Author's Note: Legolas calls Aragorn 'Estel' because I'm in charge of this fic. Pure humor. Much fun. Enjoy.
***
They were ready for a long march.
They were ready for battles.
They were ready to face Orcs, demons, Wargs, the whole bit.
They were ready to face the Queen of Lórien, the Ents from Fangorn, the Rohirrim on their swift horses, or even the treacherous Gollum.
But they weren't ready for Órëndil Mouseapple.
***
The Bane of Fiction landed with a soft thud in the midst of the walking Fellowship, two days out from Rivendell.
In an instant, two swords, an axe, an arrow, and four daggers were pointed at the huddled form of the stranger.
"Please, don't hurt me!" she squeaked, her voice betraying her gender. "Everyone always hurts me!"
"We will not harm you," assured Aragorn, lowering his sword and gesturing for the others to do the same. "By what craft have you suddenly appeared amongst us?"
The girl didn't seem to have heard. She had lifted her head, and was now speaking conversationally to the hobbits, who were mesmerized by her... well, you can decide what to call it.
"And do you know why people poke me? Because I make funny noises when people poke me, especially in the stomach, because I'm really super-ticklish. I mean, come on, what am I s'posed to do, scream or something?"
While the strange maiden contentedly babbled to the bemused hobbits, Legolas and Aragorn were conferring - in Elvish, of course.
"I sense no danger in her, yet her sudden appearance could only be credited to the art of the Istari."
"Could it be the work of Saruman?"
"No, Estel, my friend. Any work of Saruman would bear some trace of evil, however small."
"Well, what are we to do with her? We cannot leave her here."
"We could always take her with us."
After a second's pause, the two burst out laughing. The other members of the Fellowship looked at them worriedly, but the girl didn't miss a beat.
"Jeez, those two look happy. What's so funny? I hope it's not my hair or my clothes. My clothes probably look funny to you guys. Well, I think your clothes look neat. I wish I had some kind of weapon, but all I've got is a hairbrush, see? Just here in my pocket. Just a dumb pink hairbrush. No sword or boots or anything. Gods, I wish I weren't in sandals..."
By this time, Aragorn and Legolas had calmed down a bit.
"No, really," gasped Aragorn, wiping his streaming eyes, "what are we to do with her?"
"I could take her back to Rivendell. Then I might bring more supplies, if Elrond permits it."
"You may be assured, he will do much to rid our world of the trinket Frodo carries."
"Quiet, Estel! The Enemy has many spies, as Mithrandir has told us so often."
"I shall be more cautious in the future."
"Good." For a moment, the prince of Mirkwood slipped into a little-known Elvish dialect. "Man, I love doing this! I'm talking like some Valar-forsaken scroll!"
"Pardon me, friend Legolas, but I did not understand your words."
"A thousand apologies, Estel. I merely made the observation that the girl may not be fit for the journey."
The future king only replied, "Oh, well."
***
"...and I had blisters bigger than Pippin's buttons, and they hurt like nobody's business, so I never wore those shoes again..."
Legolas helped the girl to her feet and began to lead her away. She never once dropped the thread of conversation.
"...so I started wearing these other shoes - thanks, Legolas - and they're, like, three whole inches tall, 'cause my aunt got them for me in Hawaii, where there are lots of little Japanese girls like Chihiro, and they're all cute and tiny, so they wear tall shoes, but I'm so tall that I hardly need them, you know? You hobbits could use some, though. You guys are awful short - in fact, I can hardly see you, but that's probably because you're so far away..."
She paused. Legolas led her over a hill and out of sight.
Turning to the Elf, she said brightly, "I do believe they're out of earshot! Oh, well, you can still listen."
***
Linneledh greeted the travelers at the south entrance.
"My heart rejoices to see you again, dear prince," she said warmly in Elvish. "Who is this strange companion of yours?"
For once in his endless lifetime, Legolas looked utterly exhausted.
"She is called by many names," he replied wearily. "Ask her, and she will tell you many strange things. Her tongue is an inexhaustible fount of useless knowledge."
Linneledh nodded sympathetically.
"Will you stay here for the night?"
"No, my lady, though my heart longs to tarry in this valley. I cannot keep the Company waiting."
"I understand, my prince. You will, at least, rest and take refreshment before you return?"
"Yes, thank you. Please convey my greetings to Lord Elrond."
"With pleasure. I shall send Eleniel and Tírwen to attend you." Linneledh turned to the girl and addressed her in the common tongue: "Welcome to Rivendell, little one. Come with me."
The girl, who had been gazing, enraptured, at the whole area, now followed the Elf-maiden into Rivendell.
Legolas, meanwhile, stumbled to the nearest tree and leaned against it.
"By the Valar!" he groaned. "And I once thought the halflings were wearisome!"
***
My Lord Elrond,
I have thoroughly questioned the child. She answered all of my queries without hesitation, but she was uneasy during the interrogation, and readily admitted that she disliked questions.
Although many of her answers were nearly incomprehensible, I was able to discern some things.
She is called Raechul, Tasha, Maus, Tal Tren, and Slaitli Ec Sentrec Mush Roum, among other names. She asks, however, that we call her Órëndil.
She comes from a place called Urth, which she claims is not at all related to Middle-earth. Her country is known as Ú Es Á. She calls her city of origin Vianne. She cannot say how she has come to our world, but firmly denies that any wizardry was involved.
She knows the common tongue well, but her knowledge of Sindarin is limited to only a few words and phrases. She also has some basic understanding of High Elvish. She claims to know another language, frennch, and one phrase of another language, italyen, which she translates as 'I am a cup of tea.'
She is passionately fond of speaking before small audiences, and may spend hours discoursing without a clearly defined subject. She has wearied Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, Linneledh, Moriel, and myself with her endless conversation.
I consider her to be rather eccentric, but completely harmless. She is under guard in a ground-level room, and will remain so until we receive other instruction from you.
Now, my lord, I go to rest until springtime.
Humbly Yours,
Durcomel
***
Dear Frodo,
By the time you get this letter, I'll probably be gone, and you'll be short of a finger. Friendly advice: keep Sam with you on the sixth of October, and whatever day the spider got you.
Stupid spider.
I feel awfully sorry for you. I wish I could have taken the Ring myself, but I got here too late, and I couldn't have carried out the quest, because I'm really not that strong, and they wouldn't have let me, anyway.
Do you miss Boromir? He was okay when he wasn't trying to steal the Ring. He was also kind of cute, but I sure hope YOU don't think so, because that would be really gross.
I wish I were Rose Cotton. Sam is so wonderful. He's almost as great as you. You're incredible.
How did you DO it? I could never have made it to Mount Doom, Sam or no Sam. I know. I have my own Sam, except her name isn't Sam. We call her lots of things, like Raven and P-Bat and Monica and Mainecoon and Naimikku, but mostly Morëaiwë. She's the best person in the universe. She's like Sam, except in a different place and time.
I ought to go to bed now. The Elves are being real nice to me, and I have a lovely room all to myself, and the bed is HUGE! The Elves sing all night, so I get to sleep pretty quick.
Okay, I'm going to bed now.
Good night.
Yours Sleepily,
Órëndil Mouseapple
***
End. Please review. ~ÓRS