Say what you would about him otherwise, but Eledu was amazing with his hands.
Gwyndir groaned into his pillow as his partner-in-crime worked on a particularly nasty knot in his shoulder from the blasted ale fight earlier in the day. Surprisingly, swinging a giant dwarven club to slam innocent bystanders into walls was much more taxing than swinging a sword. And it probably didn't help that he'd been acquainted with the wall several dozen times himself.
"Master Gwyndir?" a voice called from the other side of his door.
He turned his head with a grunt and squinted thoughtfully. Nasally, shaky, and out-of-breath; probably the mail boy.
"Terribly sorry, he's indisposed," Eledu called out, silencing Gwyndir's annoyed grumbling with a knuckle to his neck. "Come back later."
"Oh, I-! I'm sorry, I must have the wrong room, my apo-"
"No, right room, bad timing. He's naked and glistening and I'm afraid I'm a little too mean to share the show."
Gwyndir groaned and pulled the loose end of the pillowcase to cover his face. He was definitely going to move to Forochel. Maybe stain his hair, pretend to be a Noldor. People left Noldor alone.
"Just slide it under the door," he shouted, ignoring the jab to his still-tender shoulder.
There was some confused babbling that made him blush in dawning humiliation. "I would, sir, but it's a rather thick envelope."
"Yucca." Gwyndir sighed and swatted an arm behind him at the laughing elf perched on his lower back. "Stop that. Go get my mail."
"The things I do for you," Eledu sighed, sliding off him and flicking playfully at his bottom as he wandered to the door.
Gwyndir listened to the irritating screech of the wooden door on rusty hinges, the stuttering of John's nervous youthful voice, the shift of fabric as Eledu leaned through the doorway and made an absolutely terrible pun about the 'size of his package.' He was debating what the repercussions for pretending to be a kinslayer were when Eledu dropped onto the mattress at his hip.
"Amazing. And this little halfling has time to fling people twice her size around in a beer brawl, plan a wedding, eat a dozen meals a day, and go on adventures? I'm quite certain she's writing you a novel, 'tato." Eledu ripped the envelope open and set to reading his mate's mail without waiting for permission.
"Mm, she writes much the same way she talks. Constantly, quickly, and without thinking it through."
"Charming. You make the most astounding friends," Eledu drawled as he tilted his head to the side quizzically and attempted to figure out where the punctuation was hiding.
"She isn't a friend." Gwyndir turned and sat up as well, realizing his massage was on pause for a while. Reading a Yucca-letter was something you had to devote full attention to if you had any hope of deciphering its code. He leaned against Eledu with a smirk at the small whine in the back of his friend's throat as his shirt was dampened with the oil on his skin.
"Lies. You adore her. If she wasn't your friend, you wouldn't have brawled for her sake. Or do I need to be jealous that you'll fight for an engaged halfing girl but not me?"
"I adore her the same way I adore shrews. Small, fast, and makes for a great game if you have a pair of sturdy boots."
"Kinky," Eledu purred. He nudged an elbow into Gwyndir's slippery chest and pointed out a passage in the letter. "Correct me if I'm wrong - which could be the case, it's hard to follow this sentencegraph - but you didn't go elfing off with Bainith on any captain's behest yesterday, did you?"
Gwyndir grabbed for that page, leaving the other six for Eledu to flip through in bemusement, and scanned it over quickly with a soft curse. Apparently, the rest of his pampering would have to wait.
