Disclaimer: His, not mine.
A/N: Ahh, I haven't had the time to write for ages! Sorry for the lack of updates. School life bites with all the strength of a Balrog attempting to chop a Sue in half.
*
In between all that had happened from the year 3418 of the Third Age onwards to the current date, Glorfindel had rarely come into contact with a Sue. This was due to a multitude of reasons: firstly because Rivendell was often confused with Rivendale, secondly because Legolas was situated in Mirkwood, and thirdly because most authors merely forgot him or spelt his name wrongly, for example Glorfindle. So, to suddenly have his first Sue land on him was something of a traumatic experience for the elf, and handling it was taking much delicate finesse on his part. He had tried his best to clarify that he was in fact not Legolas, but nothing seemed to have worked. Only three days ago this conversation had taken place:
Allesa had been walking down a Generic Garden Path, and Glorfindel had been doing pretty much the same. They, by Fate or Author's Craft, ended up bumping into each other. Glorfindel had let out a most un-elven squeak and tried to turn and run in the opposite direction, but alas, Allesa caught him by the boot and they both tumbled down onto the ground. And each other.
Glorfindel had been mortified to the Void and back, but Allesa looked positively giddy with delight as she made no move whatsoever to get off the Elf lord.
'Oh my goodness,' she had exclaimed in a falsetto so high it made Glorfindel's ears bleed. Metaphorically, of course. 'I'm so sorry, Lord Legolas!'
'I am sure you are, but you are mistaken,' Glorfindel demurely replied as he tried, with all the discretion and subtlety of an elf who had undergone much in his lifetime, to wriggle out from under her. Allesa completely ignored his efforts, clutching at her ankle.
'Oh no,' she had cried again, 'I seem to have twisted my ankle! Lord Legolas, I apologize for the accident,' there she turned tear-filled eyes upon him. They widened after a moment of serious consideration on her part, then she almost shouted, 'Dear Eru, are you hurt, Lord Legolas?'
'I'm not Legola--!' Glorfindel was then most rudely shocked by Allesa's hand wandering down his leg in an attempt to search for any possible injuries. Yelping in a most undignified manner, he had struggled to sit up and simultaneously remove the offending appendage from his anatomy. 'My lady,' he choked out, turning an indelicate shade of red, 'I am perfectly fine, no lasting injuries of any sort, but I fear that I am not Legolas Greenleaf and you have-- Please remove your hand immediately!'
Allesa, with all the innocence of a child, looked up at him.
'Why, Lord Legolas, you look most flushed!'
Glorfindel would have given anything, absolutely anything, to just bury his head in the sand and die of mortification. Of course, the Author had chosen that very moment for the real Legolas to turn up, and with all the black humour that he had displayed not too long ago, he had said:
'Legolas! Whatever are you doing with Allesa in the middle of the path? Surely you dare not assault her modesty!'
Glorfindel went positively tomato red, and Allesa suddenly became most shy and not at all provocative.
'Legolas, stop this immediately, I'm not you and you are not me-'
'Lord Glorfindel?' Allesa butted in, completely ignoring the protests of the elf under her. 'I fear you misunderstand. I merely fell on Lord Legolas when I fell! He is too noble to do anything to me, surely!'
Glorfindel opened and closed his mouth several times before settling with glaring in hatred at the Prince of Mirkwood. The real Legolas helped the Sue up, even going to the point of brushing a leaf out of her hair.
'Thank Eru. For a moment I feared that your beauteous countenance had been violated!'
Allesa giggled nauseatingly and batted her eyelids, completely devoid of any "injury".
'Never! Not Lord Legolas.'
Glorfindel just stood up, mouthed some very bad Quenyan words at Legolas, and fled. And that was only one occurrence.
Then, less than a day later, Bad Things started happening. Glorfindel began to develop signs of internal instability. Between being confused for an elf prince a number of millennia younger than him, the noldo/vanya started seeing things that had not been in existence for the better part of two thousand years. Lindir had been confused with Ecthelion, Elrond for Earendil (that, at least, was excusable). Elladan had been mistaken for Elrohir, an oversight that had not occurred for as long as either twin could remember. It was alarming for the entire population. The elf in question, after a number of scarring incidents, spent most of his time in the library, hiding from the world in general, trying not to see Gondolin in Imladris, and anyone who valued their life stayed far away.
Over the course of the about a week, he had been tripped over thrice (an event no living creature could remember witnessing. Besides Legolas, of course, bless his fea), mistaken for Legolas four times, mistaken people for First-Age elves five times and been given medicine for hallucinations six times. In between all this, Allesa had been there to "help" pick him up, "escort" him to a room whenever he felt heady, "provide" for his needs and generally act in a sickeningly sweet manner.
It was only when he threw up (no Firstborn could be ailed by natural sickness) did a crying Allesa confess as to having put a "love potion" attained from Lord "Glorfindel" in Lord "Legolas'" food that the situation was (finally) resolved.
And yet, Glorfindel still lived in constant paranoia of seeing the Unseen. In the space of less than seven days, the Sue had managed to drive him to the point of Channelling twice, and Erestor had to give him sedatives every night to get him to sleep. Legolas, the traitorous, back stabbing bas- I mean, helpful, concerned prince that he was, had begun to give him counselling sessions on how to get over Sue trauma. Oh, the painful irony!
None of it was working.
