A Prank on Glorfindel

Chapter 11 – Punishment

This chapter may be considered AU

The Seneschal of the Last Homely House silently walked through the third floor corridor on his way to Lord Celeborn’s guest chambers. The venerable Lord had been relocated to his favorite appartments after the excruciating pain caused by the herb of red fire, Uruin, had subsided.

Dawn was long past and Anor, the sun, steadily climbed towards its highest seat in the sky, shining its golden light down onto the Valley with its thundering falls. But the House was still silent. Earlier in the morning the twins had broken their fast in their room. Glorfindel had insisted on waking Elrohir before the first light of day, to make him complete his week of morning exercise after his outburst in the Valley of Aragond. But Elrond had decreed that Elladan was to stay in his room, and it was there that Glorfindel had returned Elrohir after a last, very thorough workout.

The Lord of Imladris was not about to let it slip by that his sons had deliberately exposed others to a dangerous substance, taken, against all rules, from their father’s apothecary. The havoc they had left in their wake could not have been foreseen entirely, but the deed alone, even without its consequences, was enough reason for the Elf Lord to give his sons plenty of time to ‘think things over’. Confined to their room since before the hour of breakfast, the twins had been told to wait until after the planned meeting of their elders, set for the early afternoon, in which a decision would be made about a fitting punishment.

With a soft knock on the door, Erestor entered the guestroom carrying a tray laden with two bowls of fruit, a decanter filled with black-currant juice and a plate stacked with buttered toast and honey.

The broad smile that lit up the Sinda’s face when the tray was placed before him, could have warmed the entire Hall of Feast with great ease!

“Lord Erestor, long have I longed for your honey toasts while I dwelt in far away Lothlórien,” the silver-haired Elf-Lord drawled with an appreciative nod, wasting no time and sinking his teeth in the golden delight. “No Elf bakes bread like you do. Are you certain I cannot persuade you to relocate to the Golden Wood?”

Erestor politely dipped his head and hid his smile behind a mask of regret. “My Lord Celeborn, I am afraid that my answer will be quite the same as it has been these past eighteen centuries.”

The Sinda licked a drop of honey from his finger and grinned toothily. “An Elf may hope… Even after nigh on nineteen-hundred years since I first tasted your bread between the mud and stones that would be the foundations of this realm, I have yet to meet an Elf who can best you at your baking skills!”

Turning away from the Elf Lord to hide the light blush that crept onto his cheeks, Erestor busied himself draping the open curtains more evenly. His long fingers automatically brushed away a few silver hairs from the red velvet robe on the peg beside the bed.

Eventually his eyes returned to the Sinda, who was consuming his food…standing up?

The blue eyes of the Seneschal inquisitively scanned Lord Celeborn’s face. He detected no outward signs of pain or discomfort. Could it be that the regal Elf Lord was still suffering from unpleasant sensations in his…nether regions?

Making a mental note to report his observations to Lord Elrond, Erestor unobtrusively made to leave the room. A servant was posted right outside Lord Celeborn’s chambers to attend to the Elf Lord’s every need and whim. Satisfied that the guest chamber was in perfect order, the Seneschal swept his eyes once more across the room before he closed the door.

“Erestor?”

“My Lord?”

When the Seneschal peeked around the door, Celeborn motioned for the raven-haired Noldo to come back in.

Now was Erestor entirely mistaken? Or did the Lord of Lothlórien actually seem a little…embarrassed?

The silver-haired Elf Lord paced beside the bed, and then turned away from Erestor, facing the balcony doors. It was apparent that the Sinda was debating with himself whether or not he should say what he had on his mind.

Erestor waited patiently. And sure enough, before long: There it was.

“I must…ask you something. But I must insist you keep this private,” Celeborn began. He turned around to look into Erestor’s eyes.

With a single nod the Seneschal wordlessly promised his silence.

“Would you…” Celeborn hesitated, but then he fell silent again, returning to pacing the room.

Erestor did not prod. Even the most regal of Elf-Lords had their moments of feeling embarrassed or uncomfortable. Lord Celeborn would either get over it and speak…or he would not. It did not matter. Erestor was here to provide a listening ear if required, but he would not press the Sinda.

“Could you perhaps…” Celeborn began once more, before continuing in a hushed voice: “Would you be so kind as to…tie my bootlaces for me?”

Erestor’s eyes widened in surprise and his eyebrows got ready to dart towards the ceiling. Fortunately, more than a millenium of being the Seneschal of the Last Homely House – with its many queer guests – enabled him to instantly catch himself, and he expertly forced a neutral expression on his face.

