Kitchen duty

A/N: Happy Birthday, Fran! You are amazing and deserve to be celebrated. I therefore give you: tiny Estel, shirtless Glorfindel and all the fluff I could fit into this story (I will reprimand Elrohir for his gloominess).

A/N2: Special greetings to Gre3nleaf who has repeatedly asked after this story - I am sorry it took me this long.

-o0o-

"Hyaaaa!" The fierce battlecry was followed by a satisfying splatter and, shortly after, the elated giggles of the young warrior practicing his hand-to-hand combat skills.

"Well done, tithen pen." Glorfindel nodded appreciatively from his position just out of splatter range. He had taken of his light cotton shirt, both to protect it from errand batter and to optimize their chances that the kitchen maid wouldn't interfere in their newest training lesson. A short glance in her direction revealed that, indeed, Feriel had other things on her mind than reprimanding them for the mess they were making.

Glorfindel had briefly considered using the opportunity to teach Estel about the powers of distraction and diversion, but considering that his young charge was only 5 years old he decided that that particular lesson could wait.

"Reassemble your opponent, Estel. Let us see if we can improve that stance of yours."

Eagerly the little boy rushed forward, scooping as much of the soft cake batter together into a rough pyramid shape as he could. It certainly seemed that some of it had disappeared during the course of their training lesson – Estel had long since stopped thinking of it as punishment.

Erestor might have intended to punish them by sending them to the kitchen to help with the preparations of the next batch of honey cakes, but Glorfindel was not so easily chastised. The golden-haired elf had declared that their "assignment" was the perfect opportunity to continue their lessons and the kitchen floors, walls and ceiling bore testament to Estel's determination to impress and to learn.

Satisfied with the slightly drooping shape of his cake batter opponent, Estel took a small step back and took the stance Glorfindel had explained to him earlier. With his small feet shoulder-width apart and slightly staggered, he leaned a bit right and then a bit left to make sure that his weight was evenly distributed on both feet. He bent his knees just a tiny bit and drew back his arm …

only to have it snatched out of the air by Glorfindel. The elven lord's ears had picked up the sudden sound of approaching feet and decided it might be in their best interest not to cover the newcomer in cake bits.

A good call. The head cook herself rounded the corner and hesitated in the doorway for only a moment, clearly taking stock of the situation – batter stuck to nearly every available surface, a sheepish looking son of Elrond, a half-dressed elf lord and a kitchen maid that was fanning herself for clearly more reasons than just the heat of the nearby ovens.

She sighed audibly.

"Lord Glorfindel, I daresay that batter has been mixed well enough. If you and young lord Estel would follow me. I have a more solid dough that might actually profit from your … ministrations."

She turned around, sure that she would be followed. It never ceased to amaze Glorfindel how much the cook dealt with her kitchen staff the same way he dealt with his warriors. Her ability to assess a situation in the fraction of a moment and to draw the correct assumptions, leading to smart and simple solutions was a skill many of his commanders still needed to perfect.

She turned back to glance at him. "Perhaps we can even find you a shirt to replace the one you … misplaced."

Glorfindel simply smiled, but Estel lifted his gaze to look up at him. "But you didn't misplace your shirt, Glorfy, you took it off to make sure it wouldn't get dirty. You even gave it to Feriel to hold for you."

"Quite right, tithen pen, and I will retrieve it later. In the meantime it seems our next task will not be quite as messy as the first."

-o0o-

Their new assignment was waiting for them in the edge of the next room, covered in shadows.

"Now this my lords, should be an opponent worthy of your skills." The cook drew aside the cloth that was covering the large wooden bowl and revealed a dull grey dough.

"It will need proper kneading before it can be molded. Once you have softened it up you can form the pieces. Lord Glorfindel, you know the right size and shape for the warriors' waybread."

There was something in the way her eyes twinkled at the last part that made Glorfindel hesitate. "Will this batch be sent to the patrols at the southern border of the valley?"

