Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction for Lord of the Rings. Which means that we didn't make these characters up -- we only mutilated and disfigured their personalities.
When they woke him, the elf was wandering lazily in an unfamiliar land. A thick fog surrounded him and clouded his eyes, but his blindness didn't seem to bother him; the air was filled with heavy perfume, and his breath caught in his slender neck, but he was calm, even content. For what seemed like hours, he simply drifted like this, not caring where he was going or whom he would happen upon. Especially if whomever he happened upon happened to be a certain Mr. Aragorn "Gorny" son of Arathorn. No, siree.
Something urgent seemed to be fighting in the back of his mind to be noticed, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He knew that it was probably about the fight that he and his massive lover had had the week before, and bad memories did not seem favorable to him at that particular juncture. But suddenly, a hulking figure loomed out of the blank whiteness and moved towards him.
Legolas awoke, but not because of his nightmare. Two tall, strange men in beautiful cloaks he recognized as the Gondorian uniforms, had seized him; the blood-red cloaks were all Legolas glimpsed before they lifted him roughly and jammed a crudely-fashioned sack over his grey eyes.
"Help me! Help me, OH!"
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Legolas!" Aragorn cried, sitting bold upright. His shiny elf pajamas were soaked in sweat and his dark hair stuck uncomfortably to his face and neck. Even his stubble felt sticky.
Aragorn racked his brain, trying to think of what was wrong. Well, he'd been having a pretty good dream about casting a certain evil ring into a certain fiery chasm (the one from whence it had come), but he knew that he'd been thinking of Legolas, the one whom he loved forbiddenly, when he'd woken up. He wasn't sure, but he thought that maybe he'd had a premonition or something like that.
After all, he thought, he and Legolas were connected. Connected by more than the ties of blood.
They were connected by...love.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Random Gondorian Soldier #1 gave a sigh and tossed the struggling, bag-headed elf to the ground violently. Untying his cloak, he sat back against a tree and watched Legolas squirm unpleasantly on the sharp pointy rocks where he lay.
"You're terribly cruel," Random Gondorian Solider #2 observed.
"I wasn't askin' ye' ef I was cruel, eh!" the first soldier spat, glaring at his companion. "Ef I wanted lip, I'd find meself a feisty bar wench."
The second soldier nodded, but there were tears in his eyes as he watched the elf roll about on the ground.
"Aye."
~*~*~*~*~*~
Aragorn brushed his hair into a jaunty wave and winked saucily at himself in the mirror. Today, premonitions or no, was bound to be excellent. After all, hadn't he declared that Arwen was to be beheaded just yesterday?
Yes. He had. He had indeed.
"Good going, old sport," he informed his reflection while pinning on a gaudy brooch. "Good going indeed."
He was about to head down for a lovely breakfast when the super-elf-magical-telephone rang. Aragorn let it ring three times, because he always let the super-elf-magical-telephone ring three times before answering.
"Hellloooo?" he sang into the phone, hoping it wasn't Gandalf or another one of those bloody solicitors.
"It's Gandalf."
Damn.
"What do you WANT?" Aragorn whined, tossing his head and watching the curls fall nicely back into place. He was so captivated by their ebony glow that he didn't hear what Gandalf said next. "Um...what?"
"I said, Aragorn son of Arathorn, that I was wondering if I might bring Charlie to the beheading today."
"Gandalf. You know a beheading is no place for a young boy."
"Now Aragorn." Gandalf sounded impatient. "Charlie is now in his fourth year of being! He is an intelligent boy, and I trust a little blood will do no harm. Besides, I know he'll be angry later if I don't bring him along to see his favorite uncle, Gorny."
Aragorn blushed deeply and gave a little giggle. "Oh STOP. You know I'd love to have you."
"Excellent, my dear. I shall see you at three then, when the axe falls?"
"Surely. We'll be having a feast afterwards -- Elrond has arranged it."
"Cracking! I hope he's remembered to put hobbit toes on the menu. I was always partial to those. Well, must be off...Charlie's breaking things again. Give my love to Legolas!"
As the phone hung up, Aragorn felt an empty dial tone in his heart.
