I'M BACK! Hello everyone, it has been sooo long since I've posted anything, but I'm here again! To get back into optimal writing shape, I decided to start posting some one-shots and small stories, and this one is the first ;)

Basically, I want to experiment a bit with writing style, genre and characters, so to start off I thought of writing a nice crack fic. (Sorry, I'm not sorry). Fun fact: when I made an account I swore that I would never write a crack fic because of my terrible sense of humour, but here I am… (So please no flames). Seeing that this is a crack fic, this should not in any matter be taken serious, seriously do not try.

I will try to post the next chapter between tomorrow and next week :). Constructive criticism is always welcome. This fic was not beta'd so all mistakes are mine, unlike the characters and location that are all property of Tolkien. (wish they were mine though..)

Enjoy the read!

It was an idealistic morning in Rivendell, the waterfalls roared nearby, the sun was shining brightly and eleven elven voices were raised in song. Lindir's idea of a joke had a lot to do with alliteration, apparently. He had named his background singers the eleven elves, how sad. The other choices included 'Lord Lindir's lot', 'Musical Magicians' and 'Sophisticated Singers'. Elrond himself had voted for 'Sophisticated Singers', thinking that it would go well with the ambiance he was trying to create as Rivendell, the Capital of Knowledge and Lore. Glorfindel, however, had coaxed his clique (young maidens and starry-eyed warriors) to vote for the Eleven Elves, seems that he was still quite sentimental feelings about the eleven houses of Gondolin.

Erestor had argued that there were in fact twelve houses, to which Glorfindel had replied that the guardians of king Tuor did not count as a house. Erestor did not agree, but arguing with Glorfindel was like trying to stop an orc's sword swinging at you by asking it friendly to please stop, which is of course why no one would ever be that stupid. Except for his sons, but even Elrond admitted that they were a bit strange, and they had finally learned the lesson that negotiating with orcs results in pain, injuries and worst of all, an irritated Glorfindel. On the other hand, who could have blamed them, Celebrian had just read the famous children's book of 'how the little dirty orc became a good elfling.' Written by the most foolish of elven scribes, this book was infamous and usually ended up in little elflings trying to look for orcs. Why the book was still in the library was a mystery, as Elrond had tried to throw it away numerous time, but it had always found its way back to the shelves.

Lord Elrond was walking around the gardens, after having to fend of Erestor, his sons, his advisors, Erestor, his guards, Erestor, three human visitors and his librarian (Erestor). He had apparently, not succeeded in advoiding Glorfindel, who was standing right next to him, with an annoying smile around his lips.

'No, I am not listening. Stop smirking! It is not happening!'

Glorfindel smirked again. His golden hair glimmered in the sun, and his radiance made young maidens (and a few not-so-you warriors) swoon. Literally. It was starting to get annoying to pick all these elves and carry them back to their respected beds. Glorfindel claimed that he did not mind, but he too admitted that it was nice to talk to people that were actually conscious and aware of what they were doing. Elrond had never been affected by his friend in that way. He had already fallen for Celebrian when Glorfindel came back from Valinor. Erestor, too, kept his feet firmly placed upon the ground, but he was generally considered to be unflappable.

Elrond always admired unflappability, but the news he just got should be enough to shake even Erestor to his core.

'Elrond, I am very afraid that it is happening. Denial is not a good state of mind to be in.' Glorfindel did not look afraid at all, he was amused and Elrond knew why. That thrice-damned Balrog-Slayer, was silently laughing at him.

'Shut up. I am not listening to you, I AM NOT LISTENING.' To emphasize his point, Elrond put his fingers in his ears. Hand gestures, he found, were always nice to underline strong statements. A well placed swoop of the arm here, a pointing finger there and the point came across at a neck-breaking speed and hit home harder than a battling ram. One had to be careful, however, in what vicinity the others stood, if there happened to be an advisor close by, when someone happened to be speaking in a court, which happened to be the court of Gil-Galad. Said gesturer should be very careful with wide sweeps of the arms, otherwise the speaker could possible hit an advisor in the nose and cause this unfortunate elf a lot of grief, himself a high medical bill and the displeasure of the king. Not that this had ever happened to Elrond of course.

Glorfindel laughed gaily, forced Elrond's fingers out of his ears and screamed in them, just for good measure. 'THRANDUIL IS COMING!'

After Elrond had recovered, and that is quite a feat. After all, Glorfindel was used to scream commands in the heat of a battle. As Lindir had put it, Glorfindel had an amazing capability of making himself heard to even the deaf.

Elrond groaned, it made no sense denying it now, Thranduil had come, completely unexpected, to the valley and was less than two hours away from arriving. Why the old fool had not announced his intentions, say a year before coming here, he would probably never know. The problem was, that there already was another visitor, namely Celeborn, and those two added together meant complete chaos. He remembered the last white council meeting; where Thranduil and Celeborn had found his hidden stack of Dorwinion and had- NO! He would not think about what had happened then. On top of the disarray he had to solve, Celebrian had become really angry with him, after all, she too liked Dorwinion and he had kept it hidden.

