Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine. Unfortunately. I can claim ownership of nothing and no one more than Sapphire Blue and her family. Anything recognisable belongs to JRRT and I am certainly not profiting from it in any way. Anything crap belongs to me (and I'm not profiting from that either, more's the pity).

Credit: www dot Tuckborough dot net, Merin Essi ar Quenteli!, various other websites including Wedgwood, gotateenager, designerwear.

* Rated for language

Sapphire Blue: Mary-Sue Extraordinaire

Chapter One

Sapphire Blue, sixteen years old and stunningly beautiful, sat on the edge of her bed brushing her long coppery locks. Her startlingly blue eyes were fixed on a poster of Legolas Greenleaf, as portrayed in the Peter Jackson movies by Orlando Bloom, which was tacked to the opposite wall. It was her favourite possession: the first thing she saw when she woke each morning, and the last thing she saw at night.

Resplendent in the greys and greens of his people, the Mirkwood 'elf' stood tall and proud, gripping his Lothlórien bow in one hand and gazing expectantly ahead, almost as if he sensed her watching him.

"Oh, Leggy. I love you," she sighed wistfully. "And I just know that, if we met, you would love me too."

And he would. She just knew it. He would love her! Not because he would be smitten by her great beauty, or entranced by the vibrant hue of her eyes which had inspired her name. Not because he would be struck dumb with desire for her slender willowy form, or marvel at how good she looked in her knockoff Hilfiger jeans. Not even because he would be impressed with her vast knowledge of Middle Earth, and her unique ability to resist the pull of the One Ring where others could not.

No. Leggy would love her because … because … er, because …

Oh what did it matter why he loved her? He just would. He had to! Only he could stave off the misery she endured in her normal life. It was not easy being perfect in modern Britain. Especially a perfect teenage girl. A gifted student, Sapphire spoke fourteen languages, was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, and had recently mastered the ancient art of … pottery.

Ahem.

But was she popular? No! Girls her own age were jealous of her beauty, her body, her flawless peaches-and-cream complexion. They constantly bitched and spread nasty rumours about her. One even claimed her looks were only the result of extensive plastic surgery.

Girls could be so vicious.

In fact the only friend Sapphire had, in school or out of it, was Cecilia Winterbottom. Cecilia was her neighbour's daughter - a girl with such terrible halitosis, that she was even less popular than Sapphire. And the only reason Cecilia had overcome her jealousy of her unbelievably gorgeous neighbour was because Sapphire had scaled a tree to save the other girl's overweight cat after it got stuck there last summer. As for boys … Sapphire shuddered. They were only interested in 'getting her kegs off'.

So Leggy had to love her. He absolutely had to! Only he could ease her desperate loneliness. Only he could bring light to her dark existence. Only he could understand her …

Well, anyway. At least she'd be able to win over his family and friends with her charming personality. Being elves, they wouldn't object to her perfection, so Leggy needn't be embarrassed to introduce her to his dad as a future daughter-in-law. And if Thranduil was a bit pissed at losing his son to a mortal? Not a problem; he'd get over it when she stunned him with her fluent Sindarin and flattened all of Mirkwood's enemies with one kick of her shapely leg. Daddy-in-law wouldn't even have to worry about supporting her, because she'd open Middle Earth's first ever designer pottery shop and make an absolute killing! People would come from all over Arda to buy a Sapphire Greenleaf original.

In fact, she would be richer, more popular and far more beautiful than even Arwen Undomiel! Hell, if she wasn't careful, she'd have to fight off the advances of Thranduil himself, not to mention every other red-blooded elven male in Mirkwood.

If elves had red blood, that was. It might be green, like a Vulcan's. Which wouldn't be the only thing they had in common - Spock had pointy ears too.

Red, green … whatever. A deliciously warm feeling infused her nonetheless at the thought of being gallantly wooed by so many handsome elves. Lucky for Leggy she would have crystal blue eyes only for him …

A sharp knock intruded on her delightful fantasy, pulling her back to the reality of her London bedroom. Sapphire dropped the brush and rose from her bed in one fluid motion; her glorious waterfall of coppery hair swinging in a graceful arc as she turned to face the door. It opened to reveal her portly father.

"Sapphy, love, would you do your old dad a favour and take the dog out before supper? He's whining at the door again."

"Daddy! Can't you stop calling me 'Sapphy'?" she complained with a fetching pout. "You know how I hate it."

"The dog, Sapphy," repeated her father, unmoved by her whinge. "Killer's clawing the front door down. Take him out before he shits all over the hall carpet and your mum has a hairy fit."

Sapphire squirmed. It was a good thing Leggy's sense of hearing was limited to the confines of his glossy poster. "Do you have to use language like that, Daddy? Why can't you say 'poo's' or 'loosens his bowels' or something?" she squeaked, mortified at her father's rough language. "And why can't you or Roger take him out? Or Mum, if she's so worried about the carpet. I did it last night."

Mr Blue frowned impatiently. "Your brother's off to his Astronomy club in two minutes. Your mum's watching an Eastenders omnibus, so it'll be a bloody miracle if she moves before Christmas, which leaves me to make the supper. Your supper, I might add. So if you want it, stop complaining, get your coat on, and do as you're told."

He gave her a stern look and moved to leave, but paused to add, "And the day I start talking about 'poo', little Miss Hygiene, is the day Her Madge invites me to Buckingham Palace for a knees up with the family." With that, he departed, leaving her to grumble in annoyance as she collected her Trendy parka. Already she could hear the dog barking up a storm. Stupid mutt.

"Namarie, cund vuin. Nan lû e-govaded vîn," whispered Sapphire breathily to her beloved poster. She blew her prince a kiss before slipping downstairs.

