Title: A Gentleman Caller

Author: TICS

Rating: R

Summery: Glorfindel pays someone an unexpected visit.

Disclaimer: I don't own them…I just play with them for a while, and always make sure to put them back exactly where I found them.

Genre: Humor. AU…please do not expect anything even remotely resembling canon here. Feedback greatly appreciated…desired…wanted…needed…:D

Chapter 23 - By the Valar

Escaping the kitchen, leaving the battling Elves behind, the Author stood outside the door contemplating what she should do next. She couldn't go home, since Mithrandir seemed to be in the middle of an identity crisis of some sort, and she had no Elves to interview, since they were all rolling about in the kitchen exercising their testosterone glands…she was at a loss as to what to do next.

"Psst."

The Author's attention was drawn by the whisper. Looking around, she spotted a very handsome, yet completely unfamiliar Elf standing at the sitting room's door, beckoning to her. Looking rather windblown, his golden hair gleamed, and his brilliant blue eyes pierced her. He carried a scepter that held an egg-sized sapphire of the deepest, most heavenly blue the Author had ever seen, and he was waving that scepter at her frantically.

"Psst! Thou…there by the kitchen door…come hither!" he whispered, although to the Author his whisper sounded a bit like a gusty wind.

Curious, the Author walked over to the Elf.

"There reside here some whose heartfelt wish is to meet with thou that their visage and endeavors should not be forgotten or their ways forsook," he said, in a voice like the wind through the leaves.

"Huh?" The Author replied, in a voice that sounded like stupid through a sieve.

The Elf sighed, and tried again. "Within these halls dwell some whose memory would forever be engraved upon the hearts and in the minds of those Children of Ilúvatar."

"Huh?"

"They want to talk into your tape recorder thingee."

"Oh…why didn't you say so? Who are you?" The Author asked, finally getting it.

"I am Manwë, The Breath of Arda," he answered, his voice sounding as a summer breeze.

"Whew…well, Breath of Arda, somebody needs a breath mint," the Author replied, waving her hand in front of her nose.

"Sorry…had garlic at lunch…"Manwë said, blushing a bit. He covered his own mouth and exhaled, sniffing at his hand. Keeping his mouth covered, he motioned for her to follow him into the sitting room.

Entering the sitting room, the Author counted no less than twelve other Valar standing and sitting, all of which looked at her when she entered.

"Ooh…perfect…thirteen. My lucky number," the Author said, smiling.

"Actually, there are fourteen of us," Manwë informed her.

"I only count thirteen," the Author insisted, doing another quick head count.

"Ulmo is here also," one of the fair Vala told her, pointing to a bucket sitting on the floor.

The Author walked over and peered into the bucket, expecting to see something…anything…a tiny Elf…a talking mushroom…something. All she saw was a bucket of water. "Okay…you folks have named the bucket Ulmo?"

The Valar laughed, their voices like a symphony. "No, no…" Manwë said, still chuckling. "Ulmo…show yourself."

The Author's eyes widened as a watery hand formed itself out of the liquid in the bucket and waggled its soggy fingers at her.

Manwë rolled his eyes, and whispered in the Author's ear, "He refuses to cloak himself…freaking naturalist is what he is…" Clearing his throat, which sounded like the rumble of thunder, he continued, "Allow me to introduce you to everyone…may I present my lovely wife, Varda…"

A most beautiful Vala nodded graciously at her, her face glowing so brightly that the Author wished she had had the foresight to bring her Ray-bans.

Indicating the Vala who sat next to Varda, Manwë said, "Please greet Aulë."

The Author nodded at yet another handsome Vala, who grinned at her. "Is that thing broken?" he asked, gesturing toward her tape recorder. "I can fix it…I can fix anything…on second thought, why don't I just build you another one? Just let me get my tools…"

" Aulë …she does not need another one. Sit down, and try to be still," Manwë ordered, frowning at the Vala. Aulë frowned himself, grumbling, but sat back in his chair, fidgeting.

Next to Aulë sat another Vala, who Manwë introduced as Yavanna,

Aulë's mate. She looked at the Author's tape recorder curiously, and wiggled her fingers at it. Leaves began to sprout from the recorder, causing the Author to nearly drop it. "Hey…stop that!" The Author cried, ripping the new growth from the recorder.

