A Prank on Glorfindel

Chapter 6 – The Prank

“Hello Beautiful! Are you ready for a walk?” Glorfindel crooned to his horse, carressing her nose. “Now who went to all these lengths to dress you so stunningly, I wonder? Look at those mithril clasps in your manes! We match each other perfectly today, my little Eirien!”

Eirien Malloth made to nuzzle the warrior fondly, but Glorfindel jumped aside, offering a leather-gloved hand for her to snuffle instead.

“I must keep my robes clean, sweet Daisy,” he chuckled, blowing softly into her nostrils. “I cannot have stains on my attire when the Lord of Lothlórien arrives, now can I? What would Erestor say? Hm?”

He gently rubbed the mare between her ears, clicking his tongue and murmuring soft words as he checked all the straps of the saddle – thus failing to notice the bright shade of puce that appeared on the faces of the twins.

Elrohir firmly stepped on Elladan’s toes, suitably disposing of the mad fit of giggles that threatened to spill from his brother. Clenching his fists behind his back, he supressed the guffaws of delight that adamantly pushed their way up in his chest.

“Elrohir, whatever are you wearing?” Elladan gasped, unable to hold back his chuckles and faking the cause of his mirth.

“Would you be so kind not to insult my tunic?” Glorfindel commented dryly from under Eirien’s belly, where he was checking the girth.

He knew that the elven grooms were more than precise when it came to securing the saddle straps – as was Elladan, young as he was. But checking his life-lines had become second-nature to him through the years of innumerable battles and patrols. His life – and the lives of those who depended on him – could be decided in a mere matter of seconds, and thus be influenced by the state of his gear, his weapons and his interaction with his horse.

He always checked twice…

Securing his sword to his saddle, he turned to the twins.

“Must you laugh thus at your brother’s new outfit?” he inquired, raising an amused eyebrow at the giggling older Elrondion. “I agree that your current appearance far outshines Elrohir’s, Elladan. But when it comes to your smell, elfling…”

The warrior’s voice trailed off in a wide toothy grin as he stole a sprig of hay from Elladan’s tunic.

“Well, elflings, I will be off now to welcome your grandfather at the Ford of Bruinen. Remember, Elrohir: Tomorrow is your last day of early morning exercise. You will not be excused from your task – Daerada here or not.”

Elrohir blushed under Glorfindel’s kind but stern gaze. Daerada would ask questions…and hear of his outburst in the Vale of Aragond. His parents had long spoken to him about the way he had kicked Glorfindel’s head. Ada and Naneth had been willing to overlook all else, weighing the fact that Elrohir would be disciplined the warrior’s way. But the kick against the head had been bad.

“You could have done serious harm,” Ada had reprimanded sternly, a grave expression on his face unlike any his youngest had seen.

What would Daerada say?

Suddenly it dawned on him that Daerada’s words would be the least of his concerns before nightfall. As soon as Glorfindel’s red behind was revealed, Ada would know it was them. Elrohir squirmed. Taking herbs from the apothecary without asking was strictly forbidden. Besides, Ada would certainly never countenance the use of Uruin for their schemes, no matter how noble the intent.

They were in for a lot of trouble… ‘For Daerada!’

Heaving a guilty sigh, he nodded at his trainer. “I will be there before sunrise,” he mumbled.

“Good,” Glorfindel smiled, recognizing the guilt that was doing its work in the mind of his charge. “Now Elladan, elfling, have yourself a bath, mellon nín. Your mother will be eager to scrub that orcish scent off your back.”

Elladan scowled indignantly, but giggled when the warrior sent him a wink. He impatiently twisted his braids and tried to keep still. When would Glorfindel finally mount up? He wished to see!

“Elrohir, you are welcome to wear my tunic today,” the warrior grinned.

“He shall,” laughed a clear, tinkling voice from behind them. “I am sure that his Daerada will be highly amused!”

Celebrían came walking up the path, looking for her sons.

