Betrothal To An Elf 5

Betrothal To An Elf

Part 5

Posted: August 10, 2007
Title: Betrothal To An Elf
Author: Inwë Sáralondë

Summary: Erestor is annoyed.

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Erestor rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had developed a particularly nasty headache, and he wanted nothing more than to retire to his rooms and lie down. Instead, he tried to focus his attention on the parchment that lay on his desk. It was a request for payment from the merchant who had delivered his wares, as promised, but had also decided to add on extra to the cost, citing the increased prices he had had to pay in order to ‘provide wares of the excellent quality that the elves expect’, to quote the words used by said merchant.

The advisor’s lips curled into a sneer. His headache had put him into a vindictive mood, and Erestor was tempted to pay the price that had originally been agreed upon. With a vicious swipe of his quill, he struck through the final cost. ‘Good relations be damned,’ he thought, but he was not going sit idly by and allow merchants to try and rob them.

He looked up when the door opened and watched dispassionately as Glorfindel came in, rubbing his shoulder. “I think I pulled a muscle at training,” he groused.

“Do you expect me to do something about that?” Erestor asked, not bothering to try and hide the sarcasm in his voice.

“Well, a little sympathy would not go astray,” Glorfindel replied, trying, but failing, to look woebegone. Taking in the annoyed expression on his betrothed’s face, he sighed. “It seems, however, that I am in danger of losing my head. What has put you into such a vile mood?”

“Scurrilous merchants who seek to rob us blind.”

“Ah. I sympathise. It happens frequently when I purchase something at the human settlements that they try and ask for more than what the item is worth. They are all under the belief that we elves are rich.” Glorfindel settled himself down in the chair in front of Erestor’s desk, still rubbing his shoulder.

Erestor sighed. “Let me finish this and pay the merchant. I am almost tempted to ask you to provide a few of your guard to escort him to the borders of Imladris.”

“Why?”

“As I only plan to pay the merchant the original amount that was agreed upon, and not this inflated price,” here Erestor stabbed at the parchment with his finger, “he deems we should pay.”

Glorfindel smiled; he could never help but think that his betrothed looked even more beautiful when he was angry.

“I think I could arrange for that to be done,” he said mildly. “However, let me suggest that I take the payment to him. I confess I fear for his safety if I let you approach him.”

Erestor snorted in amusement. “Am I that predictable?” he queried.

Glorfindel shook his head. “I am afraid so, melethen.” He glanced at the calendar on Erestor’s desk. “Hmm, Friday the 13 th.”

The advisor quirked an eyebrow and asked, “Is that supposed to signify something?”

“I am but merely making an observation, dear Erestor…unless you suffer from triskaidekaphobia?”

“From what?”

“Triskaidekaphobia. A fear of the number 13. Or you could be suffering from paraskavedekatriaphobia . That is a fear of Friday the 13 th.”

Erestor resisted the urge to bang his head on his desk. “Where in all of Middle-earth do you learn all these things?” he asked wearily.

“Oh, here and there,” Glorfindel said airily. “You know, I should take you with me sometimes; you would learn so much!”

“I think I would prefer to stay here, thank you. Now, go and give this payment to the merchant and leave me in peace. The sooner I can finish my tasks, the sooner I can massage that shoulder of yours.”

“Mmm…I shall look forward to that.” Then a seductive smile appeared on Glorfindel’s face. “In fact, I am sure there are other…parts that may require a massage.”

Erestor’s response was to scrunch up some parchment at throw it at his lover, who merely laughed as he went out the door.

*****

Elvish translations:

melethen – my love.

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