Inebriation in Mirkwood

Disclaimer: don't own them. Never have done. Never will do.

A/N: look out for a sequel to this, called "I Did WHAT?!" set just after the return to Rivendell, in which Elrond discovers exactly what he did when he was drunk in Mirkwood.

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Chapter 6 (epilogue)

Glorfindel awoke the following morning to birdsong outside his window. He automatically smiled at the sound; he did like birdsong. It was far better than squabbling twins outside his door. Oh, he did enjoy his life being twin-free.

Well, I do love the little terrors really, he admitted to himself. Just not when I am yet again the target of their havoc-wreaking minds. Surely that was reasonable?

He lay still for several more minutes, enjoying the peace that could only be found far from the House of Elrond, allowing himself to wake fully.

The previous afternoon and evening's festivities had been great fun, filled with music, song and dance. The birth of an Elfling was always cause for celebration, particularly a royal one. It is just when they get a little older that the trouble begins, the Balrog slayer reflected wryly. The best thing about another person's children is that you can relinquish them to their parents when they begin to get irritable.

Deciding that now was the time to stir, he rolled (elegantly) out of bed and briskly washed and dressed. He was ready for his breakfast – which was served in the dining room, not the Great Hall, as that was reserved for important feasts alone.

Arriving in the aforementioned room, he noticed that only a handful of Elves were present. Mentally, he ticked them off – Gildor, an ever-cheerful and bubbly Lindir, Rúmil, and a few Mirkwood and Lórien Elves. There was no sign of King Thranduil, who was in all likelihood taking advantage of a lie-in (somewhat hard to come by when one had a small child). Or possibly nursing a hangover, although this was unlikely – it was highly improbable that Olwen would stand for such a thing, from what Glorfindel knew of her.

There was also no sign of Elrond. Sitting down opposite Gildor (who appeared rather bleary-eyed), Glorfindel smirked wickedly. He was sure that the Lord of Imladris would have a horrific 'hangover' this morning, and the Balrog slayer would have no sympathy with him if that were to prove the case. In fact, he planned to take said Lord his breakfast – his bedroom door did need to be unlocked, after all, and Glorfindel was still in possession of the key. "Morning, Gildor!" he said cheerily. "How are you this fine morning?"

Gildor blinked slowly at him. "The wine here is noticeably more potent than that of Rivendell," he replied thickly. "I am feeling the effects of it this morning. Distinctly."

Glorfindel smiled sympathetically. "Yes, it does tend to have that effect."

"Why're you so chirpy this morning?"

"Why? Because the sun is shining, the birds are singing and I am not suffering from what Men call a 'hangover'."

Gildor scowled at him. "It is all good and well for some, then," he muttered grouchily.

Glorfindel smiled and nodded agreeably. "Indeed it is."

Gildor looked as though he were about to throw his slice of toast at the chirpy, non-hangover-suffering Balrog slayer, but then appeared to think better of it as he lowered his breakfast. "Lindir had twice as much wine as myself, yet he shows no signs of a hangover."

"This is Lindir we are discussing," Glorfindel reminded him. "He could have fifty glasses of wine and not suffer the effects."

"This is true."

They finished their breakfast in silence and then Glorfindel rose. "I will take Elrond his breakfast."

"You are familiar with the location of the kitchens?"

Glorfindel nodded. "It is no problem. The problem will be our dear lord. He had entirely too much to drink yesterday."

"He is not the only one," muttered Gildor ruefully.

Glorfindel departed the room and found the kitchens, where a cheery female Elf greeted him. "Good morning, Lord Glorfindel. Can I assist you at all?"

"I have come to collect breakfast for Lord Elrond."

The Elf frowned. "Is he unable to make it to the dining hall?"

Glorfindel nodded, his mouth twisted into a smirk. "Oh, most definitely."

"What would you take to him?"

"What is there?"

"Toast with a variety of spreads, porridge, fruit, some cold meats and the option of what Men refer to as a 'fry-up'."

