The Post Office of Elrond
Author's Note: This is a humor story, written as I was inspired by 'Rivendell Wrapping Co.' by postboxes. I didn't mean to insult anyone/ anything here! Reviews and comments are welcomed.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or anything, just my own ideas. All known languages mentioned are chosen randomly- no insults were meant.
The Post Office of Elrond
Near the boundary where Valinor meets the real world sits a small Post Office. Though small, this Post Office holds a very important job: it sorts the incoming (rarely any outgoing) letters from the real world, thus keeping the inhabitants of Valinor sane despite so many fangirls out there. Such a job requires a very high sense of responsibility, sanity and of course endurance. And who is more responsible, sane and has a high endurance than the great Lord Elrond, who had once stayed in Middle Earth to look after the its inhabitants? As such, the Post Office falls into the responsibility of the House of Elrond, which includes not only Elrond himself, but also his family, Erestor and Glorfindel.
The twin sons of Elrond, unlike popular belief, are not at all mischievous, unless perhaps in the presence of an elfling or child. In fact, they are extremely useful as the frontline people sorting out letters because they have two heads that think rather alike, thus decreasing the chance of one faction crying out war to another, as a certain Balrog slayer almost did when having to do the job with a certain scholar, who insisted on correcting all grammatical errors before sending the letter over.
Today, as with all other days, started out as the twins reporting for their work in the morning. Sometimes, Elladan would think that as the nth heir to the throne of Doriath and Gondolin and also the heirs to the lordship of Rivendell and Lothlorien would have sounded grand enough to let them choose what kind of duties they want to do, but Elrohir reminded him that these kingdoms do not exist in Valinor, thus making their titles much less impressive than they really are. Sitting down at the front office, the twins stared at the mournful pile of letters waiting to be sorted, and a brief glance told them that the number of letters would possibly amount up to 5015 letters, give or take five (yes, they have that much experience). Another quick calculation of probability told them that approximately 2700 letters will be for the former prince of Mirkwood, Legolas. Sighing, the twins sat down and started the sorting process.
"Legolas, Legolas, Legolas, Legolas, Legolas, a green leaf stuck onto an envelope—I guess that's Legolas', Legolas, Legolas…" began Elladan.
"I wonder how much scrap paper he has," commented Elrohir, adding more letters to the pile labelled "Legolas".
"Probably none because he used them as targets for arrow practice," replied Elladan dryly. "Uh, 'leggykins my luv'. Seriously, you think these people would stop sending letters already, seeing as they never get any replies," continued Elladan as he disposed of the letter into a box labelled "trash".
"Well, no one ever gets any replies, and they still send their letters. Oh, another one…" muttered Elrohir as he fished out a package containing a love potion which label had been hurriedly and badly replaced as 'health potion'. "Legolas owes us his life for the 3014th time now."
There was silence for an hour as the twins peacefully and mundanely sorted out most of the letters.
"Oh, a pictorial writing one. At least something different!" exclaimed Elladan, as he dropped the letter into a small slot and into the Translation Room just next door.
"That's Chinese, Elladan,"came Erestor's flowing voice. "I thought you would have recognised it by now, seeing as this is not the first year you are doing this."
"Oh come on, Erestor, we do not have a flair for modern world languages like you do," commented Elladan. Sounds of quill scratching paper was the reply, and Elladan sighed. He missed those times when Erestor would lecture him on not knowing a certain language. He could swear that Erestor was enjoying his translation work a bit too much. Obsessed may be the better word.
It was apparent that Elrohir was thinking about the same thing. "Glorfindel is obsessed with his work too," he said suddenly, "I saw him conjuring ways to shred the unwanted letters into small bits. I believe he is trying to invent a move that can shred a paper in one move."
That was interesting—at least more interesting than the remaining three thousand over letters to sort through. "Oh?" asked Elladan, "and how many moves is he on now?"
"Three. I think when we started out it was about twenty to fully shred a paper."
As if on cue, Glorfindel came striding in, wielding a long sword in his right hand and practising some sort of move with it. Upon seeing the twins, he gave a deep bow.
"And whose hopes shall I destroy today, my lords?" asked Glorfindel majestically.
Elladan pointed to the trash box, which Glorfindel carried to his shredding room quickly. Moments later, pieces of paper crying for their lives could be heard from the shredding room. Elladan thought he felt Erestor wince in the translation room. At the same time, he saw Elrohir listen intently and counting the number of moves Glorfindel made to shred a paper and felt that he was the only sane one left.
It was a moment later that Elrohir returned and continued to sort out the letters when he saw two letters addressed to them. With a sigh, he pocketed them. May it be that it was not another letter reprimanding them and accusing them of pranks that they did not do. As he was pondering about the two letters, he saw another pictorial writing letter and passed it to the translation room. He thought he heard a squeal of delight, but told himself that he must have heard wrongly because chief councillors do NOT squeal.
"Not exactly sure what this is, but this is addressed to Erestor," muttered Elladan, and he passed the letter into the translation room. A distinct, undeniable squeal could be heard from the room. "Ooh, Icelandic!"
"Oh great, I am sure he is going to spend the remaining time translating the letter into Quenya, Sindarin, Westron, maybe some form of ancient dwarvish to entertain himself," sighed Elladan. "The last time he got a letter, I think he translated it into four languages and attempted to compose a poem based on it."
"Erestor desperately needs something else to do."
"Correction, Ro. All of us desperately need something to do. Oh, this could be interesting," said Elladan, as he turned over a letter that was not sealed in an envelope, "it is addressed to Ada, from a certain agency known as "Middle Earth Virtual Tours", asking to tour Valinor."
Elrohir perked up immediately. "Sounds interesting. I will send it to Ada now."
Right at that time, Elrond strode in happily, carrying a bundle of papers in his hand. He surveyed the front office quietly and gave his twin sons an approving look. The twins smiled and presented the letter, which he kept quietly with the bundle.
"By the way, my sons, I just received call from someone who calls himself "Santa Claus". He needs help in wrapping presents. Will you both be interested?"
The twins smiled in unison and bowed. Finally, a chance to escape from this letter sorting, thought both of them. Unfortunately for both of them, they did not understand the gravity of present wrapping and therefore made one of the worst decision during their stay in Valinor.
"We will be pleased to, Ada. When do we start?"
-The End-