Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR or any of its characters. Losin' Susan: HEY! My agent says that you can't use me in your stories without compensating me! He says that you need to sign a contract thingy and everything Me: Umno. You don't have an agent - you can't, because you don't exist. I made you up. Losin' Susan: Then who's this guy who keeps telling me he's my agent? Me: Grima! Get away from Losin' Susan!

A/N: Thanks, once again, to everyone for reading and reviewing! The lyrics below are from "Scarborough Fair" which is an English folk song that dates back to medieval times, and was popularized in the sixties by Simon and Garfunkel.

Chapter 8

The Wandering Minstrel

"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

Remember me to one who lives there

She once was a true love of mine"

Glorfindel's clear, sweet tenor voice filled the air, accompanied by the music his fingers made plucking the strings of his mandolin as he strolled about the fairgrounds. His objective was to gather as many young women as he could and lead them to the wenching tent.

Easy enough for the Golden Onethey followed him like chicks after a mother duck. Moon-eyed, drooling, and panting, they followed in his wake, more and more joining as he made his way through the faire. One smile or a wink from him was all it took for the females to drop whatever it was they were doing and cling to him like saran wrap. Most of them, or so he had been told, kept their eyes trained on his butt the entire way to the wenching tent.

His costume for the Wandering Minstrel bit helped, of course. His green jerkin only came down far enough to cover the very essentialsmost of his butt was still exposed, encased in skin tight, bright blue leggings that showed every crack and crevice. His long, muscular legs ended in tall, fringed leather boots, and a jaunty feathered cap sat upon his head, from under which flowed his long, golden hair. It also didn't hurt that Glorfindel was, wellGlorfindel. His very essence screamed sex, and every female in a 100-yard radius picked up on it, homing in like long range missiles.

But, Great Eru, he hated singing this song. Unfortunately, it was the only one left from medieval times that was familiar to most ears. It grated on his nerves. He could never figure out why the guy in the song would think that his friend could possibly run into anyone he knew at the Scarborough Fair, which, as Glorfindel recalled, was a huge, sprawling, 45 day event, with folk coming from all over medieval Europe. Besides that fact, why would anyone want to send a message to a former lover? After all, if she were his true love, wouldn't they still be together? Humans. Go figure.

He was just passing the trailer office, his gaggle of females faithfully following, when the door opened, and someone staggered out. At first Fin thought it was a vagrant, and, Wandering Minstrel or not, was about to bop him on the head with his mandolin. But a closer look made Glorfindel gasp mid-song. It wasn't a vagrantit was Elrohir. Fin had never seen him look this badhe looked as though he just been run over by a semi. His dark, normally silky tresses were a knotted, tangled mess, and his clothes were torn, wrinkled, and in some areas, missing altogether. He had scratches on his arms, and a bruise that was growing purple on his neck. He had a look of shock in his gray eyes, and seemed to be talking to himself.

Fin made a gesture of apology to the women following him, asking them to please excuse him for just a moment - he promised he'd be right back. He handed his mandolin to a young woman standing close by, who accepted it like manna from heaven, and jogged over to the Peredhil twin.

"Ro" Fin asked, taking Elrohir by the shoulders, "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Llloozzinnnzzzuzzznn."

"What? You're not making sense, 'Ro. Look at me, 'Rotake a deep breath and tell me what happened," Fin demanded, forcing Elrohir to look at him.

Elrohir focussed for a moment on Glorfindel's face, took a deep, calming breath, and said, "L-l-losin' S-s-susan!"

"Oh, no - how she get her hands on youyou poor thing. Elladan!" Fin asked, knowing immediately that Elrohir's twin brother must have had something to do with this.

Elrohir just nodded mutely, his eyes losing focus once more. Once again, 'Ro began to mutter senselessly. All Glorfindel could make out were the words 'Nana, Ada, and help.'" Fin put his hand on Elrohir's shoulder, steadying him. Looking around, Fin spotted a Faire worker nearby, unloading fresh fruit from crates into a rolling cart. Calling him over, he instructed the man to take Elrohir to the dressing room, and make him as comfortable as possible.

Watching Elrohir walk away, half supported by the worker, mumbling incoherently, Fin's mouth set itself in a grim line. "Elladan's gone too far, this time. Imagine, setting Losin' Susan on his own brother! She nearly tore poor Elrohir to shreds! Elladan just doesn't know his limitshe always takes things one step too far for his own good. I think it's time for someone to teach that Elf a lesson, and I'm just the one to do it!"

He took back his mandolin from the young girl, kissing her hand and thanking her for holding it for him. He turned and led the group of women toward the wenching tent, his mind going a million miles an minute, formulating a plan. As the plan came together in his mind, he smiled a small tight smile, his eyes glittering. He didn't notice that the young girl whose hand he had kissed had fainted dead away in the dirt.

What he also didn't see was the mischievous smile that appeared on Elrohir's face as he allowed the worker to half carry him toward the dressing room. Elrohir had figured out the ultimate revenge planand he wouldn't have to lift a finger himself. Setting Glorfindel on Elladan was going to prove highly entertaining. After all, who knew more ways to fight dirty than the balrog-slayer? And all Elrohir had had to do was muss up his hair and clothes, rip a couple of seams, mutter a few nonsense syllables, and stagger a bit. Losin' Susan was the one who really needed help - she wouldn't be able to walk straight for a week. Then again, he thought, looking at the scratches on his arms, and gingerly touching the enormous hickey she'd left on his throat, she played pretty rough, too.

The worker looked at him askance, noticing his smile. Elrohir immediately began to mumble again, waiting to allow his laughter to escape until he was safely alone in the dressing room.