Mortification

By Nolitari

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings or Telletubbies. I own only my computer, along with my dry and witless sense of humor.

Author's Notes: Forgive me for taking so long! I never intended for this to take this much time… I've been ill, and I couldn't snatch the computer with this file on it much.

o-o-o-o-o

The festival had started. Narielle and I ran into Lord Elrond, who was sitting his usual chair, sipping at a glass of a potent concoction he swears is wine.

"Good evening, Lord Elrond." Narille curtsied low. "How fares thee on such a fair night?"

Elrond took another swig of his 'wine'. "Wonderful. Eh, excuse me. I need to go talk to my head advisor. This wine isn't strong enough!" He stood up and bustled over to Erestor, who was standing by pastries. The desk-Elf was most likely inspecting the fluffy baked dough, for he is one who will accept nothing less than perfect; especially when it comes to his desserts.

Narielle grinned, and sat at her place at the oversized table. There was even a special little pastry, which was quite red, sitting on her plate. I looked mournful for our departure, and went over to my little band. We started to play one of the ballads I had written over the course of the days. The crowd was not very pleased. They pelted us with fruit and such demanding livelier music. I sighed and started to play one of Elladan's favourite songs, 'Gondorian Rhapsody'.

Elves danced, and even a few guests joined in (the visiting dwarves politely declined and said that rap was not to their tastes, but country-western was). There was plenty of food, though my band was pelted with a lot of it; and in a small corner, there was a small heap of gifts that all had my name on them. Elrond signaled that the meal was about to begin, so I told my band to stop. Elves groaned. I sat down, so I could inhale the excellent Elven fodder. The gourmet chefs had overdone themselves. Plates were laden with vegetables, cheese, meats, and if I wasn't mistaken, fried chicken. I love fried chicken. Though after I eat a whole bird I gain another inch around my waist, I believe it is worth it. And I suspected the cooks made it especially for me.

Well, maybe not. Every piece was gone before I could even grab one. I was very perplexed. So I decided to make a run for the desserts while I could. There were many on the platter. Muffins, doughnuts, and soufflés were among the many filling and sinfully delicious desserts.

Elrohir shoved a pink package into my hands with disgust. He muttered, "Arwen sent it from Lothlorien." I eyed it cautiously. I never knew what evil was hidden beneath that cheery, bright, blinding pink wrapping paper. Especially since Arwen sent it.

"Well," said Narielle. "Aren't you going to open it?"

Eyes were laid upon me, and people stopped eating in mid-bite at the melodious voice of Narielle. A few Elves started to bring me my gifts and dump them in my lap. Birthdays are something Elves love to celebrate, since we do it so little. We used to celebrate every year, but many of the tightwad Elves began to complain about the costs of gifts.

I tore into Arwen's gift. "Strawberry Shortcake?" I asked, very shocked at what I found wrapped in that pink paper.

Elrohir glanced over at me. "She said if you hated it, she would send Haldir out to use you as target practice."

Arwen always made sure to keep her promises, as she kept the one towards her poor brothers. I think the emotional scars are still there, along with the physical ones. Oh, how horrid Elflings can be.

Lying aside the notebook that screamed, 'Lindir is dead meat', I moved on to one of my distant relatives gifts… I believe she was my grandmother, or great-aunt, something. Well, I know she's as ancient as the hills.

"Go on, go on!" My grandmother coaxed, thrusting the box at me. "It doesn't bite! Go ahead and open it!"

I had no idea what that seemly innocent white box contained. And through my blind eyes I opened the top.

Then I was terrified. No, mortified was the word that fit better.

Estel says that I was turning colors, even the tips of my ears. So he turns to his foster-father and asks, "Ada, is it normal for Elves to turn red then white?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Lindir's turning colors."

He just snorted as I continued to stare at the package in disbelief. How could one buy their grandson and/or nephew something so putridly evil? They were boxer shorts. Of the worst kind.

I thought Telletubbies were banned in Imladris…

o-o-o-o-o

Amidst the gift giving, Elladan had stolen Narielle's pastry and taken it to a dark corridor. When Elrohir stumbled upon his twin, most likely drunk, and objected to the theft, the older twin said, "We've run out of cayenne. The cook accidentally put some of that Sue's red face powder on there when I gave her that. So I'm dumping a bottle of cinnamon oil on it."

Elladan unscrewed the bottle of the oil that could make your skin bubble. "Where'd you get that?" Elrohir asked, jealous that he hadn't sleuthed out something so deadly. The worst he had ever found was rotten tofu (when Elrond was on his 'organic diet' after Celeborn claimed he had put on a few pounds) that had been in the arsenal.

Skillfully, as if Elladan had tampered with pastries before, the Elf poured the oil on everything except himself. As soon as it had dried and showed no threat to Elf-skin, Elladan quietly made his way back into the banquet hall and sat the tampered pastry in its place.

o-o-o-o-o

After opening all my splendid gifts, including a toaster, the desserts were passed around. I sat next to Narielle, who looked as beautiful as ever. But she had to eat that pastry, she just had to eat it…

She took a large bite, and chewed with a smile for a moment, then swallowed.

Then she choked.

The Elves continued to eat their cheese, calmly, while I shouted for a paramedic team. But no team ever arrived. Narielle was beginning to turn blue. Narielle choked out her last words, "you evil Elf! Burn in the depths of Mount Doom!", then died.

Glorfindel cheered and shouted, "THE PASTRY PREVAILS! HUZZAH!"

Soon I recovered from the fog she had laid upon me. Once I came to realization, I wrote many nasty little hate ballads about her. It was such a good feeling. Almost like the feeling you get after eating a five pound chocolate bar. But that feeling can sometimes be bad. The feeling I got from writing things about her were good.

Thus ends my account of such a horrible experience. And hopefully it can entertain people, (for I know they will be laughing at my misery, almost everyone does), and educate people on how to recognize the signs of a Sue.

o-o-o-o-o

Mandos looked at his log book. "Haven't you been here before?" he asked a young Elven girl.

"Yes," she sniffled, "I was here two months ago. You kicked me out."

"YOU!" He shouted, pointing his finger. Many of the dead looked at Mandos in surprise. He never shouted unless some bad sort had arrived in his dark and brooding halls. They figured this little Elf was of the sort that Mandos liked to kick out almost every day, and would probably be banished to some place worse than the halls by next week.

"Yes sir," she squeaked, "it's me again."

"I thought it was clear to you to stay in the mines!"

"Oh, I couldn't, sir. They were horribly dirty, and the labor was too much."

"Go take a seat." Mandos growled.

The young Elven girl complied. She sat on an empty bench, for the other dead folk snarled at her when she approached. She started to whine rather loudly; the benches were too hard, the temperature was too low, she was bored, the company was dull, Mandos was mean, and on and on. It was the usual round of complaints that Mandos had heard many times before.

She continued with her annoying behavior for a few days more. And then a few more days. And then a week. There came the point where one could have claimed that Mandos was going to blow his top, again.

"That's it," he said to the Elven girl. "You're going back to the Sugar Mines of Mordor. Have a nice trip." The keeper of the dead grinned with satisfaction once she was pushed out of his doors.

An Elf, who had most likely died during the Last Alliance, murmured, "Mordor has a sugar industry? Why didn't I get into that instead of the reserves…?"

The End.

o-o-o-o-o

Author's Notes: Alright, not my best ending for a story. But I wrote the last chapter late at night and with a cold. Please do review, I appreciate them very much.