A Prank on Glorfindel

Chapter 4 – The Plan

The Eastern sky grew pale amidst the deep, blackness of night, when two little elflings silently slipped down the large, marble steps outside the doors of the Last Homely House. Erestor, still in his morning gown, sleepily closed the door behind them and tiptoed back into his room, snuggling in the warm embrace of his bed for at least another peaceful hour of sleep.

Today marked the long expected arrival of the Lord Celeborn of Lórien, father of the Lady Celebrían and grandfather of the twins. The Seneschal had planned and prepared the reception of this most honourable guest in detail. The largest guest room in the family quarters was awaiting the Sinda with the finest bedsheets and towels. The furniture, the books on the shelves, the wines and the decanters, yes, even the decorations in the room were precisely fitted to match the respected Elf Lord’s taste.

A list of Lord Celeborn’s favourite foods had been passed to the kitchen staff weeks ago. All the ingredients had been acquired in advance and were stored with greatest care to secure that the exquisite flavours were maintained. The Elf Lord’s most favourite vegetables and fruits, which remained in the kitchen garden for freshness’ sake, were guarded by hithlain nets and, at the Seneschal’s insistance, even by Elven sentries, to guarantee that neither deer, slug, sparrow or coney, nor – the Seneschal thought grimly – a pair of elflings and their blonde companion in mischief, would have a chance of ruining the feast for the Lord of Lothlórien.

Erestor pulled his blankets up to his chin and relaxed, allowing his eyes to gradually glaze over. Everything was taken care of this time. Nothing could possibly go wrong…

O-o-O-o-O

“This is the day,” Elladan whispered excitedly as he walked on the dark path towards the stables with his brother. His gloved hand slipped into his pocket and he pulled out the small bottle of Uruin extract they had pilfered from their father’s apothecary.

“Not yet!” Elrohir warned, glancing around. “The night sentries may be watching.”

The bottle returned to its warm nest in the fold of Elladan’s tunic, where it peacefully bobbed up and down as the elflings ran to the thatched building in the back of the valley. As quietly as they could they opened the door and sneaked inside.

“Elladan? Is that you, my young Lord?” the stable master’s voice came from the far corner.

The sons of Elrond nearly jumped out of their skins!

“Yes, Laedros, it is me and my brother,” Elladan replied, attempting to regain his composure and inwardly damning the quiver in his voice.

“Come and see, little Masters. Moonlight of Eregion has foaled this night,” came the soft, singing voice of the groom.

Momentarily forgetting their mission, the elflings rushed along the central aisle of the stables to the back.

“Easy now, young ones, you do not wish to startle them,” the voice of Laedros chanted calmly.

By the flickering light of the oil lamp the twins stared open-mouthed at the black-haired foal, standing on wobbly legs beside its beautiful, pearly white mother.

“Aw…” Elrohir gasped, enthralled as the newborn blinked in wonder at the appearance of the nightly newcomers.

Moonlight of Eregion briefly gazed at the elflings and then calmly nuzzled her little one, breathing warm air from her nostrils and inhaling her offspring’s sweet scent. The mare knew that the elves posed no threat and she sensed the genuine love and delight for her foal from these small ones.

Tearing his eyes from the endearing scene before him, Elladan nudged his twin.

“My brother will return to spend time with the foal later in the day,” he articulated, raising an eyebrow at his enamoured accomplice.

‘We must not forget why we are here!’ he conveyed with a nod of his head.

“Ai, Master Elrohir,” the stable master chuckled. “I see you are dressed for morning training with the warriors? How many days until the end of your sentence?”

Elrohir blushed so that even the tips of his ears turned pink.

“Only today and tomorrow,” he mumbled, studying his toes.

“I should say that, despite your discomfort, I have profited well from Lord Glorfindel’s decree,” Laedros spoke kindly, placing one of his large hands on Elrohir’s head. “Understand, Master Elrohir: It was all to my benefit when your brother decided he would not be left behind in the house when his twin went running about the valley. I am glad that he decided to lend a hand in the stables while his twin is completing his early morning training.”

