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“Oh, no.” The look on his face would be comical, if she wasn’t so sure that she looked the exact same way.
She moves reflexively to shut the door in his face, but his stupidly large hand grabs at the frame before she does, so she would have to mash the door into his fingers. Do it anyway, a voice that sounds suspiciously like her Uncle Fëanor says in her head, but, no, today is about Lúthien. She can’t have her cousin’s engagement dinner ruined because Beren is friends with the worst human Eru has ever created.
“I see your impulse control is better,” he says, as he saunters in, and she grits her teeth. It’s going to be a long evening.
*
“And, Halbrand can tell you all about it.” Amarië’s face is flushed pink with wine and admiration. Halbrand smiles as she flutters her eyes prettily at him.
“Well,” he says, and maybe she’s biased but maybe he takes just a little longer to finish the sentence because he wants to make sure everyone’s attention is on him because he’s the most annoying human being in Arda. “I wouldn’t call myself an expert, exactly-”
Elrond pats her knee. “There, there,” he says. She can see a muscle twitching in his jaw as he tries not to laugh at her, and see, even his very presence is turning her best friend against her. At the other end of the table, Halbrand continues to drone on and on about his latest project, probably another metal and glass monstrosity to ruin Menegroth's skyline.
“Only another few hours,” he says. She wishes his eyes would stop sparkling. “Then you’re free.”
“To set his car on fire,” she says hopefully. Elrond pauses.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Here.” He refills her glass. “Drink up. Imagine you’re on a beach somewhere.”
She doesn’t want to think about beaches. The last time she was on a beach, he was there. He’d kicked her purse into the cooler and soaked her wallet.
“Accident,” he’d said, as he handed over the ruined leather. “Shouldn’t have left it so close to the rugby ball.”
“See, the lines of light,” Halbrand says, from the other side of the table. Amarië titters.
“Oh, the lines of light,” she whispers under her breath. Only, as everyone stops and stares, maybe not so much of a whisper as a loud hiss. Damned champagne.
*
He’s hovering by the snacks when she goes to refill her plate. The sit down part is done, and now the guests mingle in aimless clumps, talking quietly amongst themselves as the string quartet that Thingol had insisted on hiring plays a jumpy waltz. She’d mingled herself out of the main crowd, and spent the last hour catching up with Durin and Disa before the snack table called to her.
He raises his eyebrows at her approach, and she studiously ignores him. She’s here for the breaded prawns. That’s all she wants, then they can go on their merry way until she can leave -
He plucks the last breaded prawn off the serving plate and gnaws on it like an underfed cat.
“You were supposed to be in Rhûn,” she says to the universe. “Why are you here?”
“Wouldn’t miss this,” he says. “Best friend getting married. Company’s lacking, though.”
A server comes around with another plate of prawn-less food.
“Excuse me,” she says. “I was looking for a refill for those." She gestures to the empty plate.” The server frowns.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I think we’re out.” Halbrand has turned away, but she can see from the set of his shoulders that he’s laughing quietly.
“I hate you,” she says, with deep feeling. He grins.
“Feeling’s mutual,” he says.
*
“It’s always been like this,” she says into her arms. Elrond pats gingerly at her back. “He’s been evil incarnate since the day we met.” The hand on her back pauses.
“Weren’t you eight?”
“Yes?” she says. They've orbited the edges of each other’s lives for the past twenty years, connected by friends of friends, or distant relatives. He’s always there, smirking and in the way and making everything worse.
“My bike,” she says.
“Sorry?” She wishes Elrond would sound less concerned. It’s making her feel mildly pathetic.
“My bike. With the streamers. He ripped them off.” She’d loved that bike. “I rode it to school every day. It was so ugly without the streamers.”
“Alright.” There is a quiet murmur, and when she lifts her head, her champagne glass is gone.
“You told me to drink that,” she says.
“I made a grave error in judgement,” Elrond says. She can see he wants to laugh again. “I apologise.”
“Apologise this,” she replies, which doesn’t even make sense, and flicks a peanut from the snack bowl at him. Only he shifts so the peanut lands perfectly in his mouth and smiles at her open-mouthed amazement.
“I’ll get you some water,” he says.
*
Thingol’s estate is beautiful in ordinary times, and he’s gone all out for his daughter’s party. The flowers are all in bloom, and they glow prettily under the soft lights that some party planner probably spent hours hanging up.
