Chapter One - Left or Right?
Lord Celeborn poured the brandy for each of them. It was a fine brandy from Rohan and he kept it hidden in his study. He handed King Thranduil a glass, then his son-in-law and the last glass to Glorfindel.
"What shall we drink to?" Glorfindel asked and looked around at the others.
Lord Celeborn was thinking about the last time they had all drank brandy from Rohan together…
They had been sitting in this very study, drinking the same brandy from Rohan when they ran out. And they decided to ride to Rohan and get some more.
They tried to be quiet sneaking out of Celeborn's study. Elrond wasn't sure why that was necessary, but Glorfindel seemed to think it was important, as every two steps he would whisper--very loudly—“BE QUIET!! WE DON'T WANT TO WAKE THE ENTIRE CITY!!”
Somehow, they had gotten down to the ground. Elrond turned left, as that was the way to Rohan; he knew that, anyone with any sense knew that. Glorfindel went right.
When Elrond realized that nobody was following him, he turned around and hissed at them, "Milord’s? We need to go this way!" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, behind him.
Glorfindel finally stopped and turned to look at Elrond.
"NO, WE DON'T! AND BE QUIET! WE DON'T WANT TO WAKE THE ENTIRE CITY!! AND THIS IS THE WAY TO ROHAN!"
Glorfindel was pointing behind *his* shoulder. Elrond stepped up and put his face right in front of Glorfindel's.
"Glorfindel, you're drunk, you couldn't find your way to a chamber pot right now!"
Glorfindel looked at Elrond for a moment.
"Oooh. Thrand. Celeb. Come see the sparklies in Elrond's eyes when he's angry."
Elrond gave a disgusted snort and stomped off in the direction he had just come.
He got a few steps away, and then stalked back.
"Okay, who's in charge of this expedition? Because if it's HIM," he jabbed a finger into Glorfindel's chest, "I'm not going. He has no idea where Rohan is."
Thranduil smirked at both of them. Elrond was right but he’d be damned if he tell him that. He looked instead at Lord Celeborn. The silver Teleri seemed to be particularly stupid today for some reason. Maybe the brandy had gone to his head. His eyes drifted farther down. Celeborn was a fine looking elf though, very fine, he thought as he noticed the nice bulge in his grey leggings. He wondered how big it would get with a bit of provocation.
“I’m in charge!” Thranduil piped up simply because no one else did.
“Great,” Celeborn mumbled under his breath. “Now we can all follow the *king* of Mirkwood.”
Thranduil stepped close and took much the stance Elrond had with Glorfindel.
“You got a problem with it, Galadriel’s boy?”
“Have you ever been to Rohan?” Celeborn asked.
“Have you?” Thranduil asked, close enough that their noses almost touched.
“Well, no, not recently… not ever ac… actu… not ever.” Celeborn looked down then back up, a silly hopeful look on his face. “But I have been to Gondor.” He stopped talking and got a dreamy look on his face.
“You’re drunk. You all follow me,” Thranduil said with all the command of a king and set out in the direction Elrond had been going.
“Galadriel’s boy! Hmph!” Celeborn trailed after and Thranduil. “You two coming?” He yelled back to the Imladris contingent.
So four very drunk lords set out for Rohan, despite the fact that at that particular moment in time, not a single one of them knew where it was…
Chapter Two - Finding the Flask
The foursome had been walking for some time now, and Elrond was sobering up, getting thirsty, and he had to pee. And his knees ached. Every time one of them wasn't paying attention, Glorfindel took great delight in tripping them. Elrond had actually fallen once. Or maybe twice. All he knew was Rohan had better be damn close. He could really use that brandy!
"Curse you for an Orc, Glorfindel!" Glorfindel reached down and helped Elrond up for the third time that night.
"Elrond, you should watch where you're walking. Big tree roots around here, you know. On the way to Rohan. HA!" Glorfindel was not pleased that Elrond had not only showed him up, but that he actually let that pompous peacock Thranduil be in charge of this mission. Although, watching the muscles of said King's butt move as he walked ahead made up for a lot of his…arrogance.
