Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR, or any of its characters - I just like to borrow them from time to time. Me: Hey, Mister Tolkien, may I borrow a cup of sugar? Oh, and I also need two boxes of Jello, some sardines, and a just a little bit of prune juice. Tolkien: Sorry, I'm out. How about borrowing my LOTR characters, instead? Me: That'll do.

Chapter 2

UNO

Morning sunlight streamed in through the open window of Elrond's bedroom, dust particles dancing in the beams. The Rivendell Lord lay on his back on his bed, one arm tucked under his head, silky strands of ebony hair lying across his face. Snoring loudly.

The snores reverberated throughout the empty room, echoing off of the white walls and high ceilings. Each mighty inhale sucked a tendril of hair into his mouth; each exhale sent it fluttering up in the air over his face. A thin line of drool snaked down from the corner of his mouth. He was not a pretty sight.

Eventually, the bright sunlight and his own thunderous snores woke him. Stretching lazily, Elrond sat up in bed, throwing off the covers. Planting his feet on the cold stone floor, he wiped the drool from his mouth with the side of his hand. After a immense, jaw-cracking yawn, his first conscious thought was of breakfast.

He reached over to the small table next to his bed, picking up an elaborately carved silver bell. He jingled the bell, and sat waiting for the chambermaid to bring him his breakfast. He waited...and waited...and waited. Elrond was never at his brightest first thing in the morning. It took him a while before he realized that there was no chambermaid to bring breakfast - or any cook to make it. He was on his own.

"Damn!" he cried, throwing the silver bell across the room when he realized he needed to scrounge up breakfast himself. "I swear, by Arda, that someday I will get to Valinor, if I have to strap a board to my ass and float all the way there. And when I do, I am going to pull each and every hair out of Galadrial's head!"

He took a deep breath, calming himself, running his fingers through his hair. His fingers immediately became stuck in the braids he had forgotten to take out the night before. Grimacing, he pulled his fingers loose from the tangle, and rubbed the sore spot on his head.

It had been centuries since Elrond had had to care for himself - he was used to others doing it for him.

Sighing, he rose and walked to the water closet that adjoined his room. He made use of the chamber pot, wrinkling his nose at the stench, since it hadn't been emptied the day before when the last of the Elves had left. He used the stale water in a pitcher on a stand near the pot to wash his face. Peering into the reflecting glass that hung over the pitcher stand, he tried to unbraid the knotted mess on his head. Finally unbraided, he ran an ivory comb through his locks, wincing every time he hit a snag.

"Argh! I don't understand how people can bear to do this for themselves everyday. It never used to hurt when my attendant combed my hair..." He tried rebraiding his hair in the traditional Elven style, missing several strands along the way, and sloppily tying the knots at the ends. It really didn't look much better than when he first arose. He plopped his mithril crown atop his head, setting it at a rather jaunty angle.

Eventually, when he felt that he had done all that he could to look presentable without the aid of his personal valet, Elrond dressed in his travelling clothes. Pulling on his boots, and fastening his travelling pouch around his waist, he carried his valise downstairs to the kitchen.

On a table in the kitchen, Elrond spotted a bowl that held a couple of bruised apples. "Not much of a breakfast, but I suppose it will do." he said to himself, paring the apples with a small pocketknife, and carefully cutting away the brown spots.

Finishing the apples, he took his valise and walked over to the well just outside the kitchen. He helped himself to a long drink of water, and filled a canteen with the crystal clear liquid. Hanging the canteen from his belt, he headed for the stables.

He was nearly there before he realized that there would not be any horses in the stable...they had been set free before the last of the Elves had left.

"Damn, damn, double damn!" He cried, stamping his feet in frustration. "I have to WALK? I NEVER have to WALK! I haven't walked ANYWHERE since the First Age! I'm nearly 7,000 years old...there are supposed to be benefits that come with age. NOT walking ANYWHERE is one of them!" He let out a tremendous sigh, allowing his shoulders to slump in defeat. "No use standing here grumbling about it, I suppose. That won't get me a ride, and daylight's wasting. But this trip is NOT going to be as much fun as I thought."

Elrond reluctantly turned from the stable and set out on the path the would lead him out of Rivendell and up into the Misty Mountains.

Walking for several hours, he reached the beginnings of the foothills of the mighty Misty Mountains. He searched beneath the pines of the foothills to find a stout branch he could use as a walking stick, since he knew the High Pass could be treacherous. Finding one, he set upon the path that wound up through the foothills into the mountains.

Night fell while he was still climbing the foothills. Having reached a place in the foothills strewn with rocks and scrubby plants, he made camp in the shadow of an enormous gray boulder. Gathering twigs and kindling, he managed to make a small fire without burning himself too badly.

Taking off his boots and wincing at the smell he released, he rubbed his sore feet, noticing in passing that his nails needed trimming. "Yech! I could slice an apple with these things," he thought, running his finger along the sharp, yellowed edge of his big toe. "First thing I'm going to do when I reach Mirkwood is get a pedicure." He reached up to rub the aching back of his neck. "And a massage. Preferably by a beautiful, young elleth wearing a smile and little else," he grinned lecherously.

He unwrapped a piece of lembas, and sat chewing, staring at the dancing flames. "I wonder what everyone is doing in Valinor, right now? I suppose Galadrial will be trying to take center stage, as usual. Probably told Celebrian that I missed the boat on purpose. I'd like to drown her in her own scrying mirror. Bilbo is probably already in his cups, if I know that old wino...Frodo is probably boring everyone to tears reenacting his fight with Gollum. That old pervert, Gandalf, is probably flirting with every young thing in a skirt...gods, I wish I was there!"

He lay down near the fire, stuffing his valise under his head as a pillow. Drawing his cloak up around him, he drifted to off to sleep.

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