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The sun rose lazily over the rocky slopes of the hidden valley and sleepily squinted into the ragged wisps of morning mist. For one last moment the dewdrops glistened like crystals on the golden carpet of fallen leaves and then, succumbing to the warm breath of the sunbeams, slowly left the place where they had made their bed. The Loudwater sang softly, only now and then a restless wave leapt on the pebbles and splashed up a shower of silvery beads to let the kingfishers know that morning was coming.
Indeed, before one could take a breath, a picturesque October morning came to Rivendell. The sleeping valley was slowly awakening, colourful birds were chirping in the branches of maple trees that with the coming Autumn were robed into shades of scarlet and purple, golden ochre and the earthy tones of baked clay.
The aroma of fresh bread wafted through the Last Homely House. All was calm, welcoming, still a little sleepy. The air sparkled heralding a beautiful new day.
"Where is he?!"
The cry rang through the valley as a crack of thunder. The birds took off in fright. The rustle of wings could not silence the words that echoed ominously off the steep walls of the ravine, leaping from stone to stone, their force disturbing even the waters of the river, which were now rushing down to the ford, as if they, too, wished to escape that great wrath.
"By all the reptiles of the world, where is my horse?!" growled Lord Glorfindel angrily. He carefully enunciated the last few words in particular.
He stood in a wide stance outside the empty stall, his hands resting on his hips. It might have seemed that his blazing eyes gazed on the trampled straw, but in truth the blue eyes darted ominously to and fro, as if the warrior refused to believe what he was seeing. The thief did not even bother to cover their tracks. Even the ornate halter was gone.
Someone was going to pay dearly for this.
Mornings in Rivendell were usually quiet. This was so mainly because Lord Glorfindel made a custom of sleeping a little late. To this day, no one knows what devil drove him out of bed so early that morning. However, the evil tongues say it was the keg of beer the good lord had drunk the previous evening. The commotion that overtook the elves at breakfast was indeed unprecedented, or rather unheard of, given Glorfindel's truly rich vocal range. Any possible fuss had in fact been expected to happen at noon at the earliest.
"Is something the matter, Lord Glorfindel?" asked Lindir timidly. In the instinct of self-preservation he first thrust into the stall his outstretched hand holding a blueberry pie, and only after that his own fair head.
The balrog slayer snatched the dessert with unerring precision.
"Ma howse ws’tholen," he replied with his mouth full.
Lindir did not quite understand him, but he also didn't find the courage to repeat the question. Then his eyes came to rest on the place where Glorfindel's white stallion had been stabled, and his keen mind at once perceived the reason for the commotion.
"It must be some unfortunate misunderstanding, surely," he tried to soothe the warrior.
Glorfindel swallowed a mouthful of the pie, gave Lindir a sidelong glance, and his brow furrowed into an ominous shape.
"Summon Lord Elrond," he growled menacingly, apparently deadly serious. The frightfulness of his appearance was not lessened even by the fact that his lips were dyed blue in places and that little black blueberry seeds were stuck in his teeth.
Lindir found Lord Elrond at breakfast. The Lord of the Valley was slowly sipping lime blossom tea from a small cup, gracefully nibbling a fresh croissant, and dictating something to Master Erestor, who was known to be Elrond's right-hand man in perhaps every conceivable respect. (Except in the respect of his intimate life. Their relationship was purely professional. Take your mind out of the gutter. / Author's note.)
Lindir was naturally curious, and would very much like to know the subject of the letter, which would not bear delay and was thus written in between omelettes and onion rings. However, all he managed to catch was, "...with respect yours blah blah blah, put all those titles in and eat a little. Sometimes I feel like the midday sun is shining right through you."
Master Erestor pushed his hair back from his forehead and resignedly gulped down a single grape.
"I am sorry to interrupt, but Lord Glorfindel has some pressing business..."
"We have heard," stated the Half-Elf, straightening in his chair, setting down his cup slowly and fixing his storm-grey eyes on the youth. "What seems to be the matter?"
"His horse..."
Master Erestor sprang up from his chair, his black cloak billowed through the dining room, hurried footsteps receded, their sound escaping down the spiral staircase, heading for the lower terrace and then lower down to the river, where under an overhanging rock stood the stables. Lord Elrond finished his croissant and slowly set off after him.
In the meantime, Lord Glorfindel had changed his position in but a negligible measure. Some joker might venture to say that Glorfindel has, during Lindir's absence, been labouring thoroughly and conscientiously over how to rearrange his limbs into a position even more sinister and more frightful - for this very effect he had now achieved - but it is neither proper nor advisable to joke at Lord Glorfindel's expense, especially when the balrog slayer had not yet broken his fast. (The pie does not count, naturally.)
He stood firm, only his nostrils quivered slightly, betraying a certain nervousness. The rays of the morning sun penetrating through the stable windows gilded his locks, his light tunic strained with his every breath, enveloping the hero's manly chest. The veins in his arms throbbed with torrents of hot blood and betrayed the restless beating of the warrior's heart. Glorfindel resembled a beast of prey ready to leap.
"What in the name of the devil are you bawling here about?!"
The sky-blue eyes of Glorfindel fixed menacingly on Master Erestor, who had just appeared in the doorframe.
"My horse has been stolen," said Lord Glorfindel, more in disappointment than in anger, and beckoned helplessly at the deserted stall.
"This is not the first time it happened, and you know it well. I don't understand why you always make such a scene. Sometimes you act like a child, which is, considering your age, rather..." Master Erestor paused, tilting his head for a moment, as if searching for the right word, "...undignified."
"But..."
Erestor stopped Glorfindel with a raised palm.
