Chapter Text
The Last Siege of Imladris
A sequel to The Girdle of the Shire
https://images.app.goo.gl/CaA6M2uQUxjnDgdb9
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'The Eldar did not eat these things [mushrooms]. The Folk of Haleth, taught by the Drúedain, made some use of them at need;... The other Atani eschewed them,..., for few among them had the knowledge to distinguish the wholesome from the bad, and the less wise called them ork-plants and supposed them to have been cursed and blighted by Morgoth.'
- J.R.R.Tolkien (edited by C.F.Hostetter), The Nature of Middle-earth, Part III, XIV Note on the Consumption of Mushrooms
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About one month later
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The Bruinen river thundered merrily along under the late Summer sun. She was very much enjoying the heat of the day and she recieved the elves who came to her banks to swim and cool off as if they were her own children. She ran her cool water through their hair and held their heads up so that they would not be in danger in her swift currents.
High above her rocky banks, on the Western shore, where clustered the sloping slate roofs of the Last Homely House, a sprawling and orderly vegetable garden had been built right up to the cliffs. The summer had been long and hot and the tomatoes were beginning to weigh heavy upon the vines. Bees and butterflies made their wriggling flights across the clear sky and a whistled gardening song could just be heard over the music of the river.
A tall, golden haired elf warrior stood deep in the ranks of tomato plants. the wind swept up and he braced his straw hat onto his head with one hand as he held a shiny red tomato up to the sun.
He drew a knife, fancier than was called for, and cut the fruit in half in his palm. The glistening pale red meat dripped rivuletsof juice down his muscled forearm. He observed the two hemispheres clinically, quirking one corner of his mouth. He bit into one half of the fruit, and chewing and wiping juice from his face, finished it in two bites. It tasted of sunshine and good health.
“Perfect.” Glorfindel nodded in approval, marveling at the poetry of nature. Wiping his mouth, he crouched to get a closer look at the plants, pushing aside rough leaves, pulling up bits of grass and other weeds that would otherwise compete for nutrients.
Something caught his eye as his shadow blocked the bright direct sunlight. It was a glimmer, a trick of the eye perhaps, but in that glimmer was an old memory that chilled the Balrog Slayer to the very bone. Deepening his crouch he looked closely at the underside of his tomato vine. There were tiny bite marks all around the stem. Taking a shaky breath, Glorfindel cupped his hands around to make a shadowed place and frowned deeper and deeper as he saw that the glimmers swam like moving glitter across the bottom of every single leaf.
Standing up to his full height, Glorfindel took a steadying breath. He removed his hat and put it on his chest thoughtfully, looking down at his simple gardening clothes he could now see the tiny motes of light all over his body, had they been there when he had left the house? How far had the infestation already progressed? He would have to quarantine this part of the garden, but that would include himself. He had a duty to warn Lord Elrond of the danger and yet he did not want to risk contaminating the main house. He held up his hand. Tiny shimmering flecks of light stuck to his skin. “Ai Valar," he whispered formulating a battle plan. “we’ve got fairies.”
He looked around him at the other inhabitants of the valley, a warm breeze was playing with his hair and his frown clashed with the mood of the day. He was the only one in the gardens for now, which was a blessing. He could see some elves walking along the footpaths that wound their way up towards the buildings, there was a group of elves swimming further down the river he recognized one of his lieutenants. The frolicking elves had lengths of fabric draped across the bushes drying as they swam. A plan started coming together.
Tossing his hat aside, with a confidence born of many, many years and driven by the bone-deep necessity for immediate action. Glorfindel disrobed. The water, he hoped, would remove most of the creatures. He kicked off his trousers from his ankles all rolled up with his shoes, and immediately dropping his underwear on top of them, the High elf stood radiant in his nudity, his hair trailing in the wind.
With a running jump into the misty waters below him, the lord of the Golden flowers executed a perfect swan dive into the river.