Elrohir’s blush deepened considerably and Elladan fumbled with the laces on his boots, avoiding eye-contact.

“You are much like your father, young Elrondion,” Laedros directed at Elladan, nodding approvingly while he stroked the elfling’s cheek. “Your Adar is wise and noble as an Elf Lord could be, and yet humble and caring of heart, never above getting his hands dirty to help out a simple stable master. When we first came to Imladris, your father was worn and troubled by the care for the wounded Elves and by the burden of leading the train of refugees. Still, in the dead of the night he would appear in the pen, asking me to describe the condition of the horses. I do not believe your Adar slept much in those days, young Masters. I will not forget seeing him on his knees in the straw, tending to the horses’ wounds and speaking soft words to guide them to peace.

“Months later, when a wildfire raged through the forest surrounding the shelters we had built, your father was there in his night robes, beating at the flames and dragging water with all the other elves, even as he lead the offence against the raging blaze. I have seen your father plowing through the mud when torrential rains threatened to break a dam and flood our vegetable patches by the river. We had all but lost the Siege that day...”

The stable master’s eyes obtained a distant expression as he remembered the first years in Imladris, when Sauron’s armies had besieged the valley. Those had been dark and desperate years, but the community of homeless Elves had grown very close as they battled the continuous onslaught of the orcs and struggled to survive in the hidden dale.

“Even after centuries had passed and all was long back at peace, your father would still occasionally venture into the stables. While he questioned me about the fillies and colts and the training of the yearlings, he would hang his robes on the peg beside the door and take up a dung-fork, working beside me in companionable peace.

“So you see, you are much like your father, young Master Elladan,” Laedros finished his tale. “I have been pleased to have you here in the stables with me.”

It was Elladan’s turn to blush fiercely now. He nervously plucked at his tunic.

As fascinating as this tale about his father was, the praise for himself was, to say the least, highly undeserved. Ever since Elrohir had begun his week of early morning training, Elladan had risen with his brother and helped the grooms. He had mucked out the stalls, hauled buckets of fresh water for Moonlight of Eregion, and he had even scrubbed the water channels from the brook to the stables. He had brushed and combed horses, braided manes, cleared out hooves and he had dutifully helped Laedros to tack up the warriors’ mounts.

But it had all been part of the plan…

When Elladan had told his twin of the prank he had designed for Glorfindel, the brothers had soon concluded that there was one minor flaw in their scheme: How were they to get access to Glorfindel’s saddle before the warrior would mount it, but after the grooms had tacked up the horse?

They could not risk any of the grooms getting hurt by the Uruin…

Eventually they had come up with a brilliant strategy: Elladan would insist on making himself useful while Elrohir went running. He would go to the stables to help out, and by the end of the week, no-one would think it fishy if he ventured near Glorfindel’s tack.

Elladan guiltily glanced up into the stable master’s kind eyes. Deep in his heart he made a vow to return to the stables, even after Elrohir’s sentence was over and the prank was long behind them. Laedros deserved more. He silently decided to help Laedros more often in the coming times. He would gladly rise earlier and skip his breakfast with his parents to spend some time with the soft-spoken stable master.

The foal stumbled towards its mother and hesitantly began to drink. Laedros got to his feet and smiled at the elflings, who were one again entranced by the endearing scene before them.

“Well, young Masters,” he sang, “the three of us had better leave these two some time to themselves. I have not been able to sleep this night, but I will at least be off to eat, wash myself and put on a clean tunic. Remember, today will be a big day for us all when your Daeradar arrives with his warriors!”

He nimbly leapt over the trough and waved his goodbye. “Good luck with your training, young Master Elrohir. Master Elladan, I will return as soon as I can.”

O-o-O-o-O

Elrohir glanced out of the small stable window, where a soft greyish light was beginning to chase away the dark.

“I haven’t much time,” he whispered. “Glorfindel will be awaiting me.”

“Then you must go,” Elladan agreed hastily. “No need to alert him that you might have been delayed. He may want to know why. You know Glorfindel…”

Elrohir rolled his eyes and grabbed his brother’s arm.