Yavanna pouted, sticking her lower lip out. "It is barren…I give it life and you complain? So like the Secondborn…always complaining. Oh, it's all fine and dandy when their crops are failing…then it's, Yavanna…make the corn grow…Yavanna, my vegetables need tending…Yavanna, my roses aren't big enough to win first prize at the faire…"

"Oh…I suppose you're responsible for everything that grows, huh?" The Author asked sarcastically, cocking an eyebrow at the uppity Vala.

"I am," Yavanna answered haughtily.

"Hmm…Sunflowers…those were your idea? Could you make them big enough? Overcompensating for something perhaps?"

Yavanna's mouth dropped open at the human's audacity, but she blushed, her eyes flicking toward her own chest, which was washboard flat.

Manwë wisely decided that it was time to move on, and introduced the Author next to a formidable looking Vala who was scowling as he stood near the window. The Author gave a small yelp at his grimacing face.

"Tulkos…for Eru's sake, Tulkos, smile will you? You are going to make her wet herself," Manwë ordered, frowning at him.

The giant of an Vala lifted his lips in a smile that was more of a sneer. "Give me a moment alone with her, and we will see what I will make her do." He laughed then, a sound that sent a shiver up the Author's spine.

"Are you related to Haldir, by any chance?" The Author asked, warily keeping her distance from the angry-looking Vala who continued to leer at her.

Manwë took her elbow and turned her to face another Vala. "May I introduce Nienna…" The Vala raised sorrowful eyes toward the Author and proceeded to burst into tears, wailing to beat the band.

The Author took a step back from the weeping Vala. "What's wrong with her?" she whispered to Manwë, as the Vala's tears slid down the front of her gown, and began to form a little puddle on the floor.

"It's what she does…" Manwë explained, shrugging his shoulders. "She weeps."

"She just cries? That's it? Have you people ever considered Prozac?" the Author asked, stepping back another foot in order to avoid getting her feet wet.

"She has us for brothers…that is reason enough to cry…" another Vala laughed, elbowing the Vala beside him, who snickered. Nienna shot them a look before renewing her sobs. The first Vala turned to the Author and said, "I am Mandos…welcome…you really must come visit my Halls some time."

The Author smiled at the handsome Vala, liking his dark good looks. "What is it that you do, Mandos…I assume your sister has the weeping thing all sewn up…"

"Námo, otherwise known as Mandos, is the Keeper of the Dead," Manwë informed her, smirking as the Author's face blanched.

"Keeper of the Dead? Eww…don't they start to reek after a while?" the author asked, a look of disgust crossing her face.

"Not their bodies, silly mortal…just their souls," Mandos tried to explain.

"So you're like…the Grim Reaper, huh? Bet you have a scythe and everything…I think I'll pass on that visit to your halls…no offense, but I'm really not into the whole dead thing."

"I am not grim, Yavanna is the one who tends to the plants, and I only seethe when foolish young mortals annoy me."

"Right. Well then…" the Author said, turning to Mandos' brother, "…and you are…?" She raised a brow as she realized the Vala she was addressing was snoring lightly.

"Irmo…Irmo…for the love of Arda, Irmo, wake up!" Manwë shouted, his voice like a gale force wind.

"Hmm…huh? Oh…sorry, I must have dozed off…" Irmo replied, after giving a jaw-cracking yawn. He looked at the author and grinned lecherously. "I was having a lovely dream about a young woman who had a most extraordinarily talented tongue…"

The Author opened her mouth to tell the Vala that in his dreams was the only place he was likely to find her tongue, but Manwë interrupted her.

"Irmo is Lord of Dreams…in which he indulges himself a bit too often," Manwë explained, shaking his golden head at the Vala. He urged the Author forward to meet yet another Vala.

Manwë sighed, realizing that this one too, was fast asleep. "Estë… Estë…wake up, dear…we have company," he whispered, evidently not willing to shout at the Vala as he had Irmo. She fluttered her eyelids, but remained asleep.

"This is Estë, wife of Irmo…they make a good pair - you can obviously see why," Manwë said dryly.

A quick movement, no more than a blur, caught her attention, and she found herself facing yet another Vala. This one grinned at her impishly.

"Nessa…" Manwë began, but the Vala disappeared in a flash, only to reappear on the Vala's other side, her grin widening. "Stop that, Nessa…it is annoying!" Manwë admonished the quick-moving Vala. She giggled at him, then fled to the other side of the room, in a motion too quick for the eye to follow.

