Summery: Glorfindel pays someone an unexpected visit.
Genre: Humor. AU…please do not expect anything even remotely resembling canon here. Feedback greatly appreciated…desired…wanted…needed…:D
Disclaimer: I don't own it. I just play with it once in a while, and always make sure to put it back neatly, just where I found it.Chapter One
She jumped nearly a foot off the bed, startled out of her sleep by the deep masculine voice that came from her closet. Sitting up in bed, she wiped a hand across her face, wondering what she could have possibly eaten the night before to cause her to dream that a man was lurking in her closet.
"Hello?" came the hidden voice again, followed by a light rapping on the closet door from within.
She screamed, long, loudly, and shrilly. As she sucked in more air for another shot at reaching high "C", the voice pleaded with her.
"Please…do not do that again, unless you wish to burst my eardrums. Kindly let me out of here."
"Who are you?" she managed to ask, kneeling on her bed, clutching the bedclothes to her chest, staring at the closet door. Wildly, she wondered if she could make it to the kitchen where all the nice, big sharp knives were kept, as well as the telephone, with the nice, big numbers "911" on speed dial.
"Glorfindel. Now, kindly let me out of here!" The voice sounded as though it was becoming a tad bit irritated.
"Glorfindel? Did your mother have a fixation with the Lord of the Rings?" she asked, slowly moving to the side of the bed, her eyes still glued to the closet door.
"My mother, if it is any of your business - and it is not - was a lovely, faithful woman, and was certainly not fixated on anyone other than my father, thank you very much."
"Um…okay…sorry…so, why are you in my closet?"
"Let me out and I'll tell you."
"Not a chance. Tell me and I'll let you out," she lied, edging closer to the bedroom door.
"Let me out or I will be forced to break down the door, which is actually sounding like more and more of an option by the moment."
"No!" she screamed, lunging for the bedroom door.
A loud thud, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood heralded the arrival in her bedroom of her uninvited guest. She tried to open the bedroom door, but a large hand pushed it closed again from somewhere over her head.
"Really, madam, is this necessary? Good Heavens, woman…put some clothes on!" the voice from the closet said, so close that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
Slowly turning around, she looked directly into a broad chest dressed in a fine, satiny, ruby red robe with intricately embroidered silver and gold threaded trim. Her eyes traveled north, beholding what could possibly be the most handsome face she had ever seen, with two beautifully deep turquoise eyes staring back at her, a delicately sculpted nose and full sensual lips, all framed by very long, silky-looking, shiny hair the color of ripe wheat.
But it was really the ears that gave him away.
"No, it can't be…they must be fake," she muttered under her breath, reminding herself of what wonders could be made with latex these days, as she ducked under his arm to put as much space between herself and her unwanted visitor as possible.
"Clothing. I would suggest you get some," he said in his deep, velvety voice. She noticed that he kept his eyes averted from her as he spoke.
"I am clothed…I'm wearing a nightgown."
"That is not clothing…that is a napkin."
"I didn't think Elves were prudes."
"I am no prude, young lady…but certainly you don't make a habit of entertaining male callers dressed in such garb…do you?" he asked, still not looking at her, but raising an eyebrow.
"I am not entertaining you…you arrived uninvited into my closet, remember?"
"On the contrary, I am finding you quite entertaining…" he replied, at last turning those turquoise eyes on her again.
She backpedaled further into the bedroom, casting her eyes about wildly, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. Her hands found a small vase from the table near the window, and she grabbed it, brandishing it like a club.
"Really, madam…such theatrics. Do you mean to pummel me with pottery?" He asked, chuckling. He stood in front of the door, crossing his arms over his chest, giving her a most bemused look.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her hands now shaking so badly that she nearly dropped the vase.
"I believe we've already been over this…my name is Glorfindel. Glor--fin--del, which means, literally, 'golden haired Elf.' Very imaginative, if I do say so myself," he said sarcastically. "My other titles include 'Lord of the House of the Golden Flower,' or simply, 'Lord of the Golden Flower,' 'The Balrog-Slayer,' and…oh, yes…'Lord of the Hot Tush.' I believe you, yourself, bestowed that last one on me."
She stared at him in shocked silence, knowing full well that she had, indeed, used that title in the last little fan fiction she'd written. He'd read it? She blushed, thinking of what else she'd written in that story.
