![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zhieTitle: Price of a Prince (1/?)
Authors: Laura (Anieni) & Jenn (Zhie)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The places and characters are all or at least mostly Professor Tolkien’s; we only came to play with the elves and will give them back when we’re through.
Characters: Elves of Imladris; Various OCs
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor
Summary: When the prince of a small forgotten kingdom goes off to war, the last thing he expects is to be sold into slavery. What is the price of a prince, and what will it cost Glorfindel to keep such a royal gift?
Chapter One
:: Erestor ::
I hurt so badly that I do not even know where it is worse. My throat is parched, my eyes swollen shut. I try to lift my head and find it impossible. With effort I try to feel my surroundings and realize my hands and feet are bound. The thirst that woke me up is getting worse by the minute. The wood under me shudders and with a sudden movement the entire room lurches forward. I hear horses’ hoofs hitting the road and realize I am in the back of a wagon. The wind lifts the tarp covering it and I breathe in deeply of the fresh gust that caresses my face.
The sudden intake of breath sends new flashes of pain through my ribs. I feel as if someone had kicked me repeatedly. Several ribs must be broken for the pain is so intense I can feel my eyes watering and darkness again threatens to envelop me.
“Where am I?” I ask when I regain consciousness and realize I am no longer in the wagon but on the soft earth. I can sense trees around me; they speak to me in comforting murmurs of their leaves rustled by the wind.
“Filth!” a harsh voice yells and kicks me. I double over and gasp for breath. ‘Who could be so cruel and where have I been taken to?’ I wonder.
“Stop!” another voice calls and I hear the one who kicked me walk away. I try to open my eyes once more. Some time must have gone by as I can now see through narrow slits. The swelling is receding.
“We will earn good profit for this one,” the one who interfered on my behalf calls. It is in this moment that I realize my captors are slave traders.
Soon I lose track of time, fading in and out of consciousness as we travel. Sometimes they offer me sips of water, other times I am beaten. Apparently this is just for fun or to prove who is in command. Never have they untied me and I realize these are men and their abuse probably stems from fear of what I could do if I was allowed the use of my hands. If only they knew how weak I am. I know I am healing, slowly, but the lack of food and water is slowing that process.
After weeks of traveling I almost feel like my old self, if it weren’t for the dirt that I am sure makes me look unrecognizable and the filth that surrounds me. I could almost feel hopeful about getting out of this situation. They are always armed, they never leave me alone. I will bide my time.
A cold bucket of water dumped on me woke me up this morning. They have made camp in what I assume are the outskirts of a city. I wish they would at least talk to me but only insults and kicks are directed towards me. The water feels wonderful in spite of the unceremonious way it was dumped on me. Several more buckets follow and I realize they are trying to make me look presentable; perhaps I have reached my final destination at last. Perhaps now there is hope for escape.
I can feel my heart swelling with hope and then it is swiftly taken away when a group of well armed elves joins the camp. The leader of my abductors walks away with them. He points in my direction. I shudder inside but meet their eyes with all the dignity of one of my stature. I will not be looked down upon regardless of my present condition.
* * * * * *
:: Glorfindel ::
“Good morning! How are you?”
“Ah, good morn, and well, thank you. Breakfast was wonderful as always,” remarks one of the members of the trade council from Lake Town. I cannot recall his name, but I still manage to make him feel at home nonetheless.
To him I grin, and say as I continue to walk down the hallway, “I shall give your compliments to the cook.” I doubt I will honestly have a chance to speak with the kitchen staff until the morrow, but all the same, it will be noted when time comes for Elrond and I to decide upon raises and deductions in salary and things of that nature. “Enjoy the gardens while you are here; the roses are in full bloom,” I add before rounding the corner and turning myself around so that I am not walking backwards in an attempt to carry on conversation while escaping as well.
Although the general happiness of our guests is one of the duties I attend to, it is not my only duty here in Imladris. For the most part, that task falls upon the lady of the house and her daughter, but we still need someone to be the official face and voice of the house as it were.
There is no doubt that Elrond rules this realm, and the house is his castle, disguised as an inn for the weary and a meeting place for those seeking neutral ground. However, no one can deny that profits have risen and the realm has prospered more and more with each passing year since I was appointed Seneschal and House Host. Elrond has little time for announcing guests at functions or greeting parties as they arrive – for those mundane chores, there is—
“Glorfindel! Oh, there you are!”
It seems I will see the cook today. I smile, as always I do, and say to him, “What troubles you, Master Chef?”
