The Cure for all Ailments

By Nolitari

Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings, so there is no need to file law suits. Really.

o-o-o-o-o

In a plush and rather small office, quite a large Elf sat on quite a small sofa. The poor soul was there for psychiatric evaluation, for none of his own people could pose as a shrink for lembas. So he had resorted to the small folk for help. His name was Legolas Thranduilion, an ailing Elf princeling suffering from the effects of fangirlism.

Drumming his fingers on the armrest, the Elf waited for the Hobbit psychiatrist to make an appearance. His receptionist had told the prince that the doctor was hard at work carving out a new pipe.

I travel all these miles for no service! I must report this!

"Ma'am," said Legolas, standing up and hitting his head on the ceiling. He paused for a moment prior to speaking. "Will you please get the doctor? I'm in a hurry!"

"Hold your horses, Mr. Greenleaf. He'll be out in a moment."

Legolas looked distraught. "But I didn't bring any horses. The fangirls will be able to track my beautiful stallion easier that way!"

The receptionist rolled her eyes. "Just have a seat, Mr. Greenleaf."

The princeling sat back down on the couch. He entertained himself by trying to read Hobbit-sized magazines. One of them was called 'Buckland Bi-monthly'. Rather catchy name, Legolas thought.

Another half-hour passed. Legolas became impatient. He could almost feel the fangirls tracking him down with their fancy stalking devices they brought from their strange and twisted world.

Legolas spoke again. "Ma'am? Please?" He needed a way to make the doctor come out quicker. Of course! A sob story always does the trick. "My father is ill and slowly passing out of this world. Please, I need to see the doctor so afterwards I can ride with all haste to my homeland and bid him farewell."

The Hobbit receptionist rolled her eyes once more. She called a 'Doctor Took' on the intercom.

"You can go in now," said the Hobbit. Legolas stood up and stooped down so he did not bruise his beautiful head on the doorframe.

The office was smaller than the waiting room. It was furnished with a low and short Hobbit-sized sofa, a bookshelf, a diploma, and a desk where the Hobbit psychiatrist was seated with his legs on the top, drinking a pint.

"What's your problem, old friend? You want some eggs?"

"No! I don't want any eggs! I heard you're now a shrink." Legolas said, sitting down into a small armchair.

"Yep," Doctor Took drank some of his ale. "Best head doctor in all the four farthings. If you don't want some eggs, how about some sausages?"

"I don't need food. I need a psychiatric evaluation!" Legolas nearly shouted. He tried to get out of the arm-chair, except it was a tad bit too small for his size.

Peregrin Took, psychiatrist, pulled out a pouch of pipeweed and a pint of ale. "This is the cure for all ailments! Especially mental issues. I distribute this to almost all my patients. And all I have gotten in return is success stories! Here, have a new pipe. I'm sure you don't have one. Alright, that's all. You can go. That pipe'll cost extra." Doctor Took stood up and pulled the princeling out of the chair then shoved him out the door.

Legolas's eyes twitched as the psychiatrist slammed the door shut. "But Elves don't smoke!"

A shout came from inside the office. "There's a first time for everything!"