“My Lord? Are you in pain?” the Seneschal inquired politely.

“Pain?” the Sinda snorted. “I no longer feel any pain, thank the Valar! But the stiffness refuses to go away!”

Stiffness? Erestor did not allow the question to reach his eyes, but the ever-perceptive Sinda sensed the Seneschal’s question nonetheless.

“My skin is stretched so taut that I cannot bend down,” the Lord of Lothlórien confessed in a whisper.

Understanding dawning in his eyes, Erestor immediately knelt down to tie the Elf Lord’s bootlaces, meanwhile mulling over his memories of Elladan and Elrohir on the day after their encounter with Uruin. He could not remember either of them complaining about stiffness, nor about any other discomfort. Then again, neither of them had been affected on such a large area of skin. Nor on any skin covering a joint, the clever advisor deduced. Elladan had burnt his forearm, and Elrohir his brow. Perhaps the stiffness would be less outspoken on relatively immobile tissue.

Noticing that the laces on the Elf Lord’s boots easily came loose, Erestor proceeded to tie a double knot, but now he drew the wrath of the Sinda down upon himself.

“I must beg of you, Lord Erestor, do you wish to put me on display with my bootlaces tied as though I were a small elfling?”

The sarcasm was carefully wrapped in a kind and polite tone, and Erestor sensed that the Sinda did not truly mean to snap at his heels. Nonetheless, it was clear that the double knots had to come undone.

Muttering inwardly that without a double knot, the laces would slip loose several times before the day was over, the Seneschal complied. How was Lord Celeborn going to re-tie them if he could not bend down? With a silent sigh Erestor realized that he would have to keep an extra eye on the Sinda this day.

“I shall report to Lord Elrond and ask him to see to your discomfort,” the Seneschal spoke politely while getting to his feet.

“Elrond already knows,” Celeborn objected. “Last night he told me that stiffness was a possible consequence. I shall speak with him myself later on.”

With a bow and a nod, the Seneschal left the room – missing the mischievous glint that appeared in the Sinda’s eyes as soon as Erestor had turned his back!

O-o-O-o-O

Mid-afternoon

A minuscule bread crumb…or was it a biscuit crumb?...had escaped the notice of the servants. It lay, bedded down amidst the soft, velvety hairs of the carpet, neglected and alone in a vast ocean of blue and green, a mere thumb’s width in front of Elrohir’s left boot.

Beside him, Elladan fidgeted. Apprehensively awaiting their Daerada’s arrival, the twins were standing side by side in the center of the family sitting room. Earlier that day the adults had spoken with each other for what had seemed like an eternity. Eventually they had come to a decision, after which Daerada had been called away for a word with his warriors. Elrohir wished that his grandfather would hurry.

Ada and Naneth leisurely walked, hand in hand, on the balcony, passing the time enjoying the warmth of the sun and the caress of the breeze. Deep in his heart Elrohir longed to join them, to bask in his parents’ comforting presence, forgetting all that had occurred these last two days. But he surmised that it would probably not be a good idea. Best that he stand here with El, compliant, repentant, waiting for whatever was to come.

“Nervous, elflings?”

Glorfindel paused in his saunter around the room and looked down at the two young Elves. Elladan had been unable to stand still these past fifteen minutes, scratching his leg with his foot, balancing on his toes, wriggling, turning around…the eldest twin was the epitome of unrest. Elrohir, on the other hand, was a picture of plain misery, his shoulders slumped and his chin resting almost on his chest as he quietly pondered what their elders might have to say.

The warrior sank to his knees, gently tugging on the children’s tunics.

“Hear me, elflings,” he whispered softly. “What you have done was not right, and even dangerous, so it is only just that you shall be punished. Do we agree on this?”

Both Elrohir and Elladan nodded meekly.

“You deliberately stuck your fingers in the fire, knowing that taking Uruin was not allowed, and now you have burned them,” Glorfindel spoke kindly. “So tell me, elflings: How do Rivendell’s finest warriors take their medicine? Do they fidget and fret?”

Elladan instantly stopped hopping from one foot on the other, and Elrohir hurriedly straightened his back, lifting up his head, trying to look brave.

“Much better,” Glorfindel smiled. “It is no crime to feel nervous, little ones. But if you do wrong and you are caught, remember to bear the consequences humbly and willingly. Do not act as though you are about to be wronged. You may keep your honour by bravely bracing your shoulders to receive that which you have brought upon yourselves. Can you do that?”

Two hesitant pairs of grey eyes looked up at the golden-haired Chief of Defenses.