Please note, I am terrible at remembering anyone’s name. Even the names of those on the staff. If Elladan and Elrohir did not always wear different clothing (Elladan prefers tunic and leggings while Elrohir likes to dress in robes like his father), I might mix the two of them up as well.
He comes to a stop, shaking his head. “Glorfindel, the scullery maid assigned to the kitchen has quit again. This is the third one this year – why do you hire such weak young girls to fill that position?”
“Because only weak, young girls have been applying,” I say, in a quieter voice as I usher him around the corner. “What was the reason for this one?” Only last month, we lost one due to an injury of some sort. I am never really sure, because as a rule I never speak with the lower staff, or with the slaves. We have a set chain of command here, and in this food chain, as it were, I am at the top.
“She is pregnant, and in tears packing her things. She is blaming that it was one of the men who was staying here when she was first employed who did it,” explained the cook.
My brow rises in askance. “Unwillingly?”
He pauses. “No. She knew what she was doing. He gave her gifts and promised to take her with him, only he disappeared without a trace. I doubt she was a virgin when she came to us,” he added.
“Be that as it may, I still need to pay out severance.” While I calculate this in my mind, I ask, “Can we hire a man to do the scullery work?”
Snorting, he answers, “No man would do that work for so little pay.”
I simply nod. “How old was she?”
“The one who is leaving? Fourteen, fifteen maybe?”
All I can do is shake my head. “Alright, I will arrange for her to be taken back to her city. Until I find another maid, let me see if Abigail has anyone to fill in for the time being.”
The cook curses and heads back the way he came. “See if you can find two maids for me this time!” he calls out after he has gone from view. “Maybe one of them will last the winter!”
I take a moment to rub my eyes. Something tells me it will be a long day.
My next stop is the front desk to check the registry. Four additions, and six check outs before noon, which is fast approaching. Arwen is busily chatting with a young couple who looks thankfully wealthy and they seem excited by the offerings in the Hall of Fire. That thought takes me on a detour before seeing Abigail.
“Lindir, I saw your request for fabric, but there was no notation what it was for. I need to know why I am ordering such a large amount of black cloth, and why we cannot simply make it here.”
We have three full time minstrels in the house, with two always at the house so that the third might travel and learn new tales. Lindir is the chief musician and ventures outside of Imladris very rarely these days, while the other two are quite given to roaming all about in search of songs and rhymes. The harper approaches as I take the request sheet from my pocket and unfold it, but he needs not see it to know what it is for. “Lothlorien produces a very fine, very dark cloth that would be perfect for replacing the stage curtain. There are too many tears now to patch it without it looking shoddy, and the lighter cloth, though more expensive, would save on repairs to the mechanics of the curtains due to the weight of a heavy cloth.”
“Do you really need this much of it?” I am positive he does, but I always ask, just in case.
“The figures are accurate. Did you see the request for the mason to come fix that smaller fireplace?” he asks quickly.
Nodding, I refold the paper and replace it in my pocket. “I spoke to him yesterday. I would expect he will be in by the end of the week.”
“Good. Thank you, Glorfindel.”
I nod and leave him to return to rehearsing the small group of musicians that he was practicing with. On my way to Elrond’s office, I almost forget to stop in to see Abigail. “Abbie, I have another favor to request of you.”
“The scullery wench quit?”
I do not even ask how she knew – gossip is faster than the official crier of news, and no doubt she heard before I did. “I need someone with a mostly clean record. With all the knives in the kitchen, I really need not worry about someone stabbing the cook.”
“Already thought about that.” She hands me a sheet of paper. “His name is Wilhelm, he answers to Billy. Petty theft mostly, but the last time he burned down a house and a barn.”
Handing the paper back, I tell her, “I am not going to put a pyromaniac in the kitchens.”
The paper is shoved back into my hand. “I have him or your choice of three murderers.”
With a frown, I sign all the appropriate places. Abigail is in charge of our slave laborers – men and sometimes women from neighboring areas that are convicted of various crimes. Instead of being shackled all day in a dungeon or locked into a small, cramped cell, they sometimes have the option of working here. Abigail’s father pays the city for them, usually for a very small fee, and then brings them here or to Mithlond. Most of the more dangerous ones end up in the havens, putting in hard labor building ships and repairing the roads. Here, it is rare to have too many that have committed terrible crimes.
