#GeeseAreTheNewLordsOfRivendell

[not-glorfindel-stop-asking]

On a scale from ‘mildly annoying’ to ‘blatant war crime,’ how bad was the worst prank Glorfindel has ever pulled on you?

Ah, you have touched on a dark and painful memory, one that I thought I had locked away in the deepest corners of my mind, never to resurface. But alas, here we are.

On a scale of 'mildly annoying' to 'blatant war crime,' this one, my friend, is firmly planted in the blatant war crime territory, with 'unforgivable betrayal' written in bold, underlined letters.

It was my birthday, of course.

Glorfindel—bless his ridiculous, golden heart—decided to "surprise" me. And by "surprise," I mean commit the greatest offense a person could. I walked into my office, expecting to find it filled with, I don't know, maybe books or something pleasant to mark the occasion, and instead… I was met with a war zone of geese.

Yes, you read that correctly—geese. Everywhere. Everywhere. The floors, the desks, even the shelves—geese.

Geese.

Feathers everywhere.

The sound of honking echoing in my once-silent sanctum. It was chaos.

Pandemonium.

The birds were waddling and hissing like they owned the place, as if they weren’t the same creatures that had kept me awake at night for YEARS with their incessant honking. And Glorfindel? He was standing there in the doorway, grinning like a madman, clearly loving every moment of my absolute horror.

"I thought you’d appreciate them!" he said, like the creature had done some grand kindness to me.

Appreciate them?! They're loud, they’re messy, and they have this irritating confidence like they know they're better than me, and I can never seem to escape them. Yet, of course, Glorfindel—of course—found them endearing. He said, and I quote, “They remind me of myself.”

Yes, because, naturally, these chaotic, wing-flapping, honking, feathered creatures are just like Glorfindel, full of misplaced self-assurance and an insufferable tendency to appear wherever they please.

Oh, and let me tell you—I RAN for the hills.

The moment I set foot in that office and saw those dreadful creatures, I booked it. My legs moved so fast I swear I could have outrun the wind. There was no reasoning with the madness that had been unleashed upon me. I’m not proud of it, but in that moment, my survival instincts kicked in. The battle had been lost the second I laid eyes on the geese, so I did what any sensible person would do: I fled. I fled with the speed of a thousand startled deer.

I could hear their honking echoing in my ears as I sprinted down the halls, thinking, "This is it, this is how it ends—chased out of my office by a bunch of geese". I could hear Glorfindel laughing behind me, the absolute fiend, no doubt watching my retreat with that irritating grin of his. He thought it was hilarious.

You think a birthday should be about cake, candles, maybe a bit of good company, right? No. Instead, it was a full-on geese ambush.

My dignity? Gone. My peace of mind? Shattered. My trust in Glorfindel? Also gone, but I'm sure that’s not something he cares about at this point.

I spent the rest of the day on a serious walk around Rivendell—avoiding my office, avoiding the geese, avoiding all those who would dare speak of it. I needed time to recover from the psychological damage inflicted upon me.

But truly, I thought, this is the final straw. Next time I see one of those honking fiends, I’m calling for reinforcements.

I would like to formally propose a ban on geese in Rivendell.

Or at least a restraining order from my office. I do not care if it is his favorite animal—geese are my mortal enemies.

But thank you for bringing it up, I have to share how evil the Golden Menace is.