Note: some of the jokes may make more sense if you're read "Don't Look Back... Look Left."

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My Lord... Thy Blood Pressure!

Dawn broke upon the Dell of Riven, neither early, nor late, but at the same time the Valar had deemed it to do so ever day since the First Age. The golden beams crept unobtrusively through the large, ornately decorated windows and into the private chambers of Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris.

With a suppressed sigh, the Elven king opened his gray eyes to view with reluctance the coming of the dawn. Thrice more would he do so until the morn when he would awaken to the Council that would decide amongst itself the fate of Middle Earth.

Mulling over the day's duties in his mind, which, more often than not he used t think, Lord Elrond elevated himself to a vertical position with his feet upon the floor, his head above them, and his body in between. Giving a great Elven stretch worthy of a lord of his status, he proceeded to dress. A fine robe he put upon his body, rose in color, and sleeves he had, in which he normally placed his arms, one on either side, and beautiful clasps down the front so the question of what the Elflord wore under it would indeed remain a myth. Into his Elven boots he slid his Elven feet, around his slender Elven waist he tied a wide Elven sash, and over his Elven shoulders he draped a velvet mantle, its color as silver as Celeborn's name. At that moment a young Elven maiden named simply Finwen entered to assist Lord Elrond in the fixing of his hair, quite a difficult task for the Elflord to manage on his won, for the deep brown locks grew from the back of his head and alas, when he looked into the mirror with his eyes, he could only see the face they were upon, and if he fixed his hair in the front of his head as opposed to the back, he would become an object of ridicule in whose general direction the entire kingdom would snicker.

Finishing her task, the Elf maiden placed a silver circlet upon her king's head, and into the mass of twists and braids in the back, she inserted a clip in the shape of a butterfly, the sort of which Arwen would have preferred herself, but not having the ability to view the back of his head, Lord Elrond never even suspected his daughter's hairpiece rested there.

Thanking Finwen quietly, Elrond left his chambers and, walking with his feet as most Elflords do, as opposed to floating, made his way through the Last Homely House, his voluminous robes swishing softly about his feet and snagging on the furniture as he pondered, with his intelligent Elven mind, the fate of Middle Earth. Entering the main hall with its beautiful paintings depicting the history of Middle Earth that hung upon the walls as opposed o thin air, Elrond looked to the left and noticed with his eyes a gleam of gold from the bench by the Shards of Narsil.

Finding it interesting that an ornately carved but devoid of metal wooden bench would gleam so, Elrond went to investigate, and to investigate he went, to the bench by the Shards. Sprawled upon the bench in a rather undignified manner was Glorfindel, his radiant white clothes in disarray, the golden hair upon his head for which he was named spread out on the round pillows that humans find so quaint and reflecting the not early, not late, but on time light into the eyes upon Elrond's face. Trapped was the golden Elflord, affixed in place on the bench with lacy, beaded shawl most likely belonging to an Elfmaiden. A large bruise that could easily span the distance of Elrond's outstretched hand marred Glorfindel's fair, delicate features, and for this imperfection the Elven people would most likely send insults sailing in his general direction for several weeks.

"Glorfindel," spake the Lord of Imladris, prodding the slender Elven shoulder with a slender Elven finger, "for what reason hast thou sacked out upon the bench in the main hall of my home? Art thou ill, or merely as drunk as a Halfling in a vineyard under a full moon?"

Glorfindel slowly fluttered his eyes open as he took a moment to comprehend the latter part of the slender Elven statement with his slender Elven mind. Attempting to erect the upper portion of his slender Elven body to a vertical position, he realized he was bound to the bench with a knot that would put a proud smile on the face of any young Ranger Scout.

"Neither, my lord!" cried Glory, wincing as the sun glared off of his beautiful golden hair into his beautiful sapphire eyes. "Your daughter-"

"My daughter?" Elrond grabbed Glorfindel's collar and painfully yanked him into the sitting position that he had so desired moments ago, ripping the shawl as he thrust his face half a hand span from Glorfindel's. "What hast thou done to my daughter to force her to defend herself by affixing you to my bench? What hast thou-"

"My lord… thy blood pressure!" cried the hapless Glorfindel, as always, loyally placing his lord's health above his own. Elrond tossed Glorfindel to the bench, and the young Elflord would have cracked his skull against the arm had it not been for the quaint round pillows. Folding his hands, which were located at the end of his arms, into his voluminous sleeves, Elrond took several deep breaths.

