The Army of the North by darthfingon

Weasels

Gil-galad and Elrond enlist the help of Erestor to out-weasel Oropher, who, despite having only arrived in Rivendell a few hours earlier, has already overstayed his welcome.

Read Weasels

 

The arrival of a friendly army causes nearly as much chaos as one invading.  I would know.  I have been on the receiving end of both.

I stood on the terrace at Gil-galad's side that summer morning when Oropher's army amicably invaded our valley.  The King's mood was high and I knew it was only an overbearing sense of propriety that kept him from singing for joy at the sight of it: thousands of soldiers filing down the narrow road, parading standards and waving flags and blowing their trumpets in a wild ruckus.  The spectacle was greater by far than either of us had dared to hope.

"And that is only half of them!" Gil-galad called to Elendil, who stood a little apart from us with his silent, stony-faced son and grandsons.  "An equal number will march south from Eryn Galen to join Amdír in Lórien."

Elendil answered with a slow nod.  I watched as he tilted his head to the side, his eyes scanning the long, rippling snake of the army in motion, and I knew what he was thinking.  In his mind, he added what he saw to the numbers already assembled, his and mine and Gil-galad's, and he asked himself: Will it be enough?

"This will be a fine force, all told," Gil-galad said to me, as if he had heard the question that echoed day and night in both Elendil's head and my own.  He put his hand on my shoulder in a casual, comforting gesture.  "All of the free kingdoms of Ennor will be combined, Elrond.  We must be triumphant."

"Yes," I heard myself answer, parroting back what he wanted to hear.  "I am sure we will be."

He nodded a little too emphatically.  It made me wonder if he needed to convince himself as well as the rest of the land that we rode to certain victory.  "Good.  Good.  Now we should go down and meet them.  Which one do you suppose is their King?"

Glancing down at the group of riders about to cross the bridge, I could pick out Oropher with no trouble.  I had never met the man, but the rider at the front of the procession drew my immediate attention and I knew him at once.  The hood of his cloak was pushed back and his unbound, silver-blond hair whipped in the wind as he turned this way and that, gesturing to those who rode behind and shouting orders that I could not hear.  He wore the same drab riding clothes as everyone else, save for a hint of something rich and red that showed just beneath the edges of his collar and cuffs, and a gleam of a jewel on one finger.  "There," I said to Gil-galad.  "In the front, giving orders."

"Are you sure?  He doesn't look like much."

"No, but it's him.  See: there's his son just behind him to the left.  Golden hair peeking out from his hood."

"I'll take your word for it," said Gil-galad.  "They all look the same to me."  He started toward the stairs, pausing only to invite Elendil and the Princes to come down with us all together.  We would make a lovely little tableau in the courtyard to greet the Sindarin King.

"One thing I have heard about Oropher," I explained as we walked, "and I have heard this from several of our messengers who have gone to Eryn Galen, is that he finds it thrilling to be mistaken for a commoner.  He likes confusing people and wrong-footing them when they take him to be some insignificant soldier.  I have no doubt that's what he's trying to pull now, with him and his son and all their men wearing the same garb.  He wants to start this meeting on his own terms and embarrass both of us in a way that will appear to everyone else to be a grand jest instead of the sleight it is.  Be careful.  He may act the rustic fool, but everyone tells me the same thing: he's as cunning as a weasel.  Don't underestimate him."

"I won't.  I have you here to tell me what to do."  He flashed me an easy grin, which I found more annoying than reassuring.  "If he's a weasel, then you are an owl, Elrond.  Wise and stern."

We walked the rest of the way in regal silence.  Outside in the courtyard, a throng of curious observers had already gathered in hope of a glimpse of the strange, foreign king who had come to their valley.  They bowed at Gil-galad's arrival, and he quickly bade them stand at ease.  I took my place on the steps to greet our guests.  I expected Gil-galad to stand with me, but he had slipped off to the side, melting into a cluster of well dressed lords at my left hand.  Casually, he lifted the crown from his head and tucked it into the front of his robe.

