What’s the Rivendell gossip pipeline like? Who spills the best tea? Is it Glorfindel?
Ah—dearest Anon,
You ask of the Rivendell Gossip Pipeline? A bold inquiry. I commend your bravery. Sit, and let me unveil the truth.
First: It is not Glorfindel.
Shocking? Perhaps. The golden lord, with his hair like spun sunlight and dramatic entrances, seems like the type. But alas, Glorfindel’s approach to gossip is as unsubtle as his swordplay. He hears things, yes—but he shares them with all the grace of a Balrog charging into battle.
Dramatic? Certainly.
Discreet? Absolutely not.
You will find no delicate whispers from him—only loud proclamations like, “Did you hear what happened at dinner last night? TRAGIC.” within earshot of the very person in question. No finesse. No art.
No, my friend. The true masters of tea in Imladris are two formidable forces:
✨ Lady Arwen and 🍫 Eredin.
Lady Arwen—ethereal, graceful, wiser than many suspect. Her gossip is refined, carefully selected, always accurate.
She knows everything. And when she decides to spill, it’s with the softest smile, the gentlest voice—like a breeze brushing through the trees—and then casually ruins someone’s entire existence with a single, perfectly timed comment.
Imagine it, dearest Anon- A serene afternoon. The gardens. Tea is served. A group of elves conversing about diplomatic affairs. Arwen, sipping delicately, glances up with a serene expression and says, “Oh, did you hear? Estel attempted to serenade a maiden once. In Sindarin. He mispronounced half the words. It was... endearing.”
Then she sips again.
The devastation is complete.
But Eredin? Oh—Eredin is a different breed entirely.
Eredin ALWAYS has tea. Constantly. Unfailingly. But does he share it? No. Not immediately. That would be too easy. He stores it.
Hoards it. Like a dragon with gold—except the hoard is drama.
And when he finally does spill? It’s random. Utterly unhinged timing.
Example: Weeks pass without a whisper. We assume peace reigns. Then, one evening, Eredin is casually preparing cocoa (he has a system—he takes it very seriously) and, without looking up, says: “Oh, by the way, Lord Elrohir fell into the reflecting pool last month while trying to impress a visiting dignitary. Arwen says the splash was monumental.”
Just like that. Back to sipping cocoa. No elaboration. Leaves the entire room in chaos.
Or—and I shall never forget this one—during a council meeting: We are deep in discussion. The atmosphere? Tense. Suddenly, from the corner: “Did you know Glorfindel’s hair isn’t naturally that shiny? He uses imported oils. Very expensive. From Mirkwood, of all places. Probably explains why Thranduil’s crown looked particularly smug last visit.”
Silence. Absolute uproar.
Eredin, of course, just munches on a sweet like he didn’t just set fire to Imladris with scandal.
So who reigns supreme?
It is a close contest. Lady Arwen’s tea is refined, devastating, surgical. Eredin’s tea? Chaotic, unpredictable, explosive.
Truly, we live in fear.
May you now understand the delicate, dangerous dance of Rivendell’s gossip. And remember—never let Eredin get his hands on your secrets. You’ll never know when he’ll strike.
Lindir of Rivendell, Chronicler of Chaos, Witness to Spilled Tea, and Absolutely Tired of Eredin’s Random Revelations