Lord of the Rings 1. In Which We Meet Legolas

Legolas in Love  
  
Chapter One: In Which We Meet Legolas  
Legolas, Elven-prince of Mirkwood, son of the King Thranduil, was bored. It seemed that he had stared at every pretty she-Elf in Mirkwood, and, still, there was none prettier than him.  
"My Prince?" said the collector. "Do they satisfy you? Are they beautiful enough?"  
"No, Alder," Legolas said, sighing. "None of them are more beautiful than I." He held up a hand mirror and gazed into it lovingly. "Worry not, my beauty," he told his reflection. "Soon we will find a wife who pleases us."  
Alder, standing and staring at his Lord, murmured under his breath, "He and his reflection are worse than Sméagol and the Ring of Power."  
Legolas's head whipped around, flawless blonde hair landing perfectly straight on his shoulders. "What?" he asked. "What did you say, Alder?"  
"Nothing, my Prince," he said. "Just that I shall return these women to their homes and then search for a new group that will please my Prince."  
"You are dismissed, Alder," Legolas replied, returning to gaze at himself in the mirror. "I am so lovely," he said to the mirror. "Women just love me." His voice grew moody and sullen. "As should Arwen." He sighed. "But she still loves that fool Aragorn! What is he besides the heir of Isildur? Anyways, that idiot bound himself and his line to the Ring of Power long ago." He stopped speaking, still staring at his reflection.  
Suddenly, Legolas threw the mirror across the room. "Am I not beautiful enough that Arwen will love me? Am I not the most beautiful Elf in all of Arda?"  
"My Prince?" a servant said, sticking her head into the room. "Are you well?" She winced, seeing the broken glass strewn across the fine carpet. It would take hours to pick out.  
"I am fine," Legolas snapped. He thought for a moment, a rare time in the Elven-prince's life. "Take me to my father," he commanded.  
"To the King, my Prince?" the servant asked. "He is in a Council with the Lord Elrond Peredhil, my Prince. He cannot see you now."  
"Lord Elrond?" Legolas gasped. "He is the Elf I wanted to see! Take me to him as soon as he and my father are done talking."  
"Yes, my Prince." The servant curtsied, and left.  
"Ah, my beauty," Legolas said, drawing a new mirror from a drawer on his vanity, and meanwhile staring into the larger one set onto the vanity itself. "Soon we shall have Arwen, and all of Rivendell and Mirkwood. Perhaps Lothlorien as well." Now, this was odd for the Elven-prince. He normally would have just unintelligently followed the servant out of his rooms and straight to the Council Rooms. He was showing true intelligence today. "When Galadriel the Blindingly White passes into the West, she shall leave all of Lothlorien to Arwen. And Arwen," he giggled girlishly. "Arwen shall be my wife!" He began to laugh evilly, coughing at first, but managing a rather quality villainous laugh in the end. Lightning flashed as thunder rumbled above the palace in Mirkwood. 


	2. In Which Legolas is Stupid

Chapter Two: In Which Legolas is Stupid  
Legolas waltzed slowly through the halls of the palace behind the servant, who often had to slow down to allow for the Elven-prince's lagging speed. "My Prince," she snapped. 'You must hurry or you will miss the Lord Peredhil's departure by hours!"  
"Coming, coming," Legolas said, twirling and staring at the ceiling. "Let me see Arwen one last time in her wedding gown," he murmured, "with her dowry in her arms."  
"You shall never see the Lady Evenstar if you move so slowly, my Prince," the servant said loudly. "Come along."  
Legolas quickened his pace as he spun around and saw Elrond leave the Council Room with his father. "You may leave me now, Elwen."  
Unnoticed to the foolish Prince, Elwen stuck her tongue out at his retreating back and returned to her usual duties, besides escorting Legolas around so that he would not get lost in the palace.  
"Father," Legolas said, bowing to Thranduil. "Lord Peredhil." He bowed to Elrond. "How fares my Lords?"  
"Legolas," Thranduil said, hugging his son warmly. "I see you have remembered the proper courtesies (amazingly) and have greeted Lord Elrond."  
"Yes, my father." Legolas turned to Elrond. "Lord Peredhil," he said. "I would like to speak to you of your daughter."  
"Truly?" Elrond asked. "It has been many a year since a suitor dared to court my daughter. She loves Aragorn, the heir of Isildur and the throne of Gondor."  
"I don't really care," was Legolas's 'witty' reply.  
"You have a point, my son," Thranduil said, laughing. He was about half as intelligent as his Legolas. "Now, let us have some fine Mirkwood wine!"  
"That sounds nice," Legolas said, forgetting all about Arwen. "Come, Lord Peredhil. Mirkwood has the finest wine in Arda, and fine Shire pipe- weed, too."  
Elrond look puzzled for a moment, and then shrugged. "That is fine with me," he said. "Whosoever makes the wine of Mirkwood should be praised, and given an Elven-kingdom to rule."  
Legolas and Thranduil both shifted uneasily. They bought Mirkwood wine from the Dwarves. But Thranduil said, "Come to the cellars, Elrond. You too, Legolas."  
The three descended to the cellars below the palace. It was Legolas's favorite place, where he often came to get drunk and again and again fall desperately in love with his reflection in the waters of the pond in the cellars. The same pond through which the Dwarves and the "hobbit" had escaped.  
"Alder," Thranduil commanded, laughing. "Fetch us some fine wine, some Shire pipe-weed, and chairs."  
"Yes, King Thranduil," Alder said. He bowed to each of them in turn, and left silently, stiffly walking through the hallways of barrels. It was underneath Alder's station to be fetching and carrying, even for the King, the Prince, and a royal guest.  
"The great wine cellars of Mirkwood," Thranduil said, clapping Elrond on the back. The slight man stumbled forward a step. "Are they not majestic?"  
"Quite so," Elrond replied, not seeing how rotting wood and barrels smelling strongly of fermented grapes could be described as "majestic".  
Alder arrived with the wine and other items. "My Lords," he said. "If you would take a seat, I will pour the wine."  
"We do not need our wine poured like we are children, Alder," Legolas said sharply, even though having Alder there would prevent them from making total fools of themselves. What was he forgetting? ***Later***  
All three of the Elves were thoroughly drunk. Elrond hiccupped, and then said, "I was expected (hiccup) in Rivendell three (hiccup) hours ago."  
Legolas giggled, saying, "Have another (hiccup) cup of wine, Elrond."  
"Yes (hiccup), do." Thranduil added faintly, then fell out of his chair and began to snore. The other two Elves laughed.  
"Elrond," Legolas began, "do let me (hiccup) see your ring." He held out his hand, and hiccupped. "Please," he whined, and hiccupped again.  
Elrond, being the drunkest of the lot, slid Vilya off his finger and handed it to Legolas. "It's (hiccup) Vilya, the Ring (hiccup) of Air (hiccup). You can (hiccup) do many things (hiccup) with it."  
"Can you make (hiccup) somebody fall in love (hiccup) with you?" Legolas asked slowly. He looked at Elrond. "(Hiccup) Elrond?"  
"Yes (hiccup)," Elrond replied. "But (hiccup), I must be (hiccup) going home to (hiccup) Rivendell and (hiccup) Arwen (hiccup)." He picked himself up off the table and began to stager up the stairs.  
"(Hiccup) Alder!" Legolas called. "We (hiccup) shall need some (hiccup) help in getting (hiccup) my father (hiccup) to his rooms, and (hiccup) the Lord (hiccup) Peredhil to his (hiccup) lovely daughter." He got from the table, only slightly more graceful than Elrond, and followed his thin, diminishing shape up the stairs to the light of the halls. He fell more than three times. 