"What are you doing?" I murmured.

"Fighting weasel with weasel," he replied.

There was no time to try to change his mind.  A group of nearly a dozen Silvan cavalrymen rode into the courtyard with neither fanfare nor introduction, looking as blithely complacent as a party of courtiers returning home after an uneventful jaunt through the country.  They stopped and dismounted where they pleased, and set to work unsaddling their horses before speaking so much as a word.

I could no longer see Oropher.  All of the riders had their hoods drawn up, and if Oropher stood among them he had taken care to tuck any hint of a kingly red shirt back beneath his leather riding jerkin.  I saw no jewels on any fingers.  But as they moved through their ritual of tending to the horses, I could see that four of the men had pale, silver hair, and that one in particular wore a belt holding a knife of simple but elegant craftsmanship.  He wore what looked like a plain, silver band on one finger, but kept his hand clenched closed so I could not see what his palm held.  His face looked similar to that of the king I had seen from afar.

"Welcome, Oropher of Eryn Galen," I said, stepping toward him.

He glanced over his shoulder at me, and visibly startled to find my gaze already upon him.  "Thank you," he said after a grudging pause.   "I am honoured to be your guest.  Elrond of Imladris."

He guessed correctly, too, though I had not even realised until that moment how I hoped he might mistake me for Gil-galad.  It was a foolish hope.  I knew too much of my mortal heritage showed in my face.

I turned my attention to the youth with golden hair.  "Prince Thranduil."

Thranduil, unlike his father, looked relieved that the ruse had been so easily overcome.  He bowed to me with good grace.

Once Oropher was discovered, he did not bother to finish with his unpacking, but handed his horse off to the nearest cavalryman and came forward to clasp my hand in greeting.  I introduced him to Elendil, Isildur, and Isildur's sons in turn, and suggested that all of us and Thranduil should head indoors to escape the grey sky that threatened rain at any moment.  Food and wine would be brought to one of my private sitting rooms to tide us over until supper.  There, undisturbed, we could begin the tiresome business of planning our war.

I had almost succeeded in herding Oropher safely through the doors when he paused to glance back at the line of courtiers turned out to welcome him.  He met Gil-galad's eyes with a small smile.  "Will you not be joining us, your Most Serene Highness?"

Gil-galad, a dour look on his face at his failure in weaselling, climbed the stairs and fell sulkily into step ahead of me.  His delight at Oropher's arrival had been short-lived.

~

When the Númenóreans first arrived, I had expected to like them, and instead found I did not.  It was not that I especially disliked them, only that I had a specific image in my head that they did not fill.  I had been anticipating Men like those I had known long ago: Men like my brother, easy and affable and honest and fair.  They were, after all, heirs to the line of Elros.  Instead, the Men I found were quiet, solemn, and seemed almost uncomfortable in their own skins.  It took me some time to guess that they were embarrassed to be in the presence of Elves.  And then I thought that perhaps they had anticipated finding something else in me, too.  Without even knowing, we had mutually disappointed each other.  Our interactions were polite and nothing more.

Oropher was something entirely different.  I had anticipated disliking him.  I expected to find him contrary, stubborn, and irritable for irritability's sake.  But Oropher in person proved to be very different from Oropher in reputation.  He was assertive enough to command a certain level of respect, but retained an air of openness that made talking to him seem perfectly natural, as if we were old friends. 

He chattered in my ear as we made our way to the meeting room, speaking of inconsequential things like mud on the road and how much his rear end hurt from the long ride out of the east.  "Oh, good," he said as I opened the door.  "Cushions.  I was afraid you'd have hard, wooden chairs.  This looks very nice."