The target of Glorfindel's gaze was not lost on the Lord of Imladris. His eyes narrowed and he stuck a booted foot out in front of Glorfindel, meaning to trip him this time. Glorfindel's instincts, honed over the centuries, saved him once more. He grabbed Elrond and took him down to the ground, rolling over so that he took most of the weight of the fall on his slightly larger frame.
Both of them took the opportunity to cop a quick feel before Elrond tried to scramble to his feet, left eyebrow cocked in his trademark "I was the standard bearer for our most beloved High King while you were mucking around Mandos' Hall" look. Glorfindel hated that look. He knew Elrond practiced in front of the mirror for hours. He just knew it.
Elrond decided he'd better find out how close they were to Rohan, he was really needing to go soon, and sure as Ithil rose, Celeborn the drunk wouldn't let him do it near any of these precious big trees…
"Thranduil! Hey…KING!! Are we there yet?!"
Glorfindel and Elrond seemed to be having a lot of trouble getting up and this trouble was compounded when Celeborn, who was studying his precious trees, fell on top of them. He was no small elf and, at this particular moment in time, had none of his customary gracefulness.
Celeborn had no way of knowing about the subtle bit of groping the other two had been doing and he was surprised when both of them managed to move around enough to press against him. He just wished they had pressed something besides the hard flask he carried in a pocket in his under tunic. It really hurt when that damned flask pressed against his… tender parts.
As the three elflords rolled about on the ground, Thranduil marched on, confident in his own leadership and confident that the others followed behind him.
"We should camp soon, don't you think?" He said and no one answered him. He turned and no one was there. Where had those idiots gotten to? He turned around and retraced his steps. He almost stumbled over them. He had expected them to be lost, not rolling on the ground like… beasts!
He cleared his throat.
No one noticed.
He did it again and Celeborn looked up from the undignified elf pile and wondered exactly what had been happening. He knew he'd been lying there for at least five minutes. And for some reason, his, uh, tender part was really pressing against that flask now.
"Do you think you could all get up? We need to decide how much farther to go before we camp."
"Camp?" Celeborn asked. "I've not camped since…. Well, I've not ever camped. I have been with… I have been in the grass before, though."
Thranduil made a sound like a snort.
"Elrond, in all that chasing after Gil-galad you did, did you ever camp? And Glorfindel, other than becoming barbeque, did you ever spend any time outside? You three are useless!"
He stomped off and began to hunt for firewood while Celeborn took his flask out of his pocket and handed it to Glorfindel and Elrond. Both gave him odd looks but they drank from the flask.
Thranduil had taken the first watch after listening to Glorfindel and Elrond argue over who got Celeborn. Thranduil left them still arguing. He sat down, and in minutes, he was asleep.
A sound disturbed his slumber, an animal sound… like an… Oliphant? They didn't have such beasts here in Lorien, did they? He did not get up to investigate but sat very still right where he was at.
The Oliphant was having a hard time keeping from giggling, both of them. They were, of course, not an Oliphant at all but two tall blond elves. The third one had passed out by the fire while he was still arguing with Glorfindel over who got Celeborn.
"Let's sneak up on him." Celeborn whispered rather loudly.
"He *is* armed, you idiot! I don't want to explain to Galadriel why she is a widow or worse, married to a eunuch." Glorfindel said wryly.
Celeborn seemed to consider this for a long time then slowly nodded.
"Celeborn, can I ask you something?"
Glorfindel looked so serious that Celeborn nodded.
"Can I feel your flask?"
It was a sound Celeborn made while his `flask' was being felt that alerted Thranduil to the fact that it was perhaps elves and not Oliphants in the bushes after all.
"Glorfindel, come out of those bushes before you make a
"mmmoooo mate minnggg..!"
"What did you say?"
Celeborn filled the King in…
"He said, ‘Too Late, King’!"
Celeborn looked at the golden haired seneschal kneeling in front of him, mouth full of Celeborn's…flask.
Glorfindel nodded and attacked the flask with renewed vigor, causing Celeborn to stop sounding like an Oliphant and start sounding like a rutting warg.
Meanwhile, over by the fire…
Elrond napped all through the Oliphant attack but he did hear the wargs. He sat bolt up right, screaming, "Ohhhh Gil-Galad, you have such a BIG spear!!"
