The Two Prettiest
(written as Frodo's journal)
Genres: Romance, Humor, POV, Interspecies
Disclaimer: I get no payment for this, and I neither created nor own the characters.
Author's Notes: It's a scientific fact that Legolas and Frodo are the prettiest members of the Fellowship (*grin*), so I had to try putting them together for aesthetic reasons. (Although I know in my heart that Frodo belongs with Sam.)
Special thanks: I owe an OBVIOUS debt of gratitude to the Very Secret Diaries.
We set out from Rivendell yesterday. I am sorry to leave it behind, not only because it is cold out here, nor because I might die a gruesome death within a couple months, but because there's suddenly all this focus on me.
"Poor little Frodo the Ring-bearer. No, we can't go into any civilized lands, not with the RING-BEARER along. He brings great danger on us all. Not his fault, though, poor sweet thing. Let's ruffle his hair as we walk by; he's just the right height for it. Such soft hair. So young he looks. What nice eyes you have, Frodo. Come sleep under my blankets for warmth tonight, Frodo."
I kid you not. They're getting insane. Good news, though: Sam has finally stopped drooling on my collar and is now hovering around Legolas's kneecaps. You ought to hear him. "Oooh, the Elves are so pretty, Mr. Frodo, aren't they, Mr. Frodo? Legolas, sir, does your bow need polishing, sir? Tell me about Mirkwood, sir. Have you had any lovers in recent memory, sir?" Transparent, Sam, so transparent.
Then the bad news: my cousins keep touching me inappropriately. "Got to stick together now, Frodo," Merry says, then pretends to twist his ankle so he can cling to my waist for the next five miles. "I'm just ever so cold," says Pippin, and then he's up against my other side, squeezing the life out of me and making really unsettling purring sounds in his throat.
Oh, and Boromir--don't get me started. He seems to consider the Merry-Pippin assault on me as a peepshow. Keeps staring at us and smiling. Totally creepy. Hobbit three-way, sure; why don't you have Aragorn paint a picture of us; it'll last longer, you freak.
All right, this probably isn't fair of me. It's probably just the call of the Ring. I shall endeavor to ignore my companions' faults. After all, I need their help on this mission.
* * *
Okay. They're sex-mad, and it isn't just the Ring. They're definitely after Legolas too. Sam isn't the only one: Aragorn's eyes go quite gooey when he looks at the Elf, and Gandalf keeps making weird comments about how he and Legolas are the oldest two in the Fellowship and should therefore have lots of things in common. Keeps hinting there was some kind of swinging sexual revolution in the Mirkwood region about a century ago. Legolas just looks at Gandalf like he's mental. Wonder if Gandalf is going senile.
Meanwhile, Gimli seems to have got over his Dwarf-versus-Elf mentality, and is trying to strike up a flirtation with our fair Prince. Legolas is very polite about it, but I've noticed he retreats into cryptic statements about moonbeams and otters and stuff whenever the conversation gets too personal for him.
* * *
This is getting deeply uncomfortable. And I'm not talking merely of having to sleep under thorn-bushes. Aragorn must be going slightly batty through lack of sleep, for yesterday while we sat in a circle for our regular cold meal, he started expounding upon who was prettiest in the Fellowship.
"Those of us who grow beards, verily we have it rough on the road," he said. "No time to shave--we are destined to look scruffy."
Gimli started to make some protest about how beards were sexy and a source of pride or whatever, but Aragorn just went right on talking:
"So, clearly the ones who stay the fairest of face while traveling are hobbits and Elves," he said.
"Oh, Elves, Strider, definitely," Sam gushed. "Why, there's no one in the world so fair as them!" And he cast the most sickeningly infatuated look on Legolas. Legolas just smiled nervously and looked away.
And then BOROMIR has to join in: "I'm not so sure, Sam. You hobbits have plenty going for you. You're short, 'tis true, but in face some of you are quite beautiful." And then--I gag to think of it--he looked at me and winked. Winked! In full view of everyone! I almost flung my dinner plate at his head.
"I do agree," Aragorn said, "and I find it hard to choose, in fact. Now, of the nine of us, who would you say is fairest?"