"Please, have a seat," Gil-galad offered.  He no longer looked as if he had swallowed something vile, but he had put on what I liked to think of as his 'king voice', which always meant that, no matter what he did or said, he was only doing and saying it because it was his royal duty.  He had also switched to speaking in some archaic accent that better matched Oropher's clipped words and flattened vowels.  He sounded like Maglor.

"Thank you, sir," Oropher answered, and I heard that he, too, had a 'king voice'.  He sat down on a very padded bench along the window, with Thranduil sitting next to him. 

Gil-galad took the large chair by the fire opposite.  Immediately, I claimed the chair to Gil-galad's right, leaving one free chair between Gil-galad and Thranduil and two benches between and Oropher and me.  The Númenóreans were forced to separate.  I found them easier to handle that way, when they were unable to huddle with their heads together and whisper into each others' beards.  Isildur and his sons took the benches, and Elendil sat in the chair.

"Now that we are alone," said Gil-galad, "please allow me, along with my trusted commander, Elrond, to welcome you and your son to Imladris."

"Thanks," said Oropher.  He reached forward to grab a handful of old grapes from the decorative bowl on the table between us.

"Elrond's housemaster has arranged six bedrooms, two with adjoining sitting rooms, for your use during your stay.  You may allot them to your captains as you see fit.  Your men may use the field beside the archery range for their tents."

"How many fit in each room?"

Gil-galad blinked.  "I beg your pardon?"

"How many people can sleep in each room?"

Confused, Gil-galad looked to me.

"There is only one bed in each room," I answered, "and most have one sofa, though these are small and unfit for sleeping.  So, er, one person, really."

"But how large is each room?" Oropher persisted through a mouthful of grapes.  "Say if we want to put bedrolls on the floor."

"Oh... well..."  I looked around at our meeting room, trying to gauge its size against the guest quarters.  "Perhaps a little smaller than this room?  The largest might be about this size, but I think most are smaller.  And the sitting rooms the same.  As the bedrooms," I clarified as Oropher opened his mouth again.

Nodding, Oropher spat grape pips into his hand.  "I guess that'll do."

"Splendid," said Gil-galad, though the tone in his voice by no means matched what he spoke.  A long, uncomfortable silence followed, during which Ciryon tried to discreetly scratch his nose and Oropher took another handful of grapes.

"Was your journey from Eryn Galen very difficult?" Elendil asked, doing his best to break the tension.

"Oh, yes," answered Oropher, perfectly cheerful.  "Terrible.  Fording the Anduin, crossing the Hithaeglir, poor roads, lots of mud, sitting on the back of a horse for twelve hours a day..."

Elendil either smiled or grimaced.  I could not tell which.  "It does sound like a trial," he said.  "I was under the impression that you would be joining us in Lórinand instead of attempting such a large detour to meet us here."

"I thought of exactly the same thing myself," said Oropher.  "Why in the name of the good stars would I bother bringing half my army pointlessly over the mountains only to go all the way back and end up nearly where we began?  I've asked myself that every day since we departed."

Elendil waited for an explanation, but none appeared to be forthcoming.  "And?" he prodded.

"Well, it's been such a long time since I've been ordered to do anything by a Golodhren king that I was starting to become nostalgic.  How could I refuse the summons?"

"The summons-" Gil-galad began, but stopped at the warning look I flashed him.  I could see his jaw working as he ground his teeth together, but he was able to contain his anger and not rise to Oropher's bait.  "My scribe must have worded the letter poorly," he said, sounding calmer.  "I had intended for you to journey south and meet us there, as our Lord Elendil suggested, rather than have you travel so far out of your way.  I must apologise for any inconvenience this misunderstanding has caused you.  Nonetheless, both Elrond and I are beyond pleased to see you and your army here in person, and we will certainly take advantage of this good fortune and use the time we have to make firm our plans."

Oropher smiled widely at him in the most insincere manner I had ever seen.  "You know, you look astoundingly like your grandfather."

"Er... thank you?" said Gil-galad.

