The Last Straw (or Elrond's Bad Day)

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The Last Straw (or Elrond’s Bad Day)


“Lord Elrond, we need to speak with you.”

The Lord of Imladris’s shoulders dropped. He had just come from putting a drunken Gandalf into bed and was on his way to take care of the next of the series of problems that had arisen since the arrival of Rivendell’s guests. He had been hoping to sneak past the room where the party from Gondor had been placed without getting noticed, but the eyes of Men were quicker than he’d remembered. He had been fending off complaints by the Men ever since they had arrived, the group bemoaning everything from the care of their horses to the size of their rooms. Their voices were starting to invade his nightmares.

But they will be gone soon, Elrond told himself as he turned to face the son of the Steward of Gondor, and the peace of Rivendell will be mine once more.

“My Lord Boromir, how may I assist you?”

“We wished to discuss the seating arrangement at the council tomorrow.”

An eyebrow arched of its own will. “The seating arrangement?”

“We want to be certain that we are placed in a position of eminence so that our presence cannot be overlooked.”

Elrond glanced around the room at the hulking, scowling Men, thinking that even a blind Elven archer would have a hard time missing them. “My Lords, I can assure you, everyone at the meeting will be placed within equal proximity to all other members of the Council. No one will be overlooked. Now, if you will excuse me...”

“I am certain,” the Man said, halting Elrond in mid-escape, “that, as our gracious host, you would not intend to place us beyond the sight of others, but you are busy and these little details are often left until the last minute.”

“My Lord Boromir,” Elrond said with a strained smile. “If you would like, I will show you to where the Council will take place and you can decide for yourself whether or not the seating meets with your high standards.”

“That would please us greatly. Thank you, Lord Elrond,” he said, respectfully nodding his head--the closest the Man had come to a bow since they had met.

“If you will follow me,” Elrond said, and led them to where the secret Council Meeting was to be held, though he doubted it would be a secret much longer. As the Men stood there contemplating the space, troubled voices reached Elrond’s ears.

Oh, not again, Elrond sighed as he recognized the quibbling sounds of his sons in their continuous argument with the Dwarves.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” Elrond said as he left the meeting place, the Men not even noticing his departure as they were too busy moving chairs. The Lord of Rivendell rushed to a nearby clearing where his sons and their friends were fighting with a group of bristling Dwarves, tensions high enough that they were about to come to blows.

“Elladan, Elrohir! What is going on?”

“My Lord, may I please have your permission to demonstrate to these...” Elladan paused for a moment, trying to refrain from allowing what he was really thinking to pass between his lips, then decided that Dwarves weren’t worth the effort. “...these blights on Middle Earth the full might of Elven battle skills?”

“Elladan--”

“The ‘might of the Elves’?” one of the dwarves snorted and Elrond sighed, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands and send them all away.

“Please, Lords,” he interrupted before the argument could begin again, “tell me what troubles you.”

He listened to both sides attempting to tell their stories and managed to sort out something resembling the truth. It seemed his sons, who continued to tremble with fury, had been arguing with the Dwarven contingent for the past two hours about rocks, of all things. The Council Meeting wasn’t scheduled to begin for another day, and unless he could mend the breach between the Elves and the Dwarves, the hairy little bastards were threatening to walk out.

Elrond massaged his temples, trying to think of the fastest solution. This whole ordeal was preying upon his already strained nerves and his head pounded with the stress of trying to keep everything and everyone under control. He was half tempted to take the One Ring and burn the whole screaming lot of them down to a pile of ashes. But no, he was Elrond, Lord of Imladris, and he was above such thoughts. . . or so he had to keep reminding himself.

“My Lord Gimli, I can assure you that the words spoken by my sons in the heat of anger do not represent the opinions of all the Elves. Please, accept the apologies of my sons to you and your companions so that we may focus our concentration on more important matters.”

Even calm, sensible Elrohir could not stand silently by and allow the slight to their honor be dismissed so easily, but as he was about to speak, Elrond stopped his words with a look that could make entire armies cower in fear.

“Apologize to the Dwarves.”

The twins glared sullenly at their father, but seeing he wasn’t about to relent, turned to their bearded guests.

“Please, accept our apologies,” Elrohir said and paused, waiting for Elladan to continue. When no sound issued forth, he elbowed his brother, who rolled his eyes.