"I haven't seen Legolas in days..." he whispered into the empty void of the super-elf-magical-telephone.
But no one heard him. Not even the telephone, because telephones don't have ears.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Legolas blinked into the darkness, trying to stop the tears from flowing. His skin was already so irritated from this scratchy bag! If only Gondorians would make their kidnapping gear from more expensive stuff. The cheap bastards, at least they could afford to use good solid Elven twine.
He could hear his two kidnappers conversing in low tones, and from the way their voices were slurring and shifting, they were either both quite drunk or Legolas was going mad. He had some heart palpitations as he thought of what this could mean.
Had Aragorn sent these guards from Gondor?
The tears began to come again, and now he could do nothing to stop them. He had given up struggling long ago, and his body was bashed and bruised from the sharp and pointy rocks he had been rolling around on. But his soul was bashed and bruised even more, torn and bleeding with fear and hope and longing.
"Shet up, ye whimperin' great elf," one of the soldiers growled drunkenly. "Stop yer cryin' or we'll kill ye afore our master even sees ye."
"Now Fergus," the other soldier cried. "That's no thing to tell this kindly elf gentleman, eh?"
But Fergus, whoever he was, only laughed sadistically and spat on Legolas' velveteen-clad leg.
Legolas shivered. Spittle was so unclean and disgusting. Aragorn would never have ordered his guards to spit on a prisoner, no matter the grudge. There was something else going on here, and it was up to Legolas' elf-senses to figure it out.
And, hopefully, Gorny would show up in the meantime, throw the sickly, spat-upon elf over his manly shoulder, and get him out of all this trouble.
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Word," Elrond exclaimed as the axe fell with a large clunking noise, and his only daughter's head was severed cleanly from her maidenly form. "Who's up for hobbit toes?"
There were several delighted exclamations from the crowd, the loudest of all from Gandalf, who had a tow-headed boy perched on the brim of his massive hat.
"Dish 'em up, Elrond Half-Elven! Charlie and I are hungry from all this beheading!" he crowed with relish, elbowing Aragorn in a mad dash for the buffet table.
Aragorn scowled after the blundering wizard and then, rubbing his tender side, decided it was about time he sat around on his throne a little. So he did.
"Excellent hobbit toes, lad!" Gandalf was already upon him again, his mouth full of meat. Some flecks of spittle landed on Aragorn's gleaming chest, and the king flinched visibly. God, he hated spittle. If there was one thing he would never, EVER do, no matter the grudge, it would be to inflict spittle on anyone. Spittle was disgusting and unclean, and now he had a large glob of it on his Super Special Reserved For The Fanciest Occasions Armor.
He was about to wipe it off and banish Gandalf from Gondor for a few weeks when a messenger dashed into the middle of the banquet hall, tripped over Arwen's limp torso, and fell to the ground directly before the throne.
"Your highness!" he gasped, jumping up and trying to dust the blood off of his outfit, which was lime green with yellow polka dots. The bloodstains looked terrible on it, Aragorn observed wryly. "Two of our soldiers have gone missing!"
"Is that ALL?" Aragorn felt rage beginning to burn like a violent and desperate animal within him. For just one moment, he had let himself believe that the messenger might come with news of Legolas...but obviously, the sulky elf was still wandering the forests of Mirkwood in a pathetic daze. "Get out of my sight!"
The terrified messenger disposed of, Aragorn turned back to Gandalf, who was on his fourth portion of toes.
"Really ought to try these," Gandalf grinned, covering Aragorn in an extra layer of spittle flecks. "Grilled perfectly! Elrond's got a knack for these things, don't you agree?"
Aragorn felt himself growing a tad queasy. "If you don't mind my asking," he murmured through a wave of nausea, "whose toes are you currently devouring?"
Gandalf picked up a toe and scrutinized it for a moment. "Probably one of the Brandybucks'," he finally decided, popping the toe into his mouth and gnashing at it a few times with his huge teeth. It made a sort of squelchy crunching sound.
This was more than Aragorn could bear. Without another word, he rushed from the banquet hall.
~*~*~*~*~*~
We hope you enjoyed this first exquisite chapter of "Dial Tone of the Heart." Please review and tell us what your opinions on spittle are.