"Is this really appropriate, or necessary-" I started to say, but they all ignored me. All except Legolas, who met my eyes across the circle. A flicker of comradery bonded us for a moment.
But then Gandalf had to pipe up: "I find hobbits adorable, indeed, but to me they are too much like family. I vote for our lovely Elf." He clapped a hand on Legolas's shoulder. Legolas flinched.
"Nonsense!" said Merry. "Being family just makes it more special! Isn't nobody in the world prettier than our Frodo." He slung his arm around me. Apparently he had no idea how disturbing a statement that was. Neither did Pippin, who instantly threw in another vote for me, and then tumbled over so his head was in my lap.
"MY family would exile me if they heard me say this," declared Gimli, "but I must say the choice is clear. The blondes have it!" And he turned and bowed to Legolas, who gave him a sickly smile.
"I'm with you and Mr. Gandalf," fawned Sam. Big surprise there.
"Boromir?" said Aragorn.
"I think I've made my views known," Boromir said, and winked at me AGAIN. Ugh!!
"What about you, Strider?" Pippin asked.
Aragorn sat there examining us both--me with my cousins crawling all over me, Legolas with his motley assortment of admirers encroaching upon him--and then got up and started pacing. "I can't decide. Quit pressuring me!"
Well, I'd about had it. I got up and volunteered to clean the dinner plates. Bunch of freaks, seriously.
Except Legolas. They're right, he is pretty. But I wouldn't embarrass him by saying it for the whole leering Fellowship to hear.
* * *
A very interesting development. Soon after I'd written the previous entry, most of us lay down to sleep. It was Legolas's turn to watch, so he stayed up. Merry and Pippin of course surrounded me with their blankets, and Boromir decided he'd better lie within inches of us as well. Even in this cold weather I felt stifled, so I crawled out as soon as they were asleep, and went to sit with Legolas.
He was still annoyed about the dinner conversation. "What is it, open season to seduce us?" he whispered to me. "Voting on our looks! On a quest like this!"
"I know. I can't imagine what got into them," I whispered back. "I feel responsible for them. I'm sorry."
"It isn't your fault," he assured. "I know this isn't how you wanted it."
"No indeed."
"Listen," he added, "I don't entirely trust Boromir, and if he makes any move against you--well, that's what I carry these for." Grimly he patted the arrows at his side. "Merry and Pippin don't pose much of a threat for you, I imagine. But I'll watch them too if you're worried."
"No--they're silly, but they aren't dangerous," I said. "What about you, though?"
He shrugged. "To me, unwanted advances are merely a nuisance. I carry nothing as valuable as your cargo."
"All the same, it bothers me to see them acting this way toward you."
"Why should it bother you?" he asked curiously.
And in truth I had no answer. There was no reason it should.
When I didn't respond, Legolas smiled and said, "Well, we'll look out for each other. Seems we can't trust anyone else, can we?"
I smiled also, and agreed. I was now becoming cold and drowsy, and I shivered. Legolas noticed, and draped his cloak around me, letting my head rest against his chest. "Keep warm," he said. "I still fear sometimes for that wound of yours."
"It feels much better," I murmured, but I was fast falling asleep. Something about the lovely scent of Elves makes you quite comfortable.
And though I didn't mean to, I fell into slumber there, under Legolas's cloak, and slept soundly for the next three hours. I woke only when the watch changed. Aragorn was telling Legolas he could go to sleep now, and the voices awakened me. I discovered I was lying with my head in Legolas's lap. I sat up and found Aragorn watching us, smiling--but rather a tight smile, as if he both liked and disliked what he saw.
Legolas was nonchalant--how I admire Elves' composure! "Thank you, Aragorn," he said. Then, to me--"To bed, Master Hobbit."
And we got up and went to our separate bedrolls. Pippin immediately threw his arm over me, and Boromir's knee curled up near my neck. Legolas wrapped himself in a blanket and rested against a tree, and when I looked at him again a while later his eyes had assumed that beautiful abstractness of Elven sleep. Sam somehow had scooted closer to his legs in the meantime.
