Lost Tales of Gondolin by darthfingon

Greed

Ecthelion and Duilin burst through the doors to the banquet hall just in time to see that everyone was nearly finished with the main course.

"Sorry," Ecthelion whispered as slunk behind the row of chairs to find his seat.

"Sorry," Duilin echoed, following him.  "Sorry.  Sorry."

At the head of the table, Turgon spared them one look of annoyance before returning to his conversation with Egalmoth.

"Sorry," Ecthelion said again, bumping Rôg's elbow as he squeezed into his chair.  "Lost track of time.  Can you pass the egg tarts, please?"

"No," said Rôg.

"...No?"

"None left."

Ecthelion and Duilin exchanged a stunned look, and Duilin leaned forward to speak to Rôg.  "But those are meant to be the centrepiece dish tonight, special for Idril's birthday!"

"And they were, twenty minutes ago.  But Salgant's already finished off the lot of them.  It's nothing less than you deserve for being late.  Here; have some peas."

Dejected, Ecthelion and Duilin filled their plates with peas and mutton and some beet dish that neither of them particularly liked, all the while glaring at Salgant across the table.  He grinned back at them and rubbed his broad belly.

"The gluttonous ass probably did it on purpose," hissed Duilin.

"I wouldn't put it past him," said Ecthelion.  "And I was really looking forward to those egg tarts, too."

~

Later that night, after dessert and cordial had been served and once the musicians and tumblers had come out to entertain the assembly, Duilin noticed that Idril looked pale.  And she was not the only one.  Several ladies of the court and not a few gentlemen seemed uncomfortable in their seats.  Some squirmed, some wiped their hands over their pasty faces, and some even held their hands over their middles.  As the entertainment progressed, more and more people began to fall ill, until the entire hall was filled with moaning, writhing Elves who had collapsed to the floor or draped themselves over their chairs.

"What in the world..." said Ecthelion.

Duilin frowned.  "I'd better fetch a healer."

He ran from the hall and returned several minutes later with a stern-looking woman in tow.  The healer asked a few questions of those who could stop moaning long enough to speak, and interrogated the cooks for information on what foods had been served.  When she returned to Duilin and Ecthelion, she was shaking her head.

"Improperly prepared egg tarts," she said.  "You two are very lucky you didn't eat any.  All of the other dishes seem to be fine, but everyone who ate the egg tarts is in for a rough night.  It'll only get worse before it gets better."

Duilin and Ecthelion looked at each other, then turned together to look at Salgant.  He lay on the floor nearby, clutching his middle and whimpering like a dog.  His face had taken on a distinctly greenish tinge.

"Do you suppose we should thank him for inadvertently saving us?" asked Ecthelion.

"No," said Duilin.  "Let's just go before the vomiting starts."