One Fiery Day

by Erestor

Co-written by MithrilSide (Erestor's sister)

Disclaimer: I own nothing pertaining to Lord of the Rings.

This is incredibly random stuff. It is dedicated to Dimmy. Enjoy!

Two Elves were sitting on the floor of Erestor's study. They were identical twins. They were The Twins. Their names were Elladan and Elrohir. Sitting on the floor in front of them, was a matchbook. It was filled with matches.

"Glorfindel told us to never play with fire," said Elrohir. He was a rather cautious Elf.

Elladan shrugged, grinning evilly. "But he never said anything about playing with matches!"

Elrohir sighed. "All right. How do these things work?"

Elladan picked up the matchbook, eyeing it suspiciously. He wondered if it could spontaneously combust. Carefully, he pulled a match out of the packet. He looked at it doubtfully. It was beautiful, a match beyond compare. The sight of it filled his young heart with joy. All doubts were completely forgotten.

"I shall make fire!" cried Elladan, setting the scene. He wished for a violent thunderstorm, but nothing happened.

Elrohir sighed again. 'Elladan,' he thought, 'is crazy.'

Elladan dragged the end of the match down the dark strip of black stuff. What did they call it anyway?

Nothing happened.

Elladan tried again.

And again.

The stupid match broke in half. Elladan flung it across the room.

Elrohir sighed.

"I know how to light matches," he said. "I'll show you."

Elrohir paused a moment later, the match poised to strike. "Are you sure we should be doing this?"

"Yes." Elladan nodded enthusiastically.

Elrohir was about to strike that match, when Elladan stayed his hand. "Wait! I've got a really good idea!" he said excitedly.

Elrohir watched in stupefied amazement, as Elladan tugged the rest of the matches out of the packet, and dumped them in a vase. "When you light the match," he said grandly, "drop it in here!"

Elrohir gaped. "What?" he asked in a strangled whisper. "What if we burn Erestor's study down?"

"It doesn't matter," said Elladan. "It's only Erestor."

Elrohir was not convinced.

"Anyway," said Elladan. "He's so paranoid; probably everything's insured."

Elrohir struck the match. Closing his eyes tightly, the young Elf dropped the lit match into the vase.

A great billow of flame shot straight up into the air.


Meanwhile, Glorfindel was making toast.

He hadn't made toast for a long, long time. He was having lots of fun.

Carefully, Glorfindel cut two slices of bread, and placed them near the fire. He sat down on a stool and watched the toast get nice and brown.

Except it wasn't getting nice and brown. Nothing was happening.

"Maybe," Glorfindel thought, "the toast is too far away from the fire."

Glorfindel nudged the toast a little closer to the fireplace with the tip of his red sneaker.

Folding his hands expectantly, Glorfindel perched on his stool, and watched the toast that was not yet toast.

Ah. Toasting was so much fun. He hadn't had such a good time in years.

Glorfindel watched the toast that was not yet toast for a while. He dimly recalled that toast shouldn't take this long to become toast. Something was wrong with the bread.

Very carefully, Glorfindel nudged the toast that was not yet toast a little closer to the fireplace with the tip of his red sneaker, all the while clinging to the stool with one hand.

Erestor entered the room. He looked at Glorfindel. He looked at the fireplace. He looked at the two slices of bread lying on the middle of the floor. "What are you doing? Is the bread migrating?

Glorfindel leapt onto the stool. "I'm making toast!" he said.

Erestor looked at the bread again. "How long have you been at it?" he asked.

Glorfindel glanced at the clock. "Maybe two hours," he replied.

Erestor sighed. He reached down and picked up the pieces of toast that were not yet toast. He tossed them into the fireplace.

"What did you do that for?" wept Glorfindel, sobbing piteously into a napkin.

"I'm sorry, Glorfindel," said Erestor grimly, "but that is no way to make toast. Who knows what could have been on the floor?"

Glorfindel thought about the toast that was now a bunch of ashes in the fireplace, and sobbed some more.

"Glorfindel, you're overreacting," said Erestor.

Glorfindel wiped his eyes with the napkin. "I'm sorry, Erestor," he said, "I can't help it. It's that time of year again."

"Oh," said Erestor. Maybe he shouldn't have been so harsh. Poor Glorfindel was still having trouble dealing with his memories of Gondolin. "What time?" he asked gently.

"It's almost Guy Fawkes Day," Glorfindel sniffled.


Celebrían was writing a letter to her dearly beloved husband.

Dearly beloved husband, she wrote, I love you very, very much. I think you are brave and handsome. However, today is our wedding anniversary, and you DIDN'T GET ME A PRESENT!!! Lots of love, signed: Celebrían.

Celebrían passed the message to Elrond. He was sitting on the sofa next to her. Elrond took the piece of paper and sniffed it. It was written with lemon juice. He held it in front of the fire and watched as the lemon letters got nice and brown. He read the message.

Oh no! He had forgotten his wife's anniversary! She was going to kill him! He was dead! Elrond broke out in a cold sweat.

Elrond dipped his pen into his glass of lemon juice and wrote a letter on a new piece of paper, Dearest Celebrían, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me! What would you like for your anniversary? Lots of love, signed: Elrond.

Celebrían took the piece of paper and held it in front of the fire. She watched as the lemon letters appeared, looking nice and brown. She was in the process of reading her husband's message, when something occurred to her.