Realizing – at once – the danger this entailed, the twins rushed forward and hugged their mother fondly, using the endearment to exchange an unseen, conspiring glance behind her back. They needed to remove their mother from Glorfindel’s presence, quickly! If Glorfindel mounted and Nana saw his backside while he rode away...

“Tag! You’re it!” Elladan piped, tapping his mother on her shoulder and storming down the path with his brother.

“Race you to the house, Nana!” Elrohir squealed, dashing away between the trees.

Ah! Celebrían would not be Celebrían, daughter of Celeborn and child of the Galadhrim, if she would not respond to this challenge. Smiling apologetically at Glorfindel and grinning from ear to ear, she ran after her sons.

“First one I catch gets his ears washed!” she called.

“Nana!” came two distant, indignant cries of protest.

Glorfindel chuckled and glanced at his faithful horse.

“Shall we?” he smiled.

O-o-O-o-O

Reaching the top of the steps beside the house, Elrohir and Elladan gazed down to catch a glimpse of their trainer. But…

“What’s he doing now?” Elladan exclaimed indignantly.

Elrohir pulled at his sleeve and they raced back down the stairs in a hurry. Naneth had caught them before they had gotten far, and had sent them ahead to the house while she spoke with a seamstress. But Naneth wasn’t here...

Bolting down the hill towards the path across the Bridge, the twins of Lord Elrond ignored their mother’s orders and ran after their friend.

“Glorfindel, aren’t you riding?” Elladan called.

The warrior turned around and smiled when he saw his young shadows approaching.

“No, today is such a lovely day, I have decided I shall walk,” he replied cheerfully, resuming his song about the beauties of the Vale.

Elrohir stopped in his tracks.

“Walk?” he echoed. “To the Bruinen?” Had the warrior gone mad?

“You’re a commander, Glorfindel! Commanders always ride,” Elladan pressed, hurrying to catch up with his friend.

“Since when?” Glorfindel challenged, smiling down at the elfling beside him.

“Since…always!” Elladan countered, determined to achieve his success. “Have you ever heard a tale of an Elf Lord arriving on foot beside his horse?”

Glorfindel chuckled and whistled to Eirien, who had fallen behind to nuzzle Elrohir.

“I have not. But have you ever heard of an Elf who found no joy in walking below the trees, or in stooping to smell the flowers, or in the caress of the breeze?” he smiled at Elladan.

Momentarily speechless, Elladan glanced at his brother.

“But Glorfindel, what if Daerada and his warriors reach Bruinen early today? You’ll be late if you walk!” quipped Elrohir from behind.

Glorfindel laughed. It seemed that Erestor’s concern about protocol was rubbing off on the twins at last.

“Have no worries, little Seneschals,” he smiled. “Our scouts have reported that the party from Lothlórien was camped on the borders of the Angle last night. They shall not be at the Ford before noon. I will be able to walk at my leisure, and even speak with the sentries on the way as I progress.”

Recognizing the imminent defeat, Elladan played out his final, desperate trump. Crossing his arms, he procured his most convincing scowl and muttered, in a slightly whining tone:

“I have spent a lot of time tacking up Eirien for you. Was it all for nothing, then?”

Glorfindel threw his head back and laughed good-naturedly.

“I thank you, Elladan, for your work,” he said sincerely. “Once I meet with the Elves of Lothlórien, I will mount up and ride Eirien back to the house as I escort your grandfather. I am very happy that you tacked up my Daisy for me, and I will remember to tell Lord Celeborn of your efforts. Does that please you?”

The grey eyes of the elfling widened in delight.

“Oh yes! That would be great!” Elladan exclaimed happily, bouncing on his feet.

“Um…we have to be off now. Nana told us to go to the bathing room,” Elrohir warned quietly from the rear.

Behind them on the path stood a very angry looking Celebrían.

“Then you had better hurry,” Glorfindel smiled. “Scoot!”

He chuckled as the elflings ran back to their mother, the sound of their scolding soon drowned by the roaring of the Falls as he walked across the Bridge.

