"Not so fast, are you!" Elrohir called back; rather smug with himself that
the Elf wasn't gaining on him. But after the threats stopped, Elrohir
turned his head back, skidding abruptly to a stop. If Glorfindel had
slipped, broken his neck and died– again- he'd get shipped off to the Grey
Havens for a few centuries.
"L-lord Gl-Glorfindel?" He stuttered, inching forward to make sure the captain was all right. "You're not... dead... or seriously injured... are you?" He muttered a prayer to Elbereth, coming to a halt to stand above Glorfindel, a dark eyebrow raised. "Glorfindel?"
The elven seneschal had taken a sharp blow to the head, but it took more than that to render the lord Glorfindel unconscious or seriously injured. Yet as he lie there, slightly startled at what happened, he realized quite clearly that it was Elrohir standing over him – not Elladan at all. Then in a moment of comprehension, he saw then that he was being had. And Glorfindel, he who had lived long past in Gondolin, had been slayed by a Balrog and had spent years in the Halls of Waiting, was most definitely not one that took kindly to being had. And so, he stayed quite still until Elrohir crept closer, and then he lunged for the young elf, letting out a cry of triumph as he did so and caught at the twin's arm.
Elrohir's optics widened suddenly, trying vainly to get from the Elf's grasp. Yet he knew it wouldn't work; Glorfindel was stronger than him in the long run. "Glorfy- indel... let me go! I've... I've done nothing! Father will be most displeased if you kill me!" It was rather amusing, the Peredhil running in place, like a rodent on a wheel of some sort.
"I don't want to die... I don't want to die... oh Elbereth save me..." He murmured, feeling rather doomed at the moment.
"Die? Of course you won't die," ground out the elven lord, drawing the struggling Elrohir close to him until their faces were inches apart. His blue eyes narrowed in a sly grin. "Dying is not good enough for you. I should know, I have died once, and it was nothing compared to what I will do to you, you cheeky little elfling! Did you think that you could so easily deceive I, Glorfindel of the house of the Golden Flower?"
He didn't know this sounded poncey. But he didn't care. At one time it did sound quite intimidating - so do not blame the slightly tipsy elven lord of something he had no clue about.
Had it been different circumstances, Elrohir would've burst out laughing at this. But no, the only thing he was doing was blinking slowly, gulping in true fear. Worse than death? Perhaps a tipsy Glorfindel was more dangerous than he thought.
"W-what are you going to do, my Lord Glorfindel? S-so... powerful and... powerful?" For once, the almighty Elrohir, Prankster Prince and most sarcastic of them all, was at a loss for words. "S-surely you jest... like... I was! I was... only... joking... you... know? Ha... ha... ha." The last 'ha' came out as a pitiful whimper, averting his grey optics from Elf.
The slightly drunken elven seneschal narrowed his eyes all the more, as if he had suddenly lost all ability of site, though it made him look intimidating none the less, bearing down on Elrohir like a falcon on a mouse. "Do I," he snarled, his voice a low timbre that rumbled like a trumpet of dh00m. "Do *I*, Elrohir Peredhel, son of Elrond, son of Celebrian, brother of Elladan, brother of Arwen, brothe-- no, that's it. Do I *look* like I am joking?"
Elrohir blinked, really not being able to see his face so up close. That would certainly not be the best thing to comment on at the moment. "Well... not... particularly but... you've... always been... one to keep a straight face!" He attempted a smile, wondering if flattery would do the trip.
He doubted it.
"It—it wasn't my fault! You dragged me away when you broke that vase! It's all your fault!" The moment those words left his mouth, the Elven prince winced, regretting them. He suddenly realized that his life was hereby forfeit, under pain and torture of Glorfindel. Lovely.
The blonde-haired elven captain gazed at Elrohir as if he could not comprehend his stupidity. No, truly, he just couldn't figure out whether what he had said warranted either instant death or slow torture. But instead, he blinked, pulled back a little, and then instantly dropped Elrohir and fell to the ground, taken over by fits of laughter.
"My - my fault! HA!" he giggled - yes, he giggled. "My fault! HAHA! Good one, Elrohir, my fault! Ahahahahaha!"
He gawked at Glorfindel, feeling too over-taken with shock to even take this as his chance to run. So, what does Elrohir do? Prove his utter cocky stupidity further. "Don't laugh you miserable Elf! It was your fault... All. Your. Fault. Why I should—I really ought to run." He trailed off, looking down at Glorfindel with a blank look.