At the moment, however, the picks are slim. We only have about a dozen, and normally there are more. Soon, we should have a new group in. I do not particularly like the idea, but Elrond finds it to be cost effective, and I have seen some of the slaves reform themselves, and some even buy their freedom. Most, however, use what little earnings they get to drink away their worries.
We treat them well enough – they are clothed well, bathed more often than they would be living where they came from or had they remained in prison, and feed them better than those some of them stole from. The ones who are not too much of a threat are kept in a section of the barracks, the ladies are kept in a dormitory with guards to watch them, and the ones who might cause trouble are taken at night to a room in the cellar and locked in a room to sleep. It seems cruel, but the conditions are better than they would have.
The difference is, most would have had a set term to serve. Here, the sentence is life, unless they can save money. And that is not as easy as it would seem to be.
Abigail dribbles wax onto the document and stamps her father’s seal. “He is in the forge right now. Take this to the blacksmith on duty and he will take you to Wilhelm.”
“Thank you.” I roll up the document as I leave her office, but I will not be going to the forge. My destination is still Elrond’s office, but I make a stop in mine first. “Melpomaen, I have something for you to do.”
The junior scribe hurries to the doorway as I raise my hand to the senior scribe in greeting. He looks up and gives a nod, then returns to his work. His name is Halbur, a man from the south, and I will be sad to see him go for he has served me well the last thirty-two years. Last year his wife passed on, and now he wishes to live the rest of his life with his children and see the grandsons he only hears about in letters. Shaking my head to clear this thought of sadness from my mind, I hand the scroll to Melpomaen, who will take Halbur’s place this autumn. “For the blacksmith; you will give him this and retrieve one Wilhelm, a slave, and take him to the cook to do as he needs. Are the ledgers balanced?”
“Yes, sir, and I have the next month’s calendar completed. Shall I begin work on copying it when I return?” he asks eagerly.
“No, let me look it over this afternoon. I am sure Halbur has something you can do for him.”
Melpomaen nods and exits with the scroll. Looking up, Halbur watches out the door for a moment, then scowls. I do not blame him. There is one thing that irks me about Melpomaen, and that is his dislike of men. I only shrug and leave to finally make my way to Elrond’s office.
By the time I reach him, he has finished with his morning tea and is looking over the menus for next week. I shoo his secretary away to take a break and steal the young ellon’s chair after he leaves. Pulling it up to Elrond’s desk, I hand him the sheet from Lindir. “Cloth for the stage.”
“Ah. Go ahead and order it, then,” he tells me, reaching over with his quill to make his mark on the corner of the paper. “Anything else?”
“I need to hire for two more scullery maids,” I tell him, leaning back in the chair.
“Two more? I thought we already had one.” He crosses out a few things and begins to make his changes to the offerings.
Trying to find a way to put it delicately, I finally just say, “She fucked around with one of the clients. They left, but she is going to have something to remember him by in about eight months.”
“Really? Pity. She is so young. Make sure you give her a decent severance,” he reminds me, and I nod without mentioning I have already thought about that. “We should hire a junior scribe to replace Melpomaen, I think. You will be needing another scribe, correct?”
“I want to wait a while. Melpomaen may not work out as well as I thought.” I do not want to worry Elrond overly much, so when his eyes turn to me for elaboration, I say, “Just a hunch.”
“Two maids then. I would advise not looking in whatever town that last one came from, unless you do so before the current maid returns,” warned Elrond. Then the topic changed abruptly. “We had a messenger stop by this morning.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, he interrupted my tea.” Elrond set his quill aside. “Apparently, Jameson is relatively pleased with your handling of the extended labor force.”
Extended labor force is Elrond’s way of saying ‘I am going to pretend they are not slaves’. It took me about a month of working with him to figure that out. “Well... tell Jameson he has been bringing us relatively good workers as of late.”
“You can tell him. He should be here tomorrow; he sent the rider ahead to let me know. Two dozen more for you to chose from, and also a gift for you. When I asked why I was not getting a gift, I think the messenger thought I was going to beat him with the way he quivered. However, I can see why Jameson is bringing it for you instead of for me.”
“Just what exactly is he bringing?” I asked.
Lips turning up in a smile, Elrond picked up the quill again. “Oh, you will see... I want to see your reaction when it arrives.”
Warily, I pick up the sheet with Lindir’s request and take it with me to the door. I take one fleeting look back before exiting the office. My stomach clenches as the gong sounds for lunch, and I hide away in my office instead for the rest of the day, both apprehensive and curious about what tomorrow will bring.