	3. In Which Legolas Cannot Remember A Name

Chapter Three: In Which Legolas Cannot Remember A Name  
Legolas skipped through the corridors, humming a tuneless song and running into the occasional wall. His thumb kept twisting the Ring of Sapphire around the third finger of his right hand. He stopped skipped, lunged against a wall, and gazed at it. It enthralled him more than his reflection. "My (hiccup) precious," he whispered. "My beauty will (hiccup) love you dearly," he added, and hopped off, away from his rooms. It took a servant turning him around to the right direction before he stopped running into the wall, still hiccupping.  
***Later, in Legolas's rooms***  
He sat down on his fluffy pink vanity stool, running a comb through his golden locks. "The Ring (hiccup) of Air," he said to himself. "Burn it! I wish I had paid attention in school. Now, who (hiccup) did?"  
He vaguely remembered the smallest Elf-boy in his class, a genius called. "What was Celebrimbor's (hiccup) name?" Legolas shouted, and jumped on his comb. He stopped, and picked up the pieces, threw them in a trash bin, and proceeded to jump on his soft, downy feather bed. "WHAT WAS HIS NAME?" he squealed furiously.  
He fell off, landed on his head. "Ouch," he whined. "I screwed up (hiccup) my hair! But what was Celebrimbor's name?" He began to think frantically, until it gave him a headache. "What was Celebrimbor's name? I remember he was the (hiccup) one who forged the Three Rings! Yes! I know that! What in the name of Manwë was Celebrimbor's name?"  
Legolas ran out of his rooms to the cellars, where his father was awake and once again steeped in wine and pipe-weed. Thranduil's beard was dangerously close to catching fire from the lit pipe.  
"Father!" Legolas shouted. "Remember Celebrimbor? The really smart boy from school who forged the Great Rings? What's (hiccup) his name?"  
"Celebrimbor (hiccup), eh?" Thranduil chuckled. "I (hiccup) can't seem (hiccup) to remember, Legolas (hiccup). Perhaps a (hiccup) bit of a smoke (hiccup) will help the (hiccup) old memory (hiccup), eh?"  
"Sure, father," Legolas replied, running up the cellar steps. He ran to the rooms that the Istari stayed in when they visited. "Mithrandir," he yelled. "Mithrandir!"  
"Yes, Greenleaf?" a deep, sonorous voice behind the Elven-prince asked. "What would you like to know?"  
"Mithrandir (hiccup)!" Legolas cried happily spinning around and almost falling over. "What is Celebrimbor's name?"  
The tall grey wizard stared for a moment, and then began to laugh uncontrollably. "Celebrimbor's name, young Greenleaf? You truly are green!" And he kept laughing.  
He laughed for a long time, and Legolas stood around uncomfortably, hiccupping from time to time. "Mithrandir?" he asked. "Will you tell (hiccup) me why you are laughing?"  
"You asked Celebrimbor's name, young Greenleaf. Why do you ask if you already know?"  
Legolas was confused, which was not rare for him. "What?"  
"Celebrimbor's name. It is." Mithrandir looked hard at Legolas. "Young fool, are you telling me that you do not remember Celebrimbor's name?"  
"I swear it on the grave of my mother."  
"Your mother is still alive, Legolas," Mithrandir reminded the Elven- prince.  
"My father?" Legolas ventured. His mother was still alive? Then whose grave did he place flowers on every other Monday?  
"Is in the cellars, drunk if unless I miss my guess," Mithrandir said, appalled at the stupidity of Legolas.  
"Oh, then I swear on (hiccup) Elbereth herself," Legolas said. "Now tell me Celebrimbor's name." He placed his hands on his hips and looked, for all the world, like an angry housewife. And he hiccupped.  
Mithrandir looked at him in a funny manner, and said, "His name is Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, son of Feanor Curufinwe, son of Finwe High King of the Noldor."  
The names had blown past Legolas's ear. "Celebrimbor?" he said. "Ah, yes. I remember him now. Thank you, Mithrandir." He spun around, hiccupped, and fell over. Mithrandir laughed and disappeared.  
Legolas glared at the empty air for a moment, then turned around and walked off in the other direction.  
And ran into yet another servant. Why was it that he always ran into a servant right before a critical moment in his plan? He sighed angrily. "What?"  
"There is a Lady waiting for you in the Lesser Receiving Room," he said, bowing carefully. "She calls herself Jeannette. She says she is from another place and would love to meet you."  
"Take me to her," Legolas commanded regally, strutting like a roster around the hallway. He grinned dashingly (or so he thought), and bowed to his reflection in one of the many mirrors hung about the palace.  
"Yes, Prince Legolas." The servant moved off, his pace quicker than what was expected from servants leading their Prince to a possible future wife. "In here, my Prince," he said.  
Legolas twisted Vilya on his finger, and entered. 


	4. In Which We Meet Jeannette

Chapter Four: In Which We Meet Jeannette  
She was more beautiful that Arwen Evenstar herself, Legolas had to admit. She stood almost as tall as he was, he noted, after she arose with a willowy grace that rivaled that of a swan. "Legsy," she said, looking up at him through thick dark lashes. In her small dark hand there was a rather large (by Legolas's standards) book, with one slender finger marking her spot. "I am pleased to meet you."  
Legolas did not know what to say. He had never been called Legsy before. "Thank you," he finally managed. "I'm, um, flattered." He grinned hopefully. "Yes, that's it. Flattered. Will Arwen really actually like me?"  
Jeannette pointed to his hand. "If you can use that, yes."  
Legolas automatically covered his hand. "Um." he said.  
"You see, Legsy," Jeannette continued, forcing Legolas to sit, and then perching on his lap. "I've read The Lord of the Rings."  
"What?" Legolas managed to gasp out, before Jeannette continued.  
"I know all about Nenya, and Narya, and Vilya. I can tell you who has each of the three Elven Rings of Power. I know everything about you." She poked his nose, and Legolas blinked. "And since I know what Vilya can do, I should take it from you and use it to make you love me, and not that stupid Elf Arwen."  
"Arwen's not-"  
"Hush Legsy," Jeannette said. She leaned closer to Legolas, and he tried to lean back as far as his chair allowed. "Come back," she said, leaning even closer, trying to kiss him.  
"NOOOOO!" Legolas yelled, and he frantically tossed his head. Looking down, he saw that Jeannette was in. blue breeches?  
SMACK! Jeannette caught him on the cheek. "Thanks, Legsy," she said, tossing her hair in a victorious way. "Again?"  
"No, thank you," Legolas squealed, trying to get away from Jeannette. "I am, um, perfectly content without a significant other."  
"Wow," said Jeannette. "That was quite impressive. But I don't care. Give me Vilya." She held out her hand.  
Legolas screamed. "NOOOOOOO!"  
Jeannette smiled, and Legolas was blinded in the flash of white teeth. What kind of toothpaste does she use? he wondered. "Yes," she said firmly.  
Legolas, unwillingly, dropped the Ring into Jeannette's open hand. Looking desperately past her, he noticed that her hair fell in soft curls down to her waist. What kind of conditioner does she use? Nevertheless, Jeannette was still on his lap, he was stuck in the chair, and she had Vilya. I'm screwed, he thought. "Somebody help me!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.  
A servant stuck her head into the room. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked slyly, seeing the strange young woman on Legolas's lap.  
Before Legolas could open his mouth, Jeannette said sternly, "No. Legsy and I were having a fine time, weren't we Legsy?"  
Legolas found himself nodding. *CENSORED*, he thought. Now she's got me! "A wonderful time," he squeaked, terrified at the thought of he himself, Legolas Greenleaf, the most beautiful Elf in Arda, agreeing willingly with Jeannette. "You can go," he added, struggling valiantly to get out from under Jeannette. Now matter how small she was, she was strong. "Why are you in blue breeches?" he gasped out.  
"They aren't breeches, silly," Jeannette said. "They're jeans. You know, pants." She looked expectantly at him.  
Legolas didn't know. "Actually," he said. "I don't know. I have no idea what in the name of Elbereth you are wearing." And he didn't.  
"Oh," Jeannette said, sounding puzzled and slightly hurt. "Well, then, give me some nicer clothes! I'm sooooo tired of stupid jeans and t- shirts!"  
"Um," Legolas said. "I'll ask my father."  
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Jeannette cried, throwing her arms around Legolas and almost toppling them both from the chair.  
"Um," Legolas said again. "You're welcome." He was immediately buried under a rain of kisses from Jeannette.  
"Oh, Legsy!" she said happily. "I always knew you were really nice. Orli made you such a jerk to everyone else. A really hot jerk, but whatever!" She kissed him again, narrowly missing his lips. "Oh, this will be wonderful!" 


	5. In Which Legolas Escapes to Rivendell an...

Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR. If I did, I don't think that Peter Jackson would have gone out of his way to make a movie about it.  
***  
  
Chapter Five: In Which Legolas Escapes To Rivendell And Is Followed by Jeannette  
Legolas was up late that night, frantically plotting how to escape Jeannette. Unfortunately for him, thinking led to frowning and frowning led to wrinkles, or so he had heard from his cousin Mírélen, who was also his makeup artist. So he stopped. Anyways, it was giving him a headache. He fell asleep, trying not to dream. Because that gives you wrinkles, too. (A/N: Legolas is going to wrinkle prematurely. I'm sorry.)  
***  
Jeannette is there every day. Always on his lap, or braiding his perfect hair into cornrows, or some other unthinkable desecration of the world's prettiest Elf. One day, before Jeannette wakes up, he makes Alder saddle his horse and rides off in the direction of Rivendell. and Arwen.  
  
He arrives in Rivendell breathless and slightly mussed, and almost falls off his horse. "Take it," he says, panting, trying to breathe, and collapses.  
  
