This one-shot is for entertainment and amusement purposes only; it was not written with the intent to offend anyone, so if you feel insulted, that's your problem. XD And no, of course I don't own Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit - where would you get that idea? 0_o
To Whom it May Concern,
It has come to my attention that there are certain matters concerning my son which require settling; therefore I pray you indulge me in the perusal of this brief epistle.
Firstly, I have become aware of a cult of creatures known as "fangirls". I have been informed that among this massive cult are smaller factions, the largest of which being devoted to the obsession over my son. It is apparent to me, as well as a small group of others, that this faction of "fangirls" is laboring under severe delusions, the most worrisome of which I shall list here.
1.) There seems to be a common misapprehension among the Legolas-faction that my son is unerringly perfect. This is untrue; I repeat, this is untrue. My son is far from perfect. May I reiterate that? Legolas is far from perfect. If you require proof, I beg you read the record of the Council of Elrond, (as recorded by Erestor and translated from it's original Sindarin by one Professor John Ronald Reuel Tolkien,) wherein you shall find evidence that it was through my son's laxness that the creature Gollum was able to liberate himself from our custody.
Furthermore, whilst on the Great Quest, during the time that the Fellowship was passing through the Mines of Moria, Legolas quailed before the Flame of Udun, and literally dropped his bow! I have this information directly from several sources, all of whom were his companions at the time of the incident.
I have also become aware of the fact that my son is portrayed in a glorious light by one Peter Jackson, with the aid of a strange device known as "movies". According to this Peter Jackson, Legolas performed fantastic feats including, (but not limited to,) jumping on cave trolls and slaying them from above; single-handedly holding off a convoy of orcs and wargs 'til aid arrived; sliding down a flight of slippery stone steps whilst balanced on a shield, and consequently slaying a Uruk-Hai with said shield at the bottom; single-handedly mounting and slaying a Mumakil and all aboard it - and other such improbable feats. (Another example: Constantly changing the hue of his eyes.) Let it be noted by all "fangirls" of the Legolas-faction that these performances are entirely fictional, and my son is and will be incapable of such deeds for probably another five hundred years or so.
To summarize, in terms that the "fangirls" will better be able to understand, Legolas is not all he's cracked up to be.
2.) It has been brought to my attention that there is a sector among the faction among the cult that is devoted to the composition of "fanfiction". I have discovered, firsthand, that many of these "fanfictions" are centered around my son being killed or tortured to the very brink of death, or involving him in a lurid and entirely unlikely romance with certain females of unrealistic and sickening characteristics.
I think it only fair for me to gently correct the delusional masses responsible for such outrageous works of fiction. Legolas received a fair number of wounds and injuries in his reckless youth, but such mishaps decreased in number as he aged, and he certainly never underwent such vile and spirit-breaking torments that many sadistic "fangirls" repeatedly inflict upon him in their "fanfictions" with such blatant and disturbing relish.
On the same note, my son is, as of yet, still alive.
As for the "fanfictions" involving my son with the wretched females of Unearthly Perfection and Appeal - the percentage of which is alarmingly high - I state here and now that my son never had, does not currently, and probably never will, harbor a desire for romance with anyone. He is far too occupied traipsing about all of Middle Earth with that obnoxious descendant of one of my prisoners of former years. (Gloin, I believe his name is. No, that is his father. I disremember his name, but at any rate, it is of little consequence.) He has confided in me his plans for the future: He shall preside over all business in Ithilien for several years prior to continuing his explorations with the Dwarf, after which they intend to build a ship and depart for the Undying Lands. Not at any point did he mention taking a wife.
This latter point is not addressed exclusively to the "fangirls" of the Legolas-faction, but also to the previously mentioned Peter Jackson, who seemed to fancy the idea of my son being in love with the captain of the guard here in Mirkwood, one elleth by the name of 'Tauriel'. I can assure all disillusioned persons that no such person exists, and I am in a position to know.
Still more alarming are the authors of such "fanfictions" that pair my son with individuals such as King Elessar, Lord Glorfindel, Haldir of Lorien, that pesky dwarf friend of his, or any other being of the masculine gender. These outlandish and nauseating fairy tales are, I believe, referred to as "slash fics", and I would like to state here and now that I am of the private conviction that all such manuscripts and anyone affiliated therewith should be promptly and thoroughly disposed of.
To summarize, in terms that the "fangirls" will better be able to understand, my son is unlikely to be brutally tortured by renegade orcs, (they would just kill him outright,) evil elves, (such a thing does not exist,) evil men, (Legolas could take out these paltry mortals at a hundred yards,) or dwarves. (He could step on them.) Nor has he ever been or ever will be in love with anything but the sea.
3.) In regards to the subject of "fanfiction", I am distressed to discover that many individuals are laboring under the misapprehension that I am a drunk, disorderly, and abusive father. I concede that perhaps I am, on occasion, rather brusque with my son, but never would I physically or mentally abuse him in such horrific manners as portrayed by certain "fangirls" with dreadfully vivid and twisted imaginations.
To summarize, in terms that the "fangirls" will better be able to understand, I love my son as much as any good father would, and just because I am sometimes stressed and resort to a tipple of wine to steady my nerves does not mean I ruthlessly flog Legolas for no reason. (You try being a single father and the sole monarch of a kingdom that's overrun with arachnids of revolting proportions, and see how you handle it.)
To conclude, I would merely like to say that Legolas, indeed, made no great contribution to the Great Quest beyond providing companionship to King Elessar and the Dwarf, and the adoration of many disillusioned females is misplaced. Far greater heroes would include Samwise Gamgee the Halfling, (without whom the Quest would have surely failed,) Boromir son of Denethor, who gave his life for two other young Halflings, the two other young Halflings in question, who out of loyalty and affection for their cousin would have followed him to the ends of Arda, King Theoden of Rohan, who gave his life at Pelennor Fields to aid Gondor in their hour of need, and, indeed, any who gave their all to liberate our fair country from the dark forces of Sauron.
And now, to any who unjustly doubt the veracity of my statements, I beg you to consult the record of the Great Quest, as composed by various denizens of Middle Earth, and compiled and translated by the previously mentioned and highly esteemed Professor Tolkien. You may verify for yourself that my son played no great part in the War of the Ring, and was in no way involved in the happenings some eighty years prior. (As may be confirmed in a certain manuscript entitled, I believe, 'There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale' by the famous Halfling Bilbo Baggins.)
I sincerely hope that all cults - and the factions and sectors thereof - will reconsider their nigh unhealthy obsession with my son.
Signed,
Thranduil, King of the Greenwood
Postscript - It is to be noted that my steed is a blood bay stallion of regal proportions and noble bearing, not a strange, mutated, horned creature. I haven't the faintest notion of where Peter Jackson got that idea, but I don't even know what that wretched beast was.