Authors: Laura (Anieni) & Jenn (Zhie)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The places and characters are all or at least mostly Professor Tolkien’s; we only came to play with the elves and will give them back when we’re through.
Characters: Elves of Imladris; Various OCs
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor
Summary: When the prince of a small forgotten kingdom goes off to war, the last thing he expects is to be sold into slavery. What is the price of a prince, and what will it cost Glorfindel to keep such a royal gift?
Chapter One
:: Erestor ::
I hurt so badly that I do not even know where it is worse. My throat is parched, my eyes swollen shut. I try to lift my head and find it impossible. With effort I try to feel my surroundings and realize my hands and feet are bound. The thirst that woke me up is getting worse by the minute. The wood under me shudders and with a sudden movement the entire room lurches forward. I hear horses’ hoofs hitting the road and realize I am in the back of a wagon. The wind lifts the tarp covering it and I breathe in deeply of the fresh gust that caresses my face.
The sudden intake of breath sends new flashes of pain through my ribs. I feel as if someone had kicked me repeatedly. Several ribs must be broken for the pain is so intense I can feel my eyes watering and darkness again threatens to envelop me.
“Where am I?” I ask when I regain consciousness and realize I am no longer in the wagon but on the soft earth. I can sense trees around me; they speak to me in comforting murmurs of their leaves rustled by the wind.
“Filth!” a harsh voice yells and kicks me. I double over and gasp for breath. ‘Who could be so cruel and where have I been taken to?’ I wonder.
“Stop!” another voice calls and I hear the one who kicked me walk away. I try to open my eyes once more. Some time must have gone by as I can now see through narrow slits. The swelling is receding.
“We will earn good profit for this one,” the one who interfered on my behalf calls. It is in this moment that I realize my captors are slave traders.
Soon I lose track of time, fading in and out of consciousness as we travel. Sometimes they offer me sips of water, other times I am beaten. Apparently this is just for fun or to prove who is in command. Never have they untied me and I realize these are men and their abuse probably stems from fear of what I could do if I was allowed the use of my hands. If only they knew how weak I am. I know I am healing, slowly, but the lack of food and water is slowing that process.
After weeks of traveling I almost feel like my old self, if it weren’t for the dirt that I am sure makes me look unrecognizable and the filth that surrounds me. I could almost feel hopeful about getting out of this situation. They are always armed, they never leave me alone. I will bide my time.
A cold bucket of water dumped on me woke me up this morning. They have made camp in what I assume are the outskirts of a city. I wish they would at least talk to me but only insults and kicks are directed towards me. The water feels wonderful in spite of the unceremonious way it was dumped on me. Several more buckets follow and I realize they are trying to make me look presentable; perhaps I have reached my final destination at last. Perhaps now there is hope for escape.
I can feel my heart swelling with hope and then it is swiftly taken away when a group of well armed elves joins the camp. The leader of my abductors walks away with them. He points in my direction. I shudder inside but meet their eyes with all the dignity of one of my stature. I will not be looked down upon regardless of my present condition.
* * * * * *
:: Glorfindel ::
“Good morning! How are you?”
“Ah, good morn, and well, thank you. Breakfast was wonderful as always,” remarks one of the members of the trade council from Lake Town. I cannot recall his name, but I still manage to make him feel at home nonetheless.
To him I grin, and say as I continue to walk down the hallway, “I shall give your compliments to the cook.” I doubt I will honestly have a chance to speak with the kitchen staff until the morrow, but all the same, it will be noted when time comes for Elrond and I to decide upon raises and deductions in salary and things of that nature. “Enjoy the gardens while you are here; the roses are in full bloom,” I add before rounding the corner and turning myself around so that I am not walking backwards in an attempt to carry on conversation while escaping as well.
Although the general happiness of our guests is one of the duties I attend to, it is not my only duty here in Imladris. For the most part, that task falls upon the lady of the house and her daughter, but we still need someone to be the official face and voice of the house as it were.
There is no doubt that Elrond rules this realm, and the house is his castle, disguised as an inn for the weary and a meeting place for those seeking neutral ground. However, no one can deny that profits have risen and the realm has prospered more and more with each passing year since I was appointed Seneschal and House Host. Elrond has little time for announcing guests at functions or greeting parties as they arrive – for those mundane chores, there is—
“Glorfindel! Oh, there you are!”
It seems I will see the cook today. I smile, as always I do, and say to him, “What troubles you, Master Chef?”