O-o-O-o-O

“Sit still, Elladan!” Celebrían exclaimed. For the third time that minute her son had twisted from under her hands as she tried to wash his mane. She glanced through the door to the bedroom, where Elrond was needing an equal amount of patience braiding Elrohir’s hair.

“Don’t turn your head, ion nín,” Elrond sighed, releasing the strands and beginning anew.

“Will I wear a tunic like El’s?” Elladan asked, splashing water over the edge of the tub as he reached for his toy boats.

“Of course you will!” Celebrían replied, lathering her son’s tresses as he sailed his boat across the waves of the tub. “You always do.”

“But I like burgundy better than grey, blue and green!” Elladan protested. “I want to wear different clothes!”

“Elladan; grey, blue and green are the colours of Lothlórien and Rivendell,” Elrond spoke sternly from the bedroom. “You shall wear these garments for Lord Celeborn’s arrival and departure, my son. As is custom.”

Shrugging, Elladan turned around to let his ship make huge waves, while Celebrían tried her hardest to rinse the shampoo from his hair.

“Elrohir! Stop bouncing!” came Elrond’s exasperate cry.

Celebrían glanced through the door at the innocent face of her youngest, who wiggled around on the bed as his father adjusted the laces on his sleeves.

“I am the first one dressed!” Elrohir clamoured, bouncing on the bed when his father had finally given him the ‘okay’. “I get an extra dessert!”

“That’s not fair!” Elladan cried loudly. And before his mother could prevent it, he leapt out of the tub and slipped on the soapy, watery floor.

“Elladan!” Elrond and Celebrían exclaimed in unison. Celebrían grasped her son’s arm before he could fall to the ground.

“Give me a towel, Nana, I want to get dressed!” Elladan urged, forgetting the dirt on his skin.

“Elladan Peredhel, you will get back in the tub,” Elrond spoke sternly. “You have not yet been washed and I do not permit smudgy elflings to sit at my table and have their dessert.”

“But Ada…”

“You will do as I say, Elladan,” Elrond warned tersely, knowing his son. He frowned when Celebrían gasped in dismay and pointed behind him.

There, like a Bat on the Bed, Elrohir was standing on his head. Feet elegantly up to the ceiling, braids once more a mess…

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel descended the final slope to the Ford of the Bruinen. Away in the distance on the hill, a good mile from the bank, he spotted the banners of Lothlórien under the shadow of the pine-trees.

He smiled as he imagined the scene that would unfold in a mere half an hour. Lord Celeborn of Lórien would regally ride across the Ford and, as custom decreed, Glorfindel would formally speak the words of welcome from his Lord. They would exchange the Elven Blessing, and the Elves of Lothlórien would ride in formation behind their Lord towards the Valley, with Glorfindel leading the way.

It was then that he would have to be careful…

Trust Celeborn to settle their score at the first opportunity…or perhaps not, he chuckled. The rascal was cunning! Lulling his prey in a false sense of security and striking out of the blue was a skill that the Sinda had honed to perfection.

He had first met Lord Celeborn in the Battle of Eregion. When Sauron had come for the rings, Gil-galad had sent Elrond at the head of a large army, bringing aid to the Elves of Hollin. Until help had arrived, the silver-haired Sinda had led the attacks on the Orcs. His outnumbered warriors had stood between the forces of Mordor and the Noldorin city of Ost-In-Edhil. The city had fallen, and Elrond had led the refugees north, while Celeborn and Glorfindel had battled off the pursuit. The survivors had hidden in the Vale of Imladris, and by the side of Lord Elrond and Glorfindel, Lord Celeborn had led the defense of the valley during the years of the Siege.

Glorfindel chuckled. They had immediately hit it off.

Celeborn – like himself – was an incredible warrior and strategist. He was wise, kind, gentle and yet a most dangerous foe to cross for his enemies. Most notably: the Elf Lord delighted in mischief! It was a trait that the two of them shared…and a trait that they relished!

