Obsessions

Elrond was appalled.

No. That wasn't a strong enough word.

What was it he'd overheard Aragorn saying once?

Pissed.

That was it.

He was pissed.

Someone had taken one of his pens. And chewed on the end of it. Teeth marks marred the high polish of the wood, and clumps of dried ink were left on the nib! "Elladan," he called, marching stiffly out of his study. "Where are you?!"

His son came walking around the corner, out of the larger library. "Yes, Ada?"

Shaking the pen at him, Elrond narrowed his eyes. "Do you know where I got this?"

Confused, Elladan just shook his head. "No."

"LADY GALADRIEL MADE THIS FOR ME FROM THE BRANCH OF A LOTHLORIAN MELLORN TREE," Elrond shouted.

"I didn't know!" Elladan backed away, hands up to ward his father away. "I thought it was just a regular one, Ada!"

He waved it under his son's nose. "You also left ink to dry on the bloody nib! Do you have any idea how badly the clumping ruins these things?! Even after you wash it, the blade has been altered significantly, and the letters don't flow properly!"

"I'm sorry!" Elladan backed away until he was clear. "I'll write Lady Galadriel and apologize and see if she'll send another one if I pay for it! I'm sorry, Ada! I didn't know!" He bolted as fast as he could down the hall.

Once Elladan had disappeared, Elrond chuckled. "Galadriel's going to be so confused when she gets his letter." He pulled the ruined nib from the pen and dropped into the small barrel by his writing desk before putting the pen itself into an empty holder on the shelf. "At least he'll remember to clean the nibs and not chew on his pens from now on."

"That was such a cruel joke, Ada," Arwen said, frowning as she looked up from her book.

He shrugged. "If we were human, I would be completely bald by now because of those two. Elladan needs a little of that same feeling once in a while." He looked down at the now useless nib he'd just thrown away. "That was one of my favorites, though. The lines it drew were almost flawless."

Arwen shook her head. "Has anyone ever told you that this obsession you have with pens and nibs might be a little bit strange?"

"I'm thousands of years old, Arwen, therefore, I am allowed to have eccentricities."

"Did Lady Galadriel actually give you a pen made from a Mellorn tree?"

"Yes, and it's in my room." He looked over at her, shocked. "Do you think I'd actually use it?"

Arwen put her book down and asked, "Do all elves who are over three thousand years old have obsessions?"

He nodded. "Celeborn's is unusual looking leaves; they have to be flawless, before he'll even consider picking one up for his collection." Thinking about it, he said, "Galadriel, oddly, is obsessed with throwing knives. I'm not sure when she started becoming fascinated with them, though." Elrond furrowed his brow, trying to remember. "I believe the last time I visited, she had roughly four hundred of them, though."

Arwen's jaw dropped in a most unladylike manner.

Not seeing the shock on his daughter's face, Elrond picked up the chewed pen from its place on the shelf and began inspecting it more closely. "Did you know that Glorfindel collects erotic paintings of a more…intense variety?"

"Ada, please, I don't want to hear-."

"He's enthralled by images of nude women who have been artistically bound in vibrantly colored silken rope." Elrond chuckled slightly, "Now, Thranduil, he is utterly overtaken with Dwarven mechanical children's toys. I walked in on him playing with a pink and purple horse named 'Happy' and was talking to it as if it could hear him."

"This is far too much information I did not want to know." Getting to her feet, Arwen stared at her father as she backed slowly out of the study. "I think, for the first time in my life, I'm actually beginning to dread Elvish aging."

Elrond pretended not to notice her slinking back out into the hallway, keeping his back slightly toward her to hide the fact that he was about to burst into laughter. Once he was sure she had fled out into the gardens, the Lord of Rivendel collapsed back into his favorite chair and chortled.

"I've always wondered which parent we inherited our sense of humor from," Elrohir said from the doorway of the study, "but that was just weird."

Looking over at his son, Elrond chuckled. "No one can be too serious forever, son. My wit is not quite as dry and subtle as many might think. I do enjoy a good practical joke here and there."

"I'm not discounting that, Ada, but… Glorfindel collecting erotic paintings? Isn't that a bit of a stretch? I mean… he's Glorfindel."

Elrond just scoffed. "You can believe that Thranduil would play with Dwarven toys made for small girls, but Glorfindel collecting erotically posed nudes is too far of a stretch?"

He had no intention of entering Glorfindel's rooms, but surely looking into the windows would show him the truth of his father's jest. Elrohir slowly advanced forward, adjusting his footing to compensate for the bend of the tree branch. His eyes widened in shock, and he couldn't help but stare. "They're beautiful," he whispered, enraptured by the framed portraits.

"Thank you. I painted them myself," Glorfindel said from the branch beside him.

"Eei!" Elrohir lost his balance and almost fell.

"Next time, just ask if you can see them. I might even sell you one."