“Just try your best,” Glorfindel smiled warmly.

O-o-O-o-O

“For your wilful disobedience in taking a dangerous herb such as Uruin from my apothecary, you shall each write a hundred and fifty lines ‘The apothecary is out of bounds without permission,’ once every week, for seven weeks,” Elrond spoke sternly.

Elladan bit back his gasp and Elrohir tried hard not to scowl.

“I take this very seriously, my sons,” Elrond reprimanded his children. “My apothecary contains many dangerous substances. You are both old enough to obey and respect such a simple rule. You certainly do not expect me to keep the doors to my apothecary locked in order to keep my irresponsible sons out, do you Elrohir?”

“No, Ada,” Elrohir replied meekly.

“Do you, Elladan?” Elrond asked his oldest.

“No, Ada,” Elladan whispered, mortified.

“Then there is the matter of lying to Laedros. I want you both in the stables before supper to tell Laedros of your true intentions when you offered to help him with the horses, Elladan,” Elrond continued.

At this, the elfling’s bottom lip began to tremble.

“Ada?” he asked miserably.

“Yes, my son?” the Lord of Imladris replied patiently.

“It is true that we first meant for me to help Laedros only so I could tack up Eirien,” Elladan’s voice croaked. “But when I was working, I realized that in truth, I want to help Laedros regardless. I like him, Ada, and I would never want to do anything that would harm him. Will you allow me to keep helping Laedros in the mornings as before, Ada? Please?”

Elrond smiled kindly and nodded his consent.

“I shall speak with Laedros about your request, Elladan. I believe that we can come to an agreement.”

Relief flickered across the elfling’s face. “Thank you, Ada.”

“We have not yet finished,” came Celebrían’s gentle voice. “There are a few more points to discuss and punishments to mete out, ion nín.”

Two docile pairs of grey eyes looked up at their naneth.

“First of all…when Ada taught you about the use of Uruin last week, I made you wear your oldest clothes. Why did I do so, do you think?”

Elrohir furrowed his brow, wondering where this was going.

“So we would not get burned?” Elladan tried. He remembered the long-sleeved winter tunics and the old, sturdy riding pants they had been wearing when cleaning the floor.

“That as well,” Celebrían nodded. “But why do you think I made you wear your oldest tunics and breeches, and not your new ones?”

A sudden image came to Elrohir’s mind of Nana tossing Elladan’s ruined tunic into the fire after the Uruin incident.

“That stain would never have come out,” their mother’s words had been.

“Nana? Are you angry because Daerada’s leggings are ruined?” Elrohir asked, his heart pounding in his throat. He covertly glanced at Glorfindel and scowled. If Glorfindel had not invited Daerada for a ride on Daisy…

“No, Elrohir. For you could not have known that Daerada would ride Eirien. It is someone else’s leggings, that you intended to ruin, that I wish to discuss,” spoke Celebrían pointedly.

“My leggings,” Glorfindel helped, looking from one elfling to the other.

Elrohir felt his face drain of all colour while Elladan felt his cheeks and neck go red hot. Valar! No! How could it be that they had not thought of it?! Glorfindel’s ceremonial leggings, the sturdy white ones with the spiraling garlands of flowers embroidered around the legs…they would have been utterly ruined! No amount of washing would have taken the stain of Uruin out anymore!

Seeing that her point was taken, Celebrían continued:

“For your lack of consideration in regards to putting stains on Glorfindel’s clothing, you shall both spend two full afternoons at the riverbank helping the servants with the laundry, and you will do so before the week after this one ends.”

Elladan could not help it. His face fell. “But that’s for ellith!” he protested angrily. Stern looks from Elrond, Celebrían and Glorfindel silenced him.

‘Warrior,’ Glorfindel mouthed silently, raising an eyebrow.

Stomping his foot on the floor in frustration, Elladan indignantly bit his lip. They would have to do female work! The idea!

“Glorfindel, if you please?” came Elrond’s soft voice.

When the tall Chief of Defenses stood forward and frowned down on the elflings, Elladan and Elrohir hurriedly resumed their warrior’s pose.

“Elflings, as a result of your prank getting sorely out of hand, the entire Rivendell Guard was on highest alert yesterday. Search parties frantically scouted the valley in an attempt to find the one responsible for harming your grandfather. More than three hundred brave Elves responded to my command and went out of their way to ensure the safety of the Valley, of her inhabitants, and, last but not least, her guests,” Glorfindel’s clear voice listed the facts. “Since part of the course of events was far beyond your ability to foresee, I shall not hold you entirely responsible. Therefore the part of your punishment which concerns the effect on the warriors will be less severe than it could have been.”