"Yes…I believe that was one of my favorites, although the one in which you have Legolas and Haldir thrashing about in a hammock does run a close second," he continued, inching a bit closer to her.
"You cannot be Glorfindel…not the same Glorfindel as the one in my stories…what are you, some kind of fanfiction stalker? How did you find me?" she asked, pressing her back up against the wall.
He took yet another step closer. "I am the same Glorfindel as the one in your stories," he replied patiently. "Trust me, there cannot be two of me…that would be one too many for the world to handle. I am here because we took a vote to decide on who to send."
"Hardly. Do I look the type that would want to end up in a closet that smells strongly of mothballs and feet? I think Elladan and Elrohir cheated."
"Thanks a heap! You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself, don't you?"
"My apologies. Will you please put the vase down and sit so that we may discuss this like rational beings?" he asked, now standing just a foot or so in front of her. He gently took the vase away from her, setting it back down on the table, before pulling her over to the bed, kicking and screaming, and forcing her to sit. He sat down next to her, leaving a respectable distance between them.
She bolted from the bed…he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back down.
No sooner did his hands leave her waist that she bolted upright again, only to be forced down once more.
The third time she tried to stand, Glorfindel lost his patience. He grabbed her around the middle, threw her on the bed face down, and sat on her.
Spotting the discarded sheets crumbled at the foot of the bed, he dragged them over, throwing them over her bare legs.
"Since this seems to be the only sure way to keep you from bobbing up and down from the bed like a cork, I see no other alternative but to use you as cushion."
"This doesn't seem to be very Lord-like behavior!" she squeaked from under his weight.
"I suppose you are the expert on what constitutes 'Lord-like' behavior? It seems to me from your stories that you actually have no idea how Lords behave themselves. You always seem to have us running about half-dressed, erm…dallying with ourselves or each other!"
"Dallying? Is that a real word?"
"What word would you prefer? Oh, wait…I remember…you seem to have a predilection for using the term, 'stroking."
She erupted into a fit of giggling, much to Glorfindel's consternation. "What do you find so amusing, might I ask? I am trying to have a serious conversation with you, and you giggle like an Elfling who's gotten into the wine cellar!"
"I'm sorry…snort…it's just that…you said…snort…stroking…snort!"
"Why do you find that funny? You use it all the time!"
"Because…because…you're Glorfindel, that's why!"
"Aha! You admit to believing that I am who I say I am?"
"Fine…okay…you've convinced me. Let's just say - for argument's sake - that you are 'the' Glorfindel…why are you here?"
"If I let you up now, will you promise to stay put?" he asked.
She nodded, although she had no intention of keeping that promise if the opportunity to escape presented itself. He lifted himself from her rear section, allowing her to sit up. Resuming his position sitting a polite distance away from her, he again folded his arms across his chest, looking at her intently.
"So, again…why are you here?"
"You really must pay more attention. I've already told you…I lost the vote."
"Fine! You lost! I get it…" she snipped angrily. "Now tell me why you needed to vote to send anyone at all."
"How else would we decide who to send?"
"Damn it!" she exploded, jumping up from the bed, causing his eyebrows to shoot up. "You bloody well know what I mean…what is the purpose of your little unannounced, uninvited visit to my closet in the middle of the night?"
"You promised to stay put. Must I sit on you again? Do you always break your word so easily? In my world such a deed would be unforgivable - an Elf's word is his bond…why, I remember an Elf once who gave his word in a bargain that…"
"Stop changing the subject!"
"Is that what I am doing?" Glorfindel chuckled, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
"Oh, you devil, you! You're doing it on purpose!" She yelled, throwing the balled up sheets at him. "You're purposely evading my question!"
"My apologies again. It is just that you are too…oh, how would you say it in one of your stories…oh, yes…you are too easy."
She looked at him dumbfounded, as he grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her back into her seat on the bed.
Sighing, Glofindel threw the sheets back over her legs, then moved to rest his back against the headboard, facing her. Looking at her, he sighed again, then said, "I will answer your question, however, considering your reaction to being told my name, I harbor serious doubts that you will believe me."
"I beg your pardon?" he gasped, his eyebrows shooting up again, sitting straight up on the bed once more.
"It means that I'm willing to listen. Really, for a being that's supposed to cherish being clean, you have a very dirty mind."
Glofindel sniffed, evidently mollified somewhat by her answer, and leaned back against the headboard again. "Very well…but do not say I did not warn you."