I got this idea during school when I was bored, so it's pretty random. Read it, review it, flame it, I don't care, I wrote it just for fun.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Elrond and Arwen led the way into the Hall of Fire, sat in their throne- like comfy armchairs and wearily told the elvish minstrels to start doing their musicky thing. Which they did, but not very enthusiastically.
They sang a couple of songs to Elbereth, and for a while the beautiful music kept everyone entranced. But after they had sung a few more songs that most of the future Fellowship couldn't understand and that made most of the Elves including the minstrels themselves fall asleep, a young elf called Lindir woke up, stood up resolutely and tripped, shoved and "excuse me"d his way to the front of the room. A hush fell over the gathering, broken only by loud snores from Gimli, Glòin and, not surprisingly, Aragorn. Arwen looked over at him fondly. "Why is that not surprising?"
"Huh? What?" said Aragorn, suddenly waking up because he sensed Arwen was bending over him wearing a very low-cut gown, and he didn't want to miss it. The entire gathering stared at him in silence, now broken only by snores from Gimli and Glòin. "OK, what'd I miss?"
Lindir turned around and gave him a warning glance. Aragorn went into a sulk. He wasn't used to being told off. He was the chief of the Dùnedain, for goodness' sake! Being stared at, he could take—heck, it happened every time he went to Bree—but not even Elrond ever looked at him like that. Stupid cheeky elf. Lindir was getting too big for his pretty little satiny shoes.
But the stupid cheeky elf was saying something, and everyone else was getting interested. Aragorn settled down to watch the floor show.
"We've heard these songs at every feast our whole lives—and that's a long time. I can't even keep track of my own age in yén now. Anyway, I think most of you will agree we need something new for entertainment."
Behind him, Elrond bristled with indignation. How DARE he? Stupid little upstart, putting down the time-honoured traditional elf songs! He'd been singing them since he was born and now some unimportant, young, green, inexperienced teenager had the impertinence to suggest a change! And as for keeping track of his age...
"And exactly what sort of entertainment would you suggest, Lindir?" he said, slowly, menacingly and sounding quite a lot like a cross between a six-year-old kid and the big bad guy in a cartoon. If he had known it, Elrond now agreed exactly with Aragorn's earlier thoughts. In this, as in most things, he was already a little out of date. Aragorn, who wasn't feeling very strong-minded at the moment because of the fact that he'd missed dinner, now heartily agreed with Lindir—he'd heard the same songs to Elbereth every time he'd stayed at Rivendell, and he knew them by heart.
The other Elves were cheering on a nervous Lindir, who was now regretting his boldness in challenging the ancient (boring) traditions. But as he looked, or rather tried not to look at Elrond, his eyes were drawn towards Arwen who was, as usual, managing to look dark, mysterious and very elvishly sexy all at the same time. (How does she DO that?)
She smiled, winked and gave Lindir the confidence he needed while simultaneously driving Aragorn crazy with jealousy. Which was just the way she liked it.
"Um, well," said Lindir, "I was thinking that, um, since the minstrels are like bored and that, and uh, we kind of are too, well uh, not meaning to be, like, disrespectful to, um, the traditions and uh, stuff, Master Elrond, but d'you wanna know what I think?"
"No, but I'm probably going to hear it anyway. Get on with it, why don't you?" said Elrond, who was grumpy because he had to be the bad guy. "We don't have all night, little Frodo has to go to bed soon. He has a big day tomorrow, you know," he added with a slightly mischievous smile. Nobody laughed—they weren't interested in Frodo at the moment, and besides, this was the Ring-bearer they were talking about. Elrond's humour was not very well placed, as usual. Frodo, who was wide awake now there was something interesting going on, gave him the evil eye from his corner.
Boromir suddenly jumped up and grabbed a small bronze bell that was sitting conveniently on a shelf nearby. The shelf immediately disappeared, having played its part in the fic and also having just got a letter from its agent about somebody rich needing a random shelf, for a good humour fic this time. Boromir, being a self-centred attention seeker, took no notice of the mystery of the disappearing shelf and got on with seeking attention:
"In the red corner, folks, we have our challenger, Frodooooooooo the Halfliiiiiiiiiiing!"
Merry and Pippin whistled and clapped, but, realising they were the only ones doing this and looked like total dorks, they quickly subsided. Boromir, who again had taken no notice of anything or anyone except himself, went on: "And in the blue corner, we haaaave...the undisputed champion of elvish insults...Elrooooooooond!!!" He rang the bell twice. "Let the battle BEGIN!!!!"