Both of the Elf Lords, the golden-haired and the silver one, possessed the inherent ability to notice when others were far too caught up in a haze of seriousness, rigidity or monotony. They teased, bantered and lovingly played mischief to lighten the mood and bring smiles to sullen faces.

And they loved it to no end!

Now the regal, solemn Lord of Lothlórien, Celeborn had far less opportunity to play pranks than his golden-haired friend. It was a small difference he ingeniously made clear during the bulk of his visits. No-one in Imladris was safe from Lord Celeborn, as the Commanders of Rivendell all knew without exception.

Oh, the Elf-Lord did prank his Sindarin advisors, and even his wife! But Galadriel had a knack for sensing what he was up to, and the advisors were so humble they obligingly indulged their Lord in his games. They never complained about the strange occurances that surrounded Lord Celeborn of Doriath.

Better in Rivendell, where at least two Elves would not hesitate to play pranks on the silver-haired Sinda: Celebrían his daughter…and Glorfindel.

Oh, Glorfindel! There was no Elf in Arda that Celeborn loved to tease more than Glorfindel. And the favour was returned!

Elrond had fallen victim to the pranks of the Elf Lord since before the quiet Peredhel had laid eyes on Lady Celebrían. It was then that Glorfindel had decided to come to the aid of his friend. Celeborn had bathed in diluted cow-dung – involuntarily, of course – and the game had begun. Unwilling to be bested, and delighting in this scheme, Celeborn had promised ‘revenge’.

Glorfindel had soon been sent to take a missive from Elrond to the warriors at the borders. He had spent an unexpected long night at the bottom of a deep pit, furnished with a pink cloak, a water skin, a bread roll and a note from Celeborn: “You may sing for us until the morning, then we will fetch you.”

He had snuggled in the cloak and his songs had delighted the stars through the night. Knowing the Sinda…he could have stayed there a week!

But Celeborn had kept his word, and their game had never ceased…

O-o-O-o-O

“Ai! Na vedui, Glorfindel!”

Celeborn’s typical Sindarin drawl greeted him when he rounded the last of the curves in the steep winding path leading down to the bank.

The riders of Lothlórien had galloped across the plain between the hill and the river – but Glorfindel had decided he would not take the bait. ‘Let Celeborn get there first,’ he chuckled. The Galadhrim would have seen him, as he had seen them. They would know he was coming, and the day was too peaceful to rush.

The young march-warden would scowl that his Lord was ‘not to be kept waiting at the Ford’, as protocol demanded. The Ford was protected – and guarded – but it was out in the open, and those crossing the stream would present an easy target. Glorfindel had posted his scouts far beyond the Bruinen and he knew that the lands surrounding them were safe. But Glorfindel also knew Celeborn…

In all likelihood the Sindarin Lord himself had ordered the hasty ride from the pine wood, pretending that the plain between the hills and the Ford was dangerous. In secret, however, the rascal had probably intended to get a rise out of Glorfindel, urging him to rush. Or better – as Glorfindel suspected – to arrive a little earlier, harrassing the serious Haldir while they waited.

“You are walking?” Celeborn smirked from the opposite bank, clearly amused.

“When the weather is this beautiful and the breeze is so fresh, I cannot resist,” the Golden One smiled.

The Elves of Lothlórien snickered. An Elf Lord like Glorfindel arriving beside his horse?

“You are welcome to join me,” the Chief of Defenses laughed heartily, inviting the riders to wade through the Ford.

The warriors of Lothlórien surrounded their Lord as he crossed. But when Celeborn had passed the middle of the stream, his stallion stumbled heavily and slipped on a rock.

“Easy, my sweet,” Celeborn crooned gently. He had not lost his balance, but the movement had jerked through his senses. He felt pain, though not his own.

The Lord of Lothlórien swiftly came to a decision and leapt off his horse, wading through the water and leading his horse to the shore.

“Your mount is limping, my Lord,” whispered one of the guards.