He hurriedly looked around, trying to figure out where he was, which he thought would work better if the world wasn't spinning and his head wasn't pounding as if there were dwarves actually mining it. When he could finally focus, he realized that the King of Mirkwood was sitting across the fire from him, leering.
"What?! You think Gil-Galad didn't recognize talent?! I wasn't his standard bearer for nothing! Hey! Where's Celeborn? And Glorfindel? They better save some of that flask for me, or I’m not going another step."
He realized he was ranting a bit; waking up with a hangover always did that to him. Since Thranduil looked a little grumpy, Elrond thought he'd better make up, after all, he *had* known the right way to go.
Elrond slinked over to where Thranduil sat. Well, it was supposed to be slinking; Thranduil rather thought Elrond had possibly lost his sense of balance. And was he winking at him?
Elrond finally made it over next to the King.
"So, Thranduil. I'd really like to get hold of Celeborn's flask, will you help me? "
Thranduil was then treated to the worst display of fluttering eyelashes he'd ever seen.
"Please? We can't let Glorfindel have all the fun. Kill one Balrog and people think you're …immortal or something…"
Thranduil looked at Elrond, incredulously.
“I will *not* help you get hold of that… that… Celeborn’s ‘flask’ and why in Moria are you calling it that? Besides, it was sticking down Glorfindel’s throat the last time I saw it.”
“How big is it?”
Thranduil looked at Elrond quite like he was a bug. The truth was he knew now why Galadriel had kept the silly elf around for six thousand years now.
“Hush… I don’t want to talk about those rutting…”
“Yesssssssss!” Celeborn shouted so loud that Thranduil and Elrond both were startled.
A few minutes, later two disheveled and goofy looking elves walked up to the campfire.
Celeborn piped up and asked, “Has anyone seen my flask? I seem to have lost it.”
Elrond and Thranduil simultaneously said, “Shut up and go to sleep!”
Chapter Three - There Really Is A Morning After
Morning came… there really is always a morning after. Elrond was dreaming and he sat bolt upright and said, “Oh Celeborn, you have such a BIG sword!”
Glorfindel laughed out loud then winced as he was reminded of how much brandy he had last night. Oh well, what’s a little hangover to a Balrog slayer? He had to agree that Celeborn’s sword was very impressive indeed. If someday their deeds were chronicled, how would the storyteller be able to explain Celeborn’s appeal? Perhaps they’d just say he was wise or something.
Celeborn woke with a start. “Pee!” was all he said as he got up and headed for the bushes. Elrond, who had seemed asleep, ran after him.
As the silver elf prepared to empty his bladder, Elrond rushed up and said, “I’ll hold it for you.” Celeborn shrugged and let him. He really was having a hard time understanding why Elrond and Glorfindel seemed so…interested in his male part. But then Galadriel was always chasing him around too.
He finished his business and looked at Elrond, who still held him in his hand. “You can let go now.”
“I want to… I want to…” Words failed the wise Lord of Imladris and he turned Celeborn to face him so he wouldn’t be kneeling in a puddle and dropped to his knees and began to do things with his tongue to what he held in his hand that made him understand why Celeborn had always been so well loved. His sword surely was big!
Thranduil woke up and wondered where he was. Then he heard someone humming some horrid drinking song. Glorfindel! He opened his eyes and looked around. Glorfindel was eating!
“Where did you get that?” Thranduil nodded to the Lembas that the golden-haired elf was nibbling daintily.
“It was in my pocket.”
“Got any more?” Thranduil was starving.
“Maybe,” was his smirking answer and the next thing he knew he was flat on his back and the King of Mirkwood was choking him.
Whether Thranduil would have sent him back to the Halls of Mandos over a cake of Lembas is hard to say, for at the very minute Celeborn yelled “Yeeeessssss,” and distracted the king from murder.
“I think Elrond has found his flask.” Glorfindel said from beneath Thranduil. “I will give you a bit of my Lembas if you will get off of me.”
Thranduil seemed to consider it for a bit before he answered. Glorfindel was long and lean and would probably make nice sounds, but he was hungry, too hungry to think about sex right now. He started to get up but not before he heard Celeborn clear his throat.
