Elrond ran a tired hand down his face. He sighed.

Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir had come home today from a hunting trip as they usually did; bruised, bloodied, with a couple of broken bones each.

He had gone through the motions; he had worried when he saw them tumble from their horses, cleaned and bandaged their wounds, set their bones, -Legolas's left thigh and upper arm, Elrohir's ribs and Elladan's right forearm and left ankle- and waited until they had woken, realized where they were and told him what had happened before giving them his infamous healing tea. He had even given his usual head shake, accompanied with the all-too-familiar, "You boys will be the death of me."

Now, sitting in his study, he thought of the looks on their faces as they had recounted what had befallen. He realized that they had taken him seriously every time he told them that they would be the death of him and blamed themselves. They are but elflings, he reminded himself, and do not know any better. I suppose it is more my fault than theirs. Though but fourty-five, he felt the ellonie deserved to know the truth. To give them all the rest he could, he decided to tell them when they awoke again in a few hours.

Elrond entered the room with four steaming mugs of tea. Elladan, the first to notice the tea, rolled his eyes.

"Adar," (father) he whined, "we just woke up! I really do not want to go back to sleep this moment."

Elrond smiled softly at the ellonie, shaking his head. "Iston, penneth," (I know, little one) he said, handing a mug to each elfling. "This is just regular tea. I thought you might like some," he added, settling himself with his own mug in a chair next to Elrohir's bed, where he could see and be seen by all three. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"This is hard for me to tell you, but I fear that you must know. You feel that it is your fault that you continue to find yourselves in these perilous situations, but that is not the case. In fact, you are not in control of any of the decisions you think that you make. They, and your actions, are dictated for you."

When Elrond had hesitated before beginning, each of the elflings had immediately known something was wrong. The Lord of Imladris did not hesitate. But not one was prepared for… that. They were not in control of their own lives? Conflicting emotions fought each other; worry that they would be made to do something stupid, anger that this had been kept from them, and even (very slight) relief that it was not their fault that they kept injuring themselves. Yet… a question still nagged at Legolas's mind.

"Does this happen to everyone?" he asked, leading up to his real concern.

"Unfortunately, yes," Elrond replied with a sigh.

Legolas nodded slowly, the answer dreaded, but expected. He looked down at his sheet for a moment, thinking before he spoke. "Then why do only certain Elves get hurt? And why does it happen to us, mostly?" he asked, using his hands to indicate Elladan and Elrohir.

Now it was Elrond's turn to nod slowly. This was the part he had been dreading most. "Because, Legolas, you and my sons unfortunately have Favoritis."

The matching wide-eyed, gaping mouth expressions on each of the three young Elves would have been immensely comical, if the situation had not sounded so dire. "Wh-what is that?" Elladan asked, familiar with a lot of illnesses –Elrond was his father, after all- but having never heard of this Favoritis.

"It is the worst thing that could happen," Elrond deadpanned. "It is when you are the favorite person in Arda of the one who controls you," Elrond continued, his face unreadable. "They all have the same trait; once you reach 'favorite' status in their minds, all they seem to want to do is hurt you. And the more they like you, the more often you are hurt and the closer you come to death each time. Consider yourselves lucky," he hastily added, "that you only have broken bones. Uncomfortable and as much of a hindrance as they are, thank the Valar that you were not hurt worse."

Silence reigned in the room after that, unbroken but for the slight sound that accompanied the elflings' small fidgets. Seconds became minutes, but Elrond was content to wait; he had given them much to think about. He leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea unhurriedly.

After a while, Elrohir's eyes met Elrond's. "Ada," (Dad) he asked slowly, almost as if unsure how his father would react to his question, "have you ever had Favoritis?"

Elrond had expected this question eventually. Yet his mind turned unbidden to memories; his nose broken –repeatedly-, his wrists chaffed unmercifully by coarse ropes, his broken ribs stepped on, being captured by orcs –multiple times-, and once, within the Misty Mountains, being set upon by an orc ambush, wounding him so badly that Glorfindel and the rest of his Elven party had to carry him back home on a travois. Elrond mentally rolled his eyes at the last memory. Glorfindel had had such a big head ever since then.

With a start, Elrond realized Elrohir, and now Elladan and Legolas, too, was still looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat, "Yes," he replied. Visibly, all three elflings relaxed slightly; it could not be that bad if Elrond lived through it!

"Ada, what happened?"

"That, Elladan, is a story for another time. Now, you all need rest," he replied, taking the empty mugs from the young Elves. They still looked concerned, but seemed comforted by the fact that they were not alone. Elrond smiled at them and left the room.

Walking down the hall and having put the mugs in the kitchens, he remembered how well the elflings had taken the news, chuckling at how much better they were than he. But they were older than he had been. He paused in the middle of the hall, shaking a fist at his invisible tormentor, cursing them, before promptly tripping on the carpet and slamming his forehead into the wall.

...And THAT is why all of the characters keep getting hurt!

So what did you think? My first parody... PLEASE review! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! Every review gets a virtual brownie!

~Ithillaer