A/N: I've written five depressing-ish oneshots in the last two weeks (four of them in the last three days). I needed something cheerful, so here we go.

Disclaimer: I own neither Aragorn nor Legolas nor Gimli nor the Marisoos. Why do I have a feeling that isn't grammatically correct?

Aragorn and Gimli were becoming rather worried about their friend Legolas. He had come suddenly to Minas Tirith and lurked in the library for three weeks. All Aragorn had been able to get out of him was a feverish mumble about some tribe of girls called Marisoos who feared learning. Then Legolas slammed the library door shut.

The King of Gondor loved his friend, and he would do anything for him. But when the maids and the scholars began to complain about the library's new resident and Arwen came up to him with that blazing look in her eyes, Aragorn knew he was defeated. As Arwen insisted, her voice crackling with anger, something must be done.

Gloomily, Aragorn summoned Gimli away from his latest project, carving the outlines of mallorn leaves and niphredil flowers around the edges of the fountain by the White Tree.

"What is it?" Gimli asked grumpily. "I'm almost finished, and if I leave those numbskulls alone, they're bound to destroy something."

Smiling at the overprotective dwarf, Aragorn explained the new development. "So I'm afraid we'll have to go talk to him," he finished.

Gimli shrugged. "Then let's get it over with. Come on, laddie."

They trooped off to the library, and Aragorn raised a hand to knock on the door. Before he could do so, however, Legolas opened it and peered out.

"Oh, it's you. Hurry in, please . . . Before the Marisoos come." Legolas twitched as he said the strange name. The elf grabbed his friends by their wrists and dragged them inside.

"Legolas, what is wrong?" Aragorn demanded. The library door slammed shut. Legolas locked it, then paced to the center of the room. He looked Aragorn and Gimli over for a moment, closed his eyes, and began to speak.

"Frustration, pure frustration, overwhelms me

Each time they get near.

Part fear, part fight-or-flight instinct,

When will my tormentors appear?

They come, and I fight back with words,

But soon my knives are both drawn.

Blood spills from one's stomach cavity.

Her face is pale and wan.

Occasionally, more than I'd expected

Come out to fulfill their dream.

Each time, they are repulsed and beheaded.

At the sight of blood, how they scream!

Murder really dost not please me –

I am loath to kill a female –

But their eyes gleam with fiendish insanity.

When confronted by steel, they don't quail.

My guilt endlessly plagues me

I wander through Mirkwood to escape.

They follow me and increase my suffering.

I aim arrows at each swan-neck's nape.

As they die, more remorse starts to blossom,

Filling my soul with despair.

To the Valar beyond me in Valinor

I utter a small, pleading prayer.

I'm sailing to Tol Eressëa tomorrow.

I simply can take it no more.

Perhaps I'll see them in the Halls of Mandos.

There I shall settle our score."

Legolas opened his eyes and bowed. Aragorn and Gimli were open-mouthed in shock. Without another word, the elf picked his cloak up off an armchair and strode from the room.

When they'd finally recovered, Aragorn and Gimli turned to look at each other.

"Tol Eressëa?" Aragorn asked quizzically.

"Swan-neck's nape?" Gimli muttered, equally confused. They stood in silence a moment longer. Then Aragorn shook himself like a wet dog.

"Do you think you could find Legolas and bring him to my study?"

"Eh? Oh, of course. Better go now, though. No time to waste." Gimli hurriedly left the library in search of Legolas.

Aragorn sighed. He found one of the royal pages and sent hi down to the Houses of Healing. It looked as though Legolas was in need of psychotherapy. Aragorn only wondered how much the bill would be this time.

Fin

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