Title: A Gentleman Caller
Author: TICS
Rating: R
Summery: Glorfindel pays someone an unexpected visit.
Disclaimer: I don't own themI just play with them for a while, and always make sure to put them back exactly where I found them.
Genre: Humor. AUplease do not expect anything even remotely resembling canon here. Feedback greatly appreciated:D
A/N: I have changed the rating of this fic to "R" since it seems to be developing a tad more bawdier than I had first envisioned it to be.
Chapter 18
Going Home?
"Quite a little pissing match you've managed to set off between Haldir and Legolas. From what I've heard the Prince of Mirkwood was striding around the House snarling like an angry warg all night," Glorfindel said, looking up over his bowl of cereal at the breakfast table the following morning.
"None of which was my fault. If the March Warden didn't have a mouth as big as his ego, Legolas would never have found out about my little indiscretion," the Author replied, angrily slathering a slice of bread with jam. "Besides which, what I don't understand is how I got stuck between the two of them anyway!"
"If you were stuck between the two of them there might not be any more problem" Erestor said thoughtfully. "Have you considered that as an option?"
"Not an option, Erestor."
"Pity. We could have sold tickets."
"Erestor!"
"Did you see the lovely bracelet Glorfindel gave me for my Begetting Day?" Erestor asked, changing the subject. He held up his wrist from which dangled a beautiful, mithril charm bracelet. A single glittering charm hung from it, catching the light. Peering closely, the Author recognized it as a very tiny, perfectly detailed and proportioned, erElfhood.
Looking up at Glorfindel with a cocked eyebrow, she watched as the Slayer turned purple, frowning over his cereal bowl. "A word of advice," he muttered, "never let a sculptor use hot wax to take an impression."
"Finally learned your lesson about Begetting Days and trash receptacles, did you?" she asked him, smirking.
"Do not rub it in," the Slayer replied, looking a bit sheepish, wiggling about uncomfortably in his seat. "I don't see how I'll soon forget it." Erestor reached over and patted his bonded's arm reassuringly.
"Consider it a lesson learned, dear" he cooed. Turning again to the author he asked, "I hope you'll not let the current unpleasantness force you to leave us, my dear"
"Sorry, Erestoras soon as Glorfindel has finished his breakfast, I want off this rock. I want back in my own ratty little bedroom where the only Elves I need to worry about are the ones that make shoes."
"You have Elves making your shoes? I would think they'd have better taste in footwear," Glorfindel remarked, casting a glance down at my worn tennis shoes.
"I was being sarcastic, Glorfindel. I'm going up to my room to pack. Let me know when you're ready to go."
"I'll have to find MithrandirI haven't seen him at all since you arrived, but I suppose he's around somewhere" Glorfindel replied, looking quite put out by the proposition of having to actually do anything that day. No wonder, though, since judging from the way he continually shifted in his seat, he was probably still feeling the effects of his sculpting session.
She sighed, sitting on the lid of her suitcase, trying desperately to get it to close. "It must be Murphy's Law for Travelersthe amount of items brought with you on a trip will triple their mass upon having to pack for the return trip," she thought, bouncing a bit to get the last latch locked.
Walking into the bath to do a final sweep to make certain she had packed everything, she heard a knock at the bedroom door. Calling out for whomever it was to enter, she rolled her eyes at the bottle of Herbal Essence Shampoo she'd forgotten to pack. Frowning, she thought about the bulging suitcase in the other room, and decided to leave it behind.
Striding back into the bedroom, she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of her visitor. Speechless - Elves seemed to have that effect on her - she gaped at the tall figure standing next to her bed.
"I heard that you were planning on going back. I cannot allow that to happen without first evening the score between myself and that cretin Silvan, and so I have decided that drastic times called for drastic measures."
Her eyes bulged from their sockets (actually making that annoying "AHH-OO-GAH" sound) as she stared at Legolas, not quite sure words even existed to describe him.
