Disclaimer: This world and these characters are J.R.R. Tolkien's not mine, except for a few Mary Sues, whom I am sure he would have no wish to claim. I am merely borrowing them for my own amusement, and will return them once I have finished playing with them, although Elrond may have a few scuff marks *evil grin*
Summary: Palantiri, modems, girls in Elrond's bedroom, flash floods, feather dusters, Erestor fainting, catatonic Thranduil, whipped cream, cruelty to Mary Sues, silly names, four half-witted Halflings and one irritable Istar.
An acute observer would have noticed the evil glint in the eyes of Legolas Thranduilion as he looked down at the girl in his arms. Unfortunately for her, Leilialianth was not an acute observer. She could not even pass for one on a good day with a following wind.
"Oh Leggy darling, I love you so much," she cooed, fluttering her eyelashes at him in a way she secretly believed made her look charming and innocent, but in reality looked more like someone suffering from painful conjunctivitis.
"And I you, sweetums." Legolas' lecherous grin became a little wider. "Would you like to go somewhere more private?"
He found a convenient patch of grass by the Bruinen, and was just congratulating himself on another successful conquest – not that conquest was really the word when the girl had deliberately fallen over a log into his arms – when a voice interrupted him.
"Oh Mandos, not again!" He glanced up from the attention he was paying to the lacings of the girl's bodice to see Glorfindel standing there. "I just thought to myself that it would be really nice to spend an afternoon strolling by the Bruinen while Elrond does whatever he does in his rooms for hours on end, and what do I find? The Silvan princeling with yet another daft girl. Well, what do you call yourself, child?"
The human – for such she was despite the points rather inexpertly glued to her ears – lifted her chin.
"I don't know who you are, but I am Leilialianth, and I will be Leggy's wife."
At this point the hero of Gondolin collapsed in a fit of laughter.
"That's a good one, Legolas." He wiped the tears from his eyes. "Do they all believe the tales of an abusive childhood you spin and your promises of marriage?"
The girl looked affronted.
"No, he is mine, and thee shalt not make me break up with him," she tried out the language she remembered rather dimly from Romeo and Juliet. "Tell him it is not so, Leggy."
But the prince had joined in Glorfindel's merriment, and the girl flounced off into the woods, wondering if she might have better luck with boyfriends who only reached her waist.
"Perhaps Frody-kins will give me the Ring as a present, and that'll show Legs."
Legolas watched her departure with amusement.
"Oh well, there will be another soon enough."
"Where do you get these doxies?" Glorfindel inquired between chuckles.
"Here and there, here and there." Legolas was not ready to give up his secret yet, especially not to one as dashing as the Slayer of Balrogs. "Why? Do you want one?"
"Spare me, child. My mind would be tested to its limits by their rather … ah … interesting use of Westron."
They parted, Legolas wandering aimlessly among the trees, while Glorfindel returned to the house, and, with reluctance, to his tasks.
Elrond glanced up at him as he entered the study, and waved an object distractedly between the tips of his long fingers.
"This passes all understanding," he snapped. "I found another of those … those … girls hiding in here. Apparently she was so bereft of all sense that she believed the these rooms belonged to Thranduil's feckless son."
The seneschal sank gracefully into a chair.
"Which sort was it this time?"
"Oh, she wished to bring her powers as Princess of Silverbirch-Wood to the aid of the Fellowship," he sighed, and slumped a little. "I have never been so tempted by the power of the One as now, mellon-iaur, for it could be used to rid Middle-earth of these wretched creatures."
"Surely you have other means of dissuading them?" Glorfindel inquired with a glint in his eyes.
Elrond fiddled with the Ring on his left hand absent-mindedly, its brilliant stone catching the light and casting sparks of blue onto the paperwork.
"Aye. Perhaps there might be a flash-flood," he mused. "Not fatal, but who would mind if a few of them were carried to the coast? If I remember correctly from my youth, Círdan can be very inventive in dealing with mischief-makers." A wide grin lit his face.
His friend leant forward to grasp the object which Elrond still held.
"What is this?" he held it up to the light, examining the flesh-coloured lump with distaste.
"Oh yes, I forgot to tell you," the Peredhel smirked. "The girl was so anxious to depart that she forgot one of her ears."
That night, peace reigned in the valley in the foothills of the Misty Mountains, apart from a flood which swept away a horde of girls lurking on the banks of the Bruinen. Soon the Shipwright was to have some exceptionally unwilling workers to scrub barnacles from fishing-boats. No one is attractive covered in seaweed and smelling strongly of haddock, even if her eyes are indigo.