When he awakens, Arwen is sitting on his bed, stroking his hair. "I'm sorry you had to flee Mirkwood like the fugitive in the night," she says softly, leaning forward.  
Legolas's eyes widen. Will Arwen actually kiss him? "She chased me out,"  
Arwen frowns. "She? Who is this saucy wench?"  
"Jeannette! A. A. Mary-Sue, I think," he gasps. "She wants to marry me!" He begins to cry, and Arwen draws back, not wanting to get her favorite pink dress dirty and wet from tears.  
"Mary-Sue?" Arwen cries. "You cannot stay! My father is hosting one of his parties, and four cute little hobbits are invited."  
"Hobbits?" Legolas asks, puzzled. "Doesn't the Hobbit give you hallucinations?"  
"No," Arwen replies, equally as puzzled. "Hobbits are little people. From the Shire."  
"What are their names?" Legolas asks, in a manner he thinks is sly and discreet. Arwen looks at him in a funny way.  
"They are Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Peregrin Took, and Meriadoc Brandybuck." She sighed wistfully. "Aragorn will be arriving with them, too. I hope his hair is washed."  
A new voice speaks. "Oh my God! Frodo is coming?" Jeannette, who has somehow entered the room without either of the Elves noticing, squeals. "And Aragorn? Oooooo! This has to be, like, a super fun party, cause all the hotties of the Fellowship are coming."  
"NOOOOOOO!" Legolas screams and-  
  
sat upright in his bed. "She's not here," he whispered. "Not here."  
But in his dream he had come across the perfect idea: to go to Rivendell.  
Legolas was saved. He got up from his bed, put on a snazzy skirt-and- boots ensemble, hopped on his gentle, old, swaybacked grey mare, and rode away to Rivendell.  
  
Legolas heard the waterfalls before he actually saw them. By the Valar, were they loud! He patted his hair, worried that the mist from the waterfalls would make the gel come out. Then he remembered that it was waterproof. Looking up nervously at the sun, he dug through his packs to find his Oil of Olay Daily Moisturizing Lotion SPF 30 and rubbed some on to protect his wonderful complexion.  
As the mare reached the narrow path that led into the valley and slowly picked its way down to Rivendell, Legolas held on for dear life. Lúthien was in the Halls of Mandos, and even he could not compete with her. Anyways, he was afraid of heights. And the dark. And spiders. And. To tell the truth, he was worse than a little Elfling girl not even fifty years old. But Arwen didn't need to know that, did she? Legolas grinned, and almost fell off the mare. He'd better stop thinking and concentrate on staying on his horse. But... Legolas grimaced. He had forgotten: concentrating gave you wrinkles, too. Mírélen was in Rivendell visiting Arwen. If riding the horse gave him wrinkles, she could help.  
He sighed. Forget the wrinkles, he thought. Try and stay on Mír!  
  
***  
  
Much to Legolas's joy, Arwen greeted him at the gates. "Daddy told me you were coming," she said. "My grandmother sent an omen last night."  
The words just flew past Legolas. Arwen was talking to him! He smiled, and fell off the horse. He turned bright red.  
"That's all right," Arwen said, walking towards the Last Homely House. "Aragorn does that too, when he looks at me." At the mention of Stubbles, as Legolas called him, her eyes grew misty and faraway.  
"What's so great about Stubbles?" Legolas asked rudely, annoyed that she wasn't paying attention to him. "He's only the Heir of Isildur."  
"Future King of Gondor," Arwen reminded him, snapped out of her reverie by Legolas's comment. "And you're only the Prince of Mirkwood."  
Damn Stubbles! Legolas thought furiously. If only he wasn't going to be a King someday! And of a damn large country, too! Out loud, he said, "You sure have your standards set high, Arwen."  
"Yes, I do," she snapped. "Now, go away, and do whatever you came here to do. I expect Thranduil sent you for that stupid Council daddy called. Can you believe he's naming it after himself? How self-centered. And he won't even let me go!" Arwen pouted, which was what she did best, and Legolas's mouth went dry.  
He swallowed, and composed himself. "Suppose I got you into the meeting," he said, trying to sound long-suffering, yet generous and kind. The result was exasperation. "Do you think that would qualify as better than Stubbles?"  
"Who is Stubbles?" Arwen asked. When Legolas frowned (A/N: I'm very sorry, but) -That will give him wrinkles, Arwen thought- she said, "Oh. You mean Aragorn."  
"Would that make me better?" he demanded again, stopping in the hallway they had reached as they walked.  
"You're always better than Viggo, Legsy," said an all-too familiar voice. Legolas turned around slowly, and, to his dismay, there stood Jeannette, now clad in the garb of an Elven maiden. Arwen stared at her. Legolas could have sworn that her eyes turned green at the sight of the other woman.  
"Who is this, Legolas?" she hissed, glaring at Jeannette.  
"I'm Jeannette Rivera," Jeannette replied, when Legolas didn't. She held out her hand and smiled good-naturedly.  
Arwen stared at Jeannette's hand as if it were poison. "Why are you here? Where are you from?"  
"I don't know why I'm here," Jeannette said, still trying to be friendly. "I followed Legsy. He didn't even say good-bye. He needs a spanking." She smiled at Legolas, and his knees began to shake.  
"Why did you follow me?" he asked despairingly, knees collapsing from under him. Jeannette crouched beside him.  
"What's wrong, Legsy?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious. "Are you feeling all right?"  
"All right?" Legolas gasped. "I rode day in and day out to reach here, get yelled at by Arwen before I'm even sitting down, and then you follow me here!" He hung his head. "I'm screwed," he yelled. "I am seriously screwed!"  
"Hey," Jeannette said, narrowed eyes glinting dangerously. "I followed you all the way from Mirkwood, and here you are yelling at me? All the thanks I get," she added huffily, pouting in a way that brought her close to Arwen's sulky beauty. "You're not even supposed to talk like that." She sniffed indignantly.  
Meanwhile, Arwen was staring at her in something close to an insane rage. "You dare think to impose yourself on an Elven-prince?" she yelled. "You are nothing but a mortal woman, the daughter of weak, corruptible Men!"  
"Don't you think that's exaggerating a little?" Jeannette demanded, approaching on Arwen. "I'm from Costa Mesa, you idiot."  
"What?" Arwen asked, confused, and then shook her head. "You are trying to take Legolas away with your sorcery and lies."  
Jeannette shrugged, but Legolas could (or was it his imagination?) a dangerous plan forming behind her bright black eyes. "Whatever." 


	6. In Which Jeannette and Aragorn Meet

Disclaimer (finally): *sighs* Just about the only thing that belongs to me is the humor. Wait. What humor? *CENSORED* It just left! This chapter isn't funny! *hides* Don't sue. for the Valar's sake, please don't sue.  
  
Author's Note: Anything in * * is a thought. And I know it's a short chapter this time, but that was where I wanted it to end. Even more evil plans for Jeannette. *laughs evilly*  
  
Chapter Six: In Which Jeannette and Aragorn Meet  
Jeannette stalked away from Legolas and Arwen. "Let the- the she-Elf put him to bed herself," she muttered under her breath. SMACK! Jeannette found herself on the floor, looking up at "Aragorn?" she gasped. *Just the person I was looking for,* she thought miserably.  
  
Aragorn pulled her up. "Hello," he said, trying to extract his hand from her tight, shocked grip. "May I have the pleasure of your name?"  
  
"Jeannette," she replied amiably, releasing his hand, conscious of his eyes traveling up and down her frame. She didn't blame him. She knew she was pretty. She just wished he would be more. discreet about it. "And you are.?"  
  
"Aragorn," he said. "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn." He grinned roguishly. "I am pleased to meet you, Lady Jeannette."  
  
"Likewise, I'm sure," Jeannette replied dryly, trying to ignore his eyes on her face. Her destiny lay with Legolas, she was sure of that.  
  
"Where is Arwen?"  
  
*Of course,* Jeannette thought furiously. *It all goes back to little miss Arwen, doesn't it?* Aloud, she said, "With the Prince of Mirkwood, who just arrived." *Just in time for a snog-fest,* she added silently.  
  
"I see," Aragorn said. "Will you come with me, Lady Jeannette, and I shall collect Arwen and leave you with Legolas, since I presume you came from Mirkwood."  
  
"Yeah," Jeannette said, looking up at Aragorn, staring into his stormy grey eyes. *Convenient plot device,* she thought. *Score one for me!* "I came with Legolas." She sighed, trying to look appealing and at the same time pitiful. She succeeded. "Do you think I'm pretty?"  
  
Aragorn blinked. And blinked again. He swallowed. "Of course, Lady. The Prince of Mirkwood does not have his women otherwise."  
  
Jeannette laughed. "A compliment from Aragorn?" she asked coyly, leaning against him. He backed up, and she glared up at him from under long dark lashes. "But one he does not honor?"  
  
"My love is given to Arwen," he intoned blandly. "And hers to me. I think." He shrugged nervously. "But with The Stick around, I think he's a big threat."  
  
"The Stick?" Jeannette asked, confused. "What about a stick?" She planted her hands on her hips.  
  
*Snog-fest,* Aragorn thought, staring. He shook his head to dispel such thoughts. "Legolas. He's so skinny that he looks like a stick."  
  
"He is not!" Jeannette snapped angrily. "He's willowy and slender and perfect! Don't you dare say anything bad about him, you dirty Ranger! Go take a bath!"  
  
Aragorn touched his hair self-consciously. *I need a bath?* He pushed away such foolish notions. The only soap Elrond had in Rivendell was "very berry blast"-scented. He didn't want to be sniffed out from a mile away! His thoughts trailed back to Jeannette. *She's so pretty.*  
  
"Aragorn?" she asked. "Aren't you going to yell or something?" She tapped her foot impatiently.  
  