I found myself wishing I could sleep encircled in Legolas's arms again. I am disturbed by these thoughts. What's next; will I start arguing with Gandalf over which feature is better, Legolas's lips or his hair? These others are corrupting me. I must not show these feelings.
* * *
Today I was walking along and Boromir attached himself to my side. Kept talking about how fabulous Gondor is and how much I would like it, and how they really needed to get some hobbits to live there. I was trying to be polite, but it was getting irritating. I looked over, and there was Legolas watching us, finger running up and down his bowstring. He lifted his chin a bit as a sign that he was keeping an eye on me as promised. I nodded in thanks.
Unfortunately, though, looking at Legolas made me lose track of what Boromir was saying, and he felt the need to start all over again with the earliest Kings of Gondor, eleventy-thousand years ago or whatever. Ugh. Maybe we can send him to Mordor and he can bore Sauron to death.
* * *
Today I heard Gimli flirting with Legolas behind me--"You'd be too tall for some of our caverns, but I'd hew them out higher for you, just to make you comfortable." Sure, that will really make an Elf feel better about living in a cave.
I looked over my shoulder, and Legolas met my gaze. He rolled his eyes subtly, and a smile flickered on his lips. It was the first thing to make me smile in genuine entertainment since we left Rivendell. And even now when I think of it I feel happy. Rather too happy. Deary me, if I die on this trek I hope he doesn't read this journal.
* * *
I can scarcely breathe as I write this. My heart pounds like the wings of a hummingbird. I am not unhealthy or unhappy--oh, quite the contrary! Still, I am most certainly foolish. Let the reader decide: here is what happened.
Today, shortly after we set off (just at sunset), I was besieged by my usual admirers--Boromir, Merry, Pippin--and this time Aragorn decided to join in too. The hobbits were touchy-feely ("You look cold, Frodo; let me share this cloak with you") and the men were even more so. They wanted to carry me. In fact they would hardly take no for an answer. On another day I might have let Aragorn do it, but tonight he was kind of scaring me. He seemed to like the idea just a little too much.
Thank heavens, at a crucial moment, Legolas pounced into the midst of the group, all slender rock-hard muscle, and swooped me up in one arm. Instantly my head was higher than all the rest--a fabulous view from up there!
"Stay away from him, you vultures, he's mine!" said Legolas, with just enough drama in his voice that they could think he was joking. But I know he was not, for then he took off running, with me clasped against his chest. I watched over his shoulder, clinging to the straps of his pack: the others chased for a moment, then gave up. Nobody can catch Legolas, and anyway, they trust him with me. Though I daresay Aragorn wasn't happy.
"Thank you, my friend," I laughed as we sailed away from them.
"It is for my own sanity as well as yours," he said breathlessly, still sprinting with the speed and agility of a mountain lion.
We reached an attractive grove after a few minutes, and Legolas deposited me on a boulder, laughing and breathing hard from the chase. Standing on that rock I was almost exactly at his height. I clung to his shoulders for balance--I was still laughing too. I noticed then that the last of the sunset was washing rosy colors over his hair and skin. His eyes were dark and sparkling. I have never seen anyone so beautiful, and the breath felt knocked out of me.
To hide it, and yet to succumb to what I was feeling, I fell forward and hugged him. His arms slid easily around me. Our laughter quieted; the only sound we made was to breathe. I hid my cold nose in his hair, and inhaled the fragrance of his neck--ah, if only I could record that scent in these pages!, something like the spice of carnations but more magical. Then he did the same: he pressed his face between my neck and hair, and I felt his warm breath on my skin. His cheek felt cold on the surface from the winter air, but hot underneath from the exercise.
And...we stayed there like that. I tightened my embrace; so did he; and we stood nestled in one another's arms for nearly a full minute.
Then we let go, cleared our throats awkwardly, and agreed that we should probably go back to the others, just in case there was danger. Best to stay in large groups, and all that.
When we got back we got envious glares from just about everyone. But I care not. Half a dozen times since then I have caught Legolas watching me from beneath his long eyelashes, and he hasn't looked away when I've noticed him. He has smiled, and I have felt my heart leap in fearful happiness, and I have blushed and smiled back.
This is madness. I am sure of it. What could possibly come of this, after all?
