Betrothal To An Elf
Part 25
Posted: September 28, 2007
Title: Betrothal To An Elf
Author: Inwë Sáralondë
Summary: Glorfindel makes a decision – sort of.
*****
The next morning saw the whole household on tenterhooks. Many were aware that something had eventuated between their lord and his sons, but had no idea what it was. Those who were with Elrond and the twins were grim-faced and refused to say anything, so speculation was rife as to what it was all about.
Erestor went to the library, hoping to find some solace amongst the books and scrolls. The conversation between Elrond and his sons had been nothing short of disaster. Elladan had continued with his surly behaviour, leading to some fraught moments between father and son.
Galadriel had sat quietly for most of the time, her mien placid, but her eyes were sharp as she took in what was happening before her. After one particularly tense moment she had finally spoken, addressing her eldest grandson. “The situation between yourself and your brother is unique, Elladan, this I grant. But your fates were woven in the tapestry of life long before even your father was born. I know this not easy for either of you; at least your brother is willing to listen and to try and understand.” Then Galadriel had smiled. “But you, pen-neth, you I knew would be stubborn. However, trust what your heart has been telling you all this time, Elladan, and all will be well.”
Elladan’s eyes had widened at Galadriel’s last words and, with an inarticulate cry, he had leapt up from his chair and ran out of the room, leaving its occupants bar one stunned.
“Galadriel? What did you mean?” Elrond had asked, but Galadriel’s mien was almost demure as she smiled.
“You will find out, in time,” she had said enigmatically before rising gracefully from her chair and following Elladan out the door.
With a sigh, Erestor shook his head. Obviously Galadriel knew something they did not, and Elrond was frustrated by the lack of this particular knowledge. Sitting down at a nearby desk, Erestor buried his face in his hands.
“Erestor, are you all right?”
Startled, the darkling elf raised his head and saw the concerned eyes of Lindir. He gave a wan smile. “I am fine, Lindir. Merely tired, that is all.”
“It is because of what happened yesterday, is it not?” Lindir asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down.
“Aye, though I can not tell you…”
“I know you can not,” Lindir interrupted. “Nor do I expect you to. However, the rumour-mill is already coming up with such implausible stories that one does not even hazard a guess as to how they actually started.”
Erestor smiled weakly. “I have no doubt there will be even more before the day is through.” He sighed. “I am afraid, Lindir, that things will be…unsettled for a little while yet.” Both elves sat quietly for a few moments before Erestor asked almost casually, “How goes it between you and Legolas?” He watched with amusement at the flush that crept up the minstrel’s face. “Ah…promising, then?” he asked, adding to Lindir’s discomfort.
The minstrel swallowed. “Very promising, actually. He has asked if he could court me.”
The advisor stared. “What? When? Why did you not say anything?”
“Well, actually, I never thought…we never thought…oh, Erestor, he is so wonderful, and kind, and he is very, very good in…ummm…actually, no, I should not say…”
“Say what?” Erestor asked, intrigued.
Lindir flushed even further. “Legolasisveryverygoodinbed,” he said rapidly, averting his gaze from Erestor’s amused countenance.
“That does not surprise me,” Erestor said, trying to contain his laughter. “If the stories about his father are true, then Legolas obviously will have…inherited some of Thranduil’s ‘talents’.”
“Oh.” Lindir’s voice was small. Then in an attempt to change the subject, he asked, “Do you know who the Galadhel might be that Lothvaen speaks of?”
Unsurprised by the sudden change of topic, Erestor shook his head. “I have not spoken to Lothvaen since his encounter with the Galadhel, and I am no closer to finding out who it is. However, Lothvaen seemed strangely unperturbed. Did you not find this to be so?”
Lindir nodded. “It is odd, indeed. Hopefully this Galadhel will soon make himself known. Lothvaen has been trying to find him for the last week, but has not been successful. It is almost as if he has disappeared.”
“Do you think that…”
“…Lothvaen imagined him? I thought so initially, but Lothvaen is quite adamant that he met this Galadhel.” Lindir shrugged.
Just then the door to the library opened, admitting one seneschal who was grinning broadly. “Erestor, I have come to the conclusion that we should have our binding ceremony next week. I am tired of waiting, and I can think of no better way to allay the tension than with a celebration.”
The darkling elf rose from his chair. “How typically arrogant of you to make this decision without consulting me,” he said quietly.
“Arrogant?”
“Aye, arrogant. First, you tricked me into making me ask *you* to bind with *me*, when it should have been the other way around, considering you were the one courting me. Now, you expect me to just happily fall in with your suggestion that we hold the ceremony next week. Well, I will not have it.”
Lindir watched the confrontation between the two elves in fascination. “Actually, I think Glorfindel has a good idea. Why not have your binding ceremony next week? I already have the music written, so there is no problem there. And I am sure that Lord Elrond would not mind if your betrothal did not last the full year.”
Erestor looked down at the minstrel. “Thank you,” he said with some sarcasm, “for your ‘input’, Lindir, even though it was not asked for.”
“Oh, you are perfectly welcome.” The minstrel stood up. “Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go and inform Lord Elrond that he should start the preparations for a wedding.” Lindir walked nimbly out the door, leaving two slightly bemused elves in his wake.
“It seems, ervainen vorn, that the decision has been taken out of your hands,” Glorfindel said, and smiled as Erestor merely sighed in resignation.
*****
Elvish translations:
ervainen vorn – my dark beautiful one
pen-neth – young one
*****
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