The elf now walked around with a perpetually haggard look on his face. Aragorn, Elladan, Elrohir and the rest of his many students began to instinctively move away from their old tutor whenever he entered a room. It was now a taboo to serve alcohol in the mornings. The serving staff had been instructed never to put anything sharper than a fork or blunt butter knife in front of the elf lord. Elrond was beginning to look suspiciously like a modern psychiatrist, minus the spectacles and clip board. Allesa, still on her cloud nine of Elf-ignorancy, merely thought that her elf-of-choice was losing sleep over her earth-shattering beauty.
Besides all the slowly mounting tension, nothing much had developed. The usual Plot was going through, but for the most part the Author seemed to have slowed down. Imladris, on its toes, wished fervently for any Plot Device or Plot Hole, no matter how gapingly large, to appear. It was all quite ridiculous. Of course, no one, mortal, immortal, elf or Second born, dared to say it to Glorfindel's face. The armoury had been discreetly locked up for that purpose alone.
Then, Something Really Weird happened.
'Glorfindel...?'
The elf in question started and spun around with the look of a man hunted. The golden hair was mussed, and unbound, wayward strands were flying everywhere. His clothes were in disarray, and he looked rather too pale, even for one of the Firstborn. To the casual observation of the newly arrived Lord of All Waters, Glorfindel looked as if he had just come out of an... interesting encounter.
'You!' the twice-born lord cried in outrage, ignoring completely the fact that Ulmo could turn him into a puddle of Elf-shaped goo if he so pleased. 'You! What are you doing here?'
'Glorfindel...? Are you feeling all right? Have you been doing anything... strange?'
Glorfindel did not respond, only turning away, restraining himself just that little bit from covering his ears with his hands.
'It is all that wretched girl's fault. I can't hear you, no, I can't.'
Ulmo was now definitely confused at the attitude his vassal was displaying. Girl? Had his elven servant turned into a pedophile?
'Of course you can hear me. I'm right here.'
Glorfindel spun around to glare with a jaundiced eye at the Vala. Ulmo was beginning to get fairly alarmed. The elf spoke in measured tones, expressing and pronouncing every syllable with astonishing clarity.
'No, I cannot. I will not. You might be one of them.'
One of who? He was a VALA, for crying out loud! He could be anybody. Oh. The Careful Approach, then.
'Glorfindel, are you sure you are not feeling ill...?'
'Can't hear you.'
'Glorfind-'
'Min!' [One, Sindarin.]
'Glorfindel, why are-'
'Tâd!' [Two.]
'Why on Aman are you-'
'Neled!' [Three.]
'Are you counting in Sindarin, Glor-'
'Canad!' [Four.]
'You will respect me and turn around, Glorfindel!'
'Pae!' [Ten.]
'Oh, for Eru's-'
'Neder!' [Nine.]
'Glorfindel, -'
'Toloth!' [Eight.]
'Turn around, you imbecile!'
Finally cowed, the reborn Elf stopped attempting to count backwards in Sindarin and turned around carefully. He inspected the man before him with cautious eyes, wondering.
Hair? Check. Well, it looked like Ulmo...
Voice? Check. It sounded like Ulmo.
Aura? Check. It even felt like Ulmo.
'How do I know you are who you say you are?' Definitely off his rocker, the Vala thought. The transition between the Halls must have hit him hard. This one needed some rehabilitation over in Aman, no doubt. Glorfindel, oblivious, continued his rant. 'You could be Manwe for all I know. Eru forbid, you could be Eru!'
'Manwe is my brother, Glorfindel. And he is currently residing on the top of Evereven, wondering why you are acting like a living lunatic.'
Glorfindel stared at him. 'You,' he said, 'you think I am mad?'
Erm. Well, how to approach this?
'Well, not really, per se...'
'You lie.'
Blink? Ulmo watched Glorfindel carefully as the elf started pacing.
'You are acting out of character. Your speech has become modern. You use vernacular that has not yet developed. Your eyes are a shade too blue.'
'Too blue? Glorfindel, my eyes are my own, and I believe strongly that they are the right colour!'
'That is what they say!' Glorfindel hollered, losing all sense of composure, 'That is what they ALL say!'
'Glorfindel.'
There was a silence. Glorfindel shuffled his feet nervously, looked up at the Vala who stared back at him with raised eyebrows, then finally dipped into a formal bow.
'Ulmo, my lord.'
'Well,' Ulmo said conversationally, allowing his eyebrows to finally fall 'now that that is out of your system, I think I had best tell you of my purpose.'
'Purpose, my lord?' Glorfindel echoed with an aching hope in his eyes. 'Does it have something to do with a Sue?'
'Sue?'
'Someone called Allesa, my lord.'
'Oh yes, in fact, it does. Council has been held in Aman, Glorfindel. The Eight have discovered something startling.'
'A way to destroy her?'
A frown flashed over Ulmo's face.
'Destroy her? Why on Middle-Earth would I want to destroy my sister's-daughter's-son's-daughter's-neice-twice-removed?'
Glorfindel's jaw dropped as he looked at the Vala he had put his trust in for the past, oh, few Ages.
'Nienna has a child?' was the most intelligent thing his non-responsive mind could come up with. The Ulmo-Who-Was-Maybe-Not-Ulmo had the grace to look sheepish.
'Well, not to say that her husband...'
Suddenly, the impact of having a Vala-who-was-no-longer-the-Vala in the same room with him caused Glorfindel to come back to his senses.
One of the most respected Elf-Lords
on Middle-Earth gave out a little mumble that sounded like "mirrblesqueak"
and fainted dead onto the floor.