Disclaimer: Lord of The Rings belongs to the Tolkien estate, Harry Potter to JK Rowling etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in their magical worlds.

*Not a crossover per se.

Credit: wikipedia dot org, HP & LoTR wikias, wordhippo, Wayne Shanklin (who wrote the song the title's taken from), Art & Dotty Todd and Manhattan Transfer - two artists who recorded versions of it

Chanson d'amour

---

There was little warning of their unexpected guest. One moment they had been sitting in Elrond's office, catching up on the happenings of the day, and the next there was a sharp rap at the door, and a harried-looking elf popped into the room.

"Forgive me, lords, but there is most unusual messenger outside who demands admittance immediately."

Elrond's forehead crinkled in concern. "Demands? Who comes to Imladris making demands?"

"Fear not, lord. 'Tis no enemy. 'Tis … well … 'tis a Dwarf, of sorts."

Confusion swept the lordly quintet.

"There have been no Dwarves in Imladris since Master Bilbo Baggins first visited us," said one.

"Perhaps Glóin brings news from the Lonely Mountain. 'Tis rumoured the Enemy is slowly resurging there," speculated another.

"A Dwarf, of sorts?" enquired a third. "What mean you, 'of sorts'? 'Tis either a Dwarf or not."

Instead of an articulate reply, the elf yelled aloud and began hopping around on one foot, nursing his ankle as if it had just been violently kicked; this freed the doorway for the impatient arrival, who barged through it in a flurry of golden wings.

Jaws dropped and everyone rose in unison as a short, stocky being, of no greater height than a hobbit, stormed up to them. He stopped, thumped his golden harp on the floor, and surveyed them moodily before speaking.

"D'you 'ave any bleedin' idea 'ow 'ard it was to get here?" said the new arrival accusingly. "Middle bleedin' Earth! 'S'not exactly a stone's throw from 'Ogwarts, is it? You couldn't've lived somewhere a little closer, could you? Like, oh, I dunno, Papua New Guinea?"

"Who are you?" demanded Elrond, the first to have found his voice.

"'Oo am I? What, are you blind? I'm a bleedin' Valentine dwarf, aren't I? An' I've got a musical message to deliver to him."

He jabbed a tiny finger to Elrond's left, and four pairs of eyes swung questioningly to his quarry, who shrugged helplessly.

Without further invitation, the mini-dwarf stomped over to his target, put one hand on his hip, and waggled the other up at the elf's face. "Right, you; sit your arse down, 'cos I'm not strainin' me bleedin' neck lookin' up at you."

Someone sniggered as the elf fell back into his seat (in astonishment). His companions retook theirs more sedately.

Pleased by his success, the dwarf stepped back, cleared his phlegmy throat loudly, unrolled a piece of parchment with one hand and threw the other arm out wide. In a deep, throaty voice, he began to sing.

o0o

"You're hotter than Potter

and cooler than water.

D'you fancy a roll in the clover?

You're dreamy and steamy

and utterly creamy,

and I'd love to lick you all over.

o0o

Athletic, prophetic,

your voice is poetic.

Your face screams of masculine beauty.

You're cracking, you're packing,

you're oh so lip-smacking.

You're such an adorable cutie.

o0o

I've waited, elated,

discombobulated.

You've got me so deep in a tizzy.

Pulse racing, amazing,

wish we were embracing!

The mere thought of that makes me dizzy!

o0o

You're funky, and hunky,

amazingly spunky,

and you've won me over completely.

You're handsome and winsome,

and charming and then some.

And I want to have your elf-baby!"

o0o

Having discharged his duty, the dwarf took a step closer to his gobsmacked goal and glared up at him warningly. "She'd better not 'ave your elf-baby, mate – she's only fifteen!"

With that, he thrust the parchment into the elf's slack hand, picked up his harp, and stormed back out the office grumbling about the difficult journey home. In his wake he left twin elves shaking with laughter, Erestor eyeing the now empty doorway in bemusement, and one ancient half-elf rising cautiously from his seat.

Approaching his friend slowly, Elrond tugged the parchment from his grip. Grey eyes flickered over the song once more and when they reached the bottom he paused.

"Kisses and cuddles from Romilda Vane." He frowned. "Who is she?"

Slack-jawed, stunned, and utterly mortified, Glorfindel had no answer to give him – even if he had been capable of speech.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Author's Note: This is part of series I've posted elsewhere, but most of them would definitely be classified as crossovers. This one, however, is not a straight-out crossover, and I've seen similarly-themed vignettes onsite, so I'll keep my fingers crossed that it's allowed.

As for this particular vignette, let's just imagine Romilda (somehow) stumbled across the Mirror of Erised and saw the magnificent Glorfindel within its depths, shall we? Another case of unrequited love for her, though - Glorfindel would never, ever consider her. Poor little fangirl ...

I could've had her going all fangirly over Legolas, but that would've been too obvious, methinks. Besides, Glorfindel is much hotter!

Kara's Aunty ;)