatus, gave the assistant a caustic glare, and dismissed him. He needed time to think and wanted no distraction.

So, Erestor has a guest. Now, why would he hide the ellon away from me?

Obviously his sons thought it was a visit with romantic overtones, but Elrond knew that Erestor hadn't been able to feel desire for anyone ever since his disastrous affair with the Elven King of Mirkwood. That had been an Age ago at least. Perhaps his kinsman's heart was healing at last. Elrond decided he would need to find out all about this new beau so to be sure his dear friend would not be hurt again. Erestor was not nearly as indestructible as his daunting reputation led people to believe. The Assassin of Sirion had a heart just as prone to breaking as everyone else.

Elrond truly meant to look into the matter without delay, but just then his experiment began to bear the long-awaited fruit for which he had worked these many centuries. Caught up in the exhilaration of such a successful trial and eager to document the results, he lost track of time and completely forgot about the unknown guest.

TBC