An Elven Interlude
With the silent Elven skill that had never left him no matter how many long millennia he had spent among Mortals, Legolas quietly opened the door of his bedroom, carefully closing it behind him so that the noise was not much more than a muffled snick. Instead of joining the others after school, he had disappeared to be by himself and get over the shock of finding one of…them in Sporks, of all places. He knew everyone would want to know exactly what was going on with Maribella and did not feel up to putting up with Celeborn's incessant questioning. The Elves took the Sues that came their way very seriously. They could do a lot of damage if left unmonitored.
I honestly don't understand, he thought to himself as he tiptoed his way down the wooden stairs. Why would one of them move here? This is back country. The only thing here for Mortals is the university campus, and Sues are generally not well-known for a love of learning.
He came to the doorway of the dining room, where the other Elves with whom he lived were finishing their dinner or doing rather un-Elvenly things like slouching on the arm chairs. Centuries of living among Men had given all of them a few quirky Mortal characteristics, especially since the beginning of the twentieth century. Ordering pizza, checking Facebook updates—and dressing like Mortal teenagers, among other things—was all a part of their lives.
Legolas came to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of a familiar pair of booted feet sitting on the mahogany table, and inwardly groaned. He was certainly not in the mood for Glorfindel. Why did he have to come home early? he thought despairingly. Glorfindel, Mithrellas and Maglor—all known by the Mortal names of Gerard, Miranda and Matthew—masqueraded as university students and attended the country campus across the road from the high school. Most nights they came home later than the others.
"Most" being the operative word.
Glorfindel was twirling his fork around idly, his finished plate of spaghetti in front of him. "I must say," he began, "for a Mortal cuisine, this is quite good."
Cahir O'Neill, who in ancient times was known as Lord Celeborn of the Golden Wood, raised an eyebrow in the famed Balrog-slayer's direction. "And here you were complaining that spaghetti was messy and tasted bad."
Glorfindel leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach contentedly, ignoring Celeborn as usual. "May I remind you that you would not eat Chinese for years until the night you were hungry and ate nearly six boxes?"
The only response from the Elf-lord was a grunt, which made Glorfindel roar with laughter. Daeron jumped, startled out of his reverie near the window and nearly dropping his guitar. His music stand toppled over and sheet music flew everywhere. He fixed an annoyed look upon the golden warrior, at the same time bending down to pick up his music.
"You," he grumbled, "have got to stop laughing so loudly."
The look on Glorfindel's face was nearly repentant, but knowing him, he was not feeling in the least bit apologetic.
Legolas seized the opportunity to stalk into the room and get his dinner without having questions fired at him, but all the Elven eyes in the room were distracted from what they were doing to follow his movements.
Celeborn was merciless.
"You cannot still be sulking because you failed to run her over yesterday."
"Much as I would have liked to do so, no, that is not the reason." Legolas sat down slowly, restraining himself from scowling at the erstwhile Elf-lord. Sulking, indeed. "No, it is the fact that this—this thing is stronger than I thought."
"How so?"
"Well…" The blond Elf rubbed the back of his neck hesitantly. Sometimes he still froze in shock when he felt his comparatively short hair, which before had been long and silken and was now slightly wavy and brushed against the collar of his school shirt. "She is quite typical for a Sue, but there is always something about the so-called typical ones…I have no idea…" He sighed.
Nimrodel, known more commonly to the people of Sporks as Nia, spoke up then. "Typical? I would have thought she were one of those 'special' ones whose only wish is to be the same as everyone else, et cetera, et cetera—"
"Aye, Nimrodel, but that does make her typical in a way, does it not?"
Nimrodel tilted her head to one side. "You have a point."
There was a snort from Daeron. "I would be willing to bet my harmonica that she's into Lord of the Rings."
"I protest. I liked Lord of the Rings," put in Glorfindel indignantly. Maglor rolled his eyes.
"That is because you were the one who spun that yarn to the Professor. Half the things you told that poor soldier during the War were barely truth at all."