What were they doing writing messages to one another in invisible ink? They were the only people in the room. And why were they writing messages? Couldn't they just speak to each other, like normal Elves?

Celebrían's heart began to beat a little faster. Surely no one was watching them. Perhaps Elrond feared something, but had not yet told her. Spies, perhaps? There were spies in Imladris?

Celebrían dipped her pen into her glass of lemon juice and wrote a new message. Dear Elrond, ARE THERE SPIES?

Elrond took the piece of paper and held it in front of the fire. He read the message.

Spies! Celebrían, with the keen intellect inherited from her mother, must have sensed spies in the vicinity! There couldn't be spies! He thought that the Imladris Guard would have noticed! This was no time to panic!

He was panicking.

With trembling fingers, Elrond wrote a new message. My lovely Celebrían, I fear that we are in great danger. What shall we do?

Celebrían held the letter in front of the fire. She read it.

By the Valar! They were doomed! What could they do? Spies were watching them. . .there were spies everywhere. . .beware the spies. . .

Celebrían swallowed raggedly, glancing over her shoulder. The room seemed too dark. The fire was too bright.

Elrond and Celebrían sat frozen in their living room, paralyzed with fear.

"Hey!" cried Lindir, skipping into the room with his butterfly net. "Guess what I–"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" screamed Elrond and Celebrían.

Elrond lunged for a cushion. Celebrían ducked under a nearby table. Someone's lemon juice flew everywhere. Lindir's mouth dropped open.

"Sorry," he apologized, slipping away from the room.

Elrond pushed a note towards Celebrían. She held it up to the fire and watched the lemon letters get nice and brown. She saw what he had written.

Do you think Lindir's a spy?


Glorfindel cut two slices of bread, and laid them on the floor near the fire.

Erestor looked at him.

Glorfindel looked at Erestor.

Erestor looked at the bread.

Erestor looked at the fireplace.

Glorfindel looked at the floor.

"It's never going to get toasted that way," said Erestor.

"We can always hope," said Glorfindel optimistically.

Erestor sighed longsufferingly. He tossed the two slices of bread out the window, where birds could eat them. Then he went to the kitchen counter.

Erestor cut two slices of bread.

He laid the bread on a platter.

He put the platter by the fire.

He watched toast get nice and brown.

He carefully lifted the platter, holding it with the sleeves of his robe.

He carried the platter to the kitchen counter.

He spread butter and honey on the toast.

Then he sat down on another stool, and Glorfindel watched as Erestor ate the toast. Every last crumb.


There was a scorch mark on the ceiling. Elladan and Elrohir admired it.

"Wow! That is too cool!" said Elladan.

"I can't believe we did that!" said Elrohir. He glanced around guiltily. He looked at the vase. It was a mangled piece of pottery.

"Let's do it again!" cried Elladan. "Where's a flowerpot?"

"Maybe we shouldn't. . ." protested Elrohir.

"Why not? It was lots of fun. No one minds," said Elladan.

"That's because no one knows we're doing this yet," said Elrohir. "I'm not doing it again, and I'm the only one who can strike matches properly."

"If you don't want to help, you don't have to," said Elladan. "I know another way to make fire!" He grabbed a magnifying glass from Erestor's desk. "Watch this!"

But Elrohir was afraid to look.


Glorfindel couldn't believe it. "You're eating my toast!" he cried.

"It's not your toast," said Erestor. "It's my toast. You couldn't make toast if your life depended on it."

Glorfindel grabbed the knife. He cut two more slices of bread. He put the bread on the platter. He looked around desperately. "I have a confession to make, Erestor," he whispered. "I'm afraid of fire."

"I know," said Erestor.

Erestor watched with amusement as Glorfindel scampered across the room and dropped the platter beside the fireplace. He dashed back for his stool as quickly as he could.

They watched the toast.

When the toast was toasted, Glorfindel hurried back with it. He spread strawberry jam on it. "How delicious," he said happily.

Someone knocked on the door.

Erestor sighed, stood up, and opened the kitchen door.

Some guy was standing there, holding a large package. He was dressed in a weird frilly sort of garment, and he had a sinister black mustache.

"Hello," said Erestor.

"Hello," said the guy.

"Uh. . .are you looking for something?" asked Erestor.

"Yes," said the man. "Where does Lord Elrond hold his meetings?"

"Down the hall, to the left," said Erestor. "Just follow the signs."

The guy left.

"That was strange," said Erestor.

"He reminded me of someone," said Glorfindel.


Celebrían and Elrond had built a very presentable fort, using various cushions, tables, and chairs. They huddled on the floor, writing messages to each other as quickly as possible.

What shall we do? wrote Celebrían.

We'll have to wait them out, wrote Elrond in reply.

It occurred to Elrond that someone might find their letters. He began burning them when he received them. Celebrían followed his example.


"Well," said Erestor, "that was a good snack. It was nice talking to you, Glorfindel." He got up and hurried to his study.

Elladan and Elrohir were sitting on the floor, building a huge stack of matches. Elrohir was about to light another match.

Erestor couldn't believe his eyes. He froze in the doorway.

Elladan smiled charmingly. He dropped the match into the pile.


Lindir ran around, shrieking, "FIRE!!! FIRE!!! FIRE!!!"

Celebrían and Elrond looked at each other.

"We were wrong," gasped Celebrían aloud. "It wasn't spies!"

"It was arsonists!"