So for all of you un-affianced noobs out there who aren't personally familiar with the whole experience, let me give you some pre-maritial advice that I wish had been given to me: Engagement rings need to come with a fucking Surgeon General's Warning.

FUCKING SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: side effects may include toxic giddiness and feelings of invincibility.

For as much as Prerna was the outsider here, within thirty seconds of my proposal it became apparent that she now owned the place. She was the pretty cosplaying girl who got engaged at Comic Con, the envy of all Envies, the liver-outer of all nerdy dreams and the pwner of land of Fandom. I think she may—just for a split second—have won the internet.

[Later as the many pics and GIFs went viral online, I think she actually did.]

The shy girl I knew who had never willingly said a spontaneous word above a whisper to a stranger in all her life began giving orders like a drill instructor. "I just got engaged," she flung her phone into the gloved hand of a gender-bent Edward Elric who was still applauding us. "Take our picture!"

"O-okay," Edward said, stepping back to get us in frame.

"Take a couple!" Prerna asked/ordered, her supple arms squeezed so tight around my waist it was hard to breathe.

"Who are you and what have you done with Prerna Prashad?" I asked, as her smile threatened to rip through her face and tear the very fabric of spacetime itself. [TARDIS my ass, I think I know where the crack on Amy's wall came from.]

"Just shut up," she grinned, swinging on me like a small kid. "Shutupshutupshutupshutup and don't ruin it, Ida!"

"Me ruin it? You're the one dancing like she's about to piss her pants—"Her nut-brown skin turned that special shade of rose I loved so well. Shit. "You did not!"

"We had all that Limca for lunch and then there was that line for the bathroom and you surprised meeee…" she whined. "It's not my fault!"

I groaned. My Prerna: gorgeous, articulate, educated…and the weakest bladder this side of the Brooklyn Bridge. True love can be measured in many ways, but I've found by far the most accurate barometer is when you're willing to trek across town to a fancy office building to bring someone a change of underwear and a second skirt and never breathe a word of it to your mutual friends. "Damage assessment?"

"Tiny tinkle?"

"I guess we're stopping by the apartment on the way to dinner, then."

"Where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise. Although I'm not so sure un-pottytrained kids are welcome—"

"Ida!"

"Um, hey, hate to interrupt, do you want your phone back?" The elder Elric brother [sister?] asked us awkwardly.

Prerna's face went a dusky crimson. It was one thing for us to tease—I mean, I saw her naked on a near daily basis—it was quite another for a complete stranger to know her little secret.

"Yeah, I'll take that," I said, as she was far too mortified to speak. "Thanks, pipsqueak!"

"Aargh! Who are you calling pipsqueak?" she roared, stamping her feet and flailing her arms like a giant squid of anger* for good measure. "You guys are absolutely adorable. Good luck!"

"Yeah, good luck!" Alphonse called from behind her. Pretty sure he was her bf, and pretty sure he was already furiously considering all the ways he could possibly one-up my proposal. Sorry, dude.

"Private joke?" Prerna asked me once they'd gone.

"Full Metal Alchemist."

"Don't know that one. Sorry."

"What? Then I've been seriously remiss in your anime education. That's my wedding present: you watch FMA and FMA:Brotherhood."

"Is it actually good," she asked me, "or is it more like Firefly?" [The Uncomfortable Truths Well was right about that one. Damn you, Randall Munroe*!] Bless her, she's tried and tried, but she still can't watch that show. And to think I read all the way through Guns, Germs, and Steel for her!

I crossed my arms. "That was a loaded question."

She grinned. She knew about my weakness for everything Whedon.

"But no. It's a lot like Harry Potter. It goes into stuff about racism, religion, war and sociopolitical things…you'll really like it."

"Alright," she decided. "But then you'll have to wear a dress."

I'd figured as much. "Alright, your day. Whatever you want."

"Our day," she corrected me, face threatening to rip apart again.

