DISCLAIMERS: I own LotR. It's true, so stop looking at me like that. Oh, fine, I only own a copy of LotR. I don't own much else, because there's this cat who has claimed all my belongings for her own. I own Kalariel, and I own the other girl. I do not own the group of girls, because they are owned by the writers of other fics. The bad writers. Anyhoo, please review, I really like getting reviews, and the fanfiction.net people email me whenever I get a review, and that makes me really happy…
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Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, was annoyed. He was attending yet another ball, and, as always, the girls were fawning over him, each trying to solicit his promise to dance with her. He pushed his way through the crowd, thinking to go lock himself in his room.
The girls tried to follow him, but he was too fast, slipping around the dancers and into a side passageway. He hurried along, not bothering to look where he was going because he'd been this way so many times before. Thus it was that he ran headlong into a small figure crouched on the floor, tripped, and fell on his face.
'Oh, I'm sorry!' the figure said, her voice betraying the fact that she was a girl. She bent over him, frowning. 'Are you all right?'
'Fine!' Legolas said shortly. Not another one, he thought.
The girl gasped and peered at his face. 'I'm really, really sorry, Your Highness. If I'd known you were coming, I wouldn't have gotten in your way,' she stammered, trying to blush and failing miserably.
It was then that Legolas noticed the tearstains on her cheeks. 'What's the matter?' he asked.
'N-nothing,' the girl replied.
Then the other girls appeared around a bend. 'Legolas! Please dance with me!' one cried.
The girl next to him spun around, her hands clenched into fists. 'He doesn't want to dance with any of you!' she shouted defiantly. To Legolas, she whispered, 'Go!'
Legolas turned and fled. He could hear the leader or the girls saying, 'Who does he want to dance with, then? You?'
There were several derisive snorts from her followers.
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Safe in his room, Legolas locked the door and turned to collapse on the bed. Before he could do this, however, he noticed the letter on top of his pillow. He picked it up and read it.
'To Legolas:
'Everybody's being too gentle with you. It's time that someone said something bluntly. That "someone" is I. You're a spoiled brat. An over-pampered pretty-boy with no fashion sense whatsoever. Brown absolutely does not go with gold. If you don't change your act, you'll never ever find yourself a suitable wife.
'Signed, Your Secret Admirer.'