“Truth, or dare.”

“Tr—“

“Dammit, Erestor.” Celebrian shook her head and refilled her wine glass. “You are an absolute prude.”

Erestor crinkled his nose, looking quite hurt. “I most certainly am not,” he said, and sipped from his glass of water. “As it stands, most librarians wouldn’t dream of letting anyone sit with their feet upon the tables, glasses of wine resting on the floor, and certainly, most certainly, none before me have ever allowed... that,” he said waving his hands over toward his desk where Lindir was still sheepishly picking up items that had been knocked off of it when he had completed his dare three rounds ago.

“No one would complain if your answers weren’t so boring,” smirked Glorfindel.

“Truth or Dare does not require one to elaborate when a simple yes or no suffices,” Erestor said in a huff. “I didn’t even want to play this stupid game in the first place,” he reminded them.

“One. One dare. One little dare.” Each one of Galadriel’s pleas made Erestor shake his head.

“Mother’s right. You are a prude.” Elladan delighted when Erestor narrowed his eyes at him. He nudged his sister. “Don’t you think Erestor is a prude?”

“No. Not with the things you have been making everyone do tonight,” Arwen said, having looked quite scandalized for quite some time. “No wonder Elrohir doesn’t join you when you do this.”

“Oh, he just takes after his father,” answered their grandfather with a shrug. “Or his tutor. Erestor, it isn’t as if you have to do anything harmful or disgusting,” said Celeborn.

“Oh. Right. This coming from the elf who...” Erestor looked back with that same scrunched up face, frowning at his desk. Behind it, Lindir couldn’t help but grin.

“It wasn’t disgusting,” countered the minstrel with a wicked gleam. “It was delicious. Besides, one can not fault him; it was his wife’s will.”

“Truth or Dare?” repeated Celebrian as Lindir sat back down in the circle. Only Thranduil had remained silent the entire time thus far, swirling his wine with a thoughtful look.

Erestor hesitated, and then spoke, “Truth.”

“Do you prefer to wear undergarments or not, and why?”

“What? No,” answered Erestor, his face already turning red at the Lady of Rivendell’s question. “I’m not going to answer that.”

“I think you already did,” spoke Thranduil sagely, drinking of his glass.

Erestor’s cheeks colored darker. “Fine. Yes, the second one, and ‘tis my own business why I do.” With something of a ‘hmmph’ as the others snickered, he waved a hand in Glorfindel’s direction. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” said Glorfindel before the question was even completed.

“Which would you prefer to eat: Fried chicken or balrog steaks?”

“Oh, honestly!” burst out Celebrian. “For a moment, I nearly thought you had something good there.”

“So did I,” complained Galadriel. “Erestor, it’s pointless to ask things so mundane as that.”

“I don’t see anything in the rules ruling that out.” Erestor picked up his glass and walked to his desk. “I am done with this nonsense. Finished,” he continued over the clicking of tongues and the outcry for him to return. “but if you must have a space of seclusion, stay if it is your will. I have work to do.”

Glorfindel sighed and then called out, “Unfair question! Balrog tastes like chicken!” Although the rest of the elves in the room laughed, Erestor ignored him. “Alright, let me see... Celeborn, truth or dare?”

- - -

“Have you ever walked in on anyone while they were being intimate with each other and what did you do?” Elladan grinned as a thoughtful look came to Thranduil’s face.

“I assume you would want to know of the first time? No, most of you never knew Thingol and Melian... alright, then, actually, the most recent time it happened... ah, yes,” he recalled, which was easy to do as Celeborn’s chuckles and Galadriel’s giggling helped to jog his memory. “Yes, that was it.”

“That was last night,” burst out Galadriel, and her husband began to laugh harder.

Thranduil shrugged and sipped his wine.

“I almost hate to ask-“ began Elladan.

“What did I do?” With a tilt of his head, Thranduil replied, “Joined them, naturally, as I have all the other times.”

“Well... that’s...uh...”

But Thranduil did not pay attention to Elladan’s mumbling. His eyes focused on the elf who sat at his desk, seemingly ignoring the game playing out before him.

“Erestor.” Thranduil’s voice was clear and rang through the darkening room. “Truth or dare?”

The librarian did not even look up. “I am no longer playing, thank you.”

“Truth or dare, Erestor.” When he received no answer, Thranduil shook his head. “Fine. Glorfindel?” The blond looked up from where he had been dozing off on the floor. “Truth or dare?”

Glorfindel considered his options for a moment, catching the motion Thranduil was making. Sitting up, he watched Thranduil point in Erestor’s direction and silently mouth, ‘Dare’.

“Oh, let me think... decisions, decisions... ah, perhaps... dare?”

Thranduil glared at him for being so extremely obvious, but it seemed he had only been obvious to all except Erestor. “I dare you to put on a puppet show with Erestor, only Erestor may not use his hands or his feet.”