When they woke him, the elf was wandering lazily in an unfamiliar land. A thick fog surrounded him and clouded his eyes, but his blindness didn't seem to bother him; the air was filled with heavy perfume, and his breath caught in his slender neck, but he was calm, even content. For what seemed like hours, he simply drifted like this, not caring where he was going or whom he would happen upon. Especially if whomever he happened upon happened to be a certain Mr. Aragorn "Gorny" son of Arathorn. No, siree.
Something urgent seemed to be fighting in the back of his mind to be noticed, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He knew that it was probably about the fight that he and his massive lover had had the week before, and bad memories did not seem favorable to him at that particular juncture. But suddenly, a hulking figure loomed out of the blank whiteness and moved towards him.
Legolas awoke, but not because of his nightmare. Two tall, strange men in beautiful cloaks he recognized as the Gondorian uniforms, had seized him; the blood-red cloaks were all Legolas glimpsed before they lifted him roughly and jammed a crudely-fashioned sack over his grey eyes.
"Help me! Help me, OH!"
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Legolas!" Aragorn cried, sitting bold upright. His shiny elf pajamas were soaked in sweat and his dark hair stuck uncomfortably to his face and neck. Even his stubble felt sticky.
Aragorn racked his brain, trying to think of what was wrong. Well, he'd been having a pretty good dream about casting a certain evil ring into a certain fiery chasm (the one from whence it had come), but he knew that he'd been thinking of Legolas, the one whom he loved forbiddenly, when he'd woken up. He wasn't sure, but he thought that maybe he'd had a premonition or something like that.
After all, he thought, he and Legolas were connected. Connected by more than the ties of blood.
They were connected by...love.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Random Gondorian Soldier #1 gave a sigh and tossed the struggling, bag-headed elf to the ground violently. Untying his cloak, he sat back against a tree and watched Legolas squirm unpleasantly on the sharp pointy rocks where he lay.
"You're terribly cruel," Random Gondorian Solider #2 observed.
"I wasn't askin' ye' ef I was cruel, eh!" the first soldier spat, glaring at his companion. "Ef I wanted lip, I'd find meself a feisty bar wench."
The second soldier nodded, but there were tears in his eyes as he watched the elf roll about on the ground.
"Aye."
~*~*~*~*~*~
Aragorn brushed his hair into a jaunty wave and winked saucily at himself in the mirror. Today, premonitions or no, was bound to be excellent. After all, hadn't he declared that Arwen was to be beheaded just yesterday?
Yes. He had. He had indeed.
"Good going, old sport," he informed his reflection while pinning on a gaudy brooch. "Good going indeed."
He was about to head down for a lovely breakfast when the super-elf-magical-telephone rang. Aragorn let it ring three times, because he always let the super-elf-magical-telephone ring three times before answering.
"Hellloooo?" he sang into the phone, hoping it wasn't Gandalf or another one of those bloody solicitors.
"It's Gandalf."
Damn.
"What do you WANT?" Aragorn whined, tossing his head and watching the curls fall nicely back into place. He was so captivated by their ebony glow that he didn't hear what Gandalf said next. "Um...what?"
"I said, Aragorn son of Arathorn, that I was wondering if I might bring Charlie to the beheading today."
"Gandalf. You know a beheading is no place for a young boy."
"Now Aragorn." Gandalf sounded impatient. "Charlie is now in his fourth year of being! He is an intelligent boy, and I trust a little blood will do no harm. Besides, I know he'll be angry later if I don't bring him along to see his favorite uncle, Gorny."
Aragorn blushed deeply and gave a little giggle. "Oh STOP. You know I'd love to have you."
"Excellent, my dear. I shall see you at three then, when the axe falls?"
"Surely. We'll be having a feast afterwards -- Elrond has arranged it."
"Cracking! I hope he's remembered to put hobbit toes on the menu. I was always partial to those. Well, must be off...Charlie's breaking things again. Give my love to Legolas!"
As the phone hung up, Aragorn felt an empty dial tone in his heart.
"I haven't seen Legolas in days..." he whispered into the empty void of the super-elf-magical-telephone.