He was dead as a paralyzed duck being aimed at. Luckily, Elrohir wasn't immobilized—yet. He spun around, getting off to a fast start for about a half a second, before slipping on that same cursed mud and falling flat on his face. Only this time, he continued sliding on his face quite a few inches.
Was there such thing as... floor burn? Well, he had it, if there was.
Footsteps echoed throughout... well, everywhere. The footsteps did not make it sound as if the owner of the feet was wearing shoes, but rather was going barefoot. There was only one person who walked around barefoot, and she wasn't a person at all, but an elf. Lotesse Ithildin. "Glorfindel, you poncey elf, are you drunk again?" Lotesse's fair voice called out from around a corner, from which she appeared moments later. Her long straight golden hair was pulled behind her ears, a few stray strands falling into a fair elven face. Golden-brown eyes, odd for most elves, were narrowed just slightly as she looked down at the elven Lord giggling on the floor. She was also one of the only elves that dared call Glorfindel a ponce, a title he rightly deserved.
Glorfindel sobered only long enough to look up at Lotesse and grin, but the sight of Elrohir falling flat on his face sent him into renewed hysterics. He wrapped his arms around his chest, his hands gripping his aching sides.
"El-Elrohir is - is in fine form tonight, Lot-Lot-Lotesse," he snickered, leaning back against the wall and giggling some more. "He- he says it's - my fault! Mine! Haha-- drinking," he blinked, suddenly aware that he had been asked a question. He ogled Lotesse Ithildin with wide blue eyes. "Why, Elbereth, no. You see - Elladan - he pushed me into a ditch, and Elrohir said that he was Elladan, and I thought he was and -- heehee! He said it was my fault!"
And then he began, once more, to burst into raucous peals of laughter.
Elrohir was slightly dazed, yet was coherent enough to realize what the Elven captain had just said. Did... did he still believe that Elladan pushed him into a ditch? At this, he burst out laughing, rolling over on his back in hysterics.
"If you... if you're not drunk, I'm a prancing Elf maiden in the rain!" He continued to laugh, seemingly having gone insane. "And Elladan never pushed you in! You broke a vase, and then slipped in my mud trail. Oh Elbereth... I haven't laughed like this in a long time." A poor Elf who had happened to pass by went wide-eyed at the sight of one of Elrond's twins and the Lord Glorfindel on the floor giggling.
It was the end of the world. It must've been.
Glorfindel gaped at Elrohir, taking in what the elfling said. Suddenly a sinister smile crossed over his ageless features. He chuckled darkly and raised himself gracefully to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest and towering over Elrohir as he did so. The fact that he swayed a bit and - did he hiccough? - he still looked imposing.
"Ah, that is right," he said in a light tone. "You pushed me, master Elrohir, and so you broke your father's vase. And then you dragged me half across Imladris and told me lies about your brother. Tsk, tsk, at least I have a bit of an excuse for my drinking - you, my dear Elrohir, behave like an infant hobbit just out of pure - pure - what's the word - habit." He blinked, apparently not knowing where these words came from, yet pleased about them none the less.
"You—"He was at loss for words again. Had he just been called an infant hobbit? Now that was going too far. Elrohir scrambled up, trying to look half dignified. It certainly wasn't working.
"Not only are you poncey, you're a lying... a lying thing that... resembles... eh a... a wight! That's right." He'd never been too skilled at comebacks. Whose word do think father shall believe? Yours, or his own son's?" A grim shadow fell over his face, still not realizing that he was still blatantly insulting Glorfindel. "Well, perhaps he shall take yours but... you were the one who dragged me! You broke the vase... and you were—no, I was still the one who told you lies about Elladan. But that's not the point! Just... it's not fair!"
So much for proving maturity.
Glorfindel arched an elegant eyebrow at the younger elf, though he was now thoroughly enjoying himself and in his state the insults just rolled off of him like oil and water.
"Yes, yes, neth-perenian," he said with a reserved smile. "Very good, very good. Yet I am afraid, young son of Elrond, that you are incapable of speaking your way out of a hobbit hole. Your insults are as weak as your literary skills, and I suggest you go back into the study with lord Erestor to brush up on them. Now, please, excuse me while I inform your father of your less than satisfactory behavior for the day..."
Leave it to Glorfindel to use big words while he was smashed.
Elrohir's face truly paled at the thought of facing his father... for about the third time within a three-month period. There was absolutely no chance he'd spend another perfect day stuck in the library, especially since he could be spying on Arwen and Estel having some snooky time together. ...Whatever snooky is.