“Just shut up, ‘flask,’” Thranduil said before Celeborn could utter a word.
When he was sitting beside Glorfindel again, he held his hand out for a piece of Lembas. Glorfindel wordlessly gave him a hunk. Two other hands reached out and he shared with Elrond and Celeborn too.
Soon as their pitiful meal was eaten, Thranduil stood up and said, “It is time to head for Rohan and it’s in that direction.”
He started off through the forest.
They walked. And drank more brandy.
"HAIR OF THE ORC, YOU KNOW!"*
"YES, Glorfindel! We KNOW!"
Elrond was usually successful at tuning Glorfindel out, but somehow, the brandy made his hearing more acute. Either that or Glorfindel was simply shouting all the time. (He was) He tried to enjoy the scenery though, taking in all the lovely flowers and trees…. he even stopped to point out a particular tree to Celeborn.
"Look! Can't you see it?! It looks just like Mithrandir!"
The other three ignored him until he said it for the third or fourth time.
"Elrond, we understand. Lots of trees look like Mithrandir." Glorfindel spoke slowly and softly, as if to an elfling. A drunken elfling.
"No, not lots of trees, that ONE tree."
"Elrond, we've been walking for part of the day, we are NOT seeing that one tree over and over."
Suddenly, all four of them stopped. One tree? The same one tree? Over and over?
Glorfindel launched himself at Thranduil.
"You've been leading us in circles, you dolt!! Okay, I'm taking over!!"
Thranduil was not prepared for Glorfindel's attack and they both went down, rolling over and over, trying to land punches, but the amount of bad brandy in their systems was really interfering with eye-hand coordination. They finally stopped, panting heavily. Glorfindel climbed to his feet with a grunt.
He reached down to help Thranduil up, but being Thranduil, he got his hand batted away and a glare.
"Curse you, Glorfindel! This was my favorite cloak!" Thranduil look mournfully at the long tear in the green material.
Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "I can fix that." He held out his hand. Thranduil slowly handed him the cloak. Glorfindel cut another slice on the other side. "There, now it matches."
They were soon rolling around on the ground again, though they were landing fewer punches and doing a lot more…wrestling and holding of each other.
Celeborn and Elrond watched the blonds for a moment before Elrond turned to Celeborn, "Hmmm....I didn't think Thranduil and Glorfindel liked each other, but I guess they're uh…hunting for each others' flasks?"
Celeborn giggled and cocked his head, looking at the tree. "You know, Elrond, you're wrong. That's not Mithrandir. It's Saruman."
Elrond shook his head. "Celeborn, you might have the biggest flask I've ever seen, but that's because your brain is so small. Saruman?"
Elrond never knew what hit him.
Chapter Four- It's All Fun and Games 'til Somebody Loses an Eye(brow)
The sun was high in the sky before the four ever really got underway. Elrond had complained for at least half an hour about how mean Celeborn was to hit him. Finally he and Celeborn had disappeared into the bushes and soon Elrond was yelling, “Yes” like an opera singer or at the very least like Galadriel had been heard to yell late at night in Caras Galadhon.
Thranduil decided that being killed by a Balrog had made Glorfindel hard of hearing in his next life. That’s why he was so annoyingly loud. Or perhaps he was just an insufferable Orc brained fool.
Finally, they set out again, this time going in a different direction altogether. Glorfindel chose it this time. Thranduil thought he was wrong but he said nothing, figuring that he would take over again when the other elves were properly humbled and lost.
Besides, Glorfindel *did* have a very fine ass to walk behind. Thranduil passed most of the day figuring out how he was going to get closer to that fine ass. He even managed to run right into the golden elf a few times, pressing himself close.
Glorfindel was either stupider than Celeborn or he really wasn’t interested in Thranduil. The King suspected the former since the latter wasn’t possible.
“You know, someone needs to kill us something to eat,” Celeborn said about noon. Three pairs of eyes looked at him.
“Someone?” Thranduil asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, it’s either that or we drink our lunch again. Which I am not opposed to in any way, but food would be nice.”
Elrond held his hands up.
“Count me out. I’ve not used an arrow since the end of the second age.”
Celeborn said, “I have not used a bow in some time either.”