Glorfindel's smirk increased in its wickedness. "Oh, I think he would like all of it."

The female Elf blinked. "All of it?"

"Oh yes. All of it."

"If you are willing to wait a few minutes, it shall be done. I would appreciate it if you could prepare a tray, though."

"It is no problem." Glorfindel stood at the table, singing softly to himself while he waited. He only hoped that the girl did not notice him partaking in what the twins would call 'testing' various items of food. This is good food, he mused.

"One tray for Lord Elrond. We would like the tray and utensils returned when they are finished with."

Glorfindel gulped nervously. He hoped that that would be the case; the plates looked worryingly breakable.

A short while later, he reached Elrond's room, key in one hand, tray in the other, and unlocked the door as quietly as he could. Hesitantly poking his head around the door, he was relieved to note that the lord of Imladris was fast asleep.

Glorfindel winced as Elrond's loud, alcohol-induced snores assaulted his sensitive ears. Not even Lindir snored that loudly. Said Elf Lord was lying flat on his back, right leg and arm hanging over the edge of the bed, left leg stuck straight out in front of him and left arm laid across his stomach. He lay on top of the covers. He was still in his (now dry) clothes from the previous day – which were now horribly crumpled.

Glorfindel winced again. Celebrían is not going to be amused, he thought, a wave of sickening panic washing over him. Celebrían in a bad mood was to be avoided unless one was suicidal. Something that Glorfindel currently was not.

He placed the tray on the chest-of-drawers and approached Elrond, tentatively placing one hand on his shoulder and giving him a gentle shake. "Elrond, time to be waking."

No response.

Glorfindel repeated the act, though more firmly this time. A vague half-groan emanated from Elrond, but nothing more. Third time lucky, thought the Balrog slayer grimly. This time the shake was verging on the violent.

"Mmm-hmmph."

Elrond rolled over onto his left side, away from Glorfindel, his right arm nearly catching the alert Elf in the face. "Not time t'get up yet, Kelly," he mumbled.

Glorfindel frowned; what sort of a name was Kelly?

"The children'll let us know when t'get up."

Oh! Comprehension dawned on the golden-haired Elf; 'Kelly' must be a nickname for 'Celebrían'. Potentially useful information… Gritting his teeth, Glorfindel racked his brains (frequently interrupted by Elrond's overloud snores) for something that would work as his eyes scanned the room. Erestor's words came back to him, on how to wake the twins. Strip the bed.

So he did.

Violently. He was determined to not hold back.

Unfortunately it did not have the desired effect.

Elrond continued to snore.

Glorfindel was despairing now; what in Middle-earth could he do?

His gaze came to rest upon a pitcher of water near the bed. He tested it. Icy-cold. That's interesting.

In one swift motion, he grasped the full pitcher and swung it above Elrond, where he relieved said pitcher of its contents by upending it over Elrond. The twins would be proud of me.

An unearthly shriek was let out by a very startled – and now very awake – Elrond. He sat bolt upright in what was left of his bed.

Glorfindel cringed, frozen to the spot.

"WHO DARED DO SUCH A THING?" howled Elrond in absolute fury. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of an extremely guilty-looking Balrog-slayer (who still held the pitcher in his hands). "YOU?! Glorfindel, HOW COULD YOU?"

"I – I had to wake you somehow…"

"So you soaked me in icy-cold water?!"

Glorfindel screwed his eyes shut. "Er…yes?" he offered.

Elrond shrieked again. Glorfindel winced yet again – something that he was not enjoying doing.

"Why soak me?"

"Well, I did attempt the more conventional method of shaking you," replied Glorfindel, looking – and feeling – distinctly peeved, "but you remained stubbornly asleep. I then proceeded to strip you of your bedclothes – but that had no effect either. What else was I supposed to do?"

Elrond was silent. Then he groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"What ails you?" inquired Glorfindel.

Elrond moaned again and lay back down, pulling the pillow over his head. "Go 'way."