"You wouldn't really do that, would you? Besides... everyone would notice you're less than sober. Is there... is there nothing I can stop from doing such a petty thing? Besides, if I have to tell all of Imladris that the great Lord Glorfindel, was on the floor... giggling, I will, to stop you from doing this."
Lovely, blackmail would surely do the charm.
Glorfindel snorted at the very thought, and had a hard time to keep from being immersed in those very same giggles. But he managed a dark glare instead. It might be true – though he could not remember the event quite clearly, he had no doubt that he had been giggling on the floor. Yet the lord Glorfindel – as old as the hills – had been drunk many times before, and was caught in some surprisingly sticky situations. So long as he kept his wits about him for more than three minutes...
"Do you think your father would believe such a thing, Elrohir?" he asked, almost chidingly, as if he was scolding a young – no, an infant hobbit. "I am not giggling now – am I?"
Oh, how he felt like laughing at the look on Elrohir's face!
"I—I could blackmail Elladan into saying he saw you as well. I could blackmail anyone... even you, if I had to." He smiled in an arrogant manner, feeling his usual cocky nature coming back once more, and even went so far as to pluck a golden hair from the Elf's head.
"You see? With this one bit of hair, I could plant it by the broken vase or even better! I could plant it in the wine cellar. And then, my dear Glorfindel," He pointed at his sleeve, where there were slight, yet ever- there markings of where the Elven lord's fingers had been while dragging him along. "There is this proof, that you indeed did drag me, thus winning my case." He nodded triumphantly, raising a dark brow. Had that made... any sense at all? Probably not, but it made him sound smart.
The elven seneschal was now far less than amused. His patience failing him, he took a step towards Elrohir, once again taking advantage of his superior strength, height, and – under normal circumstances – intelligence. He yanked his hair back out of Elrohir's hand, snatched a few of the twin's own dark strands, and then grinned in triumph.
"Ha! Now I can plant you – to – hmm. Perhaps just outside the door to the Hall of Fire where Estel and Arwen have been ... ... ... speaking with each other this morning? Speak not of blackmailing one who has been blackmailing others since his birth! Remember not how Erestor was blamed for --" he blinked, realizing that perhaps he was saying something he shouldn't be saying. He shrugged. Next he pointed to his robes. "Covered in mud! Proof that you've been pushing me around, young Elrohir. I did that –"he pointed at his arm. "Only from sheer defense."
Little did he know it, but by using his brain the effects of the alcohol began to become less and less. If Elrohir did not act soon, he would be faced with a very sober, and very annoyed elf of Gondolin.
If any bit of sense or intelligence remained in him, Elrohir probably would've stopped now and accepted that Elrond would yell at him for a while, and then ship him off to the library... or if luck had abandoned him, off to the Grey Havens for a while. No. Not Elrohir. His pride and arrogance just made him be even mouthier.
"Who's to say, then, it wasn't Elladan supposedly outside that door... which he probably is any way, and not me?" He crossed his arms, puffing out his chest to look more... Mean. "Oh yes, I always push around Elves, just for a sheer fun of it. And yet, that's odd. I wasn't the one rolling on the floor giggling, and obviously past the line of just 'tipsy'. You—you can't intimidate me!" He exclaimed the latter part, widening grey eyes for further effect.
"And no one touches my hair!"
It could've only been stupidity that made him pluck yet another light colored hair off Glorfindel's head.
That was the last straw - or, well, hair. Glorfindel snarled in anger, and then in a split second he had grabbed a fistful of Elrohir's hair and pushed him back against the wall. Not that he was hurting the son of Elrond in any way - but he wanted to prove, once and for all, that he, the lord Glorfindel, elven captain and Elrond's old friend and seneschal, was not one to receive such cheek.
"You - Elrohir - are indeed the finest example of an impudent whelp I have ever met," he said darkly. "You are either naturally daft or have taken a trip to the wine cellars yourself to have me mistake you for a spoiled humanling prince. And I, Elrohir, will touch your hair as much as I bloody well want to..."
Elrohir simply stared, opening and closing his mouth several times, rather stunned that the drunk Elf had suddenly become so much more... well, sober. After a moment of simply gaping, he shook his head, nodding meekly.
"I-I merely meant that... it's not fair of you... make up such lies about me, that could get me shipped off to Elbereth only knows where! I was only trying to get back at Elladan." He murmured, looking more like an Elfling being scolded.