“Be careful, Elladan. Make sure you don’t get burned.”

“I will,” Elladan promised.

“Don’t make any stains on your tunic, or we will be discovered.”

“I won’t,” Elladan assured.

“And El?”

“What?”

“Only on the top of the saddle…at the back!”

“Yes, Elrohir! Now go!” Elladan hissed. “Don’t cross Glorfindel during your training. Ask him to tell you about his chase of the dragon near the end of the morning exercise. Don’t get too enthusiastic, for if Glorfindel thinks you no longer pay attention to your workout, he won’t continue his tale. Keep asking him for details after he sends the warriors off on their duty and make sure to play ‘the curious elfling tagging along’ convincingly. You must be with him when he goes to the barracks.”

Elrohir glared. “I know, Elladan! It was I who came up with this part of the plan, remember?”

Elladan carefully opened the door of the stables and glanced around. “The coast is clear,” he whispered. “Now go!”

Elrohir slipped through the crack into the dark, grey light of approaching morning.

“El?”

“What, Elladan?”

“Make sure that he puts on his gloves, or there will be hell to pay for both of us!”

O-o-O-o-O

Heaving a deep sigh and stretching his aching back, Elladan put aside the dung-fork and grabbed the broom. After preparing the empty stalls with fresh straw, fresh hay and clean water for the arrival of the Lothlórien horses, he was almost finished mucking out the rest of the stables.

He glanced out of the window.

The sun’s pink-golden light was shining on the leaves of the trees. It would not be long before the warriors would complete their training. Hoping that his brother was doing well, he quickly swept the central aisle of the stables, removing any stray straws and sprigs of hay to make it look orderly and clean.

His ears were perked for the sounds of the grooms in the tack room. Most of the warriors’ horses were saddled and patiently awaiting their riders. But Eirien Malloth, Glorfindel’s magnificent mare, was still in her stall, her ears twitching much like Elladan’s, eager to be out with the other horses.

Placing the broom back where it belonged, Elladan quickly brushed the bits of straw off his tunic and trousers and rebraided his hair to look presentable. His heart beat loudly in his throat and his stomach was fervently making backflips. Everything depended on this one single question. If Laedros said no…

Taking a steadying breath and forcing down his nerves, Elladan ventured into the large tack room, where several horses were standing beside each other, waiting for the elven grooms to saddle them.

Elladan slipped between two horses and handed Laedros the leather thong he would be fastening next. The stable master softly spoke to the horse and gently tugged on the strap. Unwilling to be wearing a saddle this early in the morning, the horse breathed in deeply and expanded its chest as much as it could, making the strap too short to be fitted.

Elladan smiled and expertly pressed his little fingers into the horse’s hairy belly, tickling the drowsy mount. The chestnut stallion snorted and relaxed, which was the cue for Laedros to pull the strap and fasten the mithril clasp.

The stallion turned his large head around and nuzzled Elladan affectionately, begging for a treat. Giggling, Elladan reached out to caress the equine behind the ears.

“I will bring you a carrot after your duty,” he promised.

The chestnut gave Elladan a gentle shove and looked up at Laedros, who chortled.

“No, my sweet one. You will not have a treat from me either. You will await your turn, as will the others.”

Elladan glanced up at the groom.

“Laedros? May I go and saddle Eirien Malloth in her ceremonial tack? Glorfindel will be meeting Daerada and the delegation from Lothlórien at the Ford of Bruinen this afternoon. I would like to make Eirien look extra beautiful today, in honour of my grandfather and as a surprise for Glorfindel.”

The young Peredhel tried hard not to blush at this little white lie. There would be a surprise for Glorfindel all right, and the surprise was very much in honour of his grandfather. But Elladan suddenly hated to deceive Laedros in this way. The young Elf decided to make Eirien look extra beautiful indeed, just to make the lie a little more truthful.

Laedros lovingly smiled down at the eager elfling’s face. “That is very attentive of you, Master Elladan. I am certain that Lord Glorfindel and your Daeradar will approve. Need you any help carrying the ceremonial tack and saddle?”

