#StillNotATwink

[not-glorfindel-stop-asking]

Lindir, you wonderful elf, thank you for making me laugh on a truly disastrous day - I have lost heat and it’s 2°F outside. Good times. Great times, in fact.

Would you be so kind as to share the most chaotic story of Baby Aragorn in Rivendell? Was he as much of a menace as I feel deep in my soul he was?

I would be forever in your debt for the glorious distraction.

Oh, my dear, I am deeply sorry to hear of your misfortune with the cold! 😧🥶 I shall do my utmost to provide you with a distraction worthy of such frigid circumstances. Let us delve into the chaotic legends of Baby Aragorn!

Let me take you back to a fateful day when young Aragorn, barely toddling and already causing havoc in Rivendell, managed to give everyone a heart attack. 🌪️

It all began innocently enough—too innocently, if you ask me—when Lord Elrond thought it would be a wholesome idea to let the child roam free in the gardens. But, you see, Aragorn was no ordinary child.

Oh no.

He was an unstoppable force of nature, and his first adventure involved crawling straight into the flower beds—the ones I had painstakingly curated for weeks.

Naturally, I did what any sensible elf would do in such a situation: I—uh—distracted Aragorn with a bright and colorful tapestry. 🌈 Now, mind you, this was no ordinary tapestry.

It was a piece of delicate craftsmanship that had been woven by Rivendell's finest artisans, meant to be displayed at the next grand banquet, showcasing the rich history of our people. So, you can imagine my absolute dismay when I saw the child suddenly burrito himself in the fabric, his little face alight with pure, unfiltered chaos.

And, naturally, once wrapped in the intricate threads of that tapestry, he took off—rolling himself like a tiny, determined human cannonball. I barely had time to shout, “NO, NO, ARAGORN, STOP!”—and of course, that only made him more excited. 🏃‍♂️💨 Before I knew it, he was up—up, of all things—at the base of one of Rivendell’s most impressive stone pillars.

I swear to you and the Valar, there was no logical explanation for how this child managed to climb that fast—but there he was, clinging to the smooth stone with a grip I wouldn’t even expect from a seasoned warrior. 🧗‍♂️

At this point, I must confess—panic set in.

I called for help, but no one seemed to arrive quickly enough. All I could hear was the shrill, high-pitched giggle of the little menace as he happily flailed his limbs, trying to scale higher like some sort of intrepid adventurer. I swear, half of Rivendell must have witnessed his antics. Glorfindel—bless him—tried to come to my aid, but in his usual subtle manner, he tripped over a vine and face-planted right into a flower bed. I may have chuckled at that, but it was no time for such things!

Meanwhile, Aragorn continued his ascent, laughing as if he were a bird soaring into the sky—completely oblivious to the carnage unfolding below. Every time he gripped the pillar tighter, I could hear the faint sound of cracking pottery beneath my feet. That ancient vase—that I’d had nothing to do with—shattered as if mocking me. It was as though the universe itself were laughing at my increasingly desperate attempts to calm down a toddler who was scaling pillars like a mountain goat.

Finally, I—with a combination of pure grit and mortal dread—managed to scale the pillar, one hand clutching the tapestry, the other grasping the child’s waist like a heroic knight. As I pulled him from his perch, I must say—I don’t know who was more shaken: myself or the poor housekeeper who had witnessed the whole thing from the corner. She was clutching her chest as if she’d just seen a ghost.

And then, of course, there was Lord Elrond. Oh, Elrond. 🥴 He looked at me with what can only be described as unimaginable rage—like the weight of all the histories of Rivendell rested on my very shoulders. I can still hear his voice, low and grating: “LINDIR. What. Did. You. Do.”

I tried to explain, but—oh, you know, dear reader—there was no recovery from that moment. The tapestry, the shattered pottery, the child’s mischievous smile, Lord Elrond’s glare—all of it culminated in a single, unforgettable moment that shall haunt me forever. 😱

But then—then, despite the chaos—Aragorn smiled. That pure child’s grin, as if nothing in the world mattered. And for just a brief moment, despite the mess, despite the near catastrophe, I could almost forgive him. Almost.

Almost.

And yet—despite all this—the child was adored by all. Can you imagine? He was a menace, and yet, somehow... an absolute angel in the eyes of Rivendell.

So yes, my dear, Baby Aragorn was indeed as much of a menace as you feel deep in your soul. 🦸‍♂️💥 I have witnessed the chaos with my own eyes, and let me tell you, there is no greater force of nature than that little one.

I hope this lightened your day even just a little bit! ✨💜 Stay warm, my friend!

— Lindir of Rivendell Scribe, Lord Elrond's Right Hand, Still not a twink