Erestor still had not looked up, but was mouthing the words that Thranduil had said to himself. The second time around, he stabbed his quill into the ink well and crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

“If only you had played along, we wouldn’t have to resort to this – Glorfindel, you may use my cape as a curtain for the stage if you like,” offered Thranduil.

Glorfindel grabbed the green velvet cloak and walked to the desk, where Erestor was apparently going to fend him off with a nasty look and a low growl. Leaning over so that he could speak to Erestor without anyone else hearing, Glorfindel said, “I can always bind your hands and feet, considering I need not use them.” With a huff, Erestor slid his chair back, causing it to screech along the floor, and crossing his arms once again, followed Glorfindel behind one of the shelves of books.

- - -

“Is everyone ready?” asked Glorfindel. A muffled voice on his side of the curtain that had been set up to drape over a shelf of books that had been cleared off mumbled, “I’m not.”

“Go ahead, Glorfindel!” shouted Celeborn. The rest of the elves had repositioned themselves so that they were sitting or lounging on the floor in front of the book shelf. An arm reached around and flipped back the ‘curtain’, revealing a second hand, covered with a makeshift golden cloak from a lacey handkerchief. “Good evening, boys and girls, and welcome to tonight’s performance of ‘Little Fin Goldenflower and the Big Bad Balrog’.” The audience clapped politely.

“La la la… oh, hello!” Glorfindel’s voice was an octave higher, and he was moving his thumb to make it appear that his hand was talking to the audience. “I’m off to guard the Gates of Gondolin from evil, nasty things that might come in the city.” Little Fin bounced halfway across the stage. “I sure hope I don’t meet any BALROGS today.”

There was a long pause, followed by Little Fin adding, “I do hope a BALROG doesn’t suddenly show up.”

In the audience, Elladan let out a cough and Galadriel poured herself another glass of wine.

“Balrog, Erestor, your cue,” hissed Glorfindel audibly.

“Are you sure we’re not infringing on copyright doing this?” came Erestor’s final plea. There was a yelp behind stage, and then, “All right, all right, just keep your hand where I can see it!”

Up popped the balrog, a bit floppily. “Grr, I am a Balrog of Morgoth, et cetera et cetera. I will destroy you and your little dog, too.”

“Oh, my! A balrog!” Little Fin hopped back. “What big teeth you have, Mr. Balrog!”

“All the better to bite you with,” came the mostly bored voice.

“He’s ruining what could be a most entertaining performance,” whispered Celebrian to her mother.

Galadriel nodded, “You would think he would make a bit more of an attempt to, ah, ‘get it up’ to par.”

A moment after this was said, the back curtain was pushed back just a little, and those on the audience side could see a pair of blue eyes assessing the situation before the curtain dropped again. “I always thought balrogs were bigger,” said Little Fin.

“That’s not in the script,” argued Erestor quietly.

“Just… improvise,” suggested Glorfindel.

The balrog gave a loud sigh. “Yes, well, balrogs come in all shapes and sizes, and sometimes when we’re having a bad day, we- oh! we... we... mmm, ahh...”

“Oh, sorry, you wanted that hand where you could see it.”

The balrog, who was growing increasingly taller, whimpered slightly. “Well I... as long as I... know where it is...”

“Ai! You are a very big balrog,” decided Little Fin. “I shall need to use my sword!”

“Oh... your... yesss... oh, my! What a big sword you have!” exclaimed the balrog.

“All the better to slay you with,” growled Glorfindel.

“I don’t know how they are managing it,” said Thranduil, raising his glass in the direction of the stage, “but I commend them both on their flexibility.” The curtain jostled a bit, but both ‘puppets’ managed to stay on the stage. The balrog appeared to be tottering back and forth a bit as it let out loud wails and grunts. Little Fin made something of a humming noise now and again.

The door to the library opened. “Ah, there you are,” said Elrond, looking over to his wife. Her eyes were wide, a mirror of the expression on most of the faces of those sitting on the floor. “I was wondering if-“ The lord of the house’s eyes wandered up to the stage.

“You... think you can... take me, do you?” grunted the balrog.

“Without a doubt,” purred Little Fin confidentally. “I’ll wring your bloody neck if I have to.” And with that promise made, Little Fin began to tug around the throat of the balrog.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know there was a performance... I’ll just stop by later.” Elrond closed the door softly behind him after tiptoeing out of the room.

On stage, the faces that had been painted on both Little Fin and the balrog were smearing terribly. Books began to fall from neighboring shelves as the noise backstage increased. Those in the front row scooted back a little to avoid the falling objects.

With a roar, though whether from balrog or slayer none knew, a white spray came up from the top of the balrog’s head.

“Well, I suppose that answers the riddle,” smirked Thranduil. “Glorfindel squeezed the balrog’s brains out, and then drowned in it.”

“And they all lived happily ever after,” panted Glorfindel, yanking the curtain back down.

The room was silent for a moment, and then, as applause broke out, someone shouted “Encore! Encore!”

There was some breathless whispering behind the stage, and then the curtain was drawn back up again as Little Fin announced: “Act Two.”

-The End-