Glorfindel's grin suddenly gave way to an unusually serious expression. "He was a perceptive young man. He must have had Elven or Númenorean blood in him, for despite the fact that our history was long forgotten he somehow guessed much of who and what we were. When he asked me to tell him more, the half-truths I gave him were for the sake of our own survival."
Silence descended upon the company of Elves. Their survival in a world where Men ruled was ever before their eyes. Over the years it had become easier in some ways to disguise themselves, to avoid letting certain words and actions slip that could not be undone. For a long time they had lingered along the coastal towns of Britain, sometimes crossing to Ireland and back over the centuries, because the people there did not notice or care that the strange and beautiful wanderers did not really seem to age.
Now, with the pervasiveness of modern technology and transport, it was getting harder to hide from the world. For years they had managed but only now were they threatened by the insatiable curiosity of Men. The presence of a Sue more powerful than they had faced in years only made things more difficult. Who knew what kind of stupid things she could do that would draw attention to their existence?
It was Legolas, oddly enough, who broke the uncomfortable silence. He remembered having to sit next to Maribella in the last period. He buried his head in his hands and chuckled.
"What is it?" Celeborn sounded concerned for Legolas' mental health—and probably with good reason.
Legolas snorted. "She smells like she had bathed in water filled with every household cleaning product known to Man. And then copiously doused herself with fruit juice. It was an awful combination."
The door burst open and several of them jumped. Mithrellas had kicked it open with one black boot and was carrying a tall pile of books and papers, which was promptly dumped without ceremony onto the couch next to Maglor. The Fëanorion dressed as a goth cast a cool glance at all the university student paraphernalia and looked up.
"Would you kindly remove your crap and put it elsewhere?" he said politely. Celeborn's eyebrows shot up at Maglor's choice of language. Again, for good reason. There was a snigger from Glorfindel. Mithrellas ignored all of them.
"So?" she said, sitting down next to Legolas with feline grace and pointedly paying no heed to sound of Maglor shuffling her papers. "What is happening with this Mary-Belle of yours?"
"Maribella," sighed Legolas, feeling rather depressed again, "and she is certainly not mine."
The elleth turned to Glorfindel. "Is she really that bad?"
He leaned back in his chair and yawned. "She is a Sue. Must you ask?" Turning to Legolas, he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It will not be impossible to defeat her. We have faced far worse before."
"That is precisely what I am worried about." Legolas stood up. "It has been years since we have faced worse than her. I can practically read her thoughts, as all of us can with Sues because their thoughts are few and transparent, and there is nothing there which could possibly redeem her."
Maglor sat up and looked thoughtful for a moment, which seemed rather odd when compared to the usual impassive gothic stare he wore among Men. "I have not detected anything extraordinary in that urple aura of hers," he said. "Usually once Sues move in, they try to take control of everyone else. Nothing of the sort so far has happened. Most people seemed to be immune to her charms today."
"Yes, most, but not all, Maglor. Did you see the male half of the Year Twelve class staring after her with that vacant, lovestruck look after sixth period?"
"Well, what are we waiting for? The solution is simple," said Daeron suddenly, allowing the more savage side of his poetic minstrel's soul to take over for a moment. "She is irredeemable and has not done too much damage yet. Let us do away with her and have it over with while we can."
"I am afraid it is a little more complicated than that," came Galadriel's quiet but clear voice as she entered the room. Even wearing an apron that was bespattered with spaghetti sauce, she managed to look just as beautiful and regal as the Lady of Lothlórien so many millennia ago. Despite diminishing and remaining Galadriel, she had certainly not gone into the West. Celeborn's face instantly brightened when his eyes alighted upon her.
"How so, meleth?" he asked, curious.
Galadriel, as always, took her time in answering. Hanging her apron onto a hook, she came and sat next to her husband. She cleared her throat after a moment. "Do any of you know under what circumstances Sues are spawned?"
"Er…by an overactive and immature imagination incapable of preventing self-insertion into narrative?" guessed Daeron.