The river caught him joyfully, swinging him down into a deep pool and pulling him back up to the surface. She embraced him like one of her children and her heart was saddened that the elf could not see her in her embodied form. She politely bid the fairies that were crawling all over him to leave, and recognizing a higher magic than their own, they quickly obeyed.
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Erestor struggled to retrieve the book from the highest shelf. He stood as high on the ladder as was safe. The rung pressed his delicate grey moccasins as he kept his balance with very elvish confidence. It was an ancient, oversized leather-bound volume, printed with many detailed etchings and he had to balance to bring it down into his arms.
The afternoon sunlight came pouring in through high windows rich in geometric stained glass. Erestor cracked open the ancient volume, titled Flora and Fauna of Aman. Instantly his countenance stiffened. The first page, which had a purely ornamental image of an Elleth playing a flute in a garden, had been nearly eaten away, little paths dug through the paper in an intentional design of swirling patterns. Drawing his black eyebrows together, the elf turned a few more pages. To his horror the little paths went deeply through the leaves of the book, not only that but it seemed that the volume had been intentionally destroyed. The delicate Tengwar script had been written over by a childish hand making strings of random symbols that were a mockery to true writing. The whole book was filled with glowing specks. As Erestor flipped through the pages with a sense of growing unease, they came loose, zipping around him in the air.
Erestor turned a particularly shredded page with a look of anguish, when suddenly a whole swarm of the glowing specks leaped into his face. Erestor batted at the specks uselessly, but one of them zipped up one of his nostrils. His eyes watered and he felt his whole body spasm to expel the irritation from his sinuses. As the Eldar did not succumb to common illnesses and allergies, he was unprepared for the violence of the sneezing fit and did not properly brace himself.
Erestor knew he was falling a moment before he actually did. His heart leaped into his mouth and time seemed to slow. He reached out to catch himself, when his eyes watered again and an ill timed fit of a sneeze made him just a moment too slow. He felt the ruined book flop out of his hands, and completely missed the ladder as he scrambled for it. With another sneeze and a quiet cry of alarm, the librarian found himself midair.
His skull hit the library floor with a crack like a nut as the shredded book came tumbling down on top of him. A pool of dark blood spread across the white marble tiles, one of his legs trembled. Tiny specks of light danced and giggled around the unconscious librarian playing in his bloody hair with an air of triumph.
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The lord of Imladris had very good reflexes. His hand was flat on the polished veneer of his desk, stretched out where he had slapped it down, terrifying the gentle minstrel standing across from him.
Lindir looked positively scandalized. He held his lyre to his chest like a shield, round grey eyes fixed on his Lord’s hand on the desk. He had just been informing Lord Elrond of the music selections for the feast that would welcome the party that would be arriving soon from the Grey Havens. When, without warning, Lord Elrond had slammed his hand down with all his strength and Lindir squeaked with surprise. Had he said something to upset his lord?
After a moment of uncomfortable silence where they both stared at the outstretched hand holding their breaths, lord Elrond lifted his fingers one by one, peering under his palm with furrowed brows.
He glanced up at the terrified minstrel with a crooked smile that was returned with raised eyebrows.
“I got it,” he turned his hand towards himself and then showed Lindir his palm triumphantly. There was a glowing speck in the center of it.
“What is it, my lord?” the minstrel asked, holding up the instrument protectively.
“Fairies.” He ground his teeth, “I’m sorry Lindir, but there won’t be a feast,” he sighed, “Imladris is going into quarantine,” the minstrels mouth fell open, “go find Glorfindel, tell him it’s an emergency,” Lindir’s teeth slammed shut.
“Yes, sir.” He nodded.
“And find Elladan and El…” he added as an afterthought but was interrupted by a frantic knock at the door.
“Enter!” He sat up straight in his chair, the elegant door opened a crack and a worried looking Elleth poked her head through she looked winded and panicked and before she said a word he knew that someone was injured.
“My Lord, Lord Erestor fell off a ladder in the library,” was the blunt message and her eyes told Elrond that it was serious.