"Yeah. Just…holy fuck," I breathed. "We're fucking getting married."

She wheeled on me in disbelief. "You're the one who's been planning it!"

"I know, but still! We're getting married."

"You thought I'd say no?" she put a small hand on my arm. "Ida—"

"I didn't think I'd ever get the balls to ask you," I finally admitted.

She laughed, her dark eyes squinting and sparkling in mirth. "I just got engaged. I'm planning my wedding! …And I'm standing in pee. I don't know whether to be really excited or just super grossed out."

"Er, both? I've got a second pair in my purse," I told her. "You want them?"

She took one fleeting look at the line for the restrooms, and shook her braided head. It'd be half an hour before she even got in the door. "Let's just get your phone and go home."

Shit. I'd almost forgotten. We made our way over hand in hand.

"Thanks guys!" I took my iphone from Legolas, still recording. "You don't know how much I appreciate this!"

Prerna nudged me shyly. "Ask them for a picture."

"A picture?"

"To remember them by?"

Oh, Prerna, Prerna…we weren't going to need a picture to remember these guys. And it would've made life so much easier if I'd just said no.

But she was Prerna Prashad, the Moon of my life, my Sun and my Stars, so I rolled my eyes. "Can we get a pic with you guys?"

They looked at me blankly, then to each other. I got the feeling Legs here was just as much the spokesperson for them as I was for us.

"What?" I sighed.

"Meldis, man sad han?" he asked me aside. "Ech buia i-orn voen o Gondor?"

I was so not in the mood to roleplay with them. Nothing wrong with a little role-play in the bedroom, boys, and if you want to go public that's your prerogative, but leave me well out of it. I didn't come to Comic Con looking for a foursome with Beauty and the Beast here.

"Ma, Gondor, okay?" I chewed my tongue. "And if you're a good little Elf-boy I'll show you the way to Valinor, alright?" His ears pricked up and his sharp eyes squinted.

[…Scott always said my goddamned mouth would get me in trouble some day.]

"Okay. Shove in, ginger. Blondie, a little bit lower," I adjusted them around Prerna. Poor girl, even Gimli here dwarfed her. She looked like such a little Hobbit next to the two of them, albeit one playing Elf dress-up. Gimli was grumpy. Legolas looked perplexed. Prerna flitted her fingers shyly.

"—aaand snap!"

Not bad. But Blondie here was completely shadowed by the hood of his cloak.

"Good enough?" I asked, showing Prerna the pic.

"One more?" she begged me. "And here—" she jumped up on tippy-toes and her short, child's fingers found his hood.

…That's all it took. The Legobomb hit.

[Shit, sorry. This is fanfiction. Let's do this thing properly. Ahem:

'So then verily didst the sunlight shine down upon the sex god Legolas, and verily still dist the gathered throng admire the golden-elf with his long, flowing, shimmery golden hair that sparkled in the sunlight like Edward Cullen's abs but even by my troth much more shinier and gold-like. Yea, verily didst they swoon over him and his two Elf-eyes the color of glittering violet sapphires which glittered glitteringly like sapphire orbs from his pale, perfect, beautiful, Elfish face. And they were glad, yea, and heart-stricken also, for never before had they seen anything so graceful or beautiful or totally freaking amazing as Orlando Bloom* in a dress with their waking, hormonal eyes and they fell instantly and irrevocably in love (until the next major movie franchise starring a hot boy would appear).'

And all together now: blah blah blah et cetera, vomit vomit fuck*.]

There was blood in the water. And the sharks began to circle. "Oh my God you guys, it's Orlando Bloom!"

"Orlando Bloom? Where—?!"

"Leggie!"

"Tauriel and Legolas, they're like my OTP!"

"Legolas and Gimli are my OTP for life!"

"LegoLAAAAAAAAS—!"