"That," said Galadriel with a smile, "but they are also created to be at a certain age. They have no beginnings. At least, most of them do not."
"So…you are saying that Maribella actually has a beginning?" asked Maglor. "But how would that work?"
"Maribella has had her story told from the moment of her birth by her creator," explained Galadriel, apparently not noticing the look of confusion that was written on most of the Elves' faces. "Instead of being spawned at the age of fifteen and inserted into an otherwise perfectly good narrative continuum, for some reason she was born human. Or at least to reasonably human parents."
"You know what? I really do not understand any of this," grumbled Daeron peevishly. "Why can we not simply run her through? What has this all got to do with her actually having a life prior to arriving in Sporks?"
Legolas glanced quickly in Galadriel's direction. Sitting silently and with only a slight smile turning her mouth up at the corners, she was allowing everyone else to work it out for themselves. It was just like her.
With mock exasperation Maglor lifted his eyes—which, it must be noted, were heavily outlined with black eyeliner—to the ceiling and said in as condescending a tone possible, "Her previous life means that her existence will have been established in all government records. If she goes missing, the attention of the media will be attracted to Sporks, which is where we live, am I correct?"
The other musician looked annoyed and was about to retort when his eyes lit up with sudden comprehension. "There will be investigations, and we may be revealed," he said slowly. "But how then will we rid ourselves of her?"
Only then did Galadriel speak up. "A Sue such as this can only be killed in the zenith of her power," was her only comment.
Even Glorfindel looked as if he were deeply in thought. Legolas nervously ran a hand through his short-ish hair and hoped to Udûn that someone would come up with a solution soon, because he very well could not see one.
"Maybe…" murmured Mithrellas. "Maybe we should actually let her take over Sporks, and then get rid of her."
"What?" Irritated, the former prince of Mirkwood glared at Mithrellas. "Let her take over Sporks? Let her use any one of us for her foul purposes? Are you insane?"
"I like to think of myself as innovative," Mithrellas shot back.
"Now is not the time to fight," said Celeborn gravely, standing up and looking searchingly into the faces of all present. "Once she reaches the height of her power, she will leave behind the last vestiges of her humanity. We defeat her, she will cease to exist, and all records of her existence will be wiped out. We, in the meantime, will remain wary of her. The Mortals of this town probably will not survive long without being under her spell, but we can, and we must."
Legolas' feelings were not in the least alleviated by this news. It was perilous to all of them, whether they got rid of her now or later. He himself was the most vulnerable, for even though he had been through countless experiences with Sues due to his being their primary lust object, Maribella would most likely exert all her power to overcome him.
"So what will we do?" To his own ears he sounded glum, defeated.
"We will continue as we always have," said Galadriel quietly. "You will all attend your classes as usual. But tomorrow, and maybe even for a few days, all of us will be required in the city for the annual meeting."
For years the Elves had been running the immense Mallorn Corporation which dealt with anything from the distribution of Tolkien-related merchandise to music recording companies (of which Maglor and Daeron, being experienced in the field, were in charge). When it was required, they would all take a few days off to attend to the running of their businesses, and tomorrow was the beginning of an annual series of meetings.
Legolas rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.
This could be very difficult.
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Coming up next: Maribella does some intelligent things, like reading Jane Austen and complaining about Liam's absence from school.
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A/N: Some of the Elves I've used are ones you may not recognise: Nimrodel was an Elf who got lost in the mountains looking for her lover Amroth and was never found, and Mithrellas was an Elf who married a Númenorean descendant living in Dol Amroth and then disappeared. Lothiriel's family, it was rumoured, had a strain of Elvish blood in them and it was probably from Mithrellas and her Mortal husband. Daeron was a minstrel from the First Age who ran off when he thought Lúthien of Doriath was dead. And Maglor, of course, is a Son of Fëanor whose fate is widely debated. I like to think he lived. :)
Like it? Hate it? I appreciate all reviews. :) Thank you all very much for reading!