“We promise we will be more careful in choosing our words when speaking with you in the future.”

“We will try to take into consideration just in how many and what kinds of ways we might offend you.”

“Our apologies, Master Dwarf,” Elladan said, and the twins bowed, sharing smug smiles with each other as they did so.

Damn arrogant Elves, Gimli thought, narrowing his eyes at the raven-haired brothers. They weren’t fooling him, but he wasn’t ready to risk a war over a couple of ill-mannered brats. “Your apologies are accepted with the same generosity in which they were given.”

Twins and Dwarves glared at each other, knowing full well that the past few minutes had been nothing more than a thinly-veiled charade. One word was all it would take to start the whole argument over again.

“Then it is settled,” Elrond said before flaring tempers were released once more. “My Lords, I hope you will enjoy the remainder of your stay in Rivendell. Elladan, Elrohir, come with me.”

Elrohir waited until they were barely out of earshot before attacking their father’s decision.

“How could you do that?” he hissed angrily, speaking low enough so as not to be overheard. He pointed angrily in the direction of the Dwarves. “You heard what they were saying! Those fur-covered, gold-obsessed, greedy little sons of Sauron--”

“Elrohir!” his father snapped, silencing one twin, but Elladan continued his brother’s rant.

“They shouldn’t be allowed to soil Rivendell with their presence! Send them back to their damn rocks! You know they’re not going to be of any help to you tomorrow.”

“My sons, I know you are angry, but take into consideration that this is the way it has always been between our two races. You can either continue the hatred, or you can try to change it.”

“I’m opting for continuing it,” Elladan growled, taking his brother’s arm. “Come on, Elrohir. Let’s get away from those. . . Dwarves,” he said, emphasizing the word with as much disgust as he could muster. “We will return when they are gone.”

Elrond watched as his sons stormed off towards the stables, and he couldn’t help feeling relieved. Their absence meant there would be one less problem for him to worry about.

Rounding the corner, Elrond was nearly knocked over by his daughter as she ran into him at full speed. Lifting her face as she quickly gasped out her apologies, he saw that her eyes were reddened with tears.

“My daughter, why do you look so sad?”

Arwen tried to speak, but the only sound to emerge from her mouth was a pitiful wail. She pointed to a door before moving around her father to continue running as a fresh wave of tears falling down her face, her sobbing echoing through the halls. Almost dreading to look inside, Elrond opened the door.

A golden-haired Elf was leaning against a table, his back to the Lord. He was breathing heavily, soft moans emitting from his throat. Staring hard at the lithe figure, Elrond groaned as he recognized Legolas. Just what he needed--an encounter with one of Thranduil’s little hellions.

The groan distracted the Prince, whose blue eyes widened as he caught sight of Elrond.

“My Lord!” he said, bowing to try and hide the fact that he was quickly tying up the laces on his breeches.

As he glimpsed the Elf’s generous endowments, Elrond couldn’t help thinking that maybe one good thing had resulted from Thranduil’s loins. He wasn’t surprised that young Legolas would be sneaking away to enjoy the attentions of some lucky Elf. He wouldn’t have objected to sneaking off with the Prince himself, if he didn’t have so much work to do, and if he wasn’t devoted to Glorfindel.

“Prince Legolas, I am surprised to find you here. I would have thought that you--ARAGORN!”

Having been discovered, the Man flinched at the tone in his foster father’s voice. His face turning a bright red, Aragorn stood up from where he was trying to make himself invisible behind a chair. “My Lord,” he bowed, wiping a line of milky white fluid from the corner of his mouth.

Elrond, realizing that his jaw had dropped to his chest, snapped it shut as he glared at the pair. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“My Lord, I can explain,” Legolas started, and Aragorn interrupted.

“It was an accident.”

“An accident?” A delicate eyebrow arched in disbelief.

“We didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“We just caught sight of each other,” Aragorn said, smiling at the Elf, who beamed back at him.

“And we couldn’t help ourselves.”

Aragorn held Legolas’s hand to his heart. “His beauty took my breath away.”

“I’d never seen anyone so handsome,” the Prince sighed, gazing into the blue-gray eyes.

“Oh, Legolas!”

“Oh, Aragorn!”

Oblivious to their regal observer, the two threw their arms around each other and began kissing with complete abandon. When it became clear that neither of them was going to come up for air any time soon, Elrond grabbed the pair by the shoulders and forced them apart.