"Now tell me, loyal Glorfindel, what has my daughter done to put thee in such a position?"

"I was preparing to ride off and intercept the Hobbits,' began Glorfindel, finally pushing himself vertically to a sitting position of his own free will, "when the Lady Arwen entered the room. She hitteth me with yon shovel." Upon speaking these words, he of the golden hair pointed with a slender Elven finger to where a shovel lay innocently but conspicuously on the floor. "And bound me to this bench with her lovely shawl, which now hath been split in twain. Thy daughter hath stolen Guemegil, and now rideth Asfaloth to meet the ranger Aragorn. My Asfaloth…" Grieving, the distraught Elflord dropped his face into his hands, and upon painful remembrance of the large bruise upon his face, raised it again to gaze at the Lord of Imladris. "My lord?"

A fist Elrond had clenched, and clenched he did a fist as he glared to the left in the direction Arwen Undomiel had flown to on the stolen steed of He of the Golden Hair.

"My daughter," spake the Elflord under his breath. "Oh my daughter, what a foolish move thou hast made." With the swiftness that only an elf may possess, Elrond grabbed a spear from the rack where it had sat on display since the first fall of Sauron, and grasping it with the skill that only one well-versed in battle may possess, bolted for the door that Arwen had left by, the fires of an overprotective parent blazing in his eyes. "Arwen!" he yelled in anger.

"My lord, thy blood pressure!" cried Glorfindel, rising to his feet. The butt of the spear became entangled in the hem of Elrond's voluminous robes, and as the Elflord tripped and fell in the direction of down, the spear flew in the direction of up. Out the window flew the Spear of Elrond in a graceful arc that only one well-versed in battle may accidentally perform, cutting through the crisp morning air to impale a lovely statue of a nymph.

"My lord!" cried Glorfindel yet again, knowing that Elrond was well aware of his status as the Lord of Glorfindel, yet unsure as to what he may be addressed as, other than the words which he had already spoken. Realizing with his mind that the present was an improper and inconvenient moment to think such thoughts, Glorfindel ran with a swiftness born of wearing shoes instead of boots and having light Elven feet, to the spot on the floor where Elrond lay, with his delicate Elven features implanted against the stones that the Elves walked upon as opposed to floating, and his posterior elevated in a rather undignified manner. Not slowly, no indeed, but in a rather hasty manner did He of the Golden Hair exert himself to untangle Lord Elrond from his robes and mantle, which was as silver as Telperion's light, and erect him in a standing position with his feet upon the ground, his head pointed in the direction of the vast space where Gwahir flew upon the warm currents, and his body in between, for where else but between his head and feet would an honorable Elflord keep his body?

"My lord," spake Glorfindel again in a hurried manner, "there is still time! If we were to make haste to the Place of Elevation where thou canst see all of thy entire kingdom below thee, thou hast a good chance of using thy magic to catch her in her deed!" Lord Elrond clapped Glorfindel on the shoulder that he had previously prodded to awaken the young Elflord from his unnatural, shovel-induced sleep upon the ornately carved wooden bench with the quaint, round pillows that humans find so curious.

"Then let us hurry to that place, noble Glorfindel." And with these words spoken, the duo proceeded to fly through the Last Homely house, but not in a literal manner because they were merely walking quite quickly, Glorfindel's dazzling gold hair and white clothing billowing behind him, Elrond holding his robes close to his body lest they entwine themselves upon the Elven furniture and deposit him yet again on the stone floor that the Elfkind walked upon as opposed to floating. They ran to the Place of Elevation, and to the Place of Elevation they did run, the highest spot in Imladris where all of the lands of the kingdom in the valley spread out before the viewer like a brilliant emerald map spread across a table, the beautiful sapphire river snaking through the rocks and trees like a thing that is very much similar to a river that snakes through rocks and trees, its glory quite describable with various gemstone synonyms, as has previously been demonstrated with references to sapphires.

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Part 2: Gandalf helps Elrond save Arwen... but what kind of fatherly scolding will be in store when she returns? Stay tuned....