Glorfindel paused to let his words sink in, before stating:

“I have decreed that you shall make up for your actions by repaying some of the efforts made by the Rivendell Guard. You will spend a week cleaning the gear of the warriors after their practice and patrol.”

Elladan clenched his fists, willing himself to take this next addition to their extended punishment bravely. Elrohir merely nodded, realizing that there would be no way around their predicament anyway.

But they had still not reached the end of it…

All this time, Lord Celeborn had quietly remained in the background. Now the tall and imposing Sinda stepped forward, glancing at the golden-haired Chief of Defenses.

“Have you finished?” his eyes asked.

Glorfindel waved his hand. ‘Go ahead,’ he indicated with a respectful nod.

Elrond, Celebrían and Glorfindel stood to the side as Celeborn paused in front of his grandsons.

Deeply embarrassed, both Elladan and Elrohir looked down at their toes. But Celeborn silently waited, until, one after the other, his grandsons hesitantly looked up at him.

“That you will apologize to my warriors is not a question here, I simply expect it of you,” the silver-haired Elf-Lord spoke slowly.

“Yes, Daerada,” Elrohir whispered hoarsely. Elladan nodded, his eartips turning a deep shade of pink.

Celeborn looked intently into Elrohir’s eyes and then calmly took his time doing the same with Elladan.

“My grandsons, I have suffered a highly uncomfortable night as a result of your decision to use this dangerous substance. I have been asked to determine a fitting punishment,” the Lord of Lothlórien began.

Elladan was unable to lower his eyes from his grandfather’s intensive gaze. Gulping involuntarily, he tried to focus on his breathing to remain in control of his emotions, just as Glorfindel had been teaching them.

“Long ago, when I was but an elfling myself, I, too, broke many rules in order to play with a dangerous object,” Celeborn continued. “I believed it to be a very clever idea, and I hoped that it would impress my younger brother – much the same as you have been hoping to impress me.”

Elrohir’s eyes betrayed astonishment. The young ellon could hardly imagine his grandfather as a small elfling – let alone as one who would break the rules!

“What happened, Daerada?” Elladan asked hesitantly.

“The same as is about to happen to you,” Celeborn replied cryptically, turning around and walking over to the divan, sitting down with a swish of his robes.

Elrohir inched closer to Elladan, sensing trouble. Neither of the elflings noticed the gentle expressions of compassion on the faces of their parents and Glorfindel. All three of them knew what was coming. They had spoken with Lord Celeborn for a long time – and had eventually agreed on the punishment the silver-haired Elf-Lord was about to mete out.

Celeborn motioned for his grandsons to come closer. In a reflex, the elflings grasped each other’s hands, only to remember that they were supposed to be like warriors. Hastily stepping away from each other, they hesitantly walked forward until they stood about five feet away from their grandfather.

“When I was a mere shrimp of an elfling, barely older than you are now, my young friend Beleg and I broke into the armoury of Menegroth,” Celeborn spoke in his typical Sindarin drawl, ignoring the stunned gasps from his grandsons. “I believed it to be quite an act of courage to take up Aranrúth, King Thingol’s own sword, and to do practice swings with it.”

Elladan’s mouth fell open.

“Did anyone get hurt?” Elrohir asked in a whisper.

Celeborn briefly paused to bite back his smile. It would not do to fall out of his role now, he berated himself.

“Yes, Elrohir,” he nodded. “Although: No, neither Beleg nor I hurt anyone with the sword, as I believe you mean to ask. Before any unfortunate accidents could happen, my grandfather Elmo walked onto the scene of the crime.”

The regal Lord of Lothlórien practically melted as four inquisitive grey eyes looked up at him. Elbereth! Chiding his warriors was infinitely easier than chiding these two cherubic elflings! Thank the Valar for letting him obtain some practice in being stern with endearing little ones – his own Celebrían having been no different in her youth.

“What happened, Daerada?” came a barely audible whisper from Elladan.

“My grandfather turned me across his knee and roasted my backside!” Celeborn replied, squarely.

Two identical chins dropped down as the eyebrows of their owners rose high. The sons of Lord Elrond had heard of this way in which the Eldar had occasionally disciplined their offspring, long ago, back in the First Age. Though mostly a Telerin custom, it was spoken that the Noldor had also been known to use this type of correction for the moulding of their youngest warriors, if these were prone to stubbornness, or recklessness, in the learning of arms. It was a practice that had survived the drowning of Beleriand and had eventually become part of the Mannish culture on the island of Númenor, although it had been mostly discarded by the Elves after the final vanquishing of Morgoth.