"The days are dark. I wouldn't truly blackmail you." Well, perhaps he might've before, but when a shadow was spreading over the land. "And eh... I only wanted your hair because it's... eh... shiny?"
o_O
"L-lord Gl-Glorfindel?" He stuttered, inching forward to make sure the captain was all right. "You're not... dead... or seriously injured... are you?" He muttered a prayer to Elbereth, coming to a halt to stand above Glorfindel, a dark eyebrow raised. "Glorfindel?"
The elven seneschal had taken a sharp blow to the head, but it took more than that to render the lord Glorfindel unconscious or seriously injured. Yet as he lie there, slightly startled at what happened, he realized quite clearly that it was Elrohir standing over him – not Elladan at all. Then in a moment of comprehension, he saw then that he was being had. And Glorfindel, he who had lived long past in Gondolin, had been slayed by a Balrog and had spent years in the Halls of Waiting, was most definitely not one that took kindly to being had. And so, he stayed quite still until Elrohir crept closer, and then he lunged for the young elf, letting out a cry of triumph as he did so and caught at the twin's arm.
Elrohir's optics widened suddenly, trying vainly to get from the Elf's grasp. Yet he knew it wouldn't work; Glorfindel was stronger than him in the long run. "Glorfy- indel... let me go! I've... I've done nothing! Father will be most displeased if you kill me!" It was rather amusing, the Peredhil running in place, like a rodent on a wheel of some sort.
"I don't want to die... I don't want to die... oh Elbereth save me..." He murmured, feeling rather doomed at the moment.
"Die? Of course you won't die," ground out the elven lord, drawing the struggling Elrohir close to him until their faces were inches apart. His blue eyes narrowed in a sly grin. "Dying is not good enough for you. I should know, I have died once, and it was nothing compared to what I will do to you, you cheeky little elfling! Did you think that you could so easily deceive I, Glorfindel of the house of the Golden Flower?"
He didn't know this sounded poncey. But he didn't care. At one time it did sound quite intimidating - so do not blame the slightly tipsy elven lord of something he had no clue about.
Had it been different circumstances, Elrohir would've burst out laughing at this. But no, the only thing he was doing was blinking slowly, gulping in true fear. Worse than death? Perhaps a tipsy Glorfindel was more dangerous than he thought.
"W-what are you going to do, my Lord Glorfindel? S-so... powerful and... powerful?" For once, the almighty Elrohir, Prankster Prince and most sarcastic of them all, was at a loss for words. "S-surely you jest... like... I was! I was... only... joking... you... know? Ha... ha... ha." The last 'ha' came out as a pitiful whimper, averting his grey optics from Elf.
The slightly drunken elven seneschal narrowed his eyes all the more, as if he had suddenly lost all ability of site, though it made him look intimidating none the less, bearing down on Elrohir like a falcon on a mouse. "Do I," he snarled, his voice a low timbre that rumbled like a trumpet of dh00m. "Do *I*, Elrohir Peredhel, son of Elrond, son of Celebrian, brother of Elladan, brother of Arwen, brothe-- no, that's it. Do I *look* like I am joking?"
Elrohir blinked, really not being able to see his face so up close. That would certainly not be the best thing to comment on at the moment. "Well... not... particularly but... you've... always been... one to keep a straight face!" He attempted a smile, wondering if flattery would do the trip.
He doubted it.
"It—it wasn't my fault! You dragged me away when you broke that vase! It's all your fault!" The moment those words left his mouth, the Elven prince winced, regretting them. He suddenly realized that his life was hereby forfeit, under pain and torture of Glorfindel. Lovely.
The blonde-haired elven captain gazed at Elrohir as if he could not comprehend his stupidity. No, truly, he just couldn't figure out whether what he had said warranted either instant death or slow torture. But instead, he blinked, pulled back a little, and then instantly dropped Elrohir and fell to the ground, taken over by fits of laughter.
"My - my fault! HA!" he giggled - yes, he giggled. "My fault! HAHA! Good one, Elrohir, my fault! Ahahahahaha!"
He gawked at Glorfindel, feeling too over-taken with shock to even take this as his chance to run. So, what does Elrohir do? Prove his utter cocky stupidity further. "Don't laugh you miserable Elf! It was your fault... All. Your. Fault. Why I should—I really ought to run." He trailed off, looking down at Glorfindel with a blank look.
He was dead as a paralyzed duck being aimed at. Luckily, Elrohir wasn't immobilized—yet. He spun around, getting off to a fast start for about a half a second, before slipping on that same cursed mud and falling flat on his face. Only this time, he continued sliding on his face quite a few inches.
