Accidentally trip and fall into Elrond’s lap during a council meeting OR accidentally trip and fall onto Glorfindel in front of a crowd?
Oh, what a cruel and impossible choice.
On the one hand, tripping and landing in Lord Elrond’s lap during a solemn and dignified council meeting would be a diplomatic catastrophe. I can already hear the stunned silence, the sharp intake of breath from every elf present, the barely suppressed laughter of the twins, and Glorfindel’s audible gasp of delighted scandal. I would have to live with the eternal knowledge that I had sullied the sanctity of official Rivendell proceedings by sprawling across our esteemed lord like a particularly graceless cat.
And, of course, Elrond—ever composed—would simply adjust his robes, clear his throat, and ask, “Are you quite comfortable, Lindir?” in a tone so measured and polite that I would be tempted to hurl myself into the Bruinen out of sheer embarrassment.
On the other hand, tripping and falling onto Glorfindel—publicly, no less—would be a disaster of an entirely different nature. Firstly, there is no universe in which Glorfindel would not catch me with the flair and flourish of a romantic hero in some overwrought Noldorin epic.
There would be dipping.
There would be twirls.
There would be an insufferable, self-satisfied grin. The crowd would cheer. He would wink. And then he would never let me forget it. Ever.
Every time I so much as step too quickly near him, he would suddenly brace as if preparing to catch me. He would tell tales of it—exaggerated and ridiculous, until future generations believe I flung myself into his arms out of sheer passion. I would lose all credibility as a serious scribe and become nothing more than “the elf who swooned into Glorfindel’s embrace.”
… I choose exile.