* * *
(written as Frodo's journal)
Genres: Romance, Humor, POV, Interspecies
Disclaimer: I get no payment for this, and I neither created nor own the characters.
Author's Notes: It's a scientific fact that Legolas and Frodo are the prettiest members of the Fellowship (*grin*), so I had to try putting them together for aesthetic reasons. (Although I know in my heart that Frodo belongs with Sam.)
Special thanks: I owe an OBVIOUS debt of gratitude to the Very Secret Diaries.
We set out from Rivendell yesterday. I am sorry to leave it behind, not only because it is cold out here, nor because I might die a gruesome death within a couple months, but because there's suddenly all this focus on me.
"Poor little Frodo the Ring-bearer. No, we can't go into any civilized lands, not with the RING-BEARER along. He brings great danger on us all. Not his fault, though, poor sweet thing. Let's ruffle his hair as we walk by; he's just the right height for it. Such soft hair. So young he looks. What nice eyes you have, Frodo. Come sleep under my blankets for warmth tonight, Frodo."
I kid you not. They're getting insane. Good news, though: Sam has finally stopped drooling on my collar and is now hovering around Legolas's kneecaps. You ought to hear him. "Oooh, the Elves are so pretty, Mr. Frodo, aren't they, Mr. Frodo? Legolas, sir, does your bow need polishing, sir? Tell me about Mirkwood, sir. Have you had any lovers in recent memory, sir?" Transparent, Sam, so transparent.
Then the bad news: my cousins keep touching me inappropriately. "Got to stick together now, Frodo," Merry says, then pretends to twist his ankle so he can cling to my waist for the next five miles. "I'm just ever so cold," says Pippin, and then he's up against my other side, squeezing the life out of me and making really unsettling purring sounds in his throat.
Oh, and Boromir--don't get me started. He seems to consider the Merry-Pippin assault on me as a peepshow. Keeps staring at us and smiling. Totally creepy. Hobbit three-way, sure; why don't you have Aragorn paint a picture of us; it'll last longer, you freak.
All right, this probably isn't fair of me. It's probably just the call of the Ring. I shall endeavor to ignore my companions' faults. After all, I need their help on this mission.
* * *
Okay. They're sex-mad, and it isn't just the Ring. They're definitely after Legolas too. Sam isn't the only one: Aragorn's eyes go quite gooey when he looks at the Elf, and Gandalf keeps making weird comments about how he and Legolas are the oldest two in the Fellowship and should therefore have lots of things in common. Keeps hinting there was some kind of swinging sexual revolution in the Mirkwood region about a century ago. Legolas just looks at Gandalf like he's mental. Wonder if Gandalf is going senile.
Meanwhile, Gimli seems to have got over his Dwarf-versus-Elf mentality, and is trying to strike up a flirtation with our fair Prince. Legolas is very polite about it, but I've noticed he retreats into cryptic statements about moonbeams and otters and stuff whenever the conversation gets too personal for him.
* * *
This is getting deeply uncomfortable. And I'm not talking merely of having to sleep under thorn-bushes. Aragorn must be going slightly batty through lack of sleep, for yesterday while we sat in a circle for our regular cold meal, he started expounding upon who was prettiest in the Fellowship.
"Those of us who grow beards, verily we have it rough on the road," he said. "No time to shave--we are destined to look scruffy."
Gimli started to make some protest about how beards were sexy and a source of pride or whatever, but Aragorn just went right on talking:
"So, clearly the ones who stay the fairest of face while traveling are hobbits and Elves," he said.
"Oh, Elves, Strider, definitely," Sam gushed. "Why, there's no one in the world so fair as them!" And he cast the most sickeningly infatuated look on Legolas. Legolas just smiled nervously and looked away.
And then BOROMIR has to join in: "I'm not so sure, Sam. You hobbits have plenty going for you. You're short, 'tis true, but in face some of you are quite beautiful." And then--I gag to think of it--he looked at me and winked. Winked! In full view of everyone! I almost flung my dinner plate at his head.
"I do agree," Aragorn said, "and I find it hard to choose, in fact. Now, of the nine of us, who would you say is fairest?"