At the foot of the stairs, Sapphire found Killer throwing himself frantically against the front door in his desperation to get outside.

"All right, all right. Keep you hair on," she moaned, cursing geeky Roger and his stupid Astronomy club. Her brother always managed to weasel his way out of walking the dog. A guy thing, probably, because - despite his scary name - Killer was a Yorkshire terrier, and therefore about as butch as a pink fairy.

Grabbing the leash - and the plastic bag her dad had kindly left for her to scoop up Killer's muck with - Sapphire snapped it on the mutt's collar, opened the front door, and stepped out into the chilly early October evening. Fortunately, it was at least dry, but she still shivered delicately. For a moment she debated whether or not to go back inside and collect her scarf and gloves, until Killer started yapping again. Resigned to getting it over and done with, she zipped the parka up tight, shut the door behind her, and headed out into the twilight with the baying brute jerking at the leash.

Down the busy lane they walked to the crossroads. As the stunningly attractive Sapphire breezed past the local newsagents in an expensive cloud of Chanel No. 19 (which she'd pinched from her mother), a spotty teenager leaving the shop dropped half a dozen eggs on the ground and stood panting after her.

"Hello, gorgeous," he shouted. "Fancy a shag?"

Sapphire rolled her incredibly blue eyes in disdain. "Hello fugly. Fancy a wheelchair?" she retorted acidly. "Or a bottle of Clearasil?"

Stung, the boy stuck two fingers up at her back, but she was already well ahead of him, and so missed the sweet gesture.

Men! Why were they so base? She'd bet her Special Extended Edition of her Lord of The Rings trilogy that Legolas would never woo a maiden with that stupid chat-up line. Fancy a shag! Hell, even the rough-and-tumble Rohirrim would mind their p's and q's in the presence of a lady.

If only she lived in Middle Earth, where men were men, and elves were even better! In Middle Earth, there was no little brother to shirk his responsibilities; no uncouth father with the mouth of a public toilet; no uncaring mother who'd rather lose herself in the fictional dramas of two-dimensional characters than those of her own gorgeous daughter. In Middle Earth she wouldn't have to worry about jealous rivals besmirching her character. In fact, at sixteen, she'd probably already be married to Leggy - maybe even have an elfling on the way! Thranduil would of course celebrate the occasion by throwing a party in his woodland realm and she - Princess Sapphire - would be beating off dance partners with a wizard's staff. Probably Gandalf's. Or maybe Radagast's - he lived nearby.

Killer stopped at a lamppost to cock his leg and Sapphire waited impatiently for him to finish his business. On the road nearby, someone tooted their horn. At her of course. She was easily the best-looking thing on the street. A middle-aged man's throaty yell confirmed her suspicion. "Give us a kiss, darling!"

She yelled at him in response. "I'm sixteen, you rotten paedophile! Bugger off before I call the police!"

To give merit to her threat, Sapphire pulled her mobile phone from her parka pocket and waved it at him. The man rolled up his window and rather obligingly buggered off as fast as his Volvo would allow.

With his business finished, Killer tugged on the leash and Sapphire let him lead the way to the crossing. She pressed the button at the traffic lights and stared idly ahead while she waited. From this short distance, she could see the park entrance on the other side of the road. Its tall iron gates were flanked by two enormous trees, and behind them was a completely different world of foliage, serenity and stillness. All that lay between her and it was the crossing at which she stood and the few dozen cars that would soon have to stop to give her right of way. Killer crouched obediently on his hindquarters, and Sapphire's thoughts travelled back to Leggy-land as they waited.

Wouldn't it be great if, when she passed between those trees, her golden-haired prince jumped down from one of them and declared his intention to take her away from this mundane existence? To save her from spotty youths and pervy old men? To show her what it meant to be admired for one's perfection, instead of being shunned for it? Would he declare his love for her straight away? Get down on one knee as he proposed? Or would he be so overcome with desire for her that he would simply sweep her into his arms? Kiss her so passionately that she melted against his athletic body, leaving him to support her miniscule weight with a super-strong pinkie?

She sighed, only half-aware of the high-pitched peeping that indicated the green man was now alight. Killer yapped once and tugged at the leash. Sapphire allowed him to lead her onto the road and she dawdled in a daze past more tooting horns, lusty yells, and - this time - several irritated cries; no doubt from jealous wives and girlfriends. She was barely half-way across when the green man started flashing, but so lost in her delicious daydream of Leggy delights was she, that Sapphire missed it until Killer started yapping with furious intent.

"We're nearly there, mutt," she said dreamily, before sinking back into another imaginary snogfest with her future husband.

The pavement was only a few yards away, but the green man had grown impatient with her leisurely stroll and finally abandoned his post. One floor up, the red man appeared. Again, Sapphire paid little attention - her prince had just asked her to marry him, and she was debating the merits of an immediate, positive response against letting him sweat it out for a few minutes.

If elves even sweated.

It was due to this wondrous dilemma that she ignored the presence of the red man, and the escalating yells and tooting of horns.

Let them yell and toot all they liked! Sapphire Blue was destined for bigger and better things than life as some hairy bloke's backseat bi-atch. Somehow or other, Sapphire Blue was heading for eternal princess-dom with the buffest bloke ever to don a pair of very tight leggings - and no mere mortal would stop her!

Finally, one horn blared so loudly that Killer jerked in fright and broke free from her grip. Annoyed beyond belief, she stopped in her tracks to scream "Get a girlfriend, loser!" to the offending male, only to discover - much too late - that it was not the appreciative sound of a yet another admirer, but the warning honk of a 4 x 4 …

She didn't have time to scream before it hit her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Translation:

Namarie, cund vuin. Nan lû e-govaded vîn - Farewell, my prince. Until next we meet (source: Merin Essi ar Quenteli! ).