Gandalf suddenly twigged what was going on. "Boromir, I know you have an exaggerated sense of your own importance and it's very hard for you to stop acting like an idiot..."
"That's because he IS an idiot," put in Aragorn unhelpfully.
"My thoughts exactly," said some random Aragorn fan whose identity I can't be bothered figuring out—probably an elf as the room was full of them.
"Thank you for your insight, Aragorn and echo—"
"HEY!"
"Oh way cool, now I have a personal echo. Stardom rocks, man!"
"AHEM!!!" said Gandalf, who was getting very annoyed because he hadn't had a chance to say anything wise and knowing yet.
"Sorry," said Aragorn, showing that surprisingly, he did have some semblance of a brain.
"I am NOT an echo, thanks very much. I HAVE A NAME, YOU KNOW!!"
"Well, we don't want to hear it."
"Fine, I don't love you anymore. I'll just go and be a Legolas fan-girl instead."
"NOOO! Don't do that!! PLEASE don't do that!" said Aragorn and Legolas together.
"Well?"
"OK, OK, fine, what's your name?"
The fangirl shrieked "YES!" and slapped high-fives with her group of giggling friends.
"He's mine, kid, so keep your hands off him," said Arwen, alarmed at Aragorn's obvious fondness for the fan-girl/elf.
"It's OK, darling, I'll always be faithful to you."
"Oh puke, puke, vomit, gag, the lovey-dovey is killing me," said Pippin, immature as usual.
"What about meee?!!1!1" said the random fangirl.
"You're a fangirl," Aragorn pointed out.
"Obviously."
"So I don't even have to recognise you if I don't want to."
"I'm so glad to hear that, honey-bun," cooed Arwen.
"But he's famous! He's allowed to be unfaithful to keep up his profile!"
"No, he isn't!"
"Why not?"
"Because I'm the one he'd be unfaithful to and I said so!"
"Pbbthh," said the fangirl.
"Immature swine," replied Arwen serenely.
"Bitch."
"Slob."
Gandalf quickly butted in before things got out of hand—catfights were not his idea of entertainment, and Arwen had been growing her nails.
"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by more people who seem to have an exaggerated sense of their own importance: Lindir is about to make an important announcement, which happens to be the basis for this fic, and I suggest you SHUT UP AND LISTEN FOR A CHANGE!"
Gandalf suddenly realised how violent that last sentence had sounded, and that everyone was staring at him now, not Aragorn. "Ahem...ah... carry on, Lindir."
Lindir summoned up the courage he had been storing for this moment. "Well, Master Elrond," he said eagerly, "I think tonight we should do something a little more modern, more, like, with the times?" He turned and faced the rest of the gathering. "In honour of our guests, I think we should have a Disco, that's if Elrond knows what one is, just for tonight. It'll give us all something to remember and it'll be more of a celebration than just stuffy boring old songs. Who's with me?"
The room erupted with clear voices doing something they hadn't done in a long time, restricted by stuffy boring Elrond clinging to the old stuffy boring ways. They yelled, screamed, shrieked, whistled, applauded, chanted various high school war cries, cheered, shouted, thumped, stamped, waved their arms around in complicated patterns, did drum rolls, raised their fists in the air, formed themselves into elf pyramids, jumped so high they got stuck on the ceiling, somersaulted, back flipped, ran around the room without touching the floor, stood on the rails surrounding the fire, did a Mexican wave on average every ten seconds, spun around until they fell over, lay down and waved their legs in the air, did bum dances, made faces at Elrond who was absolutely furious at the outrage Lindir had just committed, hugged each other, and carried Lindir around the room on their shoulders. Basically, they went completely crazy. In the middle of all this, some random (probably the same one as last time) remembered what everyone was going crazy for:
"Hey, where's the music?"
Lindir grinned. "I was wondering when you would figure that out."
"Figure what out?"
"Never mind. Bilbo—hit it!"
Bilbo pressed the PLAY button on his ghetto blaster, which had somehow not been noticed before, and the first bars of "Dancing in the Street" filled the room. "I know it's old and everything," said Bilbo to Lindir apologetically, "but it seemed to fit, and anyway you've all been singing ancient Elvish songs up til now, so anything with a beat is new."
