Celeborn's Club

by Erestor

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings.

An Elf sat at a table under a tree, reading a newspaper and stirring his coffee pensively. His silver hair shone almost blue in the sunlight, and his green eyes were dark and listless. Newspapers are such depressing things.

Another Elf came by, with a pencil tucked behind one pointy ear. He was holding a notepad. "Would you like anything else, Lord Celeborn?" he asked disinterestedly.

Celeborn shook his head "No, thank you. The coffee was delicious, Elladan." Suddenly he frowned. "It is Elladan, isn't it?"

"I'm Elrohir," the Elf said, gliding away.

Celeborn sighed again and gazed at the hated newspaper. It did nothing to lighten his mood. In large green lettering where the words 'Lord Elesser Celebrates 25th Year Of Kingship'. And there, a little lower, but no less prominent, was the heading, 'Colony in Ithilien Huge Success; Prince Legolas's Popularity Soars'.

A golden haired Elf, as bright and vibrant as the summer sun, peered at the newspaper over Celeborn's shoulder. A few moments later, Celeborn became aware of the sound of grinding teeth and could make out a few muttered words, "Legolas again. Every day his name appears in the papers, and where am I?" Celeborn swiftly identified the Elf behind him.

"Pull up a chair, King Thranduil," Celeborn said, gesturing grandly towards the seat on the other side of the table. He thought it would be a bit safer to sit where he could keep an eye on the other Elf.

Thranduil slumped into the chair and glared at the newspaper, almost as if he was trying to bore through it with his very gaze. "And he never even mentions me in those grand speeches of his. All I ask is a little recognition for raising the child! But no! He's too high and mighty for that!"

Celeborn nodded his agreement, but thought it best to remain silent. He stirred his coffee again, as it was not much good for anything else.

"No credit for teaching him archery! No thanks for all the hair braiding lessons! No gratitude for the hours I spent showing him how to identify Orcs and sense danger!" Thranduil cried.

"Would you like something to eat?" asked Elrohir, appearing at Thranduil's elbow, a pencil hovering expectantly over his notepad.

"Maybe some coffee," Thranduil said, waving the younger Elf away. He paused. "Where was I?"

"Sensing danger," said Celeborn.

"Ah, yes. I taught him how to paddle a boat without braining anyone or falling overboard! I taught him how to kill cave trolls! I explained to him the intricate design of. . ."

"Why hello," said Lindir interjected smoothly. "What's happening here? A new club or something?"

"Not really," explained Celeborn. "Thranduil was just explaining about his son."

"Oh," said Lindir. "That Elf-Princeling! Him and his uppity attitude! Last time he stayed here in Imladris, he mistook me for a servant and commanded me to bring him a cup of tea. Can you believe it? I swiftly put him in his place. I said, 'Get it yourself, you old fleabag' and you should have seen his silly face then." Lindir paused thoughtfully. "He rather reminded me of a startled rodent of some sort."

Thranduil got to his feet and shook Lindir's hand, before sitting back down again with a sigh. "He's not really that bad, the quest just got to his head. He was such a nice little child."

"No," Celeborn said. "It's not Legolas's fault that he got all the glory and we were left with nothing but a few odd scrapings of recognition."

"Yes, that's what gets to one, isn't it?" said Glorfindel, who had happened by the group of angered Elves. "The fact that we were doing things just as important as he was, and no one ever decided to make us famous."

"Who does decide anyway?" asked Lindir.

"I'll bet it was Aragorn," said Elrohir, returning with Thranduil's coffee. "He's a king, and influential. You'd think a foster brother would be ready to say a few good words for those who cared for him, wouldn't you? But somehow we got left out. Big coronation party, lots of games and speeches and excitement, and somehow people just forgot that Elrohir and I went through the Paths of the Dead with him too."

"I thought you were Elrohir," interrupted Celeborn.

"No, I'm Elladan," said Elladan. "Elrohir's cleaning up in the kitchen."

"I'm sure that Arwen had something to do with that," mused Glorfindel, who seemed to harbor an absurd disliking for the Elf-maiden.

"That kiss at the start of the coronation probably drove all thoughts of us from his mind," said Thranduil. "I must say that I for one was shocked. One would think that a king would behave with more decorum. But kissing her right in front of so many people, without even a 'hello' first was a bit much. Such actions are completely without propriety."

Erestor came by, holding a large amount of books. He put them on a nearby table and walked round to the group. "What's going on?"

"We're discussing the fact that no one remembers what we did during the war," explained Celeborn.

"Remembers what we did?" echoed Erestor. "Most of them don't even know we exist! It's always Legolas, Legolas, Legolas! And with you," he nodded at Celeborn, "they only see Galadriel. The world revolves around those two Elves."

Elrohir had appeared, and Elladan filled him in on what was happening. "So what do we do?" he asked, curiously.

"I don't know," said Celeborn.

The other six Elves wilted. "We were hoping you'd know what to do," said Lindir.

"Well, why don't we start a club?" suggested Thranduil. "Celeborn's Club, for the sake of alliteration."

"That's an idea!" Elladan said enthusiastically.

"But what would we do?" asked Erestor.

There was a long silence.

TBC