"You're pretty," he managed at last. He removed the Evenstar from around his throat. *It's ugly anyways,* he thought, trying to push away his guilt. "Will you be mine?" he asked Jeannette, falling to one knee. "You are like the, um, dawn breaking over the Misty Mountains. You are my light, my life, the very air I breathe!"  
  
"That's sweet," Jeannette said, smiling evilly. *Convenient plot device,* she thought again, the beginnings of an evil plan forming in her mind. "Very sweet of you." 


	7. In Which There Is Much Love

Chapter Seven: In Which There Is Much Love  
  
Legolas and Arwen were currently very busy doing something that was quite forbidden in the Last Homely House: playing "Go Hobbit".  
  
"Do you have Sarabelle the Stupid?" Legolas asked, trying to be sly. He had his cards upside down so that Arwen could not see.  
  
"Go Hobbit," Arwen said, celebrating her short-lived victory. She smiled coyly at Legolas, who smiled back, staring into her eyes while trying in vain to reach the pile of cards he could not see.  
"Hairy feet!" Legolas yelled, standing up and dumping his matches from his lap. "I got it!" While trying to show Arwen the Sarabelle card, she saw all of his other cards, but couldn't tell what they were. They were upside down, after all.  
  
"What the hell does that mean?" It was Jeannette. Legolas hastily put his hands behind his back as Arwen tried to scoop all the cards into her skirt. Jeannette snorted. "Are you playing Go Fish?"  
  
Arwen blinked, sighed, and cocked her head. "No," she said. "We're playing Go Hobbit, but you can't tell Daddy. We're not supposed to." She saw Aragorn's dark shape behind Jeannette. "Aragorn," she cooed. "Send her away, we need a private talk."  
  
"Um," Aragorn said.  
  
Jeannette pulled Aragorn up next to her and wrapped her arms around him. "He's mine," she said fiercely. *Not,* she added silently. *But it'll get me my Legolas.*  
  
Arwen, who was a whole foot taller than the woman with her arms around Aragorn, stood up. Not that it did anything to Jeannette's commanding presence in the room. "Aragorn is mine," she said. "And so is Legolas. They are both mine." She seemed to think it a blasphemy that Jeannette had her arms around Aragorn's neck. "Let go," she commanded. "You'll spoil the Evenstar."  
  
Jeannette opened her hand. In her outstretched palm lay Arwen's jewel. "You mean this?" she asked smugly, tossing it to Arwen, who tried to catch it. She missed. "Aragorn doesn't want it any more, do you. sweetie?"  
  
"No," Aragorn said slowly, shaking his head. He seemed dazed, but Jeannette knew why. She dropped her right hand to her side, letting the light hit the diamond ring on her second finger.  
  
"Daddy's ring," Arwen whispered. "How'd. What."  
  
"A present," Arwen said, inspecting the ring from every side. "A very nice present, too. Too bad Master Elrond didn't give it to you, missy."  
  
Arwen blinked. Was the woman insulting her? "But... I gave it to him. I said I'd be mortal for him. I won't be pretty forever now. And for what? A stupid Ranger who doesn't even love me for more than a minute."  
  
"I love you Arwen," Legolas said.  
  
"Trying to grab a woman on the rebound?" Jeannette asked, laughing. "It won't work, Legsy. It's been tried before, and it always fails."  
  
Legolas frowned.  
  
"Wrinkles," Arwen reminded him.  
  
"Oh yeah," he said. He looked at Jeannette. "I love Arwen, and Arwen loves me. That's the way of it."  
  
"That's what you think!" Arwen yelled. "You're stupid! You hold your Go Hobbit cards upside down! They're written in Westron, idiot! You know I'm not good at reading that. that."  
  
"Chicken scratch?" Jeannette offered.  
  
"What she said," Arwen agreed fiercely, ignoring the fact that it was Jeannette who had said it.  
  
"What are chickens?" Aragorn asked dully. "I've never heard of them in all my travels as a Ranger."  
  
Jeannette considered. *How to put it easily for all these silly people?* she wondered. "The main food of my world," she said. "Everything tastes like it."  
  
"Ah," Legolas said. "Like lembas."  
  
"Nothing tastes like lembas-bread except for lembas," Arwen said angrily. "Anyways, he's just changing the subject." She glared at Aragorn. "You stay out of it or else I'll permanently attach the Evenstar to your neck!"  
  
"That's harsh," Jeannette said.  
  
"What?" Arwen asked, and then returned her attention to Legolas. "I don't love you! My heart is given to Aragorn." She sniffed, dabbing a tear that didn't exist from her eye. "My immortal beauty."  
  
"I'll love you even when you're old and ugly," Legolas said, rather unskillfully. "At least you're pretty now."  
  
Color left Arwen's face as if it was being washed off in a winter storm. "What?" she screamed. "I'll never been old and ugly! You see! I'll stay pretty until the end of time."  
  
Jeannette coughed. "Not," she murmured. "You have no skill at all, Legsy."  
  
"Keep your ugly face out of it!" Arwen's rage turned to vent on Jeannette.  
  
"I'm ugly?" Jeannette asked. She picked a container of face cream from Arwen's vanity. She dipped her fingers into it, and began to advance on the unlucky she-Elf. "That goes too far. You'll regret the day you picked a fight with Jeannette Rivera." She smeared the face cream into Arwen's hair, turning it a disgusting green color. "Happy birthday," she said, wiping the remaining cream off her fingers onto Arwen's purple sleeve. It turned the same color as her hair. Jeannette handed the container to Arwen, who dropped it in shock. It splattered all over her brand-new velvet house slippers, turning them, you guessed it, green.  
  
"How dare you?" Arwen spluttered. "Now I can't go to Daddy's council! I can't go Hobbit watching!"  
  
Jeannette shrugged, grabbed Legolas by the collar, and began to drag him from the room. He shrieked and yanked on Arwen's hands, which were slippery with cream. She screeched and grabbed Aragorn, who screamed and ran to Jeannette's side. Together, the two mortals pulled the squealing Elves from Arwen's room, down the hall, and outside to where the great Council of Elrond was taking place. 


	8. In Which Jeannette's Evil Plan Begins

Disclaimer: If I owned LOTR, PJ wouldn't have gone out of his way to make a movie about it.  
  
Author's Note: I know that Legolas is all serious and "cute" in this scene, but I have Jeannette and Aragorn dragging them into the Council, so both Legolas and Aragorn don't know what's happened so far. That's why there's not the famous "Havo dad, Legolas" quote from Aragorn.  
  
Chapter Eight: In Which Jeannette's Evil Plan Begins  
  
Mithrandir arose from his chair in fury. The fool Elf would not do anything about the One, save to say that "It must be destroyed". By the Valar who were his masters, everybody at the Council knew that. Everybody, at least, except Boromir. He decided to take the meeting into his own hands. "Ash nazg durbatûluk, ash nazg gimbatûl. Ash nazg thrakatûluk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatûl." By the Valar, he loved doing that!  
  
Elrond did his eyebrow thing, and damn it, he looked as pissed as Morgoth had the day Iluvatar had decided to chuck him into the Void. "That language has never been spoken here before."  
  
*That's because you don't know it,* Mithrandir thought. "It may yet be, Elrond," he said. "It may be spoken in every land in Middle Earth if Sauron retakes the Ring." *But he won't, cause I'm too cool for him to beat!* In his mind, he did a little celebration boogey. *Damn, I'm good.*  
  
"Give Gondor the weapon of the Enemy," Boromir was saying for the millionth time. "Let us use it against him!" He was a zealot, that young man, and it would bring him no good. As Manwe used to say back home in Valinor, "The young are restless, but the old are stupid". As he gave that idea a second thought, Mithrandir realized that it had nothing to do with Boromir. He shrugged mentally. It was a cool saying, anyways.  
  
Elrond had buried his face in his hands, and Mithrandir expected him to give in any moment. He would have saved himself a lot of trouble if he had just sent Isildur into the Cracks of Doom with a flying tackle all those years ago, but, of course, this story wouldn't exist, and then millions of Tolkien fans would have no purpose in their lives, and they'd wander around doing drugs and searching for a reason to survive, but there wouldn't be one, then they'd commit suicide, and- his thoughts were interrupted by that a sudden squall of noise entering the Council area.  
  
"DADDY!" Mithrandir sighed. It was Elrond's brat, Arwen Evenstar. "DADDY! SAVE MEEEEEE!"  
  
Boromir stopped in his ranting and stared at the pair dragging behind them Arwen Evenstar and Legolas Greenleaf. "The idiot," Mithrandir whispered under his breath to a random Elf sitting next to him. "He's gotten himself ensnared by a Ring of Power!"  
  
"Which one?" the Elf asked, staring at the Lady dragging the pair along with Aragorn. "If I were one of them, I'd gladly lick that Lady's boots clean for a living."  
  
It was clear that the spell of Vilya was affecting all the Elves, Men, and even Dwarves in the Council, even the young Hobbits. Samwise, Peregrin, and Meriadoc had even emerged from the pathetic hiding places that made it a miracle they hadn't been discovered and bodily thrown from the Council. At least, it was affecting everyone except the Elf Mithrandir suspected the Lady most wanted it to affect: the young Prince Legolas.  
  