Was there such thing as... floor burn? Well, he had it, if there was.
Footsteps echoed throughout... well, everywhere. The footsteps did not make it sound as if the owner of the feet was wearing shoes, but rather was going barefoot. There was only one person who walked around barefoot, and she wasn't a person at all, but an elf. Lotesse Ithildin. "Glorfindel, you poncey elf, are you drunk again?" Lotesse's fair voice called out from around a corner, from which she appeared moments later. Her long straight golden hair was pulled behind her ears, a few stray strands falling into a fair elven face. Golden-brown eyes, odd for most elves, were narrowed just slightly as she looked down at the elven Lord giggling on the floor. She was also one of the only elves that dared call Glorfindel a ponce, a title he rightly deserved.
Glorfindel sobered only long enough to look up at Lotesse and grin, but the sight of Elrohir falling flat on his face sent him into renewed hysterics. He wrapped his arms around his chest, his hands gripping his aching sides.
"El-Elrohir is - is in fine form tonight, Lot-Lot-Lotesse," he snickered, leaning back against the wall and giggling some more. "He- he says it's - my fault! Mine! Haha-- drinking," he blinked, suddenly aware that he had been asked a question. He ogled Lotesse Ithildin with wide blue eyes. "Why, Elbereth, no. You see - Elladan - he pushed me into a ditch, and Elrohir said that he was Elladan, and I thought he was and -- heehee! He said it was my fault!"
And then he began, once more, to burst into raucous peals of laughter.
Elrohir was slightly dazed, yet was coherent enough to realize what the Elven captain had just said. Did... did he still believe that Elladan pushed him into a ditch? At this, he burst out laughing, rolling over on his back in hysterics.
"If you... if you're not drunk, I'm a prancing Elf maiden in the rain!" He continued to laugh, seemingly having gone insane. "And Elladan never pushed you in! You broke a vase, and then slipped in my mud trail. Oh Elbereth... I haven't laughed like this in a long time." A poor Elf who had happened to pass by went wide-eyed at the sight of one of Elrond's twins and the Lord Glorfindel on the floor giggling.
It was the end of the world. It must've been.
Glorfindel gaped at Elrohir, taking in what the elfling said. Suddenly a sinister smile crossed over his ageless features. He chuckled darkly and raised himself gracefully to his feet, crossing his arms over his chest and towering over Elrohir as he did so. The fact that he swayed a bit and - did he hiccough? - he still looked imposing.
"Ah, that is right," he said in a light tone. "You pushed me, master Elrohir, and so you broke your father's vase. And then you dragged me half across Imladris and told me lies about your brother. Tsk, tsk, at least I have a bit of an excuse for my drinking - you, my dear Elrohir, behave like an infant hobbit just out of pure - pure - what's the word - habit." He blinked, apparently not knowing where these words came from, yet pleased about them none the less.
"You—"He was at loss for words again. Had he just been called an infant hobbit? Now that was going too far. Elrohir scrambled up, trying to look half dignified. It certainly wasn't working.
"Not only are you poncey, you're a lying... a lying thing that... resembles... eh a... a wight! That's right." He'd never been too skilled at comebacks. Whose word do think father shall believe? Yours, or his own son's?" A grim shadow fell over his face, still not realizing that he was still blatantly insulting Glorfindel. "Well, perhaps he shall take yours but... you were the one who dragged me! You broke the vase... and you were—no, I was still the one who told you lies about Elladan. But that's not the point! Just... it's not fair!"
So much for proving maturity.
Glorfindel arched an elegant eyebrow at the younger elf, though he was now thoroughly enjoying himself and in his state the insults just rolled off of him like oil and water.
"Yes, yes, neth-perenian," he said with a reserved smile. "Very good, very good. Yet I am afraid, young son of Elrond, that you are incapable of speaking your way out of a hobbit hole. Your insults are as weak as your literary skills, and I suggest you go back into the study with lord Erestor to brush up on them. Now, please, excuse me while I inform your father of your less than satisfactory behavior for the day..."
Leave it to Glorfindel to use big words while he was smashed.
Elrohir's face truly paled at the thought of facing his father... for about the third time within a three-month period. There was absolutely no chance he'd spend another perfect day stuck in the library, especially since he could be spying on Arwen and Estel having some snooky time together. ...Whatever snooky is.