“That’s quite enough of that. Aragorn, go to your room!”

“What?”

“You heard me, young man. Go to your room!”

“But Father--”

“Are you defying me?”

Aragorn hung his head. “No, sir.”

“Then go.”

The future King of Men shuffled off down the hall, but not before winking at the blond Elf, who blew him a kiss.

“And you,” he began, tightening his grip on the Prince of Mirkwood. “Is this how your father taught you to behave when you’re a guest in another’s house?”

“Well, if you really must know...”

Elrond could read enough in the smirk on Legolas’s face to know that Thranduil hadn’t taught the Elf any manners, and had probably encouraged the Prince’s promiscuity. “That’s it--go to your room!”

“You can’t do that!” Legolas protested, the blues of his eyes standing out against his face as it reddened in indignation.

“Do you really want to argue with me?” Elrond said, the threat in his voice causing the Elf to blanch.

“No, sir,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Then you will go to your room and you will not come out until the Council Meeting tomorrow. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, shuffling his feet.

“Now go!”

Elrond watched to make sure the Elf followed his orders, then continued his way down the hall, his hands clenching into fists. Aragorn and Legolas! No wonder Arwen had been so upset, but at least he didn’t have to worry about Arwen marrying a mortal anymore. He’d have to find some way to console her later when everyone had left.

Why did this have to happen, why now? he sighed. All he needed was for one more thing to go wrong, and he would let Sauron have the whole stinking lot of them, and the Dark Lord could take the entire world as well. What he wanted right now was a backrub from Glorfindel, but his lover was busy with all the other details of planning the meeting that Elrond didn’t have time to see to, and if he had happened to be there, Elrond knew exactly what he would say.

“You’re tired, you need to relax. Drink a glass of wine, get yourself something to eat, disappear for half an hour, and when you make yourself visible again, it will be with a fresh mind capable of handling anything.”

If only Glorfindel knew what he had been forced to handle so far, he would have gone straight for the backrub, though from the last glimpse Elrond had caught of the harried blond Elf, Glorfindel would be needing the backrub more than he did. Still, a little wine would be nice, and since he hadn’t eaten since before dawn, Elrond decided to make his way towards the kitchen.

As he neared the doors, a happy tune drifted into the hall sung by cheerful Hobbit voices. They sounded so joyous, he couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps some time with the chipper little creatures would be just what he needed.

Elrond swung open the kitchen doors and stopped dead in his tracks.

“What in Mordor is going on here?!”

Four Hobbit heads turned at the roar, the little ones huddling together in the face of Elrond’s fury.

“Master Elrond, sir, we didn’t mean any harm,” Frodo said as three pairs of arms pushed him towards the Elf Lord. “We just wanted to make you something special to thank you for taking us in and everything.”

“That doesn’t explain all this!” Elrond said, looking around at the empty cupboards, the piles of pans on the counter that threatened to tip over, the bubbling vat over the fire, the smoke coming from the oven.

“Well, the thing is, we got to tasting what we’d made, and then realized we’d eaten it all, so we had to start all over again, and we finished just in time for luncheon, and we knew you wouldn’t want us to go hungry, so we decided to start officially making your feast after lunch...” Frodo trailed off, giving the Elf Lord an odd stare.

“Master Elrond?” Sam asked, cautiously approaching the ancient Elf. “Are you all right? You look a bit pale.”

As he gazed at the disaster they had made of his kitchen, something snapped in his head and the Lord of Imladris flashed the Hobbit a brilliant smile.

“Master Gamgee, I could not be better. If you will excuse me,” Elrond turned and left, the kitchen doors swinging violently behind him.

Three hours later, Glorfindel had every spare Elf he could find searching for their Lord, who hadn’t been seen since the incident in the kitchen. His children, who usually knew the best places to seek him out, were of no help. The twins were gone, Arwen had locked herself in her room, and though Aragorn had been searching with the Prince of Mirkwood, they hadn’t checked in for over an hour. Glorfindel was starting to get concerned. He had already looked for Elrond in all of the usual places, and even in some of the more unusual ones. The Elf Lord was nowhere to be found.