The  smile remained, but Oropher's eyes hardened.  It was clear he had not meant what he said as a compliment.

"Looks like rain," Elendil offered in another feeble effort to dispel the thick tension in the air.  All of us but Oropher immediately glanced to the windows, feigning great interest in the grey clouds and cool wind.

"Ah, that reminds me," Oropher said, looking in my direction.  "Where's the pot?"

"The..."

"The pot.  I've been on a horse all morning without opportunity for a piss."

I could feel heat and colour rising to my face, somehow embarrassed at the request on Oropher's behalf, as if I had been the one to announce in front of two foreign kings that I needed to relieve myself.  "Right.  The... uh...  This way, please.  By your leave?" I asked Gil-galad.

He rolled his eyes.  "Go."

I looked to Thranduil in a silent invitation for him to come along, but he had his head down, staring intently at his hands in his lap and looking very much as if he wanted to disappear.  So I left him where he sat and took Oropher to the nearest guest bedroom with a privy closet and pot.

"Thanks," he said, clapping me on the back.  "No need to wait."

Thusly dismissed, I did not wait, but returned at once to the little council room.  In the half-minute I had been gone, Elendil had already stolen my chair.

"I'm sorry," Gil-galad whispered as I took the vacated seat between him and Thranduil.  "I tried..."

I shook my head.  It did not matter, and a chair was hardly worth starting a quarrel with the Númenóreans, and least of all with Isildur, whose expressionless eyes and unsmiling face never failed to send a chill down my neck.

When Oropher returned after what seemed to be a longer than necessary absence, his red shirt was once again showing at his collar and cuffs, and the jewel on his ring had been turned back outward.  "Thank you, Master Elrond, for your gracious hospitality," he said as he resumed his seat.  All hint of the earlier over-familiarity had disappeared.  He had transformed into a king.  "Now, shall we start our council by looking at the maps?  I must confess myself unfamiliar with the terrain south of here and the road we will be taking."

And so did the King of Eryn Galen take command of the conversation and thereby dominate the rest of the day.

~

"You wrote that letter yourself," I said as soon as Gil-galad and I were alone.  "I read the fair copy.  There was nothing in there at all that could have possibly been misunderstood as a summons for Oropher to appear in Imladris.

Gil-galad had already poured himself a large glass of wine, and he leaned with his eyes closed against the window frame.  "I know.  But then he wrote in return that he and his army would set out to join us here as soon as the snow began to melt in the mountain passes, and I replied expressing my joy that he would take the time to travel all this way..."  He shook his head.  "I should never have done that.  I should have told him to take the easier road and meet us in the south.  But the idea of seeing such a great force assembled here...  In truth, I can't say I'm sorry they've come."

"And now you're stuck with him."  I tried to sound as light as possible to lift Gil-galad's mood.  It seemed to work; he opened his eyes and smiled wryly at me.

"Yes, now I'm stuck with him.  What is he doing tonight, anyhow?  Will his Majesty require entertainment?"

"No, tonight I believe he plans to see how many bodies can be stuffed into each of the guest bedrooms.  It should take all night.  Tomorrow, however, we will need to plan.  The Númenóreans-"

"Elendil and his family," Gil-galad corrected.  He hated it when I referred to them collectively as 'the Númenóreans', claiming he found it disrespectful.

I continued without pause: "-have planned a function with their captains for the morning and will be unavailable for any councils.  I suggest you avoid meeting with Oropher until they too can be present, otherwise Isildur will grouse that the Elves are excluding him."

Gil-galad frowned in warning.  "Elrond..."

"In the afternoon, we have the welcoming banquet.  That should keep Oropher well entertained, so you only need to find something for him to do in the morning."

"Why do you dislike Isildur so much?"

I tried to pretend I had not heard, but Gil-galad refused to say anything more on the matter of Oropher until I had answered his question.  He stared at me with a look reminiscent of a parent waiting for a confession to naughtiness.  "I don't dislike him," I said.  "I just don't like him.  There's a difference."