"Is this really appropriate, or necessary-" I started to say, but they all ignored me. All except Legolas, who met my eyes across the circle. A flicker of comradery bonded us for a moment.
But then Gandalf had to pipe up: "I find hobbits adorable, indeed, but to me they are too much like family. I vote for our lovely Elf." He clapped a hand on Legolas's shoulder. Legolas flinched.
"Nonsense!" said Merry. "Being family just makes it more special! Isn't nobody in the world prettier than our Frodo." He slung his arm around me. Apparently he had no idea how disturbing a statement that was. Neither did Pippin, who instantly threw in another vote for me, and then tumbled over so his head was in my lap.
"MY family would exile me if they heard me say this," declared Gimli, "but I must say the choice is clear. The blondes have it!" And he turned and bowed to Legolas, who gave him a sickly smile.
"I'm with you and Mr. Gandalf," fawned Sam. Big surprise there.
"Boromir?" said Aragorn.
"I think I've made my views known," Boromir said, and winked at me AGAIN. Ugh!!
"What about you, Strider?" Pippin asked.
Aragorn sat there examining us both--me with my cousins crawling all over me, Legolas with his motley assortment of admirers encroaching upon him--and then got up and started pacing. "I can't decide. Quit pressuring me!"
Well, I'd about had it. I got up and volunteered to clean the dinner plates. Bunch of freaks, seriously.
Except Legolas. They're right, he is pretty. But I wouldn't embarrass him by saying it for the whole leering Fellowship to hear.
* * *
A very interesting development. Soon after I'd written the previous entry, most of us lay down to sleep. It was Legolas's turn to watch, so he stayed up. Merry and Pippin of course surrounded me with their blankets, and Boromir decided he'd better lie within inches of us as well. Even in this cold weather I felt stifled, so I crawled out as soon as they were asleep, and went to sit with Legolas.
He was still annoyed about the dinner conversation. "What is it, open season to seduce us?" he whispered to me. "Voting on our looks! On a quest like this!"
"I know. I can't imagine what got into them," I whispered back. "I feel responsible for them. I'm sorry."
"It isn't your fault," he assured. "I know this isn't how you wanted it."
"No indeed."
"Listen," he added, "I don't entirely trust Boromir, and if he makes any move against you--well, that's what I carry these for." Grimly he patted the arrows at his side. "Merry and Pippin don't pose much of a threat for you, I imagine. But I'll watch them too if you're worried."
"No--they're silly, but they aren't dangerous," I said. "What about you, though?"
He shrugged. "To me, unwanted advances are merely a nuisance. I carry nothing as valuable as your cargo."
"All the same, it bothers me to see them acting this way toward you."
"Why should it bother you?" he asked curiously.
And in truth I had no answer. There was no reason it should.
When I didn't respond, Legolas smiled and said, "Well, we'll look out for each other. Seems we can't trust anyone else, can we?"
I smiled also, and agreed. I was now becoming cold and drowsy, and I shivered. Legolas noticed, and draped his cloak around me, letting my head rest against his chest. "Keep warm," he said. "I still fear sometimes for that wound of yours."
"It feels much better," I murmured, but I was fast falling asleep. Something about the lovely scent of Elves makes you quite comfortable.
And though I didn't mean to, I fell into slumber there, under Legolas's cloak, and slept soundly for the next three hours. I woke only when the watch changed. Aragorn was telling Legolas he could go to sleep now, and the voices awakened me. I discovered I was lying with my head in Legolas's lap. I sat up and found Aragorn watching us, smiling--but rather a tight smile, as if he both liked and disliked what he saw.
Legolas was nonchalant--how I admire Elves' composure! "Thank you, Aragorn," he said. Then, to me--"To bed, Master Hobbit."
And we got up and went to our separate bedrolls. Pippin immediately threw his arm over me, and Boromir's knee curled up near my neck. Legolas wrapped himself in a blanket and rested against a tree, and when I looked at him again a while later his eyes had assumed that beautiful abstractness of Elven sleep. Sam somehow had scooted closer to his legs in the meantime.