Another cheer went up, the fire died down, coloured torches appeared on the walls courtesy of Gandalf, and a mirror ball glittered as it hung mysteriously from the ceiling. Frodo stared at it, puzzled. Lindir saw his glance and laughed. "Hey, I don't know where it came from or what it's for either but it's a party, so what the heck, leave it there."
Arwen had torn off her cloak to reveal a black low-cut mini cocktail dress—Lindir had told her his plan and she'd come prepared—and dashed off to boogie with the rest of the riff-raff. Elrond sat, alone, forgotten, in his chair at what used to be the front of the room. He wasn't angry with Lindir any longer. No, he was hopping mad at himself for not stopping all this sooner.
He overbalanced from trying to hop madly at himself and fell back into his chair.
He, Elrond, Master of the House, unable to control his own household! Well, things had come to a pretty pass. Something had to be done.
But as he looked around, he realised he couldn't do a thing. He didn't have the heart to stop the young ones having their fun. Even though he was rather crusty and very set in his ways, Elrond was not a tyrant—despite the opinions of some of his inferiors. He glimpsed Gandalf on the right doing a grapevine and twirling his finger in the air.
Then the song got to the bit that goes "Every guy, grab a girl" ...and chaos broke out. The girls grabbed their favourite guys, the guys all went for Arwen, Arwen frantically looked for Aragorn—who was showing Elladan and Elrohir some suspiciously Elvis-like moves—and yelled at him across the room, Aragorn realised what was happening and dashed towards Arwen, the random fan-elf and her friends grabbed his arms and proceeded to pull him in half, another heap of younger girls followed their example with Lindir, while Legolas, who hasn't really come into this yet and I don't know why because he's very important—anyway Legolas yelled "Help!" at the top of his voice because the same thing was happening to him on the other side of the room and he was afraid his perfectly combed, newly bleached hair was getting messed up. (Dark hair was just sooooo last age, and besides, Lothlòrien was on the itinerary and he wanted to look as closely related to Galadriel as possible.)
Gandalf, the hobbits and the dwarves stood back and laughed at the commotion and Boromir stood in the middle of the room sulking because no one was going for him, despite his attention-grabber earlier. He'd bought the idea on special at Wal-Mart a month ago when he'd heard about Aragorn's extraordinary luck with Arwen, and it had come with a ten-year money-back guarantee if the girls didn't take any notice, so he couldn't figure out why he was still alone.
Maybe he should have got the Deluxe King/ Queen/ Steward size Triple Double Semi Demi Original Replica Fake Genuine Elf-Maiden-Super-Magnet version...
Elrond shook his head and was about to slope off quietly to his own chambers when he felt his feet detach from the rest of his body and develop a mind of their own. They took him into the centre of the group and began to step rhythmically from side to side. His fingers followed his feet's example and became independent, clicking in time to the music. Pippin, who was clumsily linking arms with Merry and trying to do the can-can, spotted him and fearlessly gave the Loremaster thumbs up. Elrond's eyes widened in amazement, but instead of giving the young hobbit a piece of his mind he found himself smiling—which had a scary effect combined with the wide eyes.
Legolas, having escaped from the rabid fan-elves, got a glimpse of Elrond and got a little freaked out by his expression, but didn't really care because he was enjoying the chance to try out his new street dancing moves and wondering why no one had tried this party idea in Mirkwood yet.
"I am so doing this to Dad when I get home," he said to no one in particular but probably the cute elf-maiden next to him. She smiled.
"Where did you learn to dance?" She was talking to him!
"Oh, I made these ones up. Not much to do on the road, you know."
Actually his younger brother had given him a few tips before he left home, but he didn't feel like telling what's-her-name. She was looking at him very wisely and he began to feel just a little uncomfortable.
"You need to take some lessons, then. What's your name, by the way?"
Legolas gulped. His brother was so dead when he finally got home. He wondered how old the elf-maiden was—maybe she was some relative of Elrond's. Or Galadriel's. Maybe Arwen's twin sister...
Coming back to reality, he realised she was waiting for an answer.
"Oh, ah, sorry, um, uhi'mlegolas."
She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Didn't catch that?"
"Sorry. Legolas."
A light of understanding dawned in her eyes.
Finally he was getting somewhere!
"Oh, you're the guy from that freaky Mirkwood place, aren't you?"
"Yeah, that's me." Or not...
"What are you doing here? And by the way, what's with the blond hair?"
"Oh, I, uh, can't really tell you right now, um, top secret info and all that, you know, it's a long kinda story..." He trailed off. He could see she didn't buy a word of it.
