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Shoutbox

Alquien
04/22/17 01:23 am
Has anyone heard anything else from Spiced lately?
Ysilme
04/17/17 11:36 am
Big hugs to you, Spiced, I hope you're already a bit better! ***hugs***
Alquien
04/17/17 04:38 am
Hope you are feeling better now Spiced. *hugs*
ziggy
04/16/17 01:40 am
So glad to see you back, Spiced:x
Spiced Wine
04/15/17 09:30 am
Thank you, my loves. I hope you all have a lovely Easter
Yseult
04/15/17 07:22 am
Oh, Spiced! Sending you lots of good thoughts and vibes for a speedy recovery. Hugs!
Gabriel
04/14/17 10:04 am
Hi there, Cheekybeak, great to see there's another Kiwi out there too.
Naledi
04/14/17 08:50 am
Glad you're okay, too, Gabriel!
cheekybeak
04/14/17 08:38 am
Oh! Gabriel, another kiwi. Hi!
Gabriel
04/14/17 04:00 am
Thanks for thinking of us all in nz, Naledi, we're good.
Shout Archive


Fifty Shades Of Slate by Glorfindel

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Story notes:
Big, huge thanks to my wonderful beta, Keiliss! Without your help this story would be much less than brilliant :)

This story is a gift for Ignoblebard, for the Ardor in August 2015 fic exchange.


Note: I have shamelessly made use of E. L. James more hilariously awful quotes and the summary on the back cover of Fifty Shades of Grey.
I watch Erestor standing in the bathroom doorway. His face looks pale, as if he used vanilla ice cream as a moisturiser and it had formed a layer of creamy white over his skin.



"I am too ill to interview the impossibly handsome, dashing, yet somewhat intimidating Lord Lindir. Damn my stupidity for eating those odd tasting mushrooms! How will Imladris' premier music newspaper survive without its main feature. He is, after all, our chief benefactor."



"How were you to know they were toadstools?" I look at my friend and feel a pang of sympathy, empathy, compassion and understanding. "Can I help?" I had never met the most famous and wealthiest elf in Middle-earth, but I had vaguely heard of him.



"You could interview him for me?" Erestor's eyes light up, like summer butterflies lifting sun dried, jewelled blue wings made wet by a sudden rainstorm, or something like that.



I bite my lip. How could I be as good as my friend at interviewing fantastically rich and handsome musicians, not to mention ones who are benefactors? "Give me a list of questions and I will do it."



My inner Maia shakes her head. "No good can come of this." She lays back down on her chaise longue and drinks a sip of red wine, the type that is made from grapes weathered in a southern sun until the skins just start to crinkle, and are trod underfoot by sweaty men who like to sing rustic village songs.



o0o0o0o



My warrior training is over and I live in a new home, putting all my learning to good use while furthering my studies; in a few months I will be a senior warrior. Lord Elrond agreed with my father, King Thranduil, to give me a place in his warriors academy, and will also teach me how to run a realm, just in case I ever have to return to Mirkwood as king. I could work in Mirkwood, but my father says a young man should spread his wings and sample other cultures.



I share a basement room with Erestor, who is studying elven history and music as well as working towards becoming a senior warrior. Our room contains two beds, a dresser and a bathroom. There is a small woven mat between the beds acting as a separator. Otherwise there is no decoration or any ornament on the plain white walls. Lord Lindir stays in a large suite of rooms on the top floor of the Last Homely House when he visits Imladris, which is only for a few weeks a year because he spends the majority of his time in Lothlórien, while my rooms are situated in a block solely used for housing warriors. If Lord Lindir's rooms are like the ones in the block where I live they will be sumptuous, with the lower levels becoming more basic.



"Here is the list of questions you should ask him." Erestor hands me a sheet of paper and I give it a cursory glance, not really reading the words, but feeling impatient to get the interview over and done with. "He lives on the top floor. I believe his name is on the door."



"Hey, that rhymes," I say delightedly. I am somewhat fond of impromptu poetry.



Erestor rolls his eyes at me. "I am going to the healers. I am sick of being sick."
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