The Lady unceremoniously deposited the two Elves in the middle of the ring. "I am Jeannette Rivera," she announced, in a voice that sounded like song. "I am the future Princess of Mirkwood." Legolas made a strangled noise, but remained silent. She gave him the Look that all women of Middle Earth were feared for, and continued. "As part of my duty to the safety of Middle Earth, I will be leaving Rivendell with the Fellowship of the Ring to destroy the Ring in Mordor."  
  
*Damn,* Mithrandir thought appreciatively. *She says 'Mordor' as well as Elrond does!*  
  
She sighed, and one Dwarf even burst into tears. "I am sorry," Jeannette Rivera said. "But I am a Princess of Mirkwood, and I can not be taken from my fate." Another Dwarf began to cry, and another, and another, until the whole envoy was in tears. An Elf joined them, and soon all the Elves, except for Elrond and Legolas, were crying.  
  
Suddenly, Boromir was in her face and shouting, "You want to destroy it, Lady? Then to Udûn with you, all of you!" Before he could move, a sword, Ranger made, was at his throat.  
  
"Do not insult the Lady Jeannette," Aragorn said softly. Behind him, Arwen began to wail, but he paid her no mind. "I will be going with them," he announced, turning from Boromir. "To protect my Lady's honor." Arwen's cries grew even louder, but they were drowned out by a hearty cry from the assembled Council.  
  
"I will now choose the Fellowship of the Ring," Jeannette said proudly. Elrond's mouth opened and closed like a fishes, and he appeared ready to pull his eyebrow trick again. Obviously, Jeannette saw it. "Don't go all 'Agent Smith' on me, Elrond," she said, smirking. "If Keanu Reeves can beat a hundred of you, then I can kick one of your many asses."  
  
*That might have gone a little too far,* Mithrandir thought, but the Lady was already speaking again.  
  
"Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry, Aragorn, Gandalf, Boromir, Gimli, and." Her gaze dropped to the Elf who was still sprawled on the ground. "And. and Leggy, my future husband, the Prince of Mirkwood." The suddenly bright sunlight caught the ring on her fourth finger, and Mithrandir assumed it to be a wedding ring from Legolas. *All the more fool he is,* he thought angrily. But a closer inspection revealed it to be none other than Vilya, the Elven Ring of Air. "Melkor, Morgoth, and Gorthaur the Cruel," he said loudly. Many gasped at his foul language. "Elrond," he cried, rising again from his seat. "That is your." The bright sunlight caught his eye one too many times, and he rubbed them hard. When he removed his hands, he was under the spell of Vilya. He saw Jeannette smirking at him, but to him, it was the loveliest of smiles. Arwen Evenstar dulled compared to her brilliance. "That is your decision, Elrond," he repeated. "Thus we are the Fellowship of the Ring!"  
  
***Somewhere, wherever the Nazgûl are currently hanging out***  
  
The stables sounded too empty without the sound of the psycho-rabid horses banging against the walls. "Shit," Number Six sighed. "Now we have to walk."  
  
Number One glared. "It was your fault!" he snapped. "You wouldn't jump that fence, and we missed getting the Halfling before he met the stupid Ranger."  
  
"It was hand-carved mahogany!" Number Six answered. "I'm not going to screw that fence. It's probably been there for a thousand years!"  
  
"1417, to be precise," Number Three said. "In 1601 Third Age, the Periannath migrated."  
  
"Shut up!" a new voice suddenly hissed. "I don't care about your ramblings, Number Four!"  
  
"But, I'm Number Three-"  
  
"No you are not! I am Number One, and that makes you Number Four." The voice sounded vaguely female, and Number One decided to confront the usurper.  
  
"Who are you?" he demanded, looming above the new voice. "Where are you from?"  
  
"I am the Queen of the Nazgûl," she said, throwing her hood back. Number One's jaw dropped. The new Queen was stunningly beautiful, not old and ugly like the rest of her new followers. "Come," she said, smiling. "The Great Lord has new mounts for us. I'm sure you will be pleased."  
  
From somewhere in the background noise, the small voice of the newly demoted Number Ten was heard. "Shit," he said. "A new person joins, and I'm still at the bottom. Why me?" 


	9. In Which There Are Many Random Orcs

Disclaimer: If I owned LOTR, PJ wouldn't have gone out of his way to make a movie about it.  
  
Author's Note: I know that Sauron is supposed to be a floating eyeball, but for the purposes of this very OOC story, Sauron does, in fact, have a body. We shall see what kind of body later on...  
  
Chapter Nine: In Which There Are Many Random Orcs  
  
"Holy..." Sauron said, but never got the chance to finish, because a random orc walked in. "Go away," he said casually, and fried the orc with a fireball thrown from his fingertips. He blew the smoke away from his fingertips like they were guns. "It's great having a body again," he added, running his hand through his black hair. Another orc walked in. *Why today?!* he asked himself silently. Before the Second Invasion of the Random Orcs, he had been very happy watching daytime TV. Nikki had just been just about to break up with Lucky on "Soap: An Opera". Damn those shifting relationships! When Sauron had been just an eyeball, all those orcs roasting onions had called for eye drops, and those ruined his site.  
  
"Great Lord," the orc said, crawling across the floor. "There is news, Great Lord, from the Elf City."  
  
Sauron sighed, and leaned on his elbow. "What?" he asked. Stupid orcs. They always walked in at dramatic moments! The orc mumbled something at the floor, and Sauron lost his patience. He was going to miss the steamy make-out sessions! "Sweet Mother of holy bacon! Get your Valar damned face off the floor and tell me!"  
  
"It has been found, Great Lord," the orc said, groveling at the ceiling. Man! That looked wrong. "The Ring of Power has been found."  
  
"Score!" Sauron shouted, jumping up from his evil, bad ass throne of darkness. "I just love being evil. I know get to take over the world!" He did a little spur-of-the-moment celebration disco in front of the orc.  
  
*Drool,* thought the orc, watching the sexiest Dark Lord of the Middle Earth to ever forge an evil Ring of Power disco across the throne room of Barad-dûr. It left no doubt in his mind that Sauron would, indeed, take over Middle Earth. "It is in the procession of a Mary-Sue, Great Lord," he added belatedly. The orc lost his head in a horizontal column of fire. *Shit,* he thought in the millisecond before he was vaporized.  
  
"A Mary-Sue," Sauron moaned, burying his face in his hands. True, he was sexy, but if the Ring was with a Mary-Sue, then that Mary-Sue was most definitely in the company of Frodo/Aragorn/Legolas/Boromir, or even- he shuddered at the horror of the thought- Gimli. But, however, the sexy Dark Lord had masses of random, nameless orcs at his command, as well as the Nazgûl, who were led by the evilest being (besides Sauron, anyways) of Middle Earth, the ______ of _________, also known as _________'s evil ___.  
  
***To the Fellowship! (Dramatic, valiant music cue)***  
  
Pippin barely managed his huge pack, which dwarfed his small Hobbit- self by about three feet. However, it consisted of Jeannette's endless changes of clinging, barely opaque hinting-at-everything-but-revealing- nothing, butt hugging, skimpy clothing; the traditional outfits of the Elven princess were the Fellowship's (minus Legolas, or Leg-less, as Pippin preferred to call him) favorite parts of the day. He was more than happy to carry it for her.  
  
"Pippin," came the voice of song that belonged to Jeannette. "I need a manicure." Her voice sounded alone and unloved, and Pippin mentally smacked himself for leaving her alone for even a mere three seconds.  
  
"Coming!" he called, running as fast as his tiny legs could carry him. He tripped at the end, landed neatly in Jeannette's lap. He cringed, expecting an unceremonious shove to the floor, but he instead received a kiss on the cheek that made him blush from pointy ears to furry toes.  
  
"PIPPIN!" Aragorn roared, racing towards Jeannette and leaving behind wreckage such as one would expect to see from a tornado. "What are you doing in Lady Jeannette's lap?"  
  
Pippin received his unceremonious shove, but only from Aragorn, and when he got up, the Ranger and the Lady were involved in a steamy, passionate snog-fest. *Why don't I get one?* Pippin wondered miserably. He ran a hand over his smooth, stubble-less, immature tweenage chin. *Damn it,* he thought. *I have no chance without manly stubble.*  
  
Suddenly, a random orc burst from the woods. Before Aragorn could dispatch it with his 'Oh So Wonderful Sword Named Anduril' (which was a stupid name, Pippin told himself), Jeannette had killed it with a flying tae-kwon-do kick that, miraculously, had not made her dress reveal anything else then it should, also known as a considerably amount of bosom, and the curvy shapes of Jeannette's hips and ass.  
  
"Wow," Pippin said, going for 'innocence'. "I wish I could do that.  
  
Jeannette shrugged. "You probably couldn't," she said casually. "Even though it only took me a month to become a black belt in every single martial arts style in the world, it takes normal people many years. Did you know I created my own religion and converted people to it?"  
  
Aragorn managed to shake his head before Pippin did, and got a kick in the shins for it (because that was as high as the Hobbit could reach). "You little booger," Aragorn muttered, grabbing Pippin by the collar and tossing him into the conveniently prickly brush that was conveniently near Jeannette's travel-sized lounge chair.  
  