Please note, I am terrible at remembering anyone’s name. Even the names of those on the staff. If Elladan and Elrohir did not always wear different clothing (Elladan prefers tunic and leggings while Elrohir likes to dress in robes like his father), I might mix the two of them up as well.
He comes to a stop, shaking his head. “Glorfindel, the scullery maid assigned to the kitchen has quit again. This is the third one this year – why do you hire such weak young girls to fill that position?”
“Because only weak, young girls have been applying,” I say, in a quieter voice as I usher him around the corner. “What was the reason for this one?” Only last month, we lost one due to an injury of some sort. I am never really sure, because as a rule I never speak with the lower staff, or with the slaves. We have a set chain of command here, and in this food chain, as it were, I am at the top.
“She is pregnant, and in tears packing her things. She is blaming that it was one of the men who was staying here when she was first employed who did it,” explained the cook.
My brow rises in askance. “Unwillingly?”
He pauses. “No. She knew what she was doing. He gave her gifts and promised to take her with him, only he disappeared without a trace. I doubt she was a virgin when she came to us,” he added.
“Be that as it may, I still need to pay out severance.” While I calculate this in my mind, I ask, “Can we hire a man to do the scullery work?”
Snorting, he answers, “No man would do that work for so little pay.”
I simply nod. “How old was she?”
“The one who is leaving? Fourteen, fifteen maybe?”
All I can do is shake my head. “Alright, I will arrange for her to be taken back to her city. Until I find another maid, let me see if Abigail has anyone to fill in for the time being.”
The cook curses and heads back the way he came. “See if you can find two maids for me this time!” he calls out after he has gone from view. “Maybe one of them will last the winter!”
I take a moment to rub my eyes. Something tells me it will be a long day.
My next stop is the front desk to check the registry. Four additions, and six check outs before noon, which is fast approaching. Arwen is busily chatting with a young couple who looks thankfully wealthy and they seem excited by the offerings in the Hall of Fire. That thought takes me on a detour before seeing Abigail.
“Lindir, I saw your request for fabric, but there was no notation what it was for. I need to know why I am ordering such a large amount of black cloth, and why we cannot simply make it here.”
We have three full time minstrels in the house, with two always at the house so that the third might travel and learn new tales. Lindir is the chief musician and ventures outside of Imladris very rarely these days, while the other two are quite given to roaming all about in search of songs and rhymes. The harper approaches as I take the request sheet from my pocket and unfold it, but he needs not see it to know what it is for. “Lothlorien produces a very fine, very dark cloth that would be perfect for replacing the stage curtain. There are too many tears now to patch it without it looking shoddy, and the lighter cloth, though more expensive, would save on repairs to the mechanics of the curtains due to the weight of a heavy cloth.”
“Do you really need this much of it?” I am positive he does, but I always ask, just in case.
“The figures are accurate. Did you see the request for the mason to come fix that smaller fireplace?” he asks quickly.
Nodding, I refold the paper and replace it in my pocket. “I spoke to him yesterday. I would expect he will be in by the end of the week.”
“Good. Thank you, Glorfindel.”
I nod and leave him to return to rehearsing the small group of musicians that he was practicing with. On my way to Elrond’s office, I almost forget to stop in to see Abigail. “Abbie, I have another favor to request of you.”
“The scullery wench quit?”
I do not even ask how she knew – gossip is faster than the official crier of news, and no doubt she heard before I did. “I need someone with a mostly clean record. With all the knives in the kitchen, I really need not worry about someone stabbing the cook.”
“Already thought about that.” She hands me a sheet of paper. “His name is Wilhelm, he answers to Billy. Petty theft mostly, but the last time he burned down a house and a barn.”
Handing the paper back, I tell her, “I am not going to put a pyromaniac in the kitchens.”
The paper is shoved back into my hand. “I have him or your choice of three murderers.”
With a frown, I sign all the appropriate places. Abigail is in charge of our slave laborers – men and sometimes women from neighboring areas that are convicted of various crimes. Instead of being shackled all day in a dungeon or locked into a small, cramped cell, they sometimes have the option of working here. Abigail’s father pays the city for them, usually for a very small fee, and then brings them here or to Mithlond. Most of the more dangerous ones end up in the havens, putting in hard labor building ships and repairing the roads. Here, it is rare to have too many that have committed terrible crimes.