That's when the mob struck. A murder* of tweenage girls crashed against us in squealing waves while splooshing themselves. It got claustrophobic and cramped. Fucking Fast. I felt Prerna tense as she clung to my coat to keep from getting carried off by the crowd. And there in that stampede of squealing girls, suddenly it hit me: how had they not been spotted already? How they hell had the best Legolas and Gimli cosplayers I had ever seen walked the floor of NYC Comic Con without getting clobbered by a rabid army of fangirls—?

Insert more fucktastic hysterical shrieking here. [That um, that sounded a lot less dirty in my head.]

The guy was like a reverse fucking veela. [Shit. That also sounded a lot less dirty in my head…]

A reverse fucking veela now wielding a long, hard [Godfuckingdamnit, Ida! Really—?!] white knife that looked suspiciously un-plastic. Not that it stopped them. Those guys had seriously underestimated the power of Orlando Bloom on ovaries in large groups.

How the hell had they gone so unnoticed? Gimli I could get, as the dude was actually pretty short, and the dull metallics and drab, earthen colors of his outfit didn't stand out in such a colorful crowd. Perhaps no one but the most desperate, middle-aged John Rhys-Davies fan would've squeed, but someone would have at least stopped him to get the name of his armorer. Up close I could tell that those metal links were real, and must've weighed a ton. Good on Gramps here for wearing them—he probably got a day's worth of exercise just standing.

…But Legolas? You and I both know with cringe-worthy detail the obsession the fandom has for him. I'm not into guys, but yeah, as far as they go he had the whole golden rectangle going on, eerily symmetric, with delicate, rather effeminate features, the sort of eternally young androgynous guy who always plays the Evil!bad guy type rather than the creepy, cookie-cutter male model grotesqueness who gets cast in a love triangle opposite Conan the He-man Barbarian. [Think more Loki, Daryl or Joffrey than the Edward Cullen, Rick Grimes or HBO's craptastic Daario Naharis types.] And he wasn't some short, slight actor like Lando cast in a part and made to look taller by cinematography, either. This dude was intimidatingly tall, and I'm used to being a couple inches taller than most of the guys in the room. There was no fucking way The Legs here could've crossed the floor without being seen, but it's like no one had even noticed them until he'd taken off his hood—

Stupid, nagging sensation in the back of my brain. What if they really were—? I immediately dismissed the thought. Those were woolen Lothlorien cloaks woven in the Stansborough factory in New Zealand, and possessed no actual magical properties whatsoever (besides causing the money in your bank account to disappear.) This was real life, not Doctor Who or The Deathly Hallows or something where they contained Time Lord technology with a perception filter or a true spell of invisibility*.

The girls screamed and fussed and clutched his cloak and grabbed fistfuls of his hair. There was also a disturbing amount of bow-rubbing going on (not a euphemism, get your mind out of the gutter!). Prerna clung to me, looking mortified, whereas Legolas seemed discomfited…and by discomfited I mean less "Ai! ai! A Balrog! A Balrog is come!" than that glare he shot Eowyn in The Two Towers movie after she dropped the "Because they love you" bomb on Aragorn at Helm's Deep*. Gimli, however, was positively glowing with all the attention, clapping his hands, smoothing his beard, face flushed nearly as red as the still-auburn streaks in his graying braids. Clearly the dude was having the time of his life. I guess if I was that old and still screwing the object of that many teenage girls' affections, I'd be a little bit smug too. Sorry ladies, that grizzled, gleeful face seemed to say, this one's all mine.

We got stopped for obligatory pictures, of course. I mean, we couldn't've moved anyways what with how tightly packed we were. Everyone's phones and tablets were out, and everyone wanted to congratulate us/get their pic with Legolas and Gimli, and then people started yelling for Tauriel and Legolas to pose. [Fucking shippers.]I thought she'd be too nervous or embarrassed, but there was something different, something so carefree and happy about her that day and she just took it all in stride.