Celeborn led his horse to the side and expertly ran his hands down the stallion’s leg. “Ai! We had best cool that leg in the river,” he murmured. “Rúmil?”

As the Galadhrim hurried to remove the stallion's tack, Glorfindel signalled to three Imladris sentries, who appeared from the trees.

“Lord Celeborn’s horse is injured. A guard will remain by the river to cool its leg. Please send for Laedros – and bring dry clothing and refreshments for Master Rúmil.”

Glorfindel inclined his head when the young Sinda smiled gratefully, then turned to his silver-haired friend. Slipping back in his formal composure, he bowed to the Lord of Lothlórien and his Guard.

“Welcome to Rivendell, my Lord. May a star shine on your House and your Realm.”

Celeborn, though bedraggled and with mud on his boots, nodded regally.

“May the Valar bless your Home also,” he sang the formal reply.

Glorfindel touched his forehead, his lips and his heart in the Elven Blessing, which was repeated by the Lord of the Galadhrim.

“I will send my warriors for a dry pair of leggings, my Lord,” Glorfindel spoke respectfully. “Although I fear we do not have white silken ones such as your own.”

The warrior’s eyes twinkled. In front of the Guard, his conversations with Celeborn were required to be formal, as was custom. ‘Just wait until we get home,’ Glorfindel mused, looking forward to their usual banter.

“My gratitude is great, but you need make no effort,” Celeborn drawled. He bowed politely and walked back towards the river, cleaning his boots. “My leggings will dry as we walk towards the Valley,” he announced as he finished.

‘Walk?’ Glorfindel thought. He was not hearing right.

“My Lord, you cannot walk around in wet leggings. And you certainly cannot walk,” one of the Lórien guards whispered quietly.

“My Lord, ride my horse,” came the voice of another.

“Your arrival in the Valley is of formal importance. You must ride, my Lord,” spoke a third.

Glorfindel chuckled.

“Walk?” he asked innocently, raising an eyebrow. “My Lord means to walk?”

“It is such a beautiful day,” Celeborn drawled, a sparkle in his eyes. “I would very much enjoy a walk beneath the trees by the side of my good friend.”

He stressed the final words and the Balrog Slayer took the hint. ‘High alert,’ he thought. The Sinda was up to no good.

Eirien Malloth had patiently studied the Sindarin company, waiting for her Master to lead the way home. But now she walked forward, nuzzling ‘her blonde’ affectionately. Was he coming?

“What - a - beautiful - horse!” came a soft whisper from the back of the Lothlórien Guard.

“She is awesome!” sighed another.

“Magnificent!” spoke a third.

“You must have some new warriors in your guard,” Glorfindel smiled at his friend. “Could it be that they have never seen my Eirien before?”

Celeborn stepped forward and patted the stately mare fondly. “Even if they have seen her, your Eirien will still be a vision of beauty to all Elves, a star come to life in a child of the Mearas.”

The ears of the mare twitched happily as she carefully snuffled the Sinda’s offered hand. He was kind, this one! She liked him!

“You may ride her to the Valley,” Glorfindel offered softly. “I will ask her to bear you.”

Celeborn’s eyes widened with interest, but he tilted his head. “I seem to remember that you will rarely allow anyone to ride your horse,” he drawled, raising his eyebrows. “Are you sincere?”

Glorfindel pointed to the un-covered saddle on Eirien’s back. “See for yourself…no waterskins,” he chuckled.

Celeborn smiled warmly, knowing what this offer meant, coming from the Chief of Defenses. He glanced at the trees. The forest was calling and he longed for the feel of the earth beneath his feet. After weeks in the saddle, a walk was too enticing.

“I feel honoured,” he drawled. “But I would much prefer to walk by your side. When we reach the Valley of Rivendell, I will gladly mount a horse to make sure my arrival is regal,” he silenced his Guard. “But I assure you that the horses of Lórien are equally capable of bearing my weight.”

TBC

Translations:

Na vedui – At last