"Ouch," was heard from the bush, but nothing else, save some unidentifiable sounds that sound vaguely like there were two Hobbits in the bush.  
  
"Let's make out," Jeannette said, snaking her arms around Aragorn's neck and pulling him into an enthusiastic kiss. Aragorn broke away for a moment, and said, "Let's," before returning to the passionate snogging.  
  
Legolas watched silently from the bush next to the Hobbits' bush, wishing that they'd shut up so that he could hear the conversation of Jeannette and Aragorn- not that there was anything much to hear. They were quite busy at the moment. Oh, well. It was exciting to watch. Just as the passion reached its climax, yet another random orc burst from the surrounding woods.  
  
"Damn it!" Legolas heard Jeannette say. "These goddamn woods are full of orcs!" And she dispatched it with a judo punch, leaving it lying on the ground.  
  
"Jeannette," came the whisper from Aragorn, who had somehow been stabbed by the orc, even though he was Ranger and much more deadly than the random, nameless, currently dead orc. "I think I'm dying."  
  
Jeannette began to cry over Aragorn's body, and, amazingly, he was back to full health, not even needing time to rest before, yet again, they returned to glorious love.  
  
Legolas felt that he was missing out on something. It wasn't his mirror, or his comb, or even his fluffy pink vanity stool, because he had packed them in the bags that Sam was carrying for a bit of love every night, but it was something else. He began to count on his fingers. Aragorn was first, then Frodo, then Pippin, then Sam, then Merry, and even Boromir had slept with Jeannette. Gimli and Gandalf had received appropriate make out sessions, but Legolas.. Legolas had gotten nothing! He began to pout, when suddenly-  
  
Another orc burst from the forest. Seemingly without stopping the loving, she killed the orc with a karate chop to the head. Jeannette clearly had amazing martial arts skills, and Legolas was willing to bet that she would beat Aragorn at the sword, Gimli at the axe, Sam at the frying pan (both ways: cooking and orc bashing), Gandalf at magic, and even Legolas himself with at archery.  
  
Then, exactly ten thousand orcs arrived. They immediately tied up the Hobbits, knocked out Aragorn and Boromir, threw Gimli up in a tall pine tree at which they set ten vicious wargs, stole Gandalf's pointy hat (devastating the poor wizard), and tied Legolas to a tree, where he watch the whole scene. Before Aragorn and Boromir had been knocked out, however, they had put up a nice fight. So Jeannette was only faced with 9,971 orcs. She promptly killed seventy-one of them, but was kidnapped by the remaining 9,900, and only stopped fighting after one of the orcs threatened to kill Legolas. She was taken away. 


	10. In Which We Discuss the Mating Rituals o...

Disclaimer: If LOTR belonged to me, there would be no movies.  
  
Author's Note: Any mating/courtship rituals of the Haradrim/Easterlings are inventions of my own design.  
  
Chapter Ten: In Which We Discuss the Mating Rituals of Uncivilized Men  
  
Frodo was bored. He had never had any idea about awful it was to be tied to a tree for even ten minutes with Sam and Merry and Pippin next to him. Merry and Pippin were both immature and mischievous, and Sam was getting annoying with all his mothering of Frodo. He tried to ignore them, and thought about the orc attack and the abduction of Jeannette. That orcs had attacked had been expected. The only thing that puzzled him was the fact that they had left him, the Ringbearer, behind, and taken only Jeannette. Why, when he had the Ring?  
  
Suddenly, Legolas was screaming at his mirror, having used useful Elven magic to untie himself. "Beauty!" he wailed. "Are you ravaged for life? Are you well?" He sniffed, and dabbed a non-existent tear from his cheek. "Will you survive?" He burst into tears, and continued to do so until Frodo cleared his throat loudly.  
  
"Excuse me," he called, trying to be polite. "Could you stop crying for a moment and untie us please?"  
  
Legolas sniffed loudly, gazing mournfully at the tied-up Hobbit. "Can't you see I'm busy?" he asked, gesturing wildly with the mirror. He noticed that his reflection was gone, and dropped it, bawling. "MY LOVE!" he screamed.  
  
Frodo snorted. He had suspected that Legolas was slowly, but surely, swinging in that direction. But to fall in love with his own reflection? That was beyond any swinging that the Elf could possibly do. "I don't care about your reflection," Frodo said. "Please untie us. I can't feel my feet." And it was true. The orcs had done a poor job of fastening the Hobbits to the tree, tying Frodo upside down and Pippin across Merry and Sam's stomachs. "I think we're all getting a little comfortable.  
  
PHFFFFT! The noise came from Pippin making disgusting noises using the fat of Sam's bulging stomach. "That's fun," he giggled, and promptly made another.  
  
"Stop it, Pip," Sam said, trying to control his hysterical laughter. He was obviously quite ticklish. "That tickles." And he burst into gales of helpless giggles.  
  
"He's serious, Pip," Merry added. "This is no time to be doing that." He licked his lips, obviously quite hungry. "What time is it, Legolas?"  
  
That distracted Legolas from his moans. The Elf was very proud of his internal clock, however often it was wrong. "It's just past eleven," he called.  
  
"What?" Frodo asked, pretending not to be able to hear. He tried to wriggle his toes, but he couldn't. Either he had lost feeling in them or the hair was sticking. It didn't matter. They still needed a good washing. Maybe Legolas would do it for him.  
  
"Just past eleven," Legolas repeated, coming closer. "Are you deaf or something?"  
  
"What?" Frodo asked again, louder.  
  
"Just past eleven," Legolas squealed into his ear.  
  
Frodo tried not to wince. The Elf's voice was annoyingly high pitched. "All the blood is rushing to my head, Legolas," he said loudly. "I can't hear you. I need to be untied, or else I can't hear you."  
  
Legolas tried screaming, whining, moaning, crying, and a whole list of other unpleasant verbs, but Frodo still pretended to be deaf. *The things I do for my cousins and my gardener,* he thought sadly. Finally, the Elf was forced to use his magic to untie the Hobbits, as he did not want to risk chipping a fingernail doing it himself.  
  
Aragorn and Boromir slept on. *Idiots,* Frodo thought, shaking his head. *They slept through the best part of the show.*  
  
***To Mordor! Cue the evil music! ***  
  
The orcs, being orcs in a Mary-Sue story, had reached Mordor in an impossible time: .0003729 seconds. "Wow," Jeannette said from the back of a particularly stinking, nameless, random orc. "You guys are fast."  
  
The orc merely grunted in reply, and Jeannette frowned. "Answer me when I compliment you!" she snapped. "Be thankful that I'm taking my time compliment a stupid, smelly orc like you!"  
  
The orc didn't answer, and she began to pound its chest with her high- heeled shoes. "This is the worst day of my life!" she yelled. "I'm in the middle of a snog-fest and you kidnap me!"  
  
The orc stopped dead in his tracks. "Snog-fest?" he asked, confused. Jeannette's glare quickly explained, and he continued hurriedly. "I apologize profusely, but the orders of Lord Sauron overrule your, er, interesting human mating rituals. I do not understand the need for mouth-to- mouth before the initial conception, but, since it is a ritual, I will not insult it."  
  
Jeannette could only gape.  
  
"Lord Sauron has brought us up to be understanding of other's cultures, even those of Men," the orc said. "I find the mating rituals of the Haradrim particularly interesting. First, the female will make her interest known to the male of her choice, who will then try and pursue her. If he can perform enough tasks to her liking, she will weave a wedding wreath of symbolic flowers, indicating what she would like from their relationship. If the female takes the wreath, they are married on the spot, and then commence to fulfill the desires of the female. If it is children she has requested, they will not perform the human mouth-to-mouth ritual. They immediately..."  
  
"Shut up!" Jeannette shrieked, drawing the attention of every orc nearby. Some, upon seeing who carried her, smirked openly.  
  
"Don't bore her to death," one of them said. "I doubt she wants to hear about the mating rituals of the Haradrim, however interesting they are."  
  
"Yes," added another. "I find it most queer that the female is in charge of the mating, rather then the men. They rule the rest of the society, but the females are professionals in the Haradrim mating rituals."  
  
"Even more perplexing are the courtship rituals of the Easterlings," said a third orc. "Especially with the father of the bride meeting the mother of the intended groom, and they will hold a mock nuptial the entire period of the engagement."  
  
"I know," said the orc carrying Jeannette. She decided to call him 'Mating', just for the purpose of identifying him. The second orc would be called 'Smirk', the third orc 'Queer', and the fourth 'Ritual'. That way, the reader of this most wonderful and perfect story would not suffer any confusion over which orc was speaking. "Many Easterling couples have begun eloping for the fear of fighting between the mock bride and groom."  
  
"Have any Easterling couples ever cancelled the nuptial?" asked Ritual.  
  
"Not that I have ever heard of," replied Smirk. "However, the percentage of recent elopements compared to those of the past has drastically risen."  
  
Jeannette sighed. When in hell would they ever get to Barad-dûr? "Are we almost there?" she asked.  
  