"I don't buy a word of it. Who do you think I am, a spy for the Dark Lord?"
"No, of course not. Or...hang on..." He leaned forward, sniffed, and listened carefully, which was pretty pointless because the ghetto blaster was at full volume and so were everybody's voices.
"Nope, definitely not evil. Although something does smell like rotten eggs."
The elf-maiden sniffed and wrinkled her perfectly shaped nose.
"I know what you mean. It's probably those Dwarves, they all stink."
"Yeah. That Gimli's getting on my nerves and I haven't even spoken to him yet."
"Which one's Gimli? They both look the same."
Legolas took a wild guess. "Gimli's the one that's making the 'rotten eggs' smell. His dad's the one doing the rotten banana."
The elf-maiden looked impressed, if a little grossed out. "Really?" She took a deep sniff and immediately fainted—right into Legolas's arms.
"Nice one," said Lindir, who had been watching them the whole time. "You just knocked her out!"
Legolas looked scornfully at the younger elf. "Ah DER. That was the point."
Lindir looked confused. "But I thought you liked—"
Legolas rolled his eyes. "You need help." He conveniently forgot about the unconscious elf in his arms, dropped her conveniently on the floor (thereby making sure she wouldn't wake up until he was ready) and whipped out something that looked conveniently like an oak leaf from a convenient secret pocket.
"What's that?"
"This, my friend," said Leggy proudly, "is a genuine flat plasma screen Mirkia camouflage combat phone. And DON'T call me Leggy," he added to the author.
"Looks like an oak leaf to me."
Leggy looked down at the leaf. "Oh." He slipped it back into his pocket and pulled out another leaf that looked a lot thicker than the first one. "THIS is a genuine flat plasma screen Mirkia camouflage combat phone! And will you stop calling me Leggy," he said angrily to the author, "it's bad enough being embarrassed already without you contributing!"
"Hey, I've heard about those leaf/phone things. Can I have a look?"
"No," snapped Leggy, who had given up trying to get me to call him his proper name. "It cost me three yén's pocket money. I'm calling my brother on it."
"Why?"
Leggy's face registered disbelief. "Staying here must shrivel your brains or something. I've never known an elf as dumb as you before. Now shut up so I can get his number right."
Leggy's long thumb moved over the phone/leaf as he muttered some elvish numbers. A picture of a younger elvish face with dark hair who looked a lot like Leggy appeared on the leaf.
"Legs? What's up? Did some chick throw water at you again?"
Leggy's eyes narrowed. "Actually one of them fainted on me a minute ago, but that's not the point."
"Wow, bro, I'm impressed. I didn't think you learned that fast."
"Ha very ha."
"Where are you anyway? What's with the noise and the pretty coloured lights?"
"Rivendell. Some kid got old Elrond to go a bit more with the times, so we're having a disco."
"Can I try that here?"
"Not until I get back. I'll have to show you how it's done."
"What about the kid?"
"The kid?"
"The one with the amazing persuasive powers."
"That's what I called about. He needs to learn a few things."
"He got Elrond the Elephant to let you have a disco and you reckon he needs to learn something?"
"Look, keep it down, will you? There are heaps of people around and the kid's right here listening to every word."
"Well for Valar's sake let me talk to him, can't you?"
"Okay, okay. Listen; just tell him a few—essentials. He's not exactly clued up about the chick side of things."
"Ah. Kinda like you, huh?"
"Shut up! I'm handing you over now."
"Wait! What's this kid's name?"
"You know, I'm not exactly sure." "Legs" looked up from the phone. "What's your name again, kid?"
Lindir stared. "You really should know by now, the author's been writing it every ten seconds." Legolas rolled his eyes.
"Just tell him what your name is, OK?" He turned the phone towards Lindir.
"Okay, um, hi, I'm Lindir."
"Gil, meet Lindir. Lindir, this is Gil, my little brother."
"Who knows more about certain important things than his big bro does."
"Shut up, you. I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Lindir, if you do anything with the phone, apart from hold it, you die. Gil—don't tempt him or you die when I get home."
Leggy looked down at the floor and saw the cute elf-maiden's eyelids flutter. "Gotta go. Have fun, kids."
As he picked her up he heard Lindir say conversationally, "Actually, that girl only fainted 'cause she inhaled while she was standing next to him."
And with that the girl, who had just woken up and heard every word of Lindir's last sentence, grabbed a glass of water and threw it in Legolas's face.
THE END.