“If I ran the world,” said Elrond, “oh, the things I would do!
“Men are weak. No men for me!
They’d live in sacks out on the sea.
We’d feed them lots of Gondor snacks
And tell them of the Dunedain
When men weren’t quite so much a pain
And maybe when we’d quite explained
They’d say, “Your words have set us free!
Now we can bob here joyfully
Remembering the times of old.
(Please let us out! The sea’s so cold!)”
“And orcs! The orcs embitter me.
No sea for them! They’ll live on bees!
Great sacred bugs sting as they please!
The orcs can’t say ‘anaphylactic
Shock’ so this will be didactic!
They’ll learn placation of the bees,
And I’ll be happy as a clam.
No men! No orcs! Elrond grand slam!
“As for the dwarves …”
At this point, Arwen slammed open the door. “Father! Are you plotting the devastation of all other life again?”
“/Arwen, my daughter/,” he explained in elvish, “/I was simply pondering my charitable enterprises./”
“/And giant bees./”
“So I went down to the boats to Valinor,” she said, “but the mysterious masked figures manning the boat told me I had to come back here.”
Elrond frowned. “You’re clearly meant to stay here on Middle Earth and marry that dude. Boromir or whatever.”
Elrond waved a hand airily.
“I find this whole thing suspicious, is all,” said Arwen. “Didn’t you tell me that if I married him I’d live on in sorrow and black clothing for all the long days of my life?”
“Psyche!” said Elrond. “You so fell for that line.”
“You wouldn’t be hiding something from me, would you?”
Elrond’s eyes narrowed. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. Is it possible that you’re absorbing all the elves who go to the ships into some kind of mass Elrond mind? They did seem to move with eerie synchrony.”
“Daddy, you do understand that it would be a blasphemous tragedy if all the elves went to the ships to sail to the perfect land of Valinor and instead were waylaid by all your Elrond-clone sailors and turned into more neurons in your giant elvish superbrain, right?”
“Er,” said Elrond. “Well, that would be one perspective on it.”
“Daddy.” Arwen sighed. “I just can’t leave you alone in charge of a major elvish nation, can I.”
“In my defense,” said Elrond, “when there’s a sufficient accumulation of Elrond mass mind in Valinor, I will cross the ‘Mana Threshold’ and then I’ll be able to take over the Maiar and Valar. And after that, the Creator! All will be me.”
“That’s kind of horrifying.”
“It just means more Elrond to love!”
“I suppose there’s that.”
Elrond looked sad. “When you were en route to the ships, I realized that I couldn’t bear to absorb you too. So even when I have eaten the Creator of the world and become invulnerable, I will remain forever incomplete. This is why I often sit in my room, by myself, looking at the mirror, and exclaim, ‘Oh, FUDGE.'”
Arwen took a moment to absorb this information. Her mouth opened and then closed several times. Finally, she tried, “You do understand that if you wind up shouting, ‘Now I am invulnerable!’, my boyfriend is likely to stab you in the stomach with the Horn of Gondor and cause you to explode, right?”
“That’s the problem with elves,” Elrond agreed, and his voice was sad.
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