"No," said Mating. "We'll be there in about." He checked his very convenient pocket watch. "Oh, say, about five minutes."  
  
"Thank God," she said.  
  
"No," Queer said. "Thank Sauron. He's the one who bred us to run quickly. Speaking of breeding." The orcs launched into another long, boring discussion of disgusting, primitive mating rituals. It was going to be a long ride. 


	11. In Which Legolas Acts Quite Oddly

Disclaimer: See earlier chapters.  
  
Chapter Eleven: In Which Legolas Acts Quite Oddly  
  
The first thing he noticed was that his head hurt. *Stupid orcs,* he thought. The second was that Jeannette was missing. *Damn!* he thought again. *Damn them to Udûn and back!* He hauled poor Boromir to his feet, despite the detail of unconsciousness but moments before.  
  
"What?" Boromir asked grumpily, rubbing his bruised noggin.  
  
"Jeannette!" Aragorn cried, springing about the campsite like a deer. "The orcs have taken her!"  
  
Boromir gasped. "The Ring," he said, falling to his knees. "They have taken the Ring! Our quest has failed! And I must die now, because that is the fate the God Tolkien wrote for me."  
  
"Wait!" Aragorn shouted, ignoring the fact that he was denying the fate that had been written for Boromir by the God Tolkien. "Do not kill yourself! We need you! Valar, we haven't even reached the Gap of Rohan!"  
  
"Oh," Boromir said, lowering his sword. "I guess I'd better stay alive until then, at least. I need some new clothes, and the Gap of Rohan is even more stylish than Lembas Republic." He fingered his gauntlets, which were out of style by more than ten years. "If I may say so myself." he chuckled.  
  
"OK." Aragorn nodded. "You may return to wailing your despair about the fact that the Ring is gone."  
  
"Sweet," said Boromir, then adopted his 'I'm-sorry-but-I-chased-Frodo- away-with-my-desire-for-the-Ring mode'. "The Ring is gone!" he cried, burying his face in his hands. "It is gone to Mordor! The Enemy shall win, and the world shall be covered in a second darkness."  
  
Aragorn heard a spluttered sigh from Frodo. "Idiot," the Hobbit said disgustedly. "I have it! I'm the Ringbearer, not Jeannette!"  
  
"Oh," Boromir said, blushing. "I'm sorry, Frodo. I didn't know that."  
  
"Of course you didn't," Frodo replied angrily. "All your attention has been on Jeannette! Nobody ever pays attention to the Ringbearer, who's bearing the freaking fate of freaking Middle Earth on a chain around his freaking neck!"  
  
Aragorn stared. "We forgot, Frodo!" he said, doing his whole 'fold- Frodo's-hands-over-the-Ring-and-swear-eternal-loyalty' spiel. "I'll protect you better, now."  
  
Meanwhile, Gandalf was huddled up against a tree, sobbing over the loss of his hat. Merry was desperately trying to comfort him. "It's all right, Gandy," he said, petting the wizard's head gently. "We'll get your pointy hat back. I promise."  
  
"My Preciousssssss..." Legolas suddenly hissed, dropping from the tree near Gandalf and Merry. He stood up, and grinned stupidly. "Hello," he said, still grinning. "I'm quite all right." He grabbed his butt and walked off, saying, "Preciousssssss..." and spanking himself at random intervals.  
  
Merry and Gandalf stared for a moment, and then both burst into tears. Merry was going to be doing no more comforting that night.  
  
Sam wandered into the clearing, and was surprised to see both Merry and Gandalf crying. "Did I just see Legolas grabbing his butt?" he asked, confused.  
  
In response, Gandy, er, Gandalf wailed even louder. "He..........he did!" Merry cried. "He's on something! He was walking around saying, Preciousssssss!' and being even weirder than normal! HE GRABBED HIS BUTT, SAM!" Before he knew it, Merry was on his feet and shaking Sam violently by the shoulders. "I've been violated! My virgin eyes are virgin no more!" He sat down again and covered his eyes, shaking with sobs.  
  
Pippin, who had been piggy-backing on Sam, still blowing PHFFFFFT noises at regular intervals, asked loudly, "What's a virgin?"  
  
Sam winked, and said, "Trust me, Pip, you've never been one."  
  
"Oh," Pippin said, smiling, and stared off into space, trying to figure out what he had never been or done before. It wasn't a long list.  
  
"HE GRABBED HIS BUTT!" Merry said into his hands. "IN FRONT OF MY BEAUTIFUL, SPECTACULAR, GLORIOUS VIRGIN EYES!"  
  
Gandalf cried even louder.  
  
"What have you done that I haven't?" Pippin asked, still curious. His mind was still whirring away; trying frantically to figure out the great secret adults seemed to hold dear.  
  
"Nothing," Sam said.  
  
"Does it have something to do with 'manly stubble'?" Pippin inquired.  
  
"Manly stubble," Aragorn said, having heard the wails and deciding to enter the conversation. "Now, that's something you'll never have."  
  
Pippin smiled slyly. He had it figured out now! "So you're a virgin."  
  
Aragorn blushed. "Well, you could say that..."  
  
"I need manly stubble!" Pippin cried, ecstatically rubbing his stubble less chin. "That's all I need to become a virgin!"  
  
"MY VIRGIN EYES!" Merry yelled. "Someone pay attention to my beautiful, spectacular, glorious virgin eyes!"  
  
"How can your eyes be virgins?" Pippin asked. "They don't have stubble. Anyways, it would scratch your cornea."  
  
The entire assembled group blinked in unison. "Shut up, Pippin," Sam said. "Don't try to understand the glories of virgin-ness until you're no longer a tweenager."  
  
"What about Gandalf?" Pippin asked, refusing to be quiet. "Is he a virgin, too?"  
  
Gandalf stopped crying long enough to glare at Pippin. "I am not a virgin!" he snapped. "I have had as many one night stands as there are stars in the sky!"  
  
Aragorn coughed. "Balrog," he whispered. "Bad breakup, but Gandy counts as a virgin."  
  
Pippin gasped. "But, he has a beard! He can't be a virgin!"  
  
"Yes," Sam sighed. "Gandy has a beard, but no manly stubble. See, every one of his hairs counts for a beautiful woman. Once you get past manly stubble, dear Pip, you are a virgin to longer."  
  
"You don't have a beard," Pippin said.  
  
"Enough!" Frodo said, storming in to the clearing, followed shortly by Boromir, whose hands were wringing nervously as if Boromir was keeping them from doing anything. "We must rescue Jeannette!"  
  
"Yes!" Aragorn said, springing about once again. "We must save her from the clutches of foul orcs!"  
  
"OK," Frodo said, continuing to get everyone hyped up. "We're going to save Jeannette! We're going to throw the Ring into the fires of Mordor! And we're going to do it all without a scratch!"  
  
A loud cheer came from the assembled Fellowship, excepting for two. Frodo, who was hyping them up, and Gimli, who announced,  
  
"Can I get down from here now? This branch is really hurting my - ahem."  
  
"Are you a virgin?" Pippin managed to squeak before receiving a blow to the head which rendered him unconscious.  
  
"You get to carry him," Gandalf said. "You knocked him out."  
  
"I don't want to," Aragorn whined. "I was just getting annoyed. I don't want to carry him!"  
  
"I don't care," Gandalf snapped. "You knocked Pippin out, you carry him."  
  
"Fine," Aragorn said, pursuing his ultimately sexy, full, pouting lips. He sniffed. "But if I drop him, it's not my fault."  
  
"Whatever," Sam said, interrupting on the important conversation. "But, where is Legolas?"  
  
***In some dark corner not to far from everybody else***  
  
"Preciousssssss," Legolas hissed into his hands. He was hunched over, hiding his hands from view, glorying in the darkness. He stared into them; with the intensity of the sun, with yearning, with desire, with... love. He leaned forward, and inhaled deeply. All of the sudden, his eyes turned bright green in the darkness, almost bulging from his face, and his fingers lengthened almost imperceptibly. When he arose from his crouch, his hands were covered in the remnants of golden powder, which he brushed off on his snazzy gray pants. "Preciousssssss..." he hissed, and grabbed his butt. He hobbled off towards the Fellowship, spanking himself. They would never know. "PRECIOUSSSSSSS!" 


