Underestimated by Enismirdal

"Lord Glorfindel?" The golden-haired seneschal turned from rechecking his weapons for the fifth time at the sound of his name.

"Yes, Rúmil?"

"Do you know where Lord Erestor can be found?"

"Right now?" The younger elf nodded. "Probably in Lord Elrond's study, dealing with work which could quite happily wait until next month, next year, or sometime after Arda is broken and remade. If the door's ajar, you can go straight in; if it's shut he'll be talking to Elrond and they won't appreciate the disturbance, so you'd have to wait. Is it something I can help with?"

"I doubt it," Rúmil replied. Not unless you're in on this whole plot. "But thank you for offering."

"I offer out of concern, I assure you," the Elda answered with a sly grin. "Erestor doesn't always take kindly to having his work interrupted, even if he's not doing something you or I would count as important. Although you may be lucky - he does seem to have a soft spot for you."

"Aiya - Erestor hasn't yet had to live and work with Rúmil for a couple of millennia," Haldir, who was walking past, added facetiously. "If he had, maybe he'd think differently."

"I'm not that bad!"

Haldir assumed a whining voice. "Oh, Haldir, we haven't seen any orcs for three days! I'm bored! Oh, Haldir, Orophin's eaten twice his ration of lembas! Oh, Haldir, I don't like this talan; it's lumpy and so uncomfortable! Aye, brother, of course you're not that bad."

Rúmil swatted his elder brother. Glorfindel interceded before the argument stopped being playful. "I think you'd better stop now. I have enough problems with those Peredhel twins, without having to cope with you two as well! And this sortie's going to take some time." The two Silvan elves fell into line without further protest at the rebuke from their elder, Rúmil glancing around anxiously to ensure Faelon was nowhere nearby to witness him being treated like an elfling. But of course, he wouldn't be. What would a scholar want near the weapons stores?

So when he passed Faelon in the hallway literally ten seconds later, he was distinctly perplexed. The Noldorin elf was clutching a sheaf of papers and striding purposefully towards the weapons stores which Rúmil had just left. He did not react to the Silvan elf in any way. Rúmil's heart sank, but he willed himself to believe that Faelon was simply preoccupied with some important matter of administration relating to the outgoing patrol. He remained unconvinced.




Faelon didn't have to visit the stores in person; he could just have easily sent a message down there to the elf in charge, asking for a list of everything in there at the moment. He still hadn't found out where those arrows had gone.

But some curious urge caused him to head down there himself, and he reacted with bemused displeasure when passing Rúmil in the hallway gave him a mildly uplifting sensation. This was ridiculous. Just because the Silvan elf could play chess and read Daeron's ballads didn't suddenly make him interesting. And worse was the fact that Faelon had actually stopped, turned, and found himself admiring the sway of the marchwarden's slender hips as he disappeared off on whatever business he was attending to.




Rúmil found the door to Elrond's study slightly open so, following Glorfindel's advice, entered. Erestor was not seated at the desk, but stood by the bookcase leafing through a well-kept volume on Second Age history. He gazed at the intruder over the edge of the pages through inscrutable eyes. "Is there something you want?"

Rúmil suddenly felt very silly. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, and finally blurted out, "I'm leaving in just a few hours, and Faelon's still not showing any interest in me!" His shoulders slumped miserably. "What can I do?"

Erestor sighed heavily. "You leave tomorrow morning, correct?"

"At dawn."

"I told you Faelon was difficult. There's still a chance, but you can't expect an instant response. It's more of a medium-term tactic; you'll have to wait to see results."

"All right." He would have agreed to anything if it allowed him to cling to the strand of hope which insisted Faelon might still accept him.

"You need to find out when Faelon's begetting day is. You could try talking to Melpomaen. No-one else I've asked seems to know. It's not as if, on one specific day every year without fail, he undergoes any noticeable personality change, so I'm certain it's not that he's trying to forget his begetting day for whatever reason; presumably he just hasn't thought to tell anyone else the date. Then drop a message off at the kitchens, and tell them that on that date, they are to prepare a special surprise for him from you. What that surprise is, I'll leave to your imagination - after all, it is you who is courting him, not me. Remember what I told you before?"

"He loves blackberries, and his favourite flower is elanor. I can manage all that..."

Erestor held up a hand. "I'm not finished yet. Faelon, at the moment, has a small but annoying problem which he's supposed to solve, but his success so far has been...well, non-existent." He described how the inventory and requisition lists over the last six months failed to match up, how nearly fifty arrows had gone missing from the stores. "If you could track them down, he - and I - would be very grateful."

"Have you asked the twins? Perhaps they decided to hold an archery contest, or maybe they've been sneaking out on midnight orc-slaying patrols." He'd got to know the Peredhil slightly over the course of his stay, and was now well aware of their impulsive natures. But Erestor shook his head.

"That was the first thing I thought of. They knew nothing about it."

"And you think I'll be able to solve this?"

"I trust your resourcefulness."