"Come on, lover boy!" She said, sounding braver than she looked, and she yanked his hair like a kid might jerk a puppy's leash. "We might as well get this over with…" She was really hamming it up with him, and the crowd totally egged her on, but for all her kissy faces and pouty poses her eyes were always winking at me. For once she was the center of attention, not her academic work or some display she'd put together, and for once she didn't have to worry about how goofy or awkward people thought she was. She'd never see any of these people again, didn't care what they thought and they loved her for it. It was strangely liberating and definitely empowering for her, I'll say that much.

I was pretty proud of her for coming out of her shell like that.

…and we might have ruined his Comic Con.

[But as it turns out later that running into some the few people in NYC who could converse with him is what got them home, the matter is entirely irrelevant. And—at least in my opinion—it still leaves them greatly in our debt.]

Gimli watched the whole process stoically with his thick arms resting on the flat of his axe, although there was a grumpy smile hidden under his beard and I definitely heard him chuckle more than once at Legolas' expense.

"Does that happen often?" I asked him, feeling sick. All those vapid, pre-teen dreams of being a career celebrity that we all had when we were kids now seemed a million times more disgusting. Who would want that sort of attention—?"You'd think he'd be used to it by now." Then again, he wasn't just some guy in a Legolas cosplay, he was some guy dressed in a Legolas costume pretending to be Legolas at Comic Con and responding as Legolas would to…well, Comic Con. And the results were rather entertaining if you could get past the part where the poor guy looked like he really might throw up and/or murder someone.

The Gim-man only shrugged. Of course not, I remembered. One of those LARPers.

Prerna finally let go, and ran over breathlessly.

"Have fun?" I asked.

"Strangely, yeah," she admitted, her eyes bright and her face flushed from excitement and running. "But it's really starting to give me the creeps. It's like that zombie show you used to watch."

"Not zombies, Prer," I corrected. "Walkers."

She rolled her eyes and adjusted her weight to one hip, that green dress swaying around her short, shapely legs. "And there's a difference?"

"It's an AU—sorry, alternate universe—where the word zombie doesn't exist."

"So it's a fictional universe where Haiti didn't exist?" she asked.

"No...just the word."

"So the Haitian culture never had the concept, or it just never got translated to English?" she pressed.

"No…the word just doesn't exist."

"So it just a lexicon gap, or do they not even have the concept of Zombies ever anywhere in folklore or mythology?"

"I don't know…the show really doesn't focus on that aspect—"

"Then that's ridiculous," she tutted patently. "You can't just have a show about Zombies but NOT Zombies and then not talk about it! I mean, in that one book you gave me—the one with the Smiley face guy? At least they replace superhero comics with Pirates and stuff. It's a logical explanation and a plausible replacement for something that's a cultural or anthropological staple as a result of the 20th century appearance of world wars, Nuremberg, and weapons of mass destruction."

"You're talking about Watchmen?" I'd forgotten I'd made her read it last year for my birthday.

She frowned, creases wrinkling her crisp, smooth forehead. "The one with the Yellow cover and the naked blue guy?"

"Oh, God, Prer, you don't not like The Walking Dead not because it's too nerdy, it's because it's not nerdy enough for you," I realized, putting my arms around her to bring her close. "My girlfriend, the anthropology über-nerd." Who, btw, is still the only person I've met to suggest that the realism of the show suffers from a lack of goddamned bicycles. Quick, manueverable, soundless, and easily maintained. Rick rides a fucking horse, and Daryl has a motorcycle that never runs out of goddamned gas, for fuck's sake. It's not that the show doesn't recognize the importance of mounted transportation in the post-apocalyptic world, it just never takes it to the logical conclusion. [The cardinal sin of scifi.]

That small, coquettish grin twisted over her cheekbones as she sidled up to me. "That's fiancée to you."

"Ú-awartho nin an i-'lamhoth," Legolas appeared so fast I'd swear he Apparated.

I sighed. Guy would not take a hint. "Buzzkill McKillington."

"Im Legolas," he corrected me politely.

