“I thought we would regale you with a night of dancing, m’lord. After all, ‘twill be the eve of one of our most celebrated holidays. Unless, of course, it would cause offense.” Gildor was careful not to look in Erestor’s direction as he said this.
Elrond turned to his advisor anyway. “I think... a dance would be splendid.” He left it at that, giving Erestor the ability to respond as he chose to.
The counselor frowned and shook his head, but answered with, “There is no harm in dancing.”
“I meant, due to the fact it was on the eve of the Tarnin Austa.” Gildor leaned against the frame of the doorway leading into Elrond’s office. “Some might find it a little disturbing to attend such a celebration.”
“Just because you will be attending and celebrating for your own reasons does not mean that I cannot attend and enjoy the dancing and camaraderie regardless of the day holding no meaning for me.” Erestor cleared his throat and said, “Perhaps you should not be asking me if I will be upset by your choice of day, but someone else in this room.”
“Hmm? Oh.” Nearly missing his cue, Glorfindel sat with his hands folded and stared at them for a bit. “I would not want to ruin things on account of my own silliness. Just because I hate the day does not mean that it should be spoiled for everyone else.”
“I am sure that Gildor would be most accommodating and choose a different date if you so wished,” said Elrond gently.
Glorfindel shook his head. “No. I have not wanted special treatment of any sort in this life; please, have your celebration. I only apologize now that I may not be very jolly.”
“You would not have to attend,” suggested Erestor.
Gildor took a step into the room, giving a little sigh that was directed to Erestor. “I had hoped that perhaps this would help to rid you of the idea that there is a curse upon your head.”
“Maybe.” Glorfindel absently cracked the knuckles of one hand, and then of the other. “I suppose.”
“Good! With your permission then, Lord Elrond?” Gildor placed his hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. The blond reached up and patted his lover’s hand with a smile.
“Erestor, would you work out a menu between Gildor and the kitchen staff? Be sure we have enough wine for the occasion, and if not, we shall need to make haste in order to obtain it in time,” instructed Elrond. “Will you be able to organize music, Gildor, or shall we?”
“We have our own musicians, m’lord. Your generosity, as always, exceeds necessity.” Gildor bowed low, and Elrond waved it off. “I will provide the entertainment, but those of my followers who are hunters would of course lend themselves to your service in order to capture the food for the feast. We are also more than capable of handling the décor.”
“No doubt. I think this will be wonderful fun,” decided Elrond as Gildor bowed once again and left the office.
As soon as he was gone, Erestor sighed. “I will try to get those reports completed for you by tomorrow, Elrond. I have a feeling my hands will be full this coming week.”
“Let the reports wait – I think we could all use a good celebration. Glorfindel, I am sure you can manage coordinating between Gildor’s hunters and Erestor with the kitchen staff to be sure we have the appropriate amount of food?” asked Elrond.
“Of course. If you have time now,” said Glorfindel to Erestor, “we could go to the kitchen and speak with the staff before they are busy with the midday meal.”
Closing his book of notes, Erestor stacked his papers and stood up, not wanting to argue with anyone that this was the third weekly meeting that they had either skipped or left unfinished. “Splendid,” he said, though he did not quite mean this.
Walking down the hallway with matching speed – for although Erestor had a longer stride, Glorfindel was faster – the younger elf reached out and stopped the elder by touching his shoulder just as they reached the top of the stairway. “What is the matter?”
“Nothing.” He bowed his head and turned it aside, furrowing his brow. “No offense to your Gildor, but there are times that he just does not think.”
“Oh?” Glorfindel bit his lip, realizing how unconvincing his ‘surprise’ had sounded, and added, “Well, yes, I know.”
“I am sure he means nothing personal,” remarked Erestor (though again, he did not quite sound as if he meant the words), “but it does upset me that he chose to suggest this celebration, and Elrond is aware it vexes me, but of course I have to be the perfect bloody diplomat about it.”
Resting his hand upon Erestor’s shoulder, Glorfindel asked, “Why does a dance the night before Tarnin Austa upset you so?” He was certain he had some idea of the answer already.
“Many reasons. The most important being that that night, many many many hundreds of years ago, was the last time I saw so many who were dear to me. And although you stand here with me now, it does not make that day any easier for me. I still think of the others – Ecthelion, Rog, even Turgon and why I know not but even Salgant. So much was lost, least of all the bricks and mortar that made up Gondolin herself.” Erestor’s dark eyes could not meet Glorfindel’s sympathetic blue ones. “It is also due to the fact that the Valabronwin celebrate it as a ‘holy day’. They think of it as the night that Eru forsook them and took Gondolin down; the night that it was proven he did not exist, for else he would have saved them. The very day also happens to match with the day Feanor died, or so they say. I was not privy to that event.”
“You should have said something,” Glorfindel told him. “I myself would rather it be planned for a different day.”
Erestor crossed his arms over his chest. “Well... we should just change it then.”
Glorfindel turned around to head back to Elrond’s office. When Erestor demanded where he was going and was told, he shook his head and led the blond back to their office. Glorfindel could not help but notice the wicked grin on Erestor’s face.
- - -
“So... why are we having the celebration a week late?” Elrond asked again, looking from one advisor to the other.
“Simple math,” stated Glorfindel. “We have, right now, only eighty-four bottles of red wine. No one likes to drink white wine at this sort of debaucherous affair.”
“There will be no debauchery going on,” interjected Elrond, but Glorfindel just continued speaking.
“Obviously, at least half of the guests will be attempting to get intoxicated. Since seventy-five percent of the inhabitants of the valley are elf-kind, that means that we need to account for thirty-eight percent of the members of the household and of Gildor’s party wanting to drink at least eight to ten glasses of wine. Now, you tend to have twenty percent who want to get really drunk, so we have to figure for eighty percent wishing to drink three bottles or more. With the current population-“
“We need more wine.” Erestor smiled after butting in and said, “Simply math.”
Elrond sat and blinked for a moment and then just waved them off with a flick of his wrist. “Fine. Another week. But be sure you count me among those who plan to drink at least three bottles of wine!”
“For you, we figured four,” managed Glorfindel before he was yanked from the room into the hallway.
“Very nice,” complimented Erestor once he and Glorfindel were back in their own office. “Not that I understood a word you were saying, but I compliment you all the same.”
Glorfindel grinned and then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “So... how long do you think we have to keep that stuff hidden?” wondered the blond elf.
Erestor stood up and went to the closet, opening the door carefully. Where once there were stacks of parchment and boxes of quills there were now cases and cases of smuggled wine. “We... could just drink it,” considered Erestor.
“Come to think of it, I could use a drink,” admitted Glorfindel, who was a little frightened that Elrond might question why the stock was so low to begin with. “Do we have any glasses?” he asked as Erestor approached with two of the bottles.
“Glasses? Who needs glasses?” He pulled the cork out of his bottle while Glorfindel repeated the action with his. “To us and our sneakiness!” he announced as he clinked his bottle against the warrior’s.
“Yes, to us,” chuckled Glorfindel, although, he wished it meant something a little different.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Mathematics saves the day!