"I fail to see it."

"Do you like moths?"

"I... what?"

"Do you like moths?" I repeated.

He shook his head.  "Nobody likes moths."

"Do you dislike them?"

His sigh was full of long-suffering exasperation.  "Elrond, if you're comparing Isildur to a moth..."

"Yes, I am," I said.  "You don't particularly like moths, but nor do you dislike them.  They simply exist and must be borne as a part of nature.  Isildur is the same.  He exists and must be borne as a part of this war on Sauron.  I do not dislike him.  I have no strong feelings about him one way or the other.   At times I find him to be a minor inconvenience, similar to a moth fluttering around a lamp and casting shadows while I'm trying to read at night, but for the most part I'm content to ignore him and let him go about his mothly business as he sees fit."

"It would be within reason for me to tell Elendil you said that," growled Gil-galad.

"Please do.  Then, he will tell Isildur, and Isildur will confront me, and we will have a duel.  And he will very likely beat me, and then I will have a good reason for disliking him.  And you'll be happy."

Downing the rest of his wine in one mouthful, Gil-galad muttered into his cup something that sounded like, "Now you're being ridiculous..."

"Shall we finish our discussion of Oropher?"

He waved his hand in a motion like flicking away a bug, and poured more wine.  "Oh, just fob him off on Erestor."

The decision was sound for reasons I could guess on my own, but still I asked.  "Why Erestor?"

"My earlier attempt to fight weasel with weasel failed," said Gil-galad.   "Tomorrow I will need a weasellier weasel."

~

Erestor, with his sharp nose and sly eyes, even looked a little like a weasel.  He was, though, wearing an unweaselly and excessively fine robe of deep red trimmed with a mass of orange braid and jewels all about his shoulders.

"Darling!" I called as I approached him on the path that led to the garden.  "You needn't have dressed up just for me!"

He shot me a sneering smile.  "If I wanted to dress for you, I'd have worn nothing at all.  Everyone knows your tastes tend toward the crude and obvious."

Thus the weaselling began.  "And you are so much more refined and subtle?"

"Ah, Elrond, I am so subtle that you wouldn't even notice me in your bed at all.  It would be as if I were never there.  Which, come to think of it, is exactly the truth."

"Charming," I said.  "Kindly go drown yourself in the Bruinen."

"Your wit astounds me," he answered.  "I shall endeavour to follow that instruction at my earliest convenience.  Now, where's this Oropher?"

"And your skills of observation astound me.  Do you think I'm hiding him behind my back?  He's not here yet."

With a shake of the head, he sighed.  "Elrond, please stop trying so hard.  It's awkward and pitiful, like watching a small child trying to carry a load that is far too large.  Leave the cutting banter to the grown-ups."

I replied with the age-old retort of those being unjustly ordered about by their peers.  "Make me."

Despite what a casual observer might surmise from our constant needling, Erestor and I are actually good friends.  I have been told he is much nicer to me when I am not in the room, and I know I like him far more when we are nowhere near each other.

"So do we have a plan?" asked Erestor.

"Yes.  I have invited Oropher to spend the morning walking with me.  As soon as he arrives, I will tell him about the marvellous coincidence of meeting you here, and how I have invited you to come along with us.  Then, after some minutes, I will suddenly remember that I have to go do something, and leave him to your mercy."

"And my parameters are...?"

"I don't know," I said.  "Do whatever you like."

Erestor shook his head.  "No, I need to know exactly how far I should take this.  Gil-galad said 'annoyed', but I need to know how annoyed.  Am I meant to annoy him mildly so that he's a little grumpy over supper, or should I go all the way to just shy of making him storm off in a deeply offended huff, taking his army with him?"

"Can you start off mild and move on to deeply offensive if the situation warrants?"

