A star shines on our meeting! welcome fellow nerds

He was a busy man, he had thing to do! Like chase after trainees, or fight orcs, or ride Asfaloth, or carry things! and how was he supposed to do that if his clothes were woefully pocket-less and heavy, Valar forbid that he needed to tuck a pretty rock that matched his love's eyes away if he didn't have pockets! Glorfindel has long since decided that practicality was more important than beauty (minus his hair) and was most often seen in a tunic and trousers rather than robes, Erestor has tried valiantly, much to the amusement of their friends, to get his husband into a set of fine robes, he always fails...they often bicker over the topic before dissolving into giggles. 

So when he was gifted a formal robe as sign of gratitude by a new seamstress that he had helped guide and get settled when she had gotten lost, he barely held back a grimace of dismay, there was a festival in a few weeks and now that he had a new outfit, he would be unable to escape the dreaded pocket-less nightmare. Erestor was delighted. His husband had thanked the seamstress, then hauled him and the admittedly beautiful robe to Elrond to help style it with jewels and all other sorts of finery, Elrond was equally delighted to help his friend (and watch his friend suffer at the hands of pretty clothes) with the masterpiece of fabric and thread, Glorfindel had resigned himself to be clucked over as the two vain little creatures he called husband and lord draped him in a multitude of jewelry, muttering about "How this would match his hair better." and "Oh! That one! It goes so well with the buttons.”. They even found matching shoes! He already missed his tunic and trousers...and his beloved pockets. He was saved two hours later by his second coming by to beg for help with paperwork and he jumped at the chance and fled for the safety of his office. As he fled Erestor and Elrond share a mischievous grin. 

"Are we gonna tell him that its Silvan made and therefore, has pockets?"

"Nah. Let him suffer for a bit."

He was miserable, without a bag or pockets he had to leave his things behind in his rooms, and it was only half-way through the celebrations, he had been wearing the dreaded thing off and on for two weeks to get used to it...he missed his ability to store thing on his person. He had reached for his bag many many times and each time he was reminded that he was in a robe, no bags, no place to put his things and in a fit of frustration he shoved his hands down at his side, his hands went through holes on either side of the ridiculous garment...he looked down. Had he ripped it? There where his hands disappeared was a stitched and embroidered pocket...

The Lord of Rivendell and his Feral lady. That's what their people called them with such fondness, for where he was known for his calming grace and peaceful nature, she was known for the laughing, and the adventure, and the mud trails through the halls. He led their people in knowledge and healing, never really leaving the borders of his realm, a constant comforting presence if you will. Like the moon, a calm light that chases away the dark. She led their people in nature and in song, always leading the hunts and adventures, the dancing and the playing, her presence was like the sun warm and bright and ever changing. Sun and moon they were, and often they could be seen dancing beneath both. 

They called her The Feral Lady, (for all that she was polite and mannered) because she seemed to be at one with nature, a wildness, in such a way that they say that Yavanna herself had blessed her. There was no better a hunter than the lady of the valley, nor was there ever an elf in the valley more willing to be coved in mud and leaves than she. It was often that the halls had trails of mud from entry to dining as she came back home from amongst the earth. To the new comers she irked them to no end, how could a lord let his wife behave as a wild elfling! but to those that have seen the ages pass from their homes in the valley they looked upon her with fond hearts, for all they knew that under the mud and leaves that she had vowed to make sure no mouth went hungry under her watch, and that her hunts were led with her people in mind.

It was their beloved Feral Lady that brought life to their precious Lord, for she was always dragging him from his solitude and paperwork to dance with her and his people, and to remind him of the wonders and beauty of the world. Where he was the tall tree that held firm, she was the vibrant flower that danced in the wind. Their people who have seen the days before her watched as their kind, but distant Lord smiled and laughed more often and as his eyes would brighten when she came home trailing mud with a new herb that he was looking for, their lady brought out the life in him that they had long since thought faded.

It was he who taught her the way of the courts, for all that she was mannered and taught, politics and paperwork was never her craft. It was he who she came home to each night, and it was his arms she found safety in. Their people would watch when her eyes would light up like stars when he brought simple gifts, how she would laugh when he whispered in her ear, and how she softened around him in the quiet evenings. He was the reason for her blooming joy, how he often left flowers or little letters where he knew she would be and how he would sneak an extra of her favorite treat just to see that radiant smile. 

This ultimately carried on through the ages as Maedhros taught Elrond how to torment a dark lord. This eventually became a tradition in Rivendell where Elrond taught every single one of his children and fosters this as well, and Aragorn Son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor, descendant of Elros (who was unhinged enough to bite the eldest son of Feanor over a brownie) took to this tradition extremely well...

Sauron being an unhinged flaming eyeball making weird bad guy noises: 👁 🔥☄️💀

Aragorn, just wants to be done so he can marry his girlfriend: Yes, yes flame, death, suffering, whatever you say oh Great-Shooter-Marble-of-Doom. I hope you get sand in your eye that you can't blink out. 

Sauron: *sobbing* Maedhros taught you that didn't he. 

They also all agree that elvish cloaks are the best because the texture is amazing for those with sensory issues. 

Frodo: disassociates, hates tomatoes (they're squishy), language nerd, would deeply benefit from noise canceling headphones.

Sam: hyperfixated on gardening, comfort food is potato anything, emotionally attached to frying pan (it has a name).

Pippin: chaos incarnate, makes weird noises.

merry: chaos incarnate, bites.

gimli: crow brain (need I say more).

Legolas: randomly bursts into songs that make no sense whatsoever and is awkward™️.

Aragorn: boot knife as a fidget toy and most likely had an emo teen faze.

Gandalf: has a big stick and knows way more than he should, likes moths.

Boromir: is normal (nerotypical) and frightened, why did Merry just randomly bite him? What is legolas singing about? Has Gimli really been talking about the chemical makeup of a river rock for the past hour? What is a Thingamajig? What is frodo staring at? Should he be concerned? 

Elrond: elder millennial, built a valley that no one can find unless he wants them to, knows way more than he should, runs on monster energy drinks and spite.

Sauron: has hyperfixated on ruling the world for literal ages, lost his fidget ring (The Thingamajig) and is losing his mind. Is the organized one that will kill you if you don't put the thing back where you found it.