Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters
and/or places.
Author's note: My friend and I are having a competition of sorts, each of us chooses a song and writes a fanfic for the story told in the song. She is trying to guess my song and I am going to try to guess hers.
*****
Grey eyes, alight with some personal comedy yet cold with prejudice and aged with hurt, slowly gazed about the room from over the rim of a glass of wine. A slow smile crept onto his lips. Yes, the prince would choose someone like her; the dress was cut far too low for any small amount of taste, the hazel eyes revealing not one speck of intelligent thought. She would be perfect for the playboy prince, to use and then to throw out, like, he remembered saying one night in a fit of vulgarity, a tampon. Tampon lovers, these ones were, completely taken with him, none knowing that he did not love them, that he only wanted a bit of fun.
Now he had moved on to another woman. "We must be fair," he would say over and over again, "there is plenty of me to go around." And he would float from partner to partner, tens of swooning she-elves on the sidelines. His hat (that stupid hat, the grey eyes thought, he cannot get on without it) would "accidentally" slip over one eye, so when they were dancing he could tell her that he had not noticed how beautiful she was. With an air of mystery he would ask, "May I have this dance?" Who could refuse such charm? Did any of them know that this perfect, attentive Elf, was really just watching himself in the mirror, complimenting himself?
The females watching his lithe form pressed so close to hers nearly swooned. They were all the same; the grey eyes reflected the dancers, each faceless, each one believing when he said he loved them, and each one completely disposable. A sip of wine, and he dared reflect on the past.
He had been young, shiny-eyed and innocent, not even aware of such a love, when the prince with his darkness and his deception had fooled him, tricking him, and that night under the stars, had known him. He had whispered sweet nothings in innocent ears, saying things like, "You are so beautiful," and telling lies such as, "We are perfect for each other. Would you ever leave me? I would never leave you." Then explaining the next morning that love was an illusion, that ever magician got tired. "Love is what we had last night," the trickster rasped, "love is from here," and he grabbed himself, then he left.
What had he been up to since the War? Rumor had it, romancing the women of his father's court, attending dances such as these with his familiar air of over-confidence. He would attend an archery or sword competition every once in a while, winning effortlessly. Riding events he set up himself. Making himself a big name.
The grey eyes tilted backwards, slugging down the rest of the wine, and left the room, unable to watch him falsify and corrupt these women any longer. Out in the gardens, the stars were not the only illumination. Torches shone up and down the paths. It would be easy enough, however, to stray from those shining beacons into the forest, the untended wild places. "How many, my prince? How many of your lovers stray from their minds?"
"It has not been many," said he from behind, having appeared as if by magic. "Mm, but it was a surprise, the one who was a spy. Pity about her, though it was not difficult to make it look like an accident. One ran into the wild of her own volition and as far as I know is dead now. That one was married; I knew, the husband was my best friend."
"Have you no soul?"
"Who needs a soul? Women love me." He lowered his voice and added, "Even some men love me." With that he reached forward and placed on hand on his arm, not in coercion and at the same time forcing a decision out of him.
"Get your toxic fingers from my wrist, Legolas Greenleaf."
"Oh, Elrohir," Legolas said in a seductive, false understanding tone. "I thought you loved me."
"You have it all wrong. You lied to me, cheated me, made me believe falsities. Touch me again, oh prince of evil, and I will--mm!" He was cut of as Legolas became impatient, and kissed him. Elrohir caught himself with his hands sliding up the prince's tunic, then forgot himself and gave in to rapture.
*****
So, did anyone figure out the song? I know it was painfully obvious, but I tried. Oh, and I know they have no tampons in Middle-earth.
Author's note: My friend and I are having a competition of sorts, each of us chooses a song and writes a fanfic for the story told in the song. She is trying to guess my song and I am going to try to guess hers.
*****
Grey eyes, alight with some personal comedy yet cold with prejudice and aged with hurt, slowly gazed about the room from over the rim of a glass of wine. A slow smile crept onto his lips. Yes, the prince would choose someone like her; the dress was cut far too low for any small amount of taste, the hazel eyes revealing not one speck of intelligent thought. She would be perfect for the playboy prince, to use and then to throw out, like, he remembered saying one night in a fit of vulgarity, a tampon. Tampon lovers, these ones were, completely taken with him, none knowing that he did not love them, that he only wanted a bit of fun.
Now he had moved on to another woman. "We must be fair," he would say over and over again, "there is plenty of me to go around." And he would float from partner to partner, tens of swooning she-elves on the sidelines. His hat (that stupid hat, the grey eyes thought, he cannot get on without it) would "accidentally" slip over one eye, so when they were dancing he could tell her that he had not noticed how beautiful she was. With an air of mystery he would ask, "May I have this dance?" Who could refuse such charm? Did any of them know that this perfect, attentive Elf, was really just watching himself in the mirror, complimenting himself?
The females watching his lithe form pressed so close to hers nearly swooned. They were all the same; the grey eyes reflected the dancers, each faceless, each one believing when he said he loved them, and each one completely disposable. A sip of wine, and he dared reflect on the past.
He had been young, shiny-eyed and innocent, not even aware of such a love, when the prince with his darkness and his deception had fooled him, tricking him, and that night under the stars, had known him. He had whispered sweet nothings in innocent ears, saying things like, "You are so beautiful," and telling lies such as, "We are perfect for each other. Would you ever leave me? I would never leave you." Then explaining the next morning that love was an illusion, that ever magician got tired. "Love is what we had last night," the trickster rasped, "love is from here," and he grabbed himself, then he left.
What had he been up to since the War? Rumor had it, romancing the women of his father's court, attending dances such as these with his familiar air of over-confidence. He would attend an archery or sword competition every once in a while, winning effortlessly. Riding events he set up himself. Making himself a big name.
The grey eyes tilted backwards, slugging down the rest of the wine, and left the room, unable to watch him falsify and corrupt these women any longer. Out in the gardens, the stars were not the only illumination. Torches shone up and down the paths. It would be easy enough, however, to stray from those shining beacons into the forest, the untended wild places. "How many, my prince? How many of your lovers stray from their minds?"
"It has not been many," said he from behind, having appeared as if by magic. "Mm, but it was a surprise, the one who was a spy. Pity about her, though it was not difficult to make it look like an accident. One ran into the wild of her own volition and as far as I know is dead now. That one was married; I knew, the husband was my best friend."
"Have you no soul?"
"Who needs a soul? Women love me." He lowered his voice and added, "Even some men love me." With that he reached forward and placed on hand on his arm, not in coercion and at the same time forcing a decision out of him.
"Get your toxic fingers from my wrist, Legolas Greenleaf."
"Oh, Elrohir," Legolas said in a seductive, false understanding tone. "I thought you loved me."
"You have it all wrong. You lied to me, cheated me, made me believe falsities. Touch me again, oh prince of evil, and I will--mm!" He was cut of as Legolas became impatient, and kissed him. Elrohir caught himself with his hands sliding up the prince's tunic, then forgot himself and gave in to rapture.
*****
So, did anyone figure out the song? I know it was painfully obvious, but I tried. Oh, and I know they have no tampons in Middle-earth.