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Oh, hey! Thanks! Sorry about all that," Prerna shouted over the screaming of the fangirls, gesturing with her auburn head as her hands were still in mine. "I'm Prerna—"

"Im Prerna," he amended for her.

"Oh, your name is Prerna, too?" she quipped, batting her eyes innocently. I gaped at her like Fred Weasley when Percy had resigned mid-battle of Hogwarts. My Prerna, tell a joke—?

[…that was actually funny? Not to mention a whole lot sarcastic and a little bit rude? And here I thought she couldn't possibly get any hotter.]

"…man?" he turned to me blankly. "Nae! Gohenno nin! Ú-chenion."

"Er…Im Ida, e Prerna, ech Legolas?" I tried.

He bowed his head. "Ai, mae govannen, Prerna-en-Rhûn!"

"I wouldn't," I warned him as he stooped to greet her. I wasn't absolutely sure at the time, but I'm pretty sure he just said something racist. "You kiss her I will slap you, and you'll be stuck here snogging fangirls for another week."

Like that stopped him. Guy was as fast as a pouncing cat. He held her face in his hands and said gently: "Trî ennorath rheviannen di-menel benn-elen an ngoroth, ach adberthathon rhevio ennas an glinthad i-nîf lîn bein."

"Um…Ida?" she squeaked.

"Yeah, yeah, 'hello', we get it," I pulled her away and shoved him. "This one's taken. Go hit on someone else."

"Oh, oh! Kiss me!" an Arwen begged him. She couldn't've been more than fourteen….

"No, kiss me!"

"Me next!"

"Avo drenaro nin, leitho nin!" he said, shaking Arwen and Co. off his cloak and turning back to us. "Im Legolas Thranduillion, aran-en-dawarwaith—"

I groaned. Even in the face of fangirlageddon, this dude would just not let it go.

"—ernil Ithilien(Baw!), i buior en Aragorn (Ha ú-vaer!), ion Arathorn (ego!), i-aran Ngondor a hil-Isildur(Avo!), a dîn merdil Faramir(Faeg!), ion Nenethor, a vess dîn Heowyn(Uin maer!), Rhochundiel aglareb a roveleg(Avo drenaro nin!), i-Uilos, dagnir Angmar(Leitho nin!)—" Poor guy had to stop every second syllable to shoo them off. Even Prerna couldn't keep a straight face. Personally, I had half a mind to just ditch them there and get home. Poor Prer needed a change of clothes, and I had dinner reservations at a nice little Indian restaurant in Times Square. At this point I just wanted off my feet, a glass of plum wine to relax and a quiet, private diner together to celebrate the rest of our lives together. I wasn't a real fan when we first started dating, but she'd grown up on Indian food—or, as she so eloquently puts it, food—so I've learned to appreciate if not yet cook it.

But LARPing Legs and Gimli were doing their best to stick with us, and Prerna was in such a happy mood and she was far too polite to tell them to beat it. So we ended up with an entourage of Korean Sailor Senshi all shoving things at him to sign, every girl ever dressed as Arwen, at least three more Tauriel's and a group of Gamers who I'm pretty sure had mistaken him for Link. By that time we'd gotten out of the convention center and back out on the crowded sidewalks. It was a crisp October afternoon in Manhattan, too warm for coats yet but still cold enough to really bite. So between the cold and the distance and people getting the hint from his body language and scowling that he didn't want to be bothered, only the stragglers were left. And at Comic Con, they really only come in three kinds: 1) the extremely socially awkward, most-likely-has-Asperger's sort that annoy the shit out of you but you can't help but feel sorry for, 2) the trying desperately to sell you something type or 3) the just want to bone your brains out portable STI factory variety. And so to no one's great surprise…

"Ooh! You speak Elvish?" Mary Sue of fucking SueTown, USA tittered while stroking his chest. "So how do you say 'I love you' in Elvish?"