Rúmil had left his message in the kitchens, feeling very pleased with himself and quite sure that Faelon wouldn't be able to deny his thoughtfulness. But moving on to the second problem, he remained stumped, and it was getting on towards early evening. He had a matter of hours to solve a problem which had been vexing Faelon for days.

He wearily made his way back to his rooms, envisioning the welcome sight of a steaming bath and the soft sheets of his bed. He needed them to help him forget about his troubles. Erestor thought he was so great, but what did he know...?

As he passed the library, he overheard voices, one of them raised and getting more and more heated by the moment. The other, he identified as Glorfindel's; the seneschal sounded patient yet bored, as if they had been arguing in circles for some time. "Tellumiel, no, and again, no. You are not accompanying the party south. I'm not risking it."

"You think I'm incapable!" she shot back. Rúmil, aware he was committing something of an indiscretion, pressed his ear to the door so as to be able to hear the exchange properly. He knew full well why Tellumiel wanted to come; ever since he and Haldir had come to Imladris, the elfmaid had been besotted with his brother. Haldir revelled in the attention, saying she'd been like this with him for years. Rúmil thought she was being very childish, especially the way she glared at anyone else who even so much as asked Haldir for a dance at feasts, and especially at those who were accepted.

"No, I think you're inexperienced. You're untested in battle, and I don't know how you'll react. I have no idea of your capabilities, so I'd be likely to put you in danger by assigning you inappropriate tasks. If you're really serious about becoming a patrol rider, I can arrange for you to go out with one of the regular border patrols sometime. Then, if you find yourself out of your depth or you're confronted with a new situation, backup is close at hand and not so much will ride on the outcome of your decisions." He paused. "You know, I had an almost identical conversation with the twins when they were about your age."

"You never object to their patrols!"

A groan. "I did at the time. Elrond and I agreed to make them wait. I'm doing the same now with you. But Tellumiel, you are not going on this patrol. It's too late to start making plans for additional riders now, anyway."

"So you're saying no?" The young elfmaid sounded desperately disappointed.

"For now, yes, I am saying no. In future, maybe I'll change my mind. Now, if you'll excuse me, I still have preparations to attend to." Rúmil moved away from the door so as not to look suspicious, and affected ignorance of the exchange as the seneschal left the library. "Oh, hello, Rúmil. Have you any idea what's got into Tellumiel today? She's suddenly started acting as if her inclusion is essential to the successful completion of our patrol. She even claims to have been practising her archery in secret over the last year!"

"Maids, honestly - there's no logic to them," Rúmil agreed, then paused. "Practising her archery?" The pieces clicked into place. He was halfway down the hallway before he'd taken another breath, leaving a bemused Glorfindel staring after him.

"It's not just maids who have no logic," the golden-haired warrior sighed to himself, shaking his head. "It's youngsters. All of them."




Rúmil stopped outside the study, realising he couldn't just charge in there, proclaiming that he had the answers to all Faelon's problems. How was he to approach the subject? An idea tentatively formed in his mind, and he ran back to the weapons stores, to return a few minutes later clutching a slender arrow fletched with pure white feathers. This would require a little prevarication, but he thought he'd get away with it, assuming Faelon was really just a scholar and not a scout.

He took a deep breath and knocked. Faelon's voice from inside called for him to enter. The Noldorin elf looked up curiously as Rúmil stepped over the threshold, and his expression hardened. "What could you possibly want?" he asked tetchily.

"I discovered my arrows were running short - Haldir and I had a run-in with a small group of angry Dunlendings on the way here and it used up a lot of arrows." That part, at least, was true. "So I went to collect more from the stores and found they were almost out of these, the kind I use." He held up the arrow he'd brought. Faelon had better not notice that it was far too short and light to be any use with Rúmil's tall Lórien bow... It was, however, a perfect size and weight for a less experienced elf still accustoming himself - or equally herself - to the weight of a proper longbow. "The weapons master said you had all the inventory lists at the moment, so I should come to you to find out if there are any more around anywhere."

Faelon frowned, and swallowed. "Unfortunately, there aren't..."

Rúmil timed his interruption so perfectly as to look natural. "But I've been asking around, and I found out Tellumiel keeps two whole quivers full!"

"Does she?" The spark of triumph in Faelon's eyes was unmistakable. "What does she want with arrows?"

"I wondered that, too. Until I heard she's been practising her archery skills in secret so she'd be able to prove to Lord Glorfindel that she's good enough to join his patrols."

Faelon's expression alternated relief and satisfaction. Yet his ingrained Imladris manners prevailed. "Rúmil - you've just solved a problem which has been bothering me for some time. I have to admit I owe you." He dropped his voice and actually smiled in a conspiratorial fashion. "If you hadn't come to me today, I imagine Erestor would be throwing me in the Bruinen a few days from now for failing to explain why the stores don't have as many arrows as they're supposed to."

Rúmil returned the smile. "Just promise me you won't be too harsh on Tellumiel. She might have caused you all this trouble, but she was just being a silly young elfmaid who wanted to impress someone." The parallel struck him at that moment; he and Tellumiel were both striving towards that same goal. He just hoped he would have more success than she'd had.
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