She settles underneath a tree with a glass of water and plate filled with tiny eclairs. It feels good to be away from the noise of the party, as nice as it is to see Lúthien so happy.
She raises the glass to her forehead; the coolness of the glass is refreshing, and she closes her eyes.
“Trade?” She opens her eyes and glares up. His gigantic head is blocking the light so she can’t see the look on his face, but she’s sure it’s unpleasant. He holds out a plate as if it’s a shield.
“Peace offering,” he says, and sits on the ground next to her without waiting for an answer. He has a small pile of breaded prawns on a small plate, and pulls it out of her reach then she reaches out of it. “Not so fast.” He gestures at her plate. “Trade you.”
After a bitter battle, they agree on an exchange rate of one prawn per one and a half eclairs. Very unfair, but she’s not exactly in a position to bargain.
The buzz of the champagne had faded, and now she feels vaguely empty and restless. She doesn’t want to go back to the party, though. She casts a speculative look at Halbrand. What are mortal enemies for, if not idle entertainment?
“So, why did you come back early? Did Rhûn exile you already?” He laughs, even though she wasn’t joking.
“Not quite. Just came back for a meeting.” He leans closer. “A very important one. You want to know why?”
“No,” she says, already regretting speaking to him.
“We’re building another tower. It’s gonna be all black, fucking huge. Right on Lorien Avenue.” He waits, grinning, while her tired brain works at half-speed. Then-
“Opposite my gallery?”
“It’s a great piece of land,” he says. “Ripe for some development.” Horror at the prospect of staring at one of his monstrosities at her place of work has kept her frozen. Whatever his mind produces will be horrible, she’s sure, sure to overwhelm her lovely art gallery with shadow and construction noise.
“You,” she says. “Are the most pig-brained, infuriating, ill-mannered piece of-”
He kisses her. She’s so shocked she doesn’t move for a second, and then she’s kissing him back.
They pull back, and she briefly considers that she may have fallen asleep and landed in a fever dream.
“Oh, no,” she says, and covers her mouth to stop the giggle that bubbling up. “Don’t tell me- do you like me?” This is so embarrassing for him.
“No,” he says. He sounds offended. “I definitely hate you. You’re the most irritating woman I’ve ever met. It’s impressive, actually, how irritating you are. You’d be a gold medallist if you wanted.”
She kisses him, mostly to shut him up. And it works! The blissful joy that fills her - at finally shutting him up, that’s definitely it - is wonderful, and she clutches at his jacket to keep him quiet more effectively.
His mouth drifts down to the hinge of her jaw, and she gasps loudly. He lifts his head and peeks to see if anyone noticed them.
“Don't go giving your family a show. Not that I’m not flattered-”
Urgh, he’s talking again. She shuts him up using her brand new Halbrand-silencing tool.
She’s heating up; the material of her dress sticks to her in ways that makes her squirm. His gigantic stupid hands span her waist, holding her close, sneaking round to palm at her ass.
Dimly, she can hear the noise of the party. Someone laughs, closer than she’s comfortable with. She pulls back.
“Come on,” she says, and pulls him up. They creep over to the garden shed over the other side of the yard. He doesn’t say a word, but she can feel his presence behind her, heavy and waiting.
She shimmies the door open easily, she still remembers how from all the times she and Lúthien spent smoking and drinking when they were teenagers.
It’s as small and cramped as she remembers, and she shimmies her way onto a narrow shelf so she can pull him between her legs. He noses at her neck, and she shivers.
“You’re almost tolerable like this, Noldor,” he says, and she would be offended, but she feels the exact same about him. She sneaks her hand under his jacket, strokes the broad expanse of muscle under his shirt. He makes a quiet noise against her skin. A warm hand toys with the hem of her dress, and creeps up slowly.
“Enough talking,”she suggests, and for once, he listens.
*
The party is still going strong when she makes her way back to the party. She makes a beeline for the bathroom to do a quick makeup check.
“Hey.” Elrond materializes at her elbow, and she jumps. “Sorry. You okay? I saw you and Halbrand getting into it by the tree. Were you fighting again?” Her cheeks heat.
“We’ve reached… an accord.” He raises his eyebrow.
“An accord,” he says. On the other side of the room, Halbrand is laughing with Melian about something or the other. He meets her gaze and smiles, barely a lift of the mouth.
When she looks back, Elrond is staring with a half-curious, half horrified look on his face.
“Do I want to know?”
“No,” she says. “You really don’t.”