Elladan’s brain flashed forward, imagining Laedros carrying the heavy horse gear for him and then offering to help with the saddling of Eirien.

“No, thank you, Master Laedros,” he politely declined, skipping towards the door. “I would like to do it all by myself.”

Chuckling at the elfling’s willingness to please, the stable master continued his work with the warhorses.

O-o-O-o-O

Outside the door, Elladan could not believe his luck. He forced himself to keep his face straight, lest one of the grooms would notice his delight and find it suspicious, but inwardly his chest was just exploding with excitement.

“Hello Eirien Malloth,” he greeted when he approached her stall with a third of the tack. The ceremonial tack was so elaborate that he had to walk thrice to fetch it all.

The stately mare curiously snuffled at the decorations in Elladan’s hands.

“For you,” Elladan sang in a perfect imitation of Laedros’ voice. “We will make you look beautiful today, sweet lady of the flower house.”

Eirien’s ears moved forward, intrigued by the love and praise that were heaped on her. She gently lowered her nose to the top of Elladan’s head and inhaled his scent. Oh, but this was the one who had spent several hours brushing her fur and braiding her manes the other day! She liked this small one! He was not Glorfindel, and he was certainly not Laedros, but she loved those gentle, little hands!

Bending one of her hind legs, she relaxed and allowed the ministrations of the little Elf. She loved being dressed up in her ceremonial tack. It always made the Firstborn look at her with even more respect than usual.

Elladan kept singing to the delighted mare while he climbed around on the wooden cross beams to put all of the head gear and the long, embroidered caparison in place. He carefully placed the small, thin leather saddle on Eirien’s back, and briefly thought of the bottle in his pocket.

No, not yet. He still had too many straps to secure. He might stain his clothing, and then the scheme would be discovered.

Eirien had no qualms about letting the elfling fasten her saddle’s girth. She was going for a ride with Glorfindel, she was certain of that. And it would not be the impressive Elf Lord alone who would be gaining all the Elves’ attention, as she knew from experience. The Golden One was often showered with praise for the magnificent horse he rode, and today would be another one of those highly enjoyable days, she sensed.

“Hold very still now, Daisy,” Elladan whispered. He was mounted on top of a high cross beam beside her and gently patted her neck. He had put his leather gloves back on and lifted the bottle of Uruin from his pocket.

“Only at the back,” Elrohir had argued the previous day.

Initially the brothers had meant to cover all the leather of the saddle with Uruin. The thick, white fabric of Glorfindel’s riding pants, which he wore with his ceremonial robes, would protect him easily. But, Elladan thought with twinkling eyes, it would not protect him from displaying a very red behind to the Riders of Lórien.

“When I return, I expect my grandsons to avenge me for this serious dent in my pride. I will be counting on you,” Daerada had said.

At the end of their grandparents’ last visit, Glorfindel and Daerada had bantered over the evening wine about the ‘most regal and impressive way to mount a horse’. They had continued their debate on the morning of departure, and intending to impress not just Glorfindel, but all the other Imladris Elves as well, Celeborn had gracefully demonstrated his most elegant and authoritative leap into the saddle.

However, aided by a simple, perforated waterskin, conveniently hidden underneath the long silk cover hanging over Celeborn’s saddle, the clever and prankish Balrog Slayer had made the landing far from ‘regal’.

Daerada had looked like an elfling who had forgotten to go!

Elladan smirked at the memory. He, Glorfindel and Elrohir had laughed themselves to tears. Naneth had turned all pink, Ada had fallen prey to a severe coughing attack and Erestor’s hands had hung limpy by his side, his mouth and eyes wide open.

Galadriel’s deep laughter had sounded across the court yard. She had smiled an enigmatic smile at her husband and with a loving tilt of her head and twinkling eyes had urged Lord Celeborn to return to the guest chambers.

Only after the Lord of Lothlórien had dismounted had Erestor come out of his stupor and rushed forward, pulling off his robe to drape it around the Sinda’s waist.

