I made a Glorfindel version of the "MOM HOLY FUCK" meme (it's in the AO3 version) and... well, this was born.


The door to Lord Elrond's study burst open with a thunderous crash, startling the old elf into spilling ink all over the latest draft of… whatever it was. Frankly, he hadn't been paying attention for quite a while. There was some faint, niggling sense of unease that kept him twitchy and unrested. It probably had something to do with why Lord Glorfindel had just kicked the door in.

"LORD ELROND HOLY FUCK," said the ancient Balrog-slayer, wheezing.

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "Whatever is the matter, my friend?" he asked mildly. Had Glorfindel run all the way back from his position along the Eastern border? That might explain how he was out of breath.

"AN ELFLING!" said he of House Golden Flower, waving his arms like a maniac. "AN ELFLING IN LOND DAER!"

Elrond's other eyebrow shot up to join its compatriot at his hairline. "I beg your pardon, but did you say—"

"ELF. LING." Glorfindel repeated forcefully, bracing his hands on his knees. "LOND DAER. YES. YOU HEARD THAT CORRECTLY."

Elrond rubbed a hand over his mouth. Well. That certainly explained his recent unease, though he had to wonder why it had been mild discomfort and not frothing-at-the-mouth insanity. A strange elfling appearing in the middle of nowhere would certainly merit that kind of intensity, since there had been no recent announcements of a birth. It had seemed to him that Arwen would be the last child born on these shores, but apparently he was mistaken.

"Can you explain—without shouting—exactly what has transpired, my friend? I confess, I am still at something of a loss."

Glorfindel straightened and took a deep breath, smoothing his mane of golden curls back self-consciously. "A woman—one of the remaining Numenoreans in Lond Daer—she found an elfling wandering the ruins. She said he spoke Sindarin clearly, and his name was Arasion and he was 'exploring.' He also said that his papa knew, but she now suspects that was a lie." His expression became pained. "When he vanished in the middle of the night, her grandmother directed her to find our nearest scout."

Elrond frowned thoughtfully. Arasion? That didn't sound like any father-name he would know, unless some of the wilder, free-roaming elves had changed their naming conventions. How very strange. "And he was alone?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, my Lord, save a most intelligent white Owl. The child gave its name as 'Hedwig.'"

Another strange name. It sounded almost mannish. "How old was the child?" he asked, standing. Clearly this merited swift action.

The Balrog-slayer hesitated. "From her descriptions, I would guess between sixteen to twenty years."

"He surely cannot have gone far, then," Lord Elrond said with a nod. "We shall send some scouting parties to search the area." He smiled and laid a reassuring hand on Glorfindel's shoulder. "Take heart, my friend. I am certain we will find him and bring him to safety quickly."

"Yes, of course," the blonde agreed, relaxing. "How hard could it be to find a single child?"


Poor Glorfindel and Elrond are in for quite the surprise when they can't find our little Arasion. :')