"A bit hyperactive, isn't she?" the Author asked, as Nessa continued to streak about the room.

"This is her brother, Oromë…" Manwë began, but was cut off by the striking Vala.

"Hah! Did you see that?" the Vala asked looking out of the window. "That was a warg…I am sure of it!"

Sighing, Manwë said, "There are no wargs in Valinor, Oromë - we've been over this a million times…no wargs…no nazgul…no cave trolls."

"But I am certain that I saw…"

"None. Zip. Zero, Oromë! There are no monsters in Valinor!" Manwë said firmly.

"Don't pick on him, Manwë," said a petite (for an Vala) female who looked much younger than the rest. No more than sixteen, by the Author's estimation, although she knew that they were actually the Valar, and were older than dirt. Literally. "Like, let him be, you know? If he wants to see wargs, then let him see wargs, Manwë!" the Vala pouted, stroking Oromë on the arm. "Poor puddums…big old bad Manwë is always picking on you…" she purred. She whispered something into the Vala's ear that made him grin, then licked the tip of his ear, making him shudder.

Again Manwë sighed, pulling the Author along. "That's Vána - the Ever-young, Yavanna's sister, and Oromë's mate."

"Ever-Ready is more like it…" the Author muttered, raising a brow at the pair who had already sunk to the floor and were energetically sucking face.

"Great Eru's Codpiece! Where ever did you get that hideous frock you are wearing?" asked another voice, distracting the Author from the x-rated floorshow. She turned to face yet another Vala, who proceeded to flip a measuring tape all about various parts of the Author's anatomy.

"It…it was lent to me by the Elves here when I arrived…" the Author replied, at a loss as the Vala measured her bust line.

"Hmm…thirty six…busty little thing, aren't you? No wonder Yavanna is throwing you dagger eyes…" the Vala continued, blithely measuring away. "Don't you worry, sweetie…I'll soon have a frock for you that will turn every Vala's head…you just wait and see."

"NO!" yelled the Author, thinking that she was having enough trouble with Haldir and Legolas as it was, without having to wear some Elven flirt skirt.

Manwë chuckled, staying the Vala's hand from doing any more measuring. "This is Vairë, our weaver, and wife to Mandos."

The Author nodded politely, watching the Vala pull her measuring tape through her fingers impatiently.

"Really, Manwë, don't begrudge the human a decent gown…let me finish measuring her…" she beseeched the Vala Lord.

Smiling benevolently, Manwë nodded, and the Vala continued her measuring attack on the Author. A few moments later, she skipped happily away to a corner of the room, where scissors soon clicked and bits of fabric began flying through the air.

Looking at the Author, Manwë shrugged. "She used to be responsible for weaving the tapestries of time and events in Arda…poor dear needs something to do once in while, now that we're all retired…and I really do NOT need another peek-a-boo tunic."

"It's…um…a pleasure to meet all of you," the Author said, as the crowd of Valar looked at her expectantly after all the introductions had been made. Except for Vairë, who was still busy in the corner, now trying to thread a needle, and getting increasingly frustrated when she couldn't pierce the hole with the thread.

"Vairë! Come here and I'll help you get your thread in your hole," Mandos called to his wife. He elbowed Tulkos, whispering in a voice that still carried across the room, "I'll get something in her hole, at any rate…" Tulkos snorted, his lecherous grin widening.

"I thought the Valar were invisible to human eyes…Elf eyes, too, for that matter," the Author mused, looking over the crowd assembled in the sitting room.

"We usually are, like Ulmo there… Manwë replied, gesturing toward the bucket, where once again, watery fingers drew up to wiggle at her. "But since we all wanted to take part in your interviews, we thought it best if you could see us…wouldn't want you thinking you were hearing voices…"

Varda's laugh tinkled like a bell as she agreed with her husband. "Oh, yes…we've tried that many times over the ages with your people, and it became quite frustrating. Either they were burned at the stake for being heretics, or locked up for being loonies…either way, no one listened to what we told them to say."

"Ah…understandable…" the Author said, nodding her head. "So…shall we begin?" she asked, placing the tape recorder on a small table and pressing the "On" button. The crowd of Valar and Valier leaned forward expectantly.

TBC…