At the moment, however, the picks are slim. We only have about a dozen, and normally there are more. Soon, we should have a new group in. I do not particularly like the idea, but Elrond finds it to be cost effective, and I have seen some of the slaves reform themselves, and some even buy their freedom. Most, however, use what little earnings they get to drink away their worries.
We treat them well enough – they are clothed well, bathed more often than they would be living where they came from or had they remained in prison, and feed them better than those some of them stole from. The ones who are not too much of a threat are kept in a section of the barracks, the ladies are kept in a dormitory with guards to watch them, and the ones who might cause trouble are taken at night to a room in the cellar and locked in a room to sleep. It seems cruel, but the conditions are better than they would have.
The difference is, most would have had a set term to serve. Here, the sentence is life, unless they can save money. And that is not as easy as it would seem to be.
Abigail dribbles wax onto the document and stamps her father’s seal. “He is in the forge right now. Take this to the blacksmith on duty and he will take you to Wilhelm.”
“Thank you.” I roll up the document as I leave her office, but I will not be going to the forge. My destination is still Elrond’s office, but I make a stop in mine first. “Melpomaen, I have something for you to do.”
The junior scribe hurries to the doorway as I raise my hand to the senior scribe in greeting. He looks up and gives a nod, then returns to his work. His name is Halbur, a man from the south, and I will be sad to see him go for he has served me well the last thirty-two years. Last year his wife passed on, and now he wishes to live the rest of his life with his children and see the grandsons he only hears about in letters. Shaking my head to clear this thought of sadness from my mind, I hand the scroll to Melpomaen, who will take Halbur’s place this autumn. “For the blacksmith; you will give him this and retrieve one Wilhelm, a slave, and take him to the cook to do as he needs. Are the ledgers balanced?”
“Yes, sir, and I have the next month’s calendar completed. Shall I begin work on copying it when I return?” he asks eagerly.
“No, let me look it over this afternoon. I am sure Halbur has something you can do for him.”
Melpomaen nods and exits with the scroll. Looking up, Halbur watches out the door for a moment, then scowls. I do not blame him. There is one thing that irks me about Melpomaen, and that is his dislike of men. I only shrug and leave to finally make my way to Elrond’s office.
By the time I reach him, he has finished with his morning tea and is looking over the menus for next week. I shoo his secretary away to take a break and steal the young ellon’s chair after he leaves. Pulling it up to Elrond’s desk, I hand him the sheet from Lindir. “Cloth for the stage.”
“Ah. Go ahead and order it, then,” he tells me, reaching over with his quill to make his mark on the corner of the paper. “Anything else?”
“I need to hire for two more scullery maids,” I tell him, leaning back in the chair.
“Two more? I thought we already had one.” He crosses out a few things and begins to make his changes to the offerings.
Trying to find a way to put it delicately, I finally just say, “She fucked around with one of the clients. They left, but she is going to have something to remember him by in about eight months.”
“Really? Pity. She is so young. Make sure you give her a decent severance,” he reminds me, and I nod without mentioning I have already thought about that. “We should hire a junior scribe to replace Melpomaen, I think. You will be needing another scribe, correct?”
“I want to wait a while. Melpomaen may not work out as well as I thought.” I do not want to worry Elrond overly much, so when his eyes turn to me for elaboration, I say, “Just a hunch.”
“Two maids then. I would advise not looking in whatever town that last one came from, unless you do so before the current maid returns,” warned Elrond. Then the topic changed abruptly. “We had a messenger stop by this morning.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, he interrupted my tea.” Elrond set his quill aside. “Apparently, Jameson is relatively pleased with your handling of the extended labor force.”
Extended labor force is Elrond’s way of saying ‘I am going to pretend they are not slaves’. It took me about a month of working with him to figure that out. “Well... tell Jameson he has been bringing us relatively good workers as of late.”
“You can tell him. He should be here tomorrow; he sent the rider ahead to let me know. Two dozen more for you to chose from, and also a gift for you. When I asked why I was not getting a gift, I think the messenger thought I was going to beat him with the way he quivered. However, I can see why Jameson is bringing it for you instead of for me.”
“Just what exactly is he bringing?” I asked.
Lips turning up in a smile, Elrond picked up the quill again. “Oh, you will see... I want to see your reaction when it arrives.”
Warily, I pick up the sheet with Lindir’s request and take it with me to the door. I take one fleeting look back before exiting the office. My stomach clenches as the gong sounds for lunch, and I hide away in my office instead for the rest of the day, both apprehensive and curious about what tomorrow will bring.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-08-18 10:43 pm (UTC)