But no one heard him. Not even the telephone, because telephones don't have ears.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Legolas blinked into the darkness, trying to stop the tears from flowing. His skin was already so irritated from this scratchy bag! If only Gondorians would make their kidnapping gear from more expensive stuff. The cheap bastards, at least they could afford to use good solid Elven twine.
He could hear his two kidnappers conversing in low tones, and from the way their voices were slurring and shifting, they were either both quite drunk or Legolas was going mad. He had some heart palpitations as he thought of what this could mean.
Had Aragorn sent these guards from Gondor?
The tears began to come again, and now he could do nothing to stop them. He had given up struggling long ago, and his body was bashed and bruised from the sharp and pointy rocks he had been rolling around on. But his soul was bashed and bruised even more, torn and bleeding with fear and hope and longing.
"Shet up, ye whimperin' great elf," one of the soldiers growled drunkenly. "Stop yer cryin' or we'll kill ye afore our master even sees ye."
"Now Fergus," the other soldier cried. "That's no thing to tell this kindly elf gentleman, eh?"
But Fergus, whoever he was, only laughed sadistically and spat on Legolas' velveteen-clad leg.
Legolas shivered. Spittle was so unclean and disgusting. Aragorn would never have ordered his guards to spit on a prisoner, no matter the grudge. There was something else going on here, and it was up to Legolas' elf-senses to figure it out.
And, hopefully, Gorny would show up in the meantime, throw the sickly, spat-upon elf over his manly shoulder, and get him out of all this trouble.
~*~*~*~*~*~
"Word," Elrond exclaimed as the axe fell with a large clunking noise, and his only daughter's head was severed cleanly from her maidenly form. "Who's up for hobbit toes?"
There were several delighted exclamations from the crowd, the loudest of all from Gandalf, who had a tow-headed boy perched on the brim of his massive hat.
"Dish 'em up, Elrond Half-Elven! Charlie and I are hungry from all this beheading!" he crowed with relish, elbowing Aragorn in a mad dash for the buffet table.
Aragorn scowled after the blundering wizard and then, rubbing his tender side, decided it was about time he sat around on his throne a little. So he did.
"Excellent hobbit toes, lad!" Gandalf was already upon him again, his mouth full of meat. Some flecks of spittle landed on Aragorn's gleaming chest, and the king flinched visibly. God, he hated spittle. If there was one thing he would never, EVER do, no matter the grudge, it would be to inflict spittle on anyone. Spittle was disgusting and unclean, and now he had a large glob of it on his Super Special Reserved For The Fanciest Occasions Armor.
He was about to wipe it off and banish Gandalf from Gondor for a few weeks when a messenger dashed into the middle of the banquet hall, tripped over Arwen's limp torso, and fell to the ground directly before the throne.
"Your highness!" he gasped, jumping up and trying to dust the blood off of his outfit, which was lime green with yellow polka dots. The bloodstains looked terrible on it, Aragorn observed wryly. "Two of our soldiers have gone missing!"
"Is that ALL?" Aragorn felt rage beginning to burn like a violent and desperate animal within him. For just one moment, he had let himself believe that the messenger might come with news of Legolas...but obviously, the sulky elf was still wandering the forests of Mirkwood in a pathetic daze. "Get out of my sight!"
The terrified messenger disposed of, Aragorn turned back to Gandalf, who was on his fourth portion of toes.
"Really ought to try these," Gandalf grinned, covering Aragorn in an extra layer of spittle flecks. "Grilled perfectly! Elrond's got a knack for these things, don't you agree?"
Aragorn felt himself growing a tad queasy. "If you don't mind my asking," he murmured through a wave of nausea, "whose toes are you currently devouring?"
Gandalf picked up a toe and scrutinized it for a moment. "Probably one of the Brandybucks'," he finally decided, popping the toe into his mouth and gnashing at it a few times with his huge teeth. It made a sort of squelchy crunching sound.
This was more than Aragorn could bear. Without another word, he rushed from the banquet hall.
~*~*~*~*~*~
We hope you enjoyed this first exquisite chapter of "Dial Tone of the Heart." Please review and tell us what your opinions on spittle are.