Elrond put an arm around Celeborn in sympathy and soon the two of them were actually kissing as if Thranduil and Glorfindel weren’t even there, so they did the only thing they could do. Thranduil grabbed Glorfindel and planted a big wet kiss on his lips.
Lunch was forgotten for a long time as they spread one of the cloaks they had on the ground.
Clothes were flying everywhere. Then the sounds of males moaning and grunting.
“Damn rocks, why do they always get under me?” Thranduil arched his back up and pulled out a pebble that was so small it was hard to see.
A few seconds later, Thranduil complained, “Glorfindel, your elbow is sharp and it hurts. Move.”
Nothing but the sounds of pleasure could be heard for a while, then, “My hairs is going to be such a mess. Did anyone bring a comb?” Thranduil yet again.
Silence for a while, then Thranduil started to say something and three voices were heard to say, “Shut up and stick it in one of us!”
He did, two of them as a matter of fact. And one of them found a way to shut his mouth for a bit. He wasn’t even sure which. Whoever it was tasted like brandy.
Much later, four elflords lay snuggled up and sleeping in the afternoon sun. And the sun was enjoying their pale skin too.
Celeborn awoke to an odd warm feeling. He didn’t know what it was for a minute. He’d never felt that way before. He opened his eyes and looked at his warm skin. It was red, bright red. Except his ‘flask,’ because Glorfindel’s leg was over it.
Thranduil woke to an entirely different problem. The part of him that was against the ground was itching horribly. He sat up and looked back where he’d been laying and saw lots of shiny three-leaf clusters** in the foliage.
Glorfindel, who had not had the benefit of anyone's leg over *his* flask, was bright red all over his front half. He stood up, slightly unsteady, and staggered over to the bushes to take care of business, not noticing how …red he was. EVERYWHERE.
"AIIIIIII!!!!!" He came hopping back on one foot, clutching the other in one hand, and pointing at his…flask.
"I barely touched it and I swear, it feels as if I've had the top layer of skin pulled off!! And then I stepped on a bunch of thorns…AND WE ARE NOT ANY CLOSER TO THE BRANDY THAN WHEN WE STARTED!"
Elrond did his patented eyebrow raise at Glorfindel's outburst. It looked particularly strange because at some point, he'd lost his eyebrows. He was the only one not completely red, or itchy, or bleeding. He was, however, the one who had sat too close to the fire and singed his eyebrows. He did not care why Glorfindel was pointing at him and laughing though.
He just wanted to get to Rohan, get the damn brandy and get back to Celeborn's study so they could stare out the window and make fun of the passing Galadhrim. He ripped part of Glorfindel's tunic to bandage his foot—after he'd removed several thorns, which in itself was tedious as Glorfindel kept pulling his foot away as Elrond dug the thorns out with Thranduil's knife.
"Glorfindel! I swear, you are worse than any elfling! Hold still or I'll cut your toes off!"
"That's what I'm afraid of! Thranduil, why do you have such a BIG knife!?"
"It *itch* runs in the *scratch* family. My father *itch* had a big knife. *scratch* I have a big *itch* knife. Legolas has *scratch* a big knife."
"King! Stop scratching! You'll cause it to spread. Use some of your stubborn will to not think about it. We can put salve on it when we get back to Celeborn's."
"Shut up, hairless."
Celeborn tried to laugh, but moving his face made it hurt—that, and his robes were highly uncomfortable over his sunburned skin too. He was however, cheered up by the thought of seeing Legolas' big knife someday. He could vouch for Thranduil's. And Glorfindel had obviously recalled Oropher's knife with some affection as he'd gotten a dreamy look on his face when Thranduil mentioned it. Or that might have been because Elrond facing away from him, bent over to get the thorns out and Glorfindel had only to reach out and bite and he'd get some serious cheek.
What seemed like several hours later, the wounded elf lords were ready to start their trek again. Elrond led. Glorfindel decided a walking tune was in order and he began to sing quite loudly about the elf maiden from Nantucket.
They walked for a long time. It had to have been a long time. They'd run out of spare brandy and Celeborn's flask was limp and…just…hanging.