He was standing by her bed.
Wearing a pink tutu.
And nothing else.
Eep.
After several long minutes of staring openmouthed at the Prince, who himself stared back, his arms folded across his chest while certain interesting parts of him blushed bright red, the Author finally found her voice. Unfortunately for Legolas, what came out of her mouth was insane laughter.
"Ha! Ha ha ha ha ha !"
His frown intensified as he asked, "What are you laughing at? I thought that this is what you wanted! This is how you dress your muse, isn't it?"
"Where did you get that?" she asked, snorting continually, even though she covered her mouth and nose with her hands trying to keep the snorts in.
"I had it made by one of our most talented seamstresses from the descriptions in your stories" he replied, his frown fading into a look of chagrin. "I thought you would like it" He suddenly looked quite like a little boy lost.
What could she do? The Elf had actually had the Elven cajones to put on a tutu for her. Plus, this was Legolasin a tiny strip of fabricand nothing elsefor goodness' sake, she was only human.
"One down, one to go," Legolas sighed, throwing an arm over his eyes and quickly beginning to snore.
"Someone needs to get these Elves to a good ear, nose, and throat specialist," the Author thought, cringing as an especially loud and grating snore invaded her ears. "And I hate to tell you, buddy boy, but once is all you're getting."
She eased herself off the bed, got dressed, and lugged her bulging suitcase out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. Dragging the heavy suitcase after her, she made her way down to the kitchens.
"Surely she isn't leaving us already!" Elladan asked Elrohir, looking up from his plate. "She's only barely just arrived!"
"She can't leave yet," Elrohir said, swiping a piece of fruit from his brother's plate, and earning a smack on the hand from him in the process. "She hasn't yet slept with Legolas, nor either one of us."
"Nor Adathough I hardly blame her for that" Elladan laughed, smacking the table.
"Nor Celebornnor Rumil, nor Orophin," Elrohir said, counting the names off on his fingers. "You can't count Erestor or Glorfindelwell, maybe Glorfindel - I've heard that his bow shoots both ways."
"Perhaps, but from what I understand, she hasn't even interviewed Thranduil yet, and he has his kingly leggings in a royal knot over it," Elladan informed Elrohir.
"She very well can't leave without interviewing the King, now can she? That would be in very poor taste."
"HelloI'm in the room, guys. Please stop talking as if I were invisible!" she muttered, frowning at the pair with her hands on her hips. "I am not sleeping with anyone, and I'm sorry I didn't get to interview Thranduil, but he'll have to get over it. I'm going home!"
"Not just yet you aren't," came Glorfindel's voice from behind her.
She spun around to face him. "What do you mean, Glorfindel? You were supposed to find Mithrandir"
"I could not find him. The blighter's probably holed up somewhere with his staff and a serving wench."
"You must mean with his staff in a serving wench, Glorfindel!" Elladan roared, his brother laughing heartily along with him.
"Ewwthank you for that mental picture" the Author shuddered, while the twins snickered. "So what am I to do now that I can't get home?"
"You could interview Thranduilyou really should, you know. He'll make life unbearable for all of us if you leave and don't interview him," Elladan suggested.
"I supposeis he anything like his son?" the Author asked worriedly.
"Legolas? Nonothing like Legolasnothing at all like him," Elrohir said.
"Elrohir, what are" Elladan asked, getting a quick, hard jab in the ribs from his twin.
"What is it that you're not telling me, Elrohir?" the Author asked, suddenly suspicious, since it seemed Elrohir thought it necessary to break a few of Elladan's ribs rather than allow him to speak.
"Trust meThranduil is nothing like his son"
Not quite believing him, but really having no choice, she shrugged, popping open her suitcase - which proceeded to spew undergarments and hair care products all over the kitchen - picked up her tape recorder, and left the room in search of the former King of Mirkwood.
She didn't hear Elrohir's voice whisper, "he's much, much worse" or the laughter that followed.
TBC