"You wouldn't really do that, would you? Besides... everyone would notice you're less than sober. Is there... is there nothing I can stop from doing such a petty thing? Besides, if I have to tell all of Imladris that the great Lord Glorfindel, was on the floor... giggling, I will, to stop you from doing this."
Lovely, blackmail would surely do the charm.
Glorfindel snorted at the very thought, and had a hard time to keep from being immersed in those very same giggles. But he managed a dark glare instead. It might be true – though he could not remember the event quite clearly, he had no doubt that he had been giggling on the floor. Yet the lord Glorfindel – as old as the hills – had been drunk many times before, and was caught in some surprisingly sticky situations. So long as he kept his wits about him for more than three minutes...
"Do you think your father would believe such a thing, Elrohir?" he asked, almost chidingly, as if he was scolding a young – no, an infant hobbit. "I am not giggling now – am I?"
Oh, how he felt like laughing at the look on Elrohir's face!
"I—I could blackmail Elladan into saying he saw you as well. I could blackmail anyone... even you, if I had to." He smiled in an arrogant manner, feeling his usual cocky nature coming back once more, and even went so far as to pluck a golden hair from the Elf's head.
"You see? With this one bit of hair, I could plant it by the broken vase or even better! I could plant it in the wine cellar. And then, my dear Glorfindel," He pointed at his sleeve, where there were slight, yet ever- there markings of where the Elven lord's fingers had been while dragging him along. "There is this proof, that you indeed did drag me, thus winning my case." He nodded triumphantly, raising a dark brow. Had that made... any sense at all? Probably not, but it made him sound smart.
The elven seneschal was now far less than amused. His patience failing him, he took a step towards Elrohir, once again taking advantage of his superior strength, height, and – under normal circumstances – intelligence. He yanked his hair back out of Elrohir's hand, snatched a few of the twin's own dark strands, and then grinned in triumph.
"Ha! Now I can plant you – to – hmm. Perhaps just outside the door to the Hall of Fire where Estel and Arwen have been ... ... ... speaking with each other this morning? Speak not of blackmailing one who has been blackmailing others since his birth! Remember not how Erestor was blamed for --" he blinked, realizing that perhaps he was saying something he shouldn't be saying. He shrugged. Next he pointed to his robes. "Covered in mud! Proof that you've been pushing me around, young Elrohir. I did that –"he pointed at his arm. "Only from sheer defense."
Little did he know it, but by using his brain the effects of the alcohol began to become less and less. If Elrohir did not act soon, he would be faced with a very sober, and very annoyed elf of Gondolin.
If any bit of sense or intelligence remained in him, Elrohir probably would've stopped now and accepted that Elrond would yell at him for a while, and then ship him off to the library... or if luck had abandoned him, off to the Grey Havens for a while. No. Not Elrohir. His pride and arrogance just made him be even mouthier.
"Who's to say, then, it wasn't Elladan supposedly outside that door... which he probably is any way, and not me?" He crossed his arms, puffing out his chest to look more... Mean. "Oh yes, I always push around Elves, just for a sheer fun of it. And yet, that's odd. I wasn't the one rolling on the floor giggling, and obviously past the line of just 'tipsy'. You—you can't intimidate me!" He exclaimed the latter part, widening grey eyes for further effect.
"And no one touches my hair!"
It could've only been stupidity that made him pluck yet another light colored hair off Glorfindel's head.
That was the last straw - or, well, hair. Glorfindel snarled in anger, and then in a split second he had grabbed a fistful of Elrohir's hair and pushed him back against the wall. Not that he was hurting the son of Elrond in any way - but he wanted to prove, once and for all, that he, the lord Glorfindel, elven captain and Elrond's old friend and seneschal, was not one to receive such cheek.
"You - Elrohir - are indeed the finest example of an impudent whelp I have ever met," he said darkly. "You are either naturally daft or have taken a trip to the wine cellars yourself to have me mistake you for a spoiled humanling prince. And I, Elrohir, will touch your hair as much as I bloody well want to..."
Elrohir simply stared, opening and closing his mouth several times, rather stunned that the drunk Elf had suddenly become so much more... well, sober. After a moment of simply gaping, he shook his head, nodding meekly.
"I-I merely meant that... it's not fair of you... make up such lies about me, that could get me shipped off to Elbereth only knows where! I was only trying to get back at Elladan." He murmured, looking more like an Elfling being scolded.
"The days are dark. I wouldn't truly blackmail you." Well, perhaps he might've before, but when a shadow was spreading over the land. "And eh... I only wanted your hair because it's... eh... shiny?"
o_O