Elladan chuckled. Daerada had been far from happy. He had not been hurt physically, but he had heard the Imladris Guard chuckling under their breath. For an Elf of over 6,000 years, Daerada’s ears were still as sharp as ever and he had scowled in a most dangerous way at any warrior who dared as much as look at him.

While Celeborn had been changing, Elrohir had softly voiced his concern that there would be a rift between the Balrog Slayer and his grandfather now, but Galadriel had laughed it away. “Your Daerada is merely reaping what he has sown,” she had crooned. “A little water to cool off his sizable ego will not hurt him.”

The elflings had watched with interest how the adults had exchanged secret looks of approval. Even Ada had laughed in Naneth’s embrace, and Erestor, after returning from the house with a regal Elf Lord in dry leggings, had been biting the inside of his lip.

Daerada had spared them a fleeting glance and had motioned for his grandsons to follow him aside.

“The House of Celeborn of Doriath will not stand for this,” he had announced with gravely wounded pride. The elflings had seen the mischievous smile playing in their grandfather’s eyes, but then his tone had become very serious. In whispered tones he had reminded them of their fealty to their ancestors' line and entrusted them with the task of his revenge.

Ada had raised a questioning eyebrow upon their return, reacting to the fleeting smug expression on Lord Celeborn’s face, which his grandsons failed to see. But then it had been time for goodbyes, and Ada’s frown had been forgotten.

Elladan carefully pulled the stopper from the bottle.

“Only on the back of the saddle,” he whispered, dripping the Uruin onto the leather and rubbing it across the area where Glorfindel’s backside would later be.

Elrohir had objected to spreading the Uruin over all the leather parts of the saddle, as Elladan had originally intended. “If his clothing stains red in the front, he will notice too soon,” Elrohir had thrown in. “It is a long way to the Ford of Bruinen. He must not notice until he meets with Daerada and his warriors, lest he turns back and changes his clothes!”

Elladan had agreed, though reluctantly. He had to admit that this prank was too risky, and there was too much at stake – his grandfather’s honour! – to take a chance of early discovery. Glorfindel’s red backside would immediately give away the culprits, for Ada had not yet forgotten the incident with the Uruin. But whatever punishment Ada would mete out: the brothers were determined to bear it with stoic pride. “For Daerada,” they had agreed. Yet they would not have that sacrifice be for nothing!

Unaware of the elfling’s scheme to prank her master, Eirien munched on a bit of hay. Gazing down at the pristine saddle, the elfling waited until the Uruin on its surface had dried. Never leaving stains on leather, the Uruin extract seemed to disappear without a trace. But Elladan knew better. The powdery substance would still be there, nearly invisible, even to the eyes of elves.

Carefully taking off his gloves and pushing them into an old, leather bag he had pilfered from the tack room for this purpose, making sure they were securely inside before he diverted his attention, Elladan finished his precarious job and jumped down to the ground. He could hear the warriors coming back from their morning training. They would wash themselves, change into their uniforms and then begin their duty.

The horses, all awaiting their arrival, grew restless.

Eirien perked her ears for the first sound of Glorfindel’s voice.

“El, make sure he wears his gloves,” Elladan whispered inwardly. He stayed with Eirien a little longer, patting her soft fur as he waited for the sounds of the warriors to disappear into the barracks. Then he got to his feet and walked to the back of the stables.

It was time for the next step of the plan…

Lord Celeborn was in for a very special surprise!

TBC

Translations:

hithlain – mist-thread (a substance used by the Elves of Lothlórien to make strong ropes)

Elrondion – son of Elrond

adar – father

daerada – granddad

peredhel – half-elven

naneth – mother

AN: The name of Glorfindel’s mare, Eirien Malloth, is partly real Sindarin (‘Eirien’, which means ‘daisy’) and partly my amateur Sindarin (‘Malloth’, which I have derived from ‘mall’ meaning gold and ‘loth’ meaning flower)

So the name of the horse is ‘Daisy Golden Flower’, a name I thought fitting for Glorfindel’s mount.

This chapter is dedicated to my copper-haired sister. Never fear, elfling, I will always love you. Ae ú-esteliach nad, estelio han, estelio veleth. Esteliel