A few more moments of walking and suddenly, they were in the clearing below the royal talan. They all four looked at each other like scared elflings after hearing their first Orc story. No words passed between them, but they knew. They knew they *had* to get back to Celeborn's study without being noticed or they'd never live it down. If no one saw them come back, they could act like they'd never left.
They ran pell mell up the ladders and over the walkways until they had reached the safety of Celeborn's study and threw themselves into the chairs and lounges. They were safe.
"Welcome back, My Lords. Did you have a nice…walk?”
Chapter Five - The Great Knife of Mirkwood
Haldir strolled through the door as if he were the Guardian of the Study instead of a March Warden away from his post. Celeborn smiled sweetly at the younger elf.
“Why, yes, we did. We went out to look for herbs and such for Elrond’s healing potions.” Glorfindel thought Celeborn deserved an award for keeping a straight face as he spouted such drivel to the obviously skeptical March Warden.
“And did you find any?” He looked around at the dirty, sunburned faces and decided that he would be a fool to even speculate as to what they were doing but it should be worth something to not tell Galadriel, Celebrian, the Queen and Erestor.
“Not many. Alas, the season is wrong.” Celeborn dug his hole a little deeper on that one.
“You have lived here untold hundreds of years, my Lord, and you do not know the growing season?” Haldir raised an elegant eyebrow at his superior.
“Rohan!” Celeborn said as if that explained it all. Well, it did to the four miscreants but not to the March Warden.
“We decided to go to Rohan for more brandy and we got lost.” Thranduil figured the truth couldn’t hurt them now.
“And we were set upon by…” Celeborn trailed off.
“Orcs?” Haldir asked helpfully. “And did they take Lord Glorfindel’s clothing, forcing him to wear nothing and get so sunburned he had to wear Lord Elrond’s cloak?”
“Umm, yes.” Glorfindel’s need to shout seemed to have gone away. He pulled the cloak over his scantily clad, red body.
“Did they singe your eyebrows off?” He looked at Elrond. The elflord nodded like an elfling caught in a lie.
“And you two! Lord Celeborn, you look like you’ve been had, repeatedly. And someone seems to have thrown King Thranduil in some sort of bushes. Maybe I should get the Lady to come and attend your ‘wounds’ and tell her what heroes you’ve been today.”
Four elflords said. “NO!” at the same time.
“Then what shall we do?”
“What do you want, Haldir?” Lord Elrond asked.
“What can you offer?”
“My sword.” Elrond, who hadn’t wielded one in an age, said.
“My … I killed a Balrog.” Glorfindel was tired.
“My…flask?” Celeborn pulled out the flask of cheap brandy that they had shared.
“My knife?” But the King did not brandish his knife. He merely smiled.
Haldir had desired to see and touch a Mirkwood knife for many years.
“Does your whole family carry big knives?”
“Especially Legolas. He has a fine weapon, straight and true.” The King idly scratched his ass as he looked at Haldir.
“Then I would like to see Legolas’ weapon.” Haldir smiled.
Outside Caras Galadhon, in a talan in a tall mallorn tree, the March Warden lay back and smiled. He was happily spent. His lover laid his head on Haldir’s shoulder.
“He actually said my knife was straight and true? And you let him?” Legolas asked.
“Well, yes. I couldn’t have let them just get away with it. They had to be punished somehow. They were so pitiful. Lord Elrond had no eyebrows left. My Lord looked like something an Orc dragged in. Glorfindel looked like he’d been roasted by a Balrog again and your father was covered in a red itchy mess.”
“So they bribed you with me? I feel so cheap.” He laughed.
“Well, they do have a punishment.” Haldir smiled and ran his finger lightly down Legolas’ arm.
“What is that?”
“They all have to ride escort when Gandalf goes to meet with the King of Rohan next month. Maybe one of them will remember where it is.” Haldir pulled Legolas up for another kiss and said, “Can we stop talking and look at your knife one more time?”
*Hair of the dog (or in this case, Hair of the Orc) refers to an American custom of having a bit of whatever you drank the night before as a hangover cure. I have it on good authority that it does not work.
**These tiny clusters of leaves would be recognized by most sober nature lovers as poison ivy, which causes painful itching and a rash.
Back to the Table of Contents Page