Aragorn the Indecisive
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, was dithering. He couldn't help it. It wasn't his fault. After all, he was merely a character created by the infamous J.R.R. Tolkien; writer and linguist extraordinaire. Aragorn dithered here and he dithered there; hoping and praying to the Valar that he'd make a decision at some point.
Eowyn or Arwen?
He'd been vacillating about it for two novels and two movies now. He was terribly dirty, banged up, wounded, and generally all around rugged looking; for some reason, his appearance caused many thousands of women's panties to spontaneously fly off. This confused him greatly and caused a bit of a commotion when he walked down the street of Minas Tirith. He wanted a hot meal and a bath but knew he wasn't allowed one till the end of book three.
"Drat." he said in a very Ranger-ly manner; for he was Aragorn, son of Arathorn. That's what he did. He did and said things Ranger-ly. It was in his nature.
He began striding in a Strider-ly fashion toward the great hall at Edoras, which was where everyone was for the sake of argument. Inside he scoured the hall for the two women who had been plaguing his mind so terribly.
"Eowyn!? Arwen?!" he called, but they were nowhere to be seen. He looked high and low for them, eventually coming to Eowyn quarters and tentatively pushed open the door; stepping inside, his eyes beheld a sight he would never again be able to forget. Eowyn was locked in a passionate kiss with the traitor Grima Wormtongue. He appeared to be putting that tongue to good use. Aragorn let out a strangled cry and whirled away quickly, only to be rewarded by the sight of his beloved Arwen… with Legolas' head in her lap. Legolas, being a lithe and attractive elf, had taken the opportunity to remove his usual green leather jerkin and silken tunic and was languishing topless in Arwen's lap. Fifty fan-girls spontaneously orgasmed and died all over the planet. Legolas raised one perfectly arched eyebrow and made an inquiry as to what Aragorn was doing there and why he had decided to bring the whole of the Rohan fields with him on his boots.
"It's a fair question." Eowyn said, coming up for air and leaving a rather startled looking Grima pinned to the wall.
"I-" Aragorn had no words. He was too traumatized and confused.
Arwen was lovingly stroking Legolas' long white blonde hair, smiling down and him and periodically reaching down to kiss him on his perfect nose.
"Arwen!? What do you think you're doing?!" Aragorn exclaimed, finally finding his voice.
"Having an affair, what's it look like." she tweaked Legolas' adorably pointed ear. The Mirkwood elf smiled and an old woman in Ohio suddenly died with a smile on her face.
"Oh do stop doing that, my love. If you keep it up, you'll have decimated the entire world's population of straight females. And even a few men." Arwen scolded.
Legolas gave a half smile and a ten-year-old Catholic boy in Michigan decided that his sister's friend Roger was rather foxy. Arwen rolled her eyes.
"Do you mind, Aragorn." Eowyn spoke up. "We're all a bit busy."
She once more pounced on Grima, who gave a startled but not altogether unhappy cross between a yelp and a squeak. Aragorn suddenly felt a bit sick.
"I came to give you both my decision." he said solemnly.
Neither woman looked particularly interested in what he had to say. In fact they looked very disinterested in what the Dunedain had to say. Eowyn in particular was having far too much fun ravaging poor Grima within an inch of his greasy, wormtounge-y life and had allowed her hands free run down the front of his trousers. He went suddenly yelped and went googly eyed; and Aragorn found himself having to turn away from this impromptu orgy.
"You took far too long," Arwen said, now straddling Legolas and feeding him strawberries.
"Yes. Too much beating around the bush." Eowyn added in between snogs.
"Darsfergeg." mumbled Grima.
"Uh huh." agreed Legolas as Arwen began doing naughty things.
"Plurvisth!" Grima squeaked as Eowyn's sneaky hands sneaked sneakily back into his trouser.
"You are aware you're not even speaking a language?" Legolas piped up.
"You try forming- nyhhuahh! complete sentences when you've got- oh for the love of the Valar!- a crazy shieldmaiden's hands down your- nerffghheeetss- trousers!"
"Composure, my friend. Maintain your composure." Legolas said.
Aragorn still stood in the doorway; his lower lip was jutting out in a way that would have been terribly adorable had the author not been a straight male with a penchant for Grima/Eowyn and Legolas/Arwen fictions. And so, the manner in which Aragorn pouted was merely, vaguely pitiful.
Seeing that his presence was no longer required or wanted, Aragorn quietly slipped out of the room and stood in the hallway. He huffed a sigh of defeat and turned to walk away.
"Hey! Aragorn!" A voice called from the doorway.
Aragorn whirled round, hoping it was Arwen or Eowyn who had changed their minds. He drooped visibly; it was Legolas.
"Yes?"
Legolas shot him a devilish grin.
"There's always the fangirls!"
With that, the elf slammed shut the door. Aragorn's face changed to the colour of parchment as he suddenly looked down the hall. A slight rumbling noise was beginning to reverberate though the Golden Hall. The Ranger's eyes widened; a herd of fangirls was stampeding towards him, arms outstretched and battle cries mixing with screams of 'Aragorn! Take me! I'm yours!'.
"Run!" exclaimed the author.
For once, Aragorn agreed.
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