"Anyhow, it would be Elladan or Elrohir who borrowed him. Asfaloth likes them. At least he gets to stretch his legs a bit, and you'll have him back by the evening."
Glorfindel smiled a little. He looked into Erestor's eyes that reminded him so much of two soothing cups of hot chocolate, sunk his fingers into the silky raven hair behind the counsellor's ear, leaned down and breathed in the scent of his skin. (Now these two do have something going on, just for the record. / Author's note.)
"So what is happening here?!" Lord Elrond spoke emphatically, brushing a few crumbs from his robes.
"Asfaloth has disappeared," Glorfindel breathed, his voice breaking somewhat as he took a step back from Master Erestor.
"Lord Elrond! Lord Elrond!"
The lord of Rivendell turned his head. A maid out of breath ran into the stables. The hem of her satin dress was still damp from the morning dew, and she was barefoot and dishevelled.
"Lord Elrond! Lord Elrond! Lady Arwen has disappeared!"
The meeting of the Council of Elrond, which we all know intimately through the literary work of master Tolkien or at least through the cinematic endeavour of master Jackson, is in fact the so-called Great Council and it deals with the really serious issues, such as the awakening of the sleeping evil, the end the world, or the delayed delivery of pudding doughnuts. The Great Council of Rivendell takes place roughly once a year, if it must, because it's too pretentious and theatrical and always makes a horrible dent in the budget.
Therefore, there is a so-called Small Council, or the Small Session that takes place much more often and looks much more prosaic. Everybody just sits around the dining room table, has a coffee or tea (whichever they personally like better), and they deal with current troubles in an informal way. And so it was with the mysterious disappearance of Arwen.
"So, to recap... Asfaloth vanished early this morning, and around the same time Arwen also disappeared..." began Elladan, who was waiting for his lacquered gourd full of Eregion holly tea to cool down a little.
"... and along with them, so did dad's antique blade and Lindie's riding breeches. The size would match Arwen's," Elrohir finished the thought.
"In the stable we found Lady Arwen's dress, folded and wrapped in waxed canvas, carefully buried in a sack of oats," a groom pronounced gravely, and placing the corpus delicti on the table he stepped back, his role in this meeting (as well as in this story) over.
Master Erestor took a thoughtful sip of black coffee, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and looked up at Lord Elrond questioningly.
The Lord of Rivendell was silent.
"According to what we know it seems that the young mistress stole the commemorative cutter, the drawers and the horse, and fled to parts unknown. Great," Glorfindel summed up the situation, for he was a balrog slayer and therefore the only one with enough courage to voice that thought aloud.
"That is so," Elrond nodded, dropping another lump of sugar into his tea. The sixth one.
Erestor took a hasty sip of his coffee, rose from the table and headed to a bookshelf. A few moments later, seated comfortably, he was already leafing through a bulky book bound in red leather.
"What’ve you got there?" asked Glorfindel guilelessly.
Master Erestor patted the book meaningfully. Lord of the Rings - Appendices.
"Today is the ninth of October, is it not?" the counsellor turned to Lord Elrond, who nodded significantly, which at once made him feel in control of the situation again.
"So, today," continued Erestor, "Lord Glorfindel should ride out of Rivendell and two days later encounter the Black Riders, and then rescue Frodo Baggins and..."
"Enough!" cried Lord Glorfindel.
Elladan and Elrohir exchanged completely identical looks of complete incomprehension.
"What is happening?" interjected Elrond, for he could think of no better question.
Glorfindel stood up abruptly, almost knocking his chair over, and nearly breaking a cup of cappuccino, which must have been brought in by mistake, because as far as I know, none of those in attendance drank cappuccino.
"So what you're telling me is that today, today of all days, my heroic journey to two paragraphs of fame should start, and Arwen just without so much as a by your leave borrows my horse?!"
Lord Elrond shrugged his shoulders and rummaged in the empty sugar bowl.
"Judging by her equipment," Elrohir pitched in, "she decided to take it up for you, uncle Fin," Elladan finished.
Lord Glorfindel slammed his fist on the table.
"Now, I've had enough of this! Arwen is supposed to be sitting at home, embroidering a fancy banner and waiting somewhere in a corner for Estel! What kind of stupid joke is this! Who ever saw elven missies riding on horseback and fighting the Nazgûl!"
Master Erestor was the only one unfazed by Glorfindel's fiery speech. While the warrior gave free rein to his wrath, Erestor took a quiet sip of his coffee, strode to a shelf with scrolls, and took out an overstuffed folder from there. After Glorfindel fell silent all men turned their gaze to the counsellor. Erestor’s keen brown eyes ran over the paper, then he stiffened and his pale forehead slapped against his palm.
"What have you found, Master Erestor?" Elrond stammered, barely audible, his nervousness growing proportionally to the level of his blood sugar.
The advisor did not answer. His bony finger rested on the gold-coloured inscription: The Fellowship of the Ring - Screenplay.
Elladan and Elrohir gave a simultaneous pout.
"So we're off," Elrohir said after a moment of silence, and Elladan added: "There’s nothing for us to do here."
Lord Glorfindel was so perplexed that he emptied the cup of cappuccino in one gulp.
"I'm taking a holiday," he uttered and winked in Erestor's direction.
"It seems to me I haven't had a day off in a while either. Come to think of it, never," smiled master Erestor apologetically and quickly finished the rest of his coffee.
"Wait! Where are you all going!" exclaimed Elrond desperately, suddenly aware of his solitude.
Elrohir turned in the doorway and said: "To the cinema." And Elladan added: "We want to see how Arwen will manage. She's never ridden astride before."
Lord Glorfindel's satisfied smile faded out into the dim light of the darkened corridor.
~*~