"Excuse me?"

"My head."

"Oh. What about it?" Glorfindel had his suspicions, but he thought it would be more interesting if he could get Elrond to admit to it himself.

"It's pounding. It hurts…It feels as though the twins were both assailing me with hammers, at the same time…Auuuggghhh!" He groaned again.

"Anything else?"

"I feel sick."

"I see." Glorfindel knew he sounded entirely too cheerful and like he was preaching, but he was unable to resist, given the situation. He adopted his lecturing tone, more frequently used with the Imladris terrorists that went by the names of Elladan and Elrohir. "You are suffering from what Men label a 'hangover'. It is the result of one having consumed too much alcohol in too short a space of time. It –"

He was interrupted by a pillow being flung in his general direction. He hastily decided that that was his cue to leave. "Breakfast is on the drawers," he informed Elrond.

He ran.

He did not stop running until he turned a corner, skidded and nearly collided with Thranduil. The King reached out to steady him, then regarded him quizzically. "You seem a little flustered."

"Avoid Elrond," Glorfindel advised him. "He is in the deepest throes of a hangover."

"I see. I shall bear that in mind. Doe he require something to ease his discomfort?"

"Possibly, yes, but I do not wish him to have anything in the hope that it will teach him to not drink too much in the future."

"Ah." Thranduil's eyes twinkled in amusement. "I shall steer well clear."

"You are a wise man."

"Thank you. Where were you headed?"

"Away from Elrond."

"Then come and see the baby."

Glorfindel could feel the colour drain from his face. "Er…well…That is a lovely offer, but I have just recalled that I need to be…somewhere…in a very short time…I do regret not being able to come…"

Thranduil arched one eyebrow. "Indeed? Then I shall not keep you." He turned and continued on his way.

Glorfindel, shaking now, returned to breakfast. Anything to avoid Elrond.

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A fortnight later, they returned to Imladris. Elrond had recovered from his hangover. Glorfindel had been made to promise, on pain of death, that the incident at the feast and the subsequent hangover was to never reach the ears of his wife (Valar forbid). Glorfindel did not blame him. Celebrían did scare him sometimes.

The only reason that Glorfindel agreed to not mention the incident was because otherwise Elrond would reveal his Big Embarrassing Secret – that he was mortally afraid of frogs. (Well, so would anybody else be if Celeborn had put three in their bed during their childhood, the Balrog slayer frequently thought crossly). This information, in the hands of the Imladris Terrorists, would be fatal. So Glorfindel agreed to the deal.

And Celebrían and the twins need never know.

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The End

Author thanks for chapter 5 reviews:

Haldir's Heart and Soul, Deana, Athena Diagon Cat, Tyrian Woodrose, Aerlalaith, Lady of the Twilight Woods, silivren, Coolio02, crazy-haldir-fancier

Banana nut muffin: glad you liked ickle baby Legolas!

A Monkey's Harp: I'm assuming the 'Mr. Anderson' thing is a reference to The Matrix (a trilogy of films I have yet to see)?

Radioactive Bubblegum: (gratefully accepts sweets and responds with Fizzing Whizzbees, an Acid Pop and some Love Hearts) What are Pop Rocks?

Prettyfoot: I totally agree!

Lucidity: I think he's too drunk to do anything more than sleep it off now!!

Akstinger: all from my personal experience at university (I always have Glorfindel's role as I rarely drink alcohol, have never been drunk, and never intend to be so). And Glorfindel will have his revenge!!

Mirielle: Celebrían is not allowed to find out…

Uineniel: I have an extremely twisted sense of humour! I watch lots of Monty Python. My father has the same twisted sense of humour, And Stevie from the Saddle Club books has been highly influential as well, given her penchant for pranks!

Randa-Chan: (blushes at praise) I'm flattered. Wow. Never mind anyone else drunk – could you imagine Erestor drunk? Sorry, Glorfindel, what was that? You got Erestor drunk? When? Can I tell that tale…?