The last will and testament of Legolas Thranduilion

It seems only yesterday when I pulled out my edible organic gull-feather quill and penned down the preparation of my imminent demise. Oh wait, yesterday was the day I nobly and valiantly upheld the honour of my race by volunteering to sacrifice my priceless immortal life for some halfwit Halfling with an almost criminal hairdo. I am sure there is some completely unimportant connection.

The passing of this parchment into friendly hands means that I have undoubtedly encountered some terrible misfortune while heroically warding off scores of armoured orcs with naught but a spoon. Possibly blindfolded, crippled, and with both hands tied behind my back. If Sauron, the Witch King, or that twisted pervert Saruman happens to come across this, I swear that the shower was rigged, for by no other means would a great warrior such as myself fall to his death while washing his hair.

In accordance with the decorum that seems to be mandatory when one is plotting to depart this plane, I shall be distributing several items that are close to my heart, and best reflect my intimate attachment to those fortunate enough to be included in my exclusive gay circle. Why Estel remains so adamantly against me using that word as a reference to happiness, I fear I may never know.

To Estel (or whichever name you have decided to go by now): Farewell, mellon-nin. Our time together was well spent. I shall be leaving you a bottle of shampoo, as well as Rivendell's most fragrant bar of soap. Please, for the love of Mandos, take the hint. Incidentally, I did spot you eyeing my collection of socks a few days ago. I see little appeal in them, as they were knitted by my grandmother for use on her domesticated pigs…but as you truly seem to like them, I suppose you could have them as well. Stranger antics I have seen, mellon. But to be honest, all of them were committed by you.

To Elladan/Elrohir: My fellow Elves, the two of you were like the brothers I never had. And fortunately, never will. In your name, I have left my automatic peanut dispenser, and that cheerful diabetic badger we used to play bingo with. I fear he still does not comprehend the concept of that riveting game…perhaps you two would have better luck conveying the message than I? The poor creature appeared rather withdrawn the last time I checked, so please be kind to him. He is rather a sensitive soul, and five centuries buried under my Line of Númenor™ action figures can't have done much for his temper. As a side note, any letters that you might find depicting the actions of either of you and various Elf maidens are not, in any way, a form of blackmail. I was merely being a concerned friend and recording them for memory's sake. Your memory, that is. Yes. The footnotes addressed to your father must have been just a slip of the quill.

Although…to have my quill slip over ten times is rather demeaning to my writing skills…

Actually, it was Estel. His deplorable obsession with getting revenge at that foster father of his must have spontaneously possessed my quill and forced it to scribe out his deepest, darkest desires.

No, I do not know why said desires would gravitate around the private lives of Elves, or Elrond himself for that matter.

Let's just leave it as one of those unsolved mysteries; along with Galadriel's true age, and what Arwen really looks like behind the makeup.

Moving on.

To Gimli: My dear, dear Dwarf. I am sure that with the passage of time, our bond would undoubtedly mature beyond trivial spitting, insults and the occasional brandishing of sharp, pointed kitchen utensils. For now, however, I have taken great pleasure in leaving behind an empty wine barrel in your honour. I am sure you will find it holds quite a bit of sentimental value, having been used by one of your intrepid relatives in their perilous journey downriver. Take special note of the writing engraved in its surface; it depicts the journey in rather explicit detail. And, if you actually insert yourself into the barrel and invoke the help of a body of water, I am sure you will be able to relive those merry days with realistic fervor. Now, wouldn't that be fun?

To Mithrandir: I tried to include your section of this Will; really I did. I had written it down beautifully, choreographed with those fancy pink decorated hearts you are constantly doodling on your staff. My quill just wouldn't have itthough. It really is growing quite stubborn; blame Estel and his vengeful human instincts for corrupting its innocent ink. And by the way, all those animals you bribed into following you are going to be freed one day; just you wait. I can't believe you took away my pet twig, you- you grey person you…I shall never forgive you! The penguins shall have their revenge yet!

To the Hobbits: The presence of a fair immortal being in your midst should have been a gift in itself, but I suppose that if you really need a token of my appreciation- however forced- you can have my share of the lembas. And Gimli's too; I am certain he won't mind.

I suppose this marks the end of my monologue. I was going to include a segment for Boromir as well, but I fear that with all the kingly glares Estel has been shooting in his direction, the poor man will be dead long before me. Perhaps we will be able to meet in the Afterlife then, and enjoy a polite chuckle at the luckless Fellowship we rightly chose to abandon. Although I do suspect that should such an event actually occur, I would spend the better part of eternity conducting a one-sided diatribe at Elrohir for getting my hopes up about the Halls of Mandos being a toll-free nature sanctuary filled with frolicking Oliphants in flowing gowns and friendly, knitting spiders.

As for my epitaph…well, I find it a rather curious human custom, but should Estel actually take it upon himself to so graciously burden me further with the traditions of his race, I would like something suitably Elvish. Perhaps including a conspicuous warning to dogs not to heed any call of Nature around my vicinity…or perhaps I should be less selfish and include a list of methods to reduce the rate of Warg killings…or maybe a map of forests that should be protected; I'm sure Treebeard would be glad to contribute…but then there are the Dragons; they're quite endangered these days you know…and there's also pollution in Bree…and smog in Mordor…

You know what- never mind a tombstone; I am going to place an order with the Elven smiths for a tomb-parchment. That way, anyone who feels the compulsive urge to know about my parting statements can just unroll it and read to his or her heart's content. And who knows; perhaps one day in the future they'll heed my words and set up a fund or something. The Arda Wildlife Fund; wouldn't that be something amazing?

What? An Elf can dream, can't he?

Note: There is no evidence whatsoever that the present-day World Wildlife Fund is, in fact, a result of the deranged ranting of a disgruntled Wood Elf. The alleged parchment was never found, although the remnants of a wine barrel floating along what is now called the Mississippi River suggest that it may not have been a complete fabrication. Readers are thus advised to refrain from bribing any twigs they might come across, and to keep their hands and elbows close to their person when encountering wild penguins. Thank you for your attention.