'I don't suppose that Celeborn suddenly felt the urge to leave our valley, do you?' he sighed, accepting his fate.

'Not a chance Elrond! I however, have very important business to sort out, and can therefore not be of any assistance, unfortunately.'

Quick as a snake Elrond's hand shot out and grabbed Glorfindel by the golden locks that were his namesake. 'You, old friend, are going nowhere. If this is going to happen, we will withstand it together, and I will hereby appoint you to Chief of the Guests. You will make sure that Celeborn and Thranduil have no knowledge of each other's presence. You will make sure that my sons have no knowledge of the fact that Celeborn and Thranduil should never, NEVER again, meet. Above all, you will make sure that this stay will go by quietly and that Celeborn leaves as soon as possible. Did I make myself clear?!'

'But... Elrond! Ehm, My lord. My most esteemed friend. My most gracious, ever merciful liege… That is quite frankly impossible. I therefore humbl-'

I DON'T CARE WHETHER IT IS IMPOSSIBLE OR NOT- I WILL NOT- I WILL NOT HAVE A REPETITION OF WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME, DO YOU HEAR ME GLORFINDEL!' Elrond had become red, a very dangerous condition, especially for a peredhil his age. Glorfindel looked on worriedly, after all, his friend did not scream very often, and well, if it did happened, high blood-pressure would quickly fell the good lord.

And indeed. The Lord went down, just like a maid when he, Glorfindel the Great, smiled at her. Glorfindel the Great had unfortunately forgotten that said swooning elf-lord still had his hair in a tightly clenched fist and therefore followed his friend to the grassy grounds of Imladris. I should have shaved my head after that stupid Balrog! With a clenched face he tried to pry Elrond's hand from his hair but all his struggles were for naught, he was helplessly caught. With a heavy sigh he lifted Elrond from the ground, and swung him over his shoulder, making sure that the fist that held his hair was close enough to his head for comfort. Just to be sure that Elrond was really out and not just faking it, he bounced up and down for a few times, screaming 'Wakey! Wakey!' in Elrond's ear.

Since that didn't do the trick he decided that he could better bring Elrond to the healing wing and then, he should start attending to the arrival of Thranduil. The desire to sneak away was high, but he knew that whatever would happen with Thranduil around, Elrond would make sure that he would suffer worse if he disappeared. There were a few strange looks as he walked down to the healing halls, and when he finally sat in the waiting room. He thought that perhaps he should consider one of the offered healing courses. 'How to Help Hapless Humans' did sound interesting but perhaps 'Extinguished Elves: The Guide, What to Do when Elves don't Get Up Again' was more relevant for an elf in his situation. The waiting room was not really crowded. Still, healers, it seemed, could not work on a tight schedule to save their own life. He grabbed a few magazines ('Cirdan's Advice for Beard- Braiding' and 'Lembas; good Way-bread or Mordor's Delight?') and disposed Elrond on his lap, because his hair otherwise would be ripped off.

After waiting for half an hour he was let in by an apprentice, who fell down when he smiled at her. Normally he would have caught her, but his arms were already full of half-elf. After finding a new healer, an old, married, woman. She told him that it would be better for Elrond to wake up on his own, and that she couldn't help him with his hair. Muttering Glorfindel heaved Elrond back up his shoulder and walked to Elrond's chambers. A light flutter of panic was in the pits of his stomach. He had just wasted 30 minutes and had still not started with the preparations. Calling the old fateful steward (and librarian) Erestor to Elrond's study, he started searching the desk for Elrond's 'Guide to Emergencies, How to Deal with Irate Kings, Broken Noses and other Useful Tips'. Written by the esteemed lord himself.

Erestor arrived and after he too had been informed of the Elven King, they started working on the situation. Elrond's handwriting, however, was not really something to be proud of and Glorfindel did not understand why the lord had not used a scribe. 'It says here that we should make a banner? Look, he even sketched one: Liver smell: the Capstone of Losing no Wretch.'

'Hmm, particular choice of words, but if the lord wants it.' Erestor murmured. 'I have sent the twins to Celeborn's rooms, by the way, and hinted that they should do something to his hair. That should keep the vain bastard in his rooms for at least a week. And, no, they have no idea at all that Thranduil is coming.'

'Good job! Shall we meet again in half an hour? I- and Elrond here- will find the Eleven Elves and ask for a few woodland jigs for this evening. I will also go to the kitchen and ask them to prepare a feast. Can you go fix the banner and make sure that Celeborn really does stay in his rooms? Oh, hide the wine as well! We do not want a repeat from the last white council.' Both councillors shuddered and went their own way.

The minutes seemed to pass by and before everyone knew it, they were standing outside the gates, waiting for the king. Glorfindel still had Elrond draped around his shoulder, as a sort luxurious cloak, but he stood stiff and watched the proceedings. Judging from the giggles of the twins and the roar of embarrassment he had heard earlier, Erestor's plan had worked, which was a relief. The banner also looked nice, although the script was a bit weird, but then again, Elrond was half human, and Glorfindel had never really understood humans. Cautiously he allowed some optimism, perhaps things would not go so bad after all!

Hope you all liked the story and please review :)

Love, Laureiel