Messengers from Annúminas – who frequented Rivendell with letters from King Valandil of Arnor – had once told the twins that, though gradually slipping into disuse in the Kingdom of the North, the practice was still very much alive in the south, in Gondor. It was said that the Men down south sometimes beat their children harshly.

Only last year one of the messengers of King Valandil had playfully threatened to spank Elladan, after the twin had successfully stolen the man’s apple out of his hand just as he had been about to bite into it. Dangling down from a branch by his knees, Elladan had taken great delight in the astonished look on the Human’s face. All too familiar with the boisterous pranks of Lord Elrond’s young sons, Tarannon, the good-natured messenger, had grinned broadly, lifted Elladan from the tree by his tunic, turned him across his knee, and had gotten ready to deliver a few short, solid smacks to the twin’s backside. But the quick little ellon had managed to escape from his awkward position, when Elrohir, coming to his brother’s aid, had barrelled into the back of Tarannon’s legs.

A short cough from Elrond interrupted the twins’ thoughts and brought them back to the situation at hand.

“Yesterday afternoon the back of my leggings turned red and a raging fire burnt in my backside unlike any I have felt since my grandfather applied his hand there,” Celeborn spoke sternly, now that he had their attention once more. “I believe it to be no more than fair that I returned the favour.”

Elladan felt his mouth go dry. Beside him, he could see, no feel Elrohir go pale as ash. Daerada? Spank them?

Elrohir felt hot tears burning in his eyes. He was unable to bear the thought of his beloved grandfather actually swatting them.

Elladan stubbornly forced his mind to stop swirling and his heart to stop racing. ‘Breathe in…breathe out…’ he repeated inwardly. If this was the punishment Daerada had decreed, then Elladan would take it bravely, like a warrior. He told himself to step forward, but…his feet seemed glued to the floor. Slowly, very slowly, he inched towards his grandfather’s waiting lap.

Elrohir stared at the long, slender fingers that rested on Daerada’s knee. This could not be happening, he thought desperately. The youngest of Lord Elrond’s sons bowed his head. He remembered the blaze of Uruin on his brow only too well. Yesterday, Daerada’s buttocks had burnt with the exact same agony, and it had been their doing. If they had refrained from stealing Uruin from Ada’s apothecary… With a shaking sigh, Elrohir followed his brother.

Behind them, a silent tear rolled down Celebrían’s face. She squeezed Elrond’s hand hard, feeling for her children. Elrond felt rather agitated himself, and the Lord of Imladris bit his lip not to call the events to a halt. Glorfindel watched with pride as he saw how the elflings overcame their fears and, albeit with difficulty, accepted the consequences of their actions.

The clear, silver-blue eyes of the Lord of Lothlórien gazed at his grandsons with compassion and pride, giving them an encouraging nod before patting his knee.

“Come, elflings,” he said kindly, reaching out to pull them closer.

Utter silence filled the room, a silence in which both twins could not help but fidget. But then, deciding he wanted to get it over with, Elladan threw himself forward to bend across his grandfather’s lap…

TBC

Translations:

ion nín – my sons (‘ion nín’ can also mean ‘my son’)

naneth – mother

ellith – elf-maidens

O-o-O

AN1: What in the world persuaded Elrond, Celebrían and Glorfindel to agree with such a punishment? Have they all fallen largely out of character? Or is there more to this scene than meets the eye? And what is Lord Celeborn playing at in regards to Erestor?

AN2: This chapter may arguably be considered AU! In ‘History Of Middle Earth, volume 10’, chapter ‘Laws and Customs among the Eldar’ it is specifically stated about the Elves that “Their families, or houses, were held together by love and a deep feeling of kinship in mind and body; and their children needed little governing or teaching.” It is therefore highly unlikely, I assume, that the Eldar will have spanked their children. However, I found the similarity between Celeborn’s experience with the Uruin and a spanked posterior too entertaining to let the opportunity slip by, and have therefore decided to deviate from canon here. I am certainly no advocate of child-spanking, but I shall maintain the freedom to write about it in fiction.

As a final note: I hate to have to say this in advance, but I shall not argue this topic with any of you in reviews, review-replies or private messages. Feel free to state your opinions, as always, but if you wish to argue the occurring of spanking in this chapter, remember that it is merely a taken author’s liberty. It does not represent a personal belief. I am aware that there is a thin line between what is appropriate and what is not. I have asked Nilmandra to give her opinion, and I believe I have remained within the limits of what is acceptable on this website.

Best wishes to you all!

Esteliel