There was open joy now on her face and she nodded briefly. "Indeed."

She dusted off her hands and left them to her task. "If you'll excuse me, I have an elfmaid to reprimand."

Estel had stopped paying attention already. He looked up at Glorfindel excitedly. "What is the right shape of warrior's waybread?" If a conversation included any talk about warriors, Estel was sure to pick up on it and ask more questions. He was fascinated by the defenders of Imladris, idolized Glorfindel and his older brothers, and dreamed of becoming a mighty warrior just like them. He pursued his "warrior training" with the same pure, unadulterated excitement that had charmed the hearts of every inhabitant of the Last Homely House.

Glorfindel smiled. "Today, tithen pen, I think you may decide what is the right shape. But first, let us face the fierce opponent that the lady cook has selected for us."

Glorfindel piled the dough onto the dusted surface and turned around to see Estel already taking the correct stance. The boy really was a fast learner. With occasional adjustments to the setting of Estel's feet, and a lot of "Hy-aaa"s, they eventually beat the dough into submission together and started molding the waybread pieces.

-o0o-

It was promising to be another grey day, with heavy clouds blocking out the sunshine to the lands next to the Bruinen. The water of the river was rushing by about a hundred yards from their post, swollen from the recent rains and staying true to its name, 'Loudwater'.

"The wet ground will make for easy tracking," Elladan was saying as he tightened the straps of his saddle bags, "but with the cloud cover so thick, the orcs might come out of their dens early."

Elrohir looked up. His brother was right, they would have to be prepared for surprises. They had been scouting the lands between the Ford and the Trollshaws for some days now, looking for signs of activity from the enemy. The lands to the north were growing more and more restless; orcs and even trolls had been spotted roaming the lands. The rangers were sending distressing reports of plundered homesteads with worrying frequency. Glorfindel had sent them help, but orc attacks were still overall infrequent and the numbers of rangers low, they were unlikely to be able to protect all the scattered inhabitants of what was once Arnor. Elrohir knew that eventually they would have to take the fights to the orcs themselves, hunt the dark creatures to their very lairs and exterminate the plague at its roots.

A soft hand on his shoulders startled Elrohir from his increasingly dark thoughts. His brother's gaze met his own, reflecting the same emotions, he understood. "Not yet."

They had made a promise to themselves to watch after Estel, and truly, the little adan had brought peace to their souls with his open heart and unconditional love.

"For now we scout, and report back to Glorfindel."

Elrohir nodded, reaching up a hand to place over his brother's. The touch grounded him and helped him reign in his emotions, focusing his thoughts instead on the task at hand. A few more days of scouting towards the south and their patrol would be over, bringing them back to the hospitality of the Last Homely House and to their young brother.

A hint of movement at the horizon caught his attention. "A rider approaches," he pointed back towards the valley, "probably Merendir." The young warrior had been on messenger duty, riding back and forth between Imladris and the patrols securing its borders.

They busied themselves with readying the horses and were prepared to leave by the time he arrived.

"I can't stay long," he said by way of greeting, clearly winded from his long and likely hasty ride, "I must still reach Thilion and Belvor before the midday sun. This is what Glorfindel gave me for you."

He handed them a bag that held a note from the Seneschal and their rations for the next few days, before hastily turning his horse around and continuing his mission.

Elrohir opened Glorfindel's letter and let Elladan take care of stowing the rations in their saddle bags.

A genuine smile lit up his face before he even read the first words. "Glorfindel's hand writing has deteriorated brother, I fear the worst."

Elladan came over holding a grey … something in his hands. "Does he mention orcs, because it seems we have encountered a hoard of them even earlier than I anticipated." He held up the lump in his hands and revealed it to be a roughly orc shaped piece of way bread, complete with tiny fangs.

Their laughter seemed to brighten the dark cloudy day, and as they set out on their mission their determination was not diminished but their mood was immeasurably lighter.

The end