Celeborn's Club
by Erestor
Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to Lord of the Rings.
Breaking News: Legolas Battles 'Malicious Imposter' in Palace Passageway
CHAPTER SEVEN"I hate paint," said Erestor. "I'm sticky all over. What if I dry like this?"
"Don't worry, Erestor," said Celeborn charmingly. "You look wonderful."
The seven Elves stood in Legolas's bedroom, completely covered in paint. Pouring the paint on themselves while in Legolas's bedroom had been a bit vindictive, perhaps, but then Thranduil had found it entertaining to drip paint on as many of Legolas's belongings as he could. That was definitely vindictive.
"You know," began Glorfindel nervously. "I think we're flammable."
Elrohir agreed. "We should stay away from fire or flame."
"Let's go out and scare everyone!" cried Lindir excitedly. He waved one red arm through the air with admiration. "They will flee before us!"
Thranduil bounced on Legolas's bed, getting green paint all over it accidently-on-purpose. "We have to get in the newspapers, if it's the last thing we do."
"How can we do that?" asked Elladan.
"Chase the reporters around Ithilien!" suggested Lindir boisterously. He loved the idea of striking terror into the hearts of others.
"I don't think we look scary enough," said Erestor. He was standing in front of Legolas's very large full-length mirror, appraising himself with a practiced eye. Silver and black paint trickled down his face.
"We look very scary," said Celeborn. He pushed Erestor out of the way and took his turn admiring himself and his new look. Celeborn actually did look scary. He probably looked the scariest of the lot. He was very pleased with himself.
Thranduil removed Celeborn from his path and considered his war paint in the mirror. He was green all over. His eyes were gleaming with delight. He was a close runner-up in the 'Scary Competition'.
Glorfindel selected a pot of yellow paint and began decorating himself with golden flowers. "We're going to need some new clothes after this," he pointed out. "And it might not work anyway. We might get in the papers as lunatics with too much time on our hands."
"But we'd be in the papers," said Thranduil cheerfully. Then he sighed. "Though I don't want to be thought of as a lunatic."
"Don't worry," said Celeborn lightly. "Everyone already thinks you're a lunatic. You'd just be confirming their suspicions."
"Actually, at the moment, everyone thinks I'm Legolas," said Thranduil. "Can we get a move on, please?"
.
The reporters in Ithilien were sitting around in a café, eating eclairs, sipping hot drinks, and reading newspapers. They all practically lived in the café, because they had to stay in Ithilien and keep a lookout for Legolas, just in case he did something interesting. They were bored.
Rumil was the main reporter, because he was the one who got to go on live TV. He was handsome. He was cheerful. He actually had a career, which was more than Haldir and Orophin could say for themselves. Wedding coordinator? Ha, that was a joke. Rumil drank more of his hot drink smugly.
Just then, Haldir entered the café. He was holding his box of carry-out lembas. His business was in difficulties, though every now and again someone would buy some of his lembas to poison their enemies. He was also well-known as the only Elf who had to hire a nurse to work at his restaurant, because his lembas was always sending people into cardiac arrest.
"Guess what," he announced to Rumil. "Guess what!"
Rumil gave up pretending that he was not related to Haldir. He folded his newspaper smoothly and turned to him. "What?"
"I'm famous! You have to interview me!" he said happily.
Rumil gazed at his brother doubtfully. "Why?"
"Because I saw the aliens!" cried Haldir.
Rumil sighed. "Haldir," he said slowly, "you didn't see any aliens. You saw seven Elves covered in paint."
"But they were flying," protested Haldir in dismay. His little hopes and dreams began to crumble. He looked at his brother miserably.
"They invented a hot air balloon," said Rumil. He went back to reading his newspaper.
Devastated, Haldir sat down at Rumil's table, took out some of his lembas, and began making a tower. He would prop two pieces of lembas up against each other, and then lay another piece over the top. The tower got bigger and bigger. Finally, Rumil could no longer ignore it. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"What does it look like? Am I flying a kite?" asked Haldir with surprising sarcasm. He added another level to his tower.
Then the world ended.
At least, that was what Rumil thought. He gawked at the seven unearthly figures that entered the little café. He heard someone laughing evilly. There was smoke everywhere. He decided to hide under the table.
Meanwhile, Haldir lobbed a piece of his lembas at one of the aliens. The alien dropped to the ground like a stone.
Celeborn's Club knew that they were making a good impression. All the reporters were terrified.
"The mist machine was a good idea, Elrohir," said Celeborn.
"Thanks, Grandfather," said Elrohir.
"Don't call me 'Grandfather'," snapped Celeborn.
"One of them got Lindir," said Glorfindel. "I think he's alive though."
"All right, on the count of three, we will chase the reporters out of the café and around Ithilien," said Celeborn. "One. . . two. . ."
"Happy Birthday!" shouted someone.
"What in the world was that?" asked Thranduil.
"Happy Birthday!" said the same someone again, pushing his way through the crowd. His wife dashed behind him, waving a birthday cake and a bunch of balloons.
Thranduil gaped at Lord Faramir. "Uh. . .what are you doing here?"
"It's your birthday, Legolas." Faramir beamed at the Elvenking and shoved a cheerfully wrapped present into his arms. "Don't you remember?"
"No," said Thranduil.
Éowyn bounced to his side and tied the balloons to his wrist by their brightly-colored strings. She dumped the cake on the only table in the café that remained standing.
"Who are these guys covered in paint?" asked Faramir. "Clowns?"
"I'm beginning to feel like one," muttered Erestor.
"Uh. . .yeah," said Thranduil. "They're clowns for my birthday party. You're just in time to. . .uh. . .celebrate."
Haldir poked his head out from under the table. "Hey, aren't you Lord Celeborn?" he asked.
Celeborn scowled at him. "One more word," he said threateningly, "and I'll have your tongue cut out."
Haldir decided that silence is golden.
"Open your present," commanded Éowyn.
Thranduil carefully opened Legolas's present.
"Do you like it?" Éowyn asked, gazing at him sternly.
"Yes," said Thranduil nervously. "It's just what I always wanted."
It was a spider plush toy.
TBC