Title: To Win His Hand

Summary: The Mary Sues of Mirkwood have banded together to win the Elven Prince's heart. Too bad he's *married* and has a son- the one and only Heir of Isildur. [Parody]

Rating: PG

Category: Parody- you have been warned

Author's Notes: Okay, so I feel guilty writing this when I have so many serious stories to attend to. Let's just say I've been freaking out over exams, and I'm writing this as a break from essay draft # 237. And I'm not exaggerating by much. So I haven't forgotten my other works, they just haven't been receiving the attention they need. Exams are next week, and I have a few days off before second semester. Look for updates then.

And it's a PARODY. The tone is meant to be that of a "serious" fic, in the form of Mary Sue's galore. Please don't make any comments on Elf/Human relations, the lack of Tolkien supported facts, modern references made by characters, and whatever else you may wish to flame me for. Canon violation is part of parodying, really. I've tried to keep Legolas's character believable given the circumstances. Actual suggestions and feedback are most welcome, critical or not.

Disclaimer: I wish I didn't own and like this idea, but I do.

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Legolas of the Woodland Realm looked upon her sleeping form and sighed. For a woman she was not unpretty, but the whole mortality issue wasn't much fun to deal with. Even if it did work out, which according to the stories it rarely did, the children of such a union tended to suffer a great amount of psychological damage.

Still, Gilraen was now his wife. Curse the consumption of too much alcohol. The fact that she was also the wife of Arathorn, chieftain of the dunedain, seemed small in light of such a monumental discovery- Elves were just as stupid as men when they were drunk.

She chose this moment to wake, opening her large bedroom eyes with a smile on her lips.

"Last night was…"

She sees him now, and screams. She attempts to jump out of the bed, dress herself and not freak simultaneously, but hangovers can be a real bitch. Just ask…well, just about anyone after New Years celebrations. She ends up on the bed, sheets barely covering enough to be called decent; he smiles, for despite the gravity of the situation, it is a cute pose.

"We will not speak of this again?"

"Agreed."

"We will maintain the same relationship?"

"Agreed."

"We will not act as if we are guilty of an unabsolved sin when we are in the same room?"

"Agreed."

"Then we are in accord. Please exit the bedchambers at your earliest convenience."

"Only one thing…"

"What now?"

"By custom, we're married."

"Fantastic," she muttered, rolling her eyes. Or rather attempting to roll her eyes. She got a quarter of the circle before a sharp pang made her stop.

"It does get better, m'lady. As I remember the events, you could very well be with child at this moment…"

"You do realize the high improbability of that, do you not? I pray for your sake that your father has you shooting blanks."

"I assure you, the seedlings of Mirkwood are of naught but the highest caliber."

"I think I'll be needing a repeat of last night's beverages. I don't suppose there are mini-bars in the rooms?"

~*~

Nigh on two months passed before Gilraen thought of her nighttime escapades, roughly coinciding with a visit to the midwife. Sure enough, those high caliber shots had aimed true.

By this time, Legolas had departed for home. Gilraen knew that she must tell the elf the truth, and prepared to end her sojourn at Rivendell and head for Mirkwood. She just couldn't wait to explain this one to Arathorn…