Preparing for an all night search, Glorfindel went up to the room he shared with the Lord of Rivendell and quickly discarded his formal robes. The palace had been thoroughly searched. It was time to start looking through the valley, though he wished he’d gotten an earlier start when the sun was still high, but moonlight would have to be enough.

Pulling on a boot, he lost his balance and fell onto the bed.

“Oof!”

Glorfindel froze, one leg still in the air, his hands in the midst of tugging the leather over his calf. Reaching back, he felt the blankets with his palm and was surprised to meet with a solid form. Glorfindel whirled around and pulled back the covers.

“Elrond!”

“Go away!” Elrond said, drawing the blankets back up over his head.

“My love!” the blond Elf cried out, encircling Elrond with his arms, kissing the dark hair. “What are you doing here? Have you been here this entire time? I was afraid something had happened to you!”

“Nothing’s happened. Now go away, I’m trying to sleep.”

“But Elrond, what about your guests?”

“My guests can go throw themselves into the fires of Mount Doom for all I care. I’m not going to deal with them any longer.”

“My Lord--”

“I said no! I’ve had enough! I’m tired of listening to Men invent future insults to their honor. The Dwarves are a menace--when they’re not fighting with the Elves, they’re drunkenly fighting with the Elves. My daughter’s heart is broken because she caught Aragorn on his knees in front of the Prince of Mirkwood with Legolas’s Elfhood in his mouth. The Hobbits have destroyed the kitchen and if there’s a scrap of food left in there that they haven’t found--give them an hour.”

“Elrond--”

“Nothing you can say will convince me to go back out there. I’m through! You take care of them. I’m staying in bed.”

Elrond buried himself beneath the covers again, and it was clear he was not going to emerge any time soon. Glorfindel stared at the lump for a few minutes, then stood up and shut the door, locking it behind him.

Realizing his love hadn’t left, the great Elf Lord peered out from under the covers. “What are you doing?”

“Do you really think I want to deal with them?” Glorfindel said, pulling his tunic over his head and tossing it onto a chair. “I have spent the past few days listening to bickering Dwarves, whining Elves, twitchy Men, a moping Wizard, and the Hobbits--don’t even get me started on the Hobbits! So move over! If you’re not leaving, neither am I!”

Glorfindel lifted up the blankets and climbed into the bed. They stared at each other for a minute, then Elrond wrapped his arms around the Elf, nuzzling Glorfindel’s neck.

“I don’t think I’ll object too strenuously to that idea.”

“With the mood you’re in, somehow I’m not surprised. What are you going to do about the Ring?”

“What Ring?” Elrond asked, his teeth playing the Elf’s nipple.

“You know damn well what Ring!”

“Rings come and go. They get lost, they get found, they really are irritating little things.”

“Elrond...” Glorfindel said, a warning in his voice.

“I don’t care what they do with it, as long as it doesn’t stay here.”

“And you’ll tell them this at the Council Meeting tomorrow?”

Elrond lifted his head from where his tongue had been encircling Glorfindel’s navel. “I told you, I’m not going back out there.”

“It’ll only be for a few minutes. If you don’t tell them to leave, they may be tempted to stay here, and we do NOT want that to happen.”

Sighing, the Lord of Rivendell rested his chin on his lover’s hip. “Very well. I’ll make an appearance long enough to tell them to get out. Will that satisfy you?”

“It’s a start,” Glorfindel grinned. “But if you really want to satisfy me, you can move that talented mouth of yours a little bit lower.”

Elrond was about to continue his travels when he realized just what it was he had agreed to and looked up at the blond-haired beauty. “How is it you always manage to get your way?”

The Elven warrior gazed down at him, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I am just that good.”

Chuckling, Elrond leaned up and kissed his beloved. “We’ll see about that. Lucky for you, you have all night to prove it to me.”

“With pleasure, my Lord, but first, if you wouldn’t mind...?”

“Not at all,” he smiled. Placing one last kiss on the soft lips, the Lord of Imladris returned to his former position. Within seconds, Glorfindel’s eyes rolled back with pleasure, the lovers happily ignoring the sounds drifting in through the windows of Dwarf and Elf voices raised in anger, accusations by Hobbits of who ate the main course, bold demands by Men that all acknowledge theirs as the ruling race and allow them to lead the Council, the coos of a couple hiding in a tree discussing who looked better by moonlight, and the raging of an Elfmaid who threatened to castrate them both.

[Completed September 25, 2002]