NOTES: Hey ya'll, after reading all the hilariously funny AU fics you guys have been posting, I thought I'd give a try. This would be my first fic, and its kinda short, so if its indescribably terrible, some constructive criticism would be highly appreciated.
Thank you!
THE SILLINESS:
Outside, in the middle of suburbia, the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the wind was blowing lightly, but the writer of our story happens to be stuck inside, because inspiration has struck and run, and so she must put up with the consequences, tapping away furiously at the laptop in front of her with what creative juice she has left.
But she wasn't alone, and now she wasn't writing anymore. Perhaps it was a subtle marking of a beginning of the plague that hit every writer, the block which tormented and teased them, which turned every blank piece of paper into a haunting, the obstruction which every writer swerved to steer clear of.
Behind her, hunched over, a certain silver-haired elf read the screen with the dark-haired female, skimming what she had so far, pointing out the missteps and errors, and then rereading the passages again, making sure the spirit of the story was inline with the truth.
Click.
The internet was up, and soon elf and writer were reading another's work at trusty Anor ah Ithil.
"Did she just call me a ninny?!"
"No," the writer replied, with a touch of annoyance from the interruption.
"I can see it on the screen! Along Came A Caterpillar, by Bill th- hey! Scroll back up!!"
The writer, used to the elf-lord's complaints, and completely annoyed, shooed him away with a wave of her hand. "By Bill the Pony. Now shoo."
"Don't wave me away! You cannot simply shoo away a storm."
The writer scoffed, half laughing. "Don't think so much of yourself! You're not a storm!"
"Oh? You think you know me so well, then what am I?"
A clear, almost dangerous female voice came from the doorway, intercepting the remark, returning it with one of her own.
"You're the calm before it."
"You know, techinically, the writer of the fic called you a ninny."
"So why are you smiling?!"
Giggles bubbled to the surface, which was perhaps not the best thing to do when dealing with an elf lord. "Celeborn," she said, "come on! Its funny!"
"I am NOT a ninny!"
Galadriel concurred completely. "You should've seen him in Doriath. Good times."
The memories came flooding back, and the argument was forgotten.
"Yes...Doriath..." With a sigh, he strolled on over to the stereo, after clicking through the shelf of CD's, and fed it to the radio.
Soft music filled the room as the elf-lord and his lady began to dance, slow and beautiful, like their people, but sweetly and lovingly like the couple they came to be.
"No...not Elizabeth Frazer again..."
"...ELROND!! I want my Enya back!!"