"I can try," Erestor replied, sounding dubious, "but you have to realise that those are two completely different tactics..."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," I said.  I had no other choice; I had spotted Oropher coming down the path from the house.  I waved him over and he waved back with friendly enthusiasm, though I could see that he kept his eyes on Erestor.  "Oropher!" I called.  "Come meet my very good friend Erestor, who is the Chancellor of Lindon.  He was just about to go walking in the pleasance as well, and I've invited him to join us.  I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all," said Oropher, but I could detect a hint of apprehension in his words.  He regarded Erestor with an even look before holding out his hand in greeting.  "Chancellor Erestor.  It is nice to meet you."

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine," Erestor replied.  His voice had suddenly risen several tones in pitch and taken on a flamboyant melody.  He tilted his head to the side, curving his lips in a coquettish half-smile, and returned Oropher's handshake with a limp-wristed grip.

The ploy seemed to work.  Oropher relaxed at once, clearly having decided that this effeminate fop was no threat.

"Shall we be off, friends?" Erestor trilled.  "Lindir tells me the irises are starting to bloom, and I just adore irises.  Their perfume is glorious."

Oropher shrugged.   "Flowers are good."  He followed Erestor down the path and I followed him, trying not to grin too widely.  This was off to a better start than I had expected.

As we walked along, Erestor chattered a non-stop commentary on the vegetation.  As well versed as I was with properties of local flora, particularly those that were edible or held medicinal value, Erestor's knowledge of blooming cycles and seed dispersal still astounded me.  My spiteful half wanted to believe Erestor was making it all up as he went along.  Oropher listened and nodded politely.  Whether or not he was truly interested in the biannual fruit production on pear trees was impossible to tell, but he made a good show of following Erestor's prate.

My moment to depart came when we reached a fork in the path.  Erestor turned left, heading downhill into the trees, but I stopped in my tracks and loudly exclaimed, "Oh, no!   Erestor!   That appointment with Gil-galad: that wasn't today, was it?"

Erestor turned around with the most delicate of frowns on his face.  "What appointment?  What are you talking-"  And then his mouth formed a dear little O-shape, and his eyebrows rose to dramatic new heights.  "Mercy!  That is today!  Oh, Elrond, you'd better run!"

"I think I'd better," I agreed.

"What appointment?" asked Oropher.

"Er," I said.  I had honestly intended to think up something important I had to do in case Oropher asked this exact question, but Erestor's plant knowledge had somehow distracted me.

"The portrait," came Erestor's prompt reply.  "Gil-galad has commissioned a portrait to be painted by a very talented artist from Mithlond.  Coruvor is his name.  Beautiful work, absolutely beautiful.  Anyhow, he arrived a few days ago and now that he and Gil-galad have settled on a theme he's ready to start painting.  It will be simply majestic.  Gil-galad will pose as Manwë and Elrond as Eönwë, both striking down Sauron.  It's very symbolic."

"Sounds nice," said Oropher.  "Will you be posing in your armour?"

Erestor made a sound of disbelief in his throat.  "Armour?  Oh, stars, no!  They must be naked, Oropher.  It's art."

Oropher turned to me with a predatory grin: the exact kind of look that usually precedes a sound bout of mocking.  "Now this I will have to see!    How long until it's done?"

I could have strangled Erestor then, had Oropher not been standing between us.  Instead, I settled for giving him my best surreptitious glaring.  "Probably not for several years.  Master Corulor or whatever his name is likes to take his time to ensure that the finished product is nothing short of perfect.  He will work on it while we're away at war."

"That's too bad," said Oropher.  "I know a picture of you and your King fighting naked would bring no end of inspiration to the men."

"Some of us more than others!" Erestor sang.

"I'll try to remember that," I said.  "Now if you'll excuse me..."

I left them there before they could say anything further to me about the fictional naked portrait, though they no doubt continued discussing it after I had gone.  All the way back to the house, I swore at Erestor under my breath and secretly hoped that Oropher would get the better of him in their little encounter.