	12. In Which the Mouth of Sauron Can't Speak...

Chapter Twelve: In Which the Mouth of Sauron Can't Speak... Gangsta  
"We're here," Mating said, and unceremoniously dumped Jeannette to the dusty ground. "They're ready for you."  
Jeannette hesitated to turn around, not wanting to gaze upon the hideous mutilation of nature that Sauron had created for a lieutenant. However, she did, and was horrified to see... "A CHICKEN?" she gasped.  
The chicken tilted its head to the side, looking at Jeannette with dark, beady chicken eyes. "Yes," the chicken said, almost causing Jeannette to faint. "I am Henrietta the Second, Lieutenant of the Mouth of Sauron. Come this way, and I will take you to him." The chicken turned and waddled off, going so slowly that Jeanette could have crawled alongside it and still kept up. She decided to keep her dignity, and got to her feet, walking alongside the chicken.  
"So you're Sauron's second-in-command?" she asked, curious despite herself. It wasn't every day that you found yourself in Mordor with a talking chicken leading you to the Dark Lord of Middle Earth himself. "No offense or anything, but how can you do that? You're a chicken."  
"I'm not," Henrietta the Second clucked. "Sauron's second, I mean. Nelson is."  
"Nelson?" Jeannette asked.  
"Sorry," Henrietta the Second said apologetically, ruffling her feathers and jumping from claw to claw. Her beady chicken eyes were still focused on Jeannette. "Poor Nelson is the Mouth of Sauron."  
"I see," Jeannette lied, and followed the chicken, who ruffled her feathers at random moments. The flying feathers made Jeannette sneeze.  
"Sorry," Henrietta the Second said again, and stopped. Jeannette heaved a sigh of relief, and the chicken turned around. She smiled a beady chicken smile, and said, "Right this way, please."  
Faint strains of music were echoing down the hall, and Jeannette strained to hear it. It sounded so familiar, but she couldn't place it. *What could it be?* she wondered, frustrated. "You're very polite, here," she said to break the silence. Henrietta the Second didn't answer, leaving Jeannette to listen to the music. Finally, she could make out the words.  
"Where is the love, the love, the love?" an extremely high male voice sang. It was excruciatingly painful to the ear "The love."  
Jeannette could hardly keep from gasping. What was Justin Timberlake doing in Barad-dûr? She wanted to run ahead of the chicken, but good manners kept her from doing so. Mrs. Rivera had not raised her child to be rude. "Who is that?" she asked.  
Henrietta the Second turned back to Jeannette, grimacing. "That's Nelson," she said. "I refuse to call him the Mouth of Sauron when he sings such ridiculous music, but it is him all the same. I never found out where he got that contraption."  
Despite all her mother's good teachings, Jeannette broke into a sprint, silken lavender skirt flowing behind her. As she rounded a corner, the music getting louder, she saw a man with a mysterious resemblance to Eminem. (A/N: Ahem. This has nothing to do with my dislike for rap. *coughs*) "What...?" she managed, catching a glimpse of a portable CD player and head phones. Nelson tried hastily to cover it with a helmet similar to the one Jeannette had seen on Sauron in "The Fellowship of the Ring", but he failed miserably.  
"Yo, yo, yo," he said in a high falsetto. "Wassup, my sista?"  
Jeannette could only stare. Did he think she was black? Well, she wasn't. "I'm not black," she said briskly, and you may stop referring to me as such."  
"Chill, my dawg," Nelson said. "It's just a code name, ya know, my dawg?" He tried use the hand motions that were common among gangsters, but the helmet and the headphones made a combination that was impossible to look cool.  
"Where are we, East L.A.?" Henrietta the Second demanded. "Stop this nonsense right away, Nelson. Lord Sauron has commanded this Mary-Sue kidnapped and brought to Barad-dûr immediately. I will not have you spoil his victory with that ridiculous...rap."  
"Chill, my dawg, um, chickette," Nelson said, pumping the air with his fists. "I'll take the gal to the Dark Lord, I mean..." He hastily removed the headphones and stuck the helmet more firmly on his head, straightening his back as he did so. "All right, Henrietta," he announced, his now bass voice echoing in the hallway. "I shall take this Mary-Sue to Lord Sauron."  
"Excuse me?" Jeannette asked. "My name isn't Mary-Sue! Ugh." She shuddered. "If it were even Mary I'd kill myself."  
"Watch it, Nettie," Mary Henderson said, emerging from the shadows to the left of the door. "I happen to like my name, thank you very much." Nelson looked at her, surprised, and she disappeared in a brilliant flash of light.  
"We'll just ignore that strange happening," Henrietta the Second said, pretending that Mary hadn't ever been there. "I, for one, would prefer to think that strange women cannot just transport in Barad-dûr without any warning." She shivered, probably thinking about the doomed, random, nameless, and currently dead orc from Chapter Nine: In Which There Are Many Random Orcs. It truly was an unpleasant way to end.  
"Good idea," Nelson said, hurriedly wiping away the pool of drool at his feet. "Come this way my dawg, I mean, Lady Jeannette." He scooted quickly into the doors, making Jeannette wait outside while he presented her.  
  
***In the throne-room of Barad-dûr***  
  
Sauron leaned his head onto his hand, his elbow strategically placed on the cushioned arm of his throne. *Mom says I look sexiest this way,* he thought. His beauty would have to used to his advantage to win this Mary- Sue over - and it would be insanely difficult.  
"The Lady Jeannette," Nelson said, that stupid helmet - no matter how imposing it was to the occasional visitor, Sauron always thought it the most pointless thing in Middle-Earth - tilting in the wrong direction. *Idiot,* he thought. *Can't even wear a war helmet right!*  
"Send her in," the Dark Lord said, idly waving his hand. *You're hot,* he assured himself. *There's no one hotter than you, baby. You just have to know it!* "Tell her that I am waiting."  
Nelson bowed, and Sauron considered what exactly he was planning to say. *Tell her that she's ravishing! Yes, yes, that's good.* He mentally patted himself on the back for his wonderful ideas. *Mom would be so proud of you, Gorthy!* The sound of a woman clearing her throat started him from his immensely important reveries. "Oh, hello, Mary-Sue."  
That put Jeannette over the edge. "MY NAME IS NOT MARY-SUE!" she shouted. "AND I'M VERY ANGRY WITH YOU! WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO KIDNAP ME IN THE MIDDLE OF LOVE-MAKING?" She marched straight up to Sauron and hit him on the face. "AND YOU DESERVED THAT!" she added, still at the top of her lungs.  
"Whoa," Sauron said, gingerly touching the red mark on his otherwise beautiful face. "Hold on, there. I know your name isn't Mary-Sue; it's just what you are."  
"I see," Jeannette said, and Sauron envied her obvious intelligence. However, because I am the author and I know all, I will tell you that Jeannette was lying, and that she had absolutely no idea of what a Mary-Sue was. Therefore, Sauron was envying something that didn't exist. Anyways, let us continue.  
"Good," Sauron said. "That saves me the trouble of explaining it." He returned to his 'I'm-So-Ravishingly-Sexy-Fall-In-Love-With-Me' pose. "Now, where is the Ring?"  
"I don't have it," replied Jeannette. "Frodo does." She didn't seem to realize what a heavy blow she had just dealt the Dark Lord. A Hobbit had the Ring of Power? Then why wasn't a shriveled little Gollum-creature writhing at his feet right then? Why weren't the Nazgul thundering back to Minas Morgul with a Halfling in tow? This wasn't right!  
"WHAT?" he roared. "A HALFLING HAS MY RING?!?!"  
Jeannette shrugged casually. "Yup," she said. "Now can I go?" She appeared poised to leave, but Sauron's roar stopped her in her tracks.  
"NO! A HALFING HAS MY RING! AND I WANT IT BACK!" He pointed angrily at Nelson; a ball of fire flew from his fingers and tried to consume the Mouth of Sauron. When the flames died away, Nelson was still there and very much alive. Sauron saw him glance at Jeannette and mouth 'Thank God for the helmet. Isn't it cool?' Nelson had absolutely no skill at all. Smoothing his already spiked hair, and pricking his thumb for the effort, Sauron settled himself into his throne and stared directly at Jeannette. "A Halfling has my Ring," he said. "And I understand that you were traveling with this group that they call 'The Fellowship of the Ring'."  
Jeannette bowed her head, and Sauron realized exactly how pretty she was. "Yes," she said in a mournful voice. "Not even all the tears of Middle Earth can keep a Princess of Mirkwood."  
"Whoa," Sauron said, interrupting her. "You're a Princess of Mirkwood? When did the Stick get married?" He immediately realized that calling Legolas 'the Stick' had been a huge mistake.  
"Why does everybody make fun of Legsy?" Jeannette asked softly, swaying up to Sauron. *Oooooh,* he thought. *Tough cookies!* "Is he really that bad?"  
Sauron saw the opening, and, despite the emotional distress it would cause Jeannette, said, "Yes, indeed." Jeannette's mouth opened to disagree, but he overrode her. The girl needed to hear this - it would turn her to his cause. "Legolas." Sauron heaved a sigh, as if mourning for the Elven- prince. "He is under the influence of the terrible weed called "The Precious".  
"No," Jeannette said. She was obviously breaking under the terrible news. "It cannot be! My precious Legolas!"  
"It is true," he said, placing a hand over his heart. "You have my condolences, my Lady." There; that was the end of his speech, and if she didn't come, crying, running into his arms, he would renounce his title as the "Dark Lord of Middle Earth" and go prancing off to Valinor. Heck, maybe Arien would even give him another go at it. But his thoughts were interrupted by Jeannette running into his arms, crying. "There, there," he murmured into her hair. By the Void, it smelled good. What conditioner did she use? "Nobody's perfect." *Except for Mary-Sues,* he admitted mentally. *But what the heck. She'll get me my Ring.* 


End file.

Lord of the Rings, Humor, Parody