Aragorn was feeling... happy. Incredibly happy. Ludicrously happy. Suicidally
happy. In fact, he was humming. And singing. And skipping down the stairs.
Gaily.
"Dada dada dadada da dada, don't bring me down, da da da da daaa." Aragorn hummed, gaily skipping down the stairs. Suddenly he stopped a horrified expression on his face. (What the fuck am I doing? I'm a ranger. I'm the son of a king. I do not skip. And I do not hum, Not even ELO. Especially not ELO. I hate ELO.) Here, the reasonable part of Aragorn argued that, well he must like it a bit; I mean he was calling it by its initials; something only a true fan would do (ELO stands for Electric Light Orchestra, for you non oldies enthusiasts). The rest of his brain argued that, it was not his fault that that pansy of an elf Legolas had made him listen to his CDs last night, and that the fairy was a rabid ELO fan (it also said that, well, you could screw reason, insanity was much more fun). Anyway, Aragorn proceeded to walk not so gaily down the stairs, NOT humming ELO's "Don't Bring Me Down"(he had it stuck in his head though, and promise he would get that nancy-elf back if it was the last thing he did). Suddenly, three yelling three and a half foot blurres came pelting out of nowhere, running into him, knocking him over, and stepping on him in a very inappropriate place as they flew by (Oh shit, owowowowow). After the hobbit stampede had passes (brought to a finish by a puffing Sam, calling "Wait for me, master Frodo!") Aragon lay on the stone floor, vaguely aware of several bruises forming in Various Places, feeling sorry for himself (oh shit, OWOWOWOWOW). His self pity was not suddenly interrupted by the sound of elven footsteps (elves don't make any sound as they walk, see?) but by the sound of an all too familiar elven voice.
"Oh! My dearest! You have fallen!" Aragorn didn't hear the rustle of violet skirts and the tap identical violet shoes (Elves had this thing for color coordination) and looked up to see a familiar face (and an even more familiar chest, boy, was that dress low cut). "Hello Arwen. It's ok –really! I'm fine!" He comforted the now close to tears elf. Arwen was such a drama queen. Normally he wouldn't be able to stand a drama queen (let alone have one for a girlfriend) but Arwen had certain, ah, other 'Attributes' that he found... intriguing (it also helped that he father was ah, what was that expression... oh yes, dirty rich) . "R-really?" She sniffed. "Yes!"(Well, mostly. He winced. I hope I don't get any bruises. I really don't need them there).....
"Dada dada dadada da dada, don't bring me down, da da da da daaa." Aragorn hummed, gaily skipping down the stairs. Suddenly he stopped a horrified expression on his face. (What the fuck am I doing? I'm a ranger. I'm the son of a king. I do not skip. And I do not hum, Not even ELO. Especially not ELO. I hate ELO.) Here, the reasonable part of Aragorn argued that, well he must like it a bit; I mean he was calling it by its initials; something only a true fan would do (ELO stands for Electric Light Orchestra, for you non oldies enthusiasts). The rest of his brain argued that, it was not his fault that that pansy of an elf Legolas had made him listen to his CDs last night, and that the fairy was a rabid ELO fan (it also said that, well, you could screw reason, insanity was much more fun). Anyway, Aragorn proceeded to walk not so gaily down the stairs, NOT humming ELO's "Don't Bring Me Down"(he had it stuck in his head though, and promise he would get that nancy-elf back if it was the last thing he did). Suddenly, three yelling three and a half foot blurres came pelting out of nowhere, running into him, knocking him over, and stepping on him in a very inappropriate place as they flew by (Oh shit, owowowowow). After the hobbit stampede had passes (brought to a finish by a puffing Sam, calling "Wait for me, master Frodo!") Aragon lay on the stone floor, vaguely aware of several bruises forming in Various Places, feeling sorry for himself (oh shit, OWOWOWOWOW). His self pity was not suddenly interrupted by the sound of elven footsteps (elves don't make any sound as they walk, see?) but by the sound of an all too familiar elven voice.
"Oh! My dearest! You have fallen!" Aragorn didn't hear the rustle of violet skirts and the tap identical violet shoes (Elves had this thing for color coordination) and looked up to see a familiar face (and an even more familiar chest, boy, was that dress low cut). "Hello Arwen. It's ok –really! I'm fine!" He comforted the now close to tears elf. Arwen was such a drama queen. Normally he wouldn't be able to stand a drama queen (let alone have one for a girlfriend) but Arwen had certain, ah, other 'Attributes' that he found... intriguing (it also helped that he father was ah, what was that expression... oh yes, dirty rich) . "R-really?" She sniffed. "Yes!"(Well, mostly. He winced. I hope I don't get any bruises. I really don't need them there).....