I found myself wishing I could sleep encircled in Legolas's arms again. I am disturbed by these thoughts. What's next; will I start arguing with Gandalf over which feature is better, Legolas's lips or his hair? These others are corrupting me. I must not show these feelings.
* * *
Today I was walking along and Boromir attached himself to my side. Kept talking about how fabulous Gondor is and how much I would like it, and how they really needed to get some hobbits to live there. I was trying to be polite, but it was getting irritating. I looked over, and there was Legolas watching us, finger running up and down his bowstring. He lifted his chin a bit as a sign that he was keeping an eye on me as promised. I nodded in thanks.
Unfortunately, though, looking at Legolas made me lose track of what Boromir was saying, and he felt the need to start all over again with the earliest Kings of Gondor, eleventy-thousand years ago or whatever. Ugh. Maybe we can send him to Mordor and he can bore Sauron to death.
* * *
Today I heard Gimli flirting with Legolas behind me--"You'd be too tall for some of our caverns, but I'd hew them out higher for you, just to make you comfortable." Sure, that will really make an Elf feel better about living in a cave.
I looked over my shoulder, and Legolas met my gaze. He rolled his eyes subtly, and a smile flickered on his lips. It was the first thing to make me smile in genuine entertainment since we left Rivendell. And even now when I think of it I feel happy. Rather too happy. Deary me, if I die on this trek I hope he doesn't read this journal.
* * *
I can scarcely breathe as I write this. My heart pounds like the wings of a hummingbird. I am not unhealthy or unhappy--oh, quite the contrary! Still, I am most certainly foolish. Let the reader decide: here is what happened.
Today, shortly after we set off (just at sunset), I was besieged by my usual admirers--Boromir, Merry, Pippin--and this time Aragorn decided to join in too. The hobbits were touchy-feely ("You look cold, Frodo; let me share this cloak with you") and the men were even more so. They wanted to carry me. In fact they would hardly take no for an answer. On another day I might have let Aragorn do it, but tonight he was kind of scaring me. He seemed to like the idea just a little too much.
Thank heavens, at a crucial moment, Legolas pounced into the midst of the group, all slender rock-hard muscle, and swooped me up in one arm. Instantly my head was higher than all the rest--a fabulous view from up there!
"Stay away from him, you vultures, he's mine!" said Legolas, with just enough drama in his voice that they could think he was joking. But I know he was not, for then he took off running, with me clasped against his chest. I watched over his shoulder, clinging to the straps of his pack: the others chased for a moment, then gave up. Nobody can catch Legolas, and anyway, they trust him with me. Though I daresay Aragorn wasn't happy.
"Thank you, my friend," I laughed as we sailed away from them.
"It is for my own sanity as well as yours," he said breathlessly, still sprinting with the speed and agility of a mountain lion.
We reached an attractive grove after a few minutes, and Legolas deposited me on a boulder, laughing and breathing hard from the chase. Standing on that rock I was almost exactly at his height. I clung to his shoulders for balance--I was still laughing too. I noticed then that the last of the sunset was washing rosy colors over his hair and skin. His eyes were dark and sparkling. I have never seen anyone so beautiful, and the breath felt knocked out of me.
To hide it, and yet to succumb to what I was feeling, I fell forward and hugged him. His arms slid easily around me. Our laughter quieted; the only sound we made was to breathe. I hid my cold nose in his hair, and inhaled the fragrance of his neck--ah, if only I could record that scent in these pages!, something like the spice of carnations but more magical. Then he did the same: he pressed his face between my neck and hair, and I felt his warm breath on my skin. His cheek felt cold on the surface from the winter air, but hot underneath from the exercise.
And...we stayed there like that. I tightened my embrace; so did he; and we stood nestled in one another's arms for nearly a full minute.
Then we let go, cleared our throats awkwardly, and agreed that we should probably go back to the others, just in case there was danger. Best to stay in large groups, and all that.
When we got back we got envious glares from just about everyone. But I care not. Half a dozen times since then I have caught Legolas watching me from beneath his long eyelashes, and he hasn't looked away when I've noticed him. He has smiled, and I have felt my heart leap in fearful happiness, and I have blushed and smiled back.
This is madness. I am sure of it. What could possibly come of this, after all?
* * *