[You know the type: gum-smacking, corn-fed, push-up peek-a-boobs, not enough brains, in a Catwoman cosplay that looked suspiciously both three sizes too small and far too much like Powergirl to have been coincidental. I don't have a thing against boobs, in fact I appreciate them muuuuuch more than the average girl*, but there's a time and a place. If your shirt is so tight or low cut that I can see (read: awkwardly gape at) your pasties in public while furiously fantasizing about fucking, it's probably time to reconsider. I know a lot of my hate for so-called "promiscuous girls" comes from ridiculous ingrained social stigmas like purity vs. sluttiness, an angry, awkward adolescence where they never gave that sort of attention to me, and now that I'm steady with someone it's a lot of internalized anger at myself for taking second glances or having those feelings when my own fucking fiancée is standing right next to me. But yeah, everyone's thinking it, I'm just saying it: thundercunt.]

"Nae, leitho nin," Legolas lamented, politely removing her hand and giving her a long-suffering stare. I'd say I felt sorry for him, but he had kissed us both without permission. "Ú-annathal hîdh enni?"

"Wow. That's so hot!" She purred, not taking the hint. "I can show you how to say 'Amin mela lle!' in sign language." She went lower.

God that still makes me so fucking furious. Any girl would kick a guy in the nuts over something like that, but for some stupid reason female-on-male sexual harassment is considered culturally acceptable. Although apparently not so to LARPing fanboys. Legs pulled the whole 'wax on, wax off' thing on her in one fluid motion and before I could even blink he had that knifepoint at her throat with a look that just begged her to give him a motherfucking reason*.

"Oh, fuck!" I jumped back and in front of Prerna at the same time. Tits here just shit herself.

"Hey, wait a second—!" Prerna gasped, rushing forward while swinging her purse*.

"No dîn!" Legs snarled at her, both his words and my outstretched arms stopping her in her tracks. But Tits got the worst of it. "Dravathon gaim lîn ae adberthal han! Daug! Ego!" Yeah, and in the land of Mordor where the shadows lie and don't you fucking forget it. Picture Gandalf at the Council of Elrond reciting the Ringverse and you've pretty much got it. I didn't know what he said at the time, but the message was still fairly clear: have knife, will use*.

Mary Sue backed up, visibly shaken. "Y-your friend is really rude!"

"A pedig fucking Grelvish, bitch," I said, still clutching Prerna.

"W-what did you say?" her face and chest went blotchy and puce.

"I said 'and you speak fucking Grelvish, bitch."

"Ida," Prerna remonstrated.

"And I think 'my friend' here just wants to be left alone. Next time you touch anybody like that, ask first. Now beat it, Ditz-tits, or I'll look the other way when he does decide to slice you." The rehab and juvy I did for possession and selling. My little prison stint was because I got tried as an adult for assaulting some corrections officer for copping a feel on one of my best friends when I was seventeen.

…Yeah. Not sorry.

"Ida!" Prerna said in protest.

Ditz-tits scrammed.

"And you, ma Ech, asshole!" I thwacked him with her purse [LotR, HPatGoF, and aDwD], and by thwacked I mean he dodged it like a fucking Olympic figure skater. But it got his attention. "That thing's a replica, it's not a fucking toy! You could've killed her! The hell were you thinking—!" The fuck was he thinking, and how the hell did he get it past security? And why the hell out of all the people I could've met at Comic Con did I just happen to run into the one who my Parole Officer would've sent my ass straight back to the slammer for?

Legs sheathed the knife behind his back fluidly and flung his hood up again in a distinctly unprincely fluster. I was still convinced he was just some (increasingly and alarmingly) crazy guy in a costume, and it was the closest he came to breaking character. He leveled a look at me that said do you see what I have to deal with? "Rhaug drastol. Ú-'erin hídh mi i-had hen. I-ngoroth! Amman? Ech henia i-gael hen 'oeol? Man hai?"

"Yeah, yeah, she was a handsy bitch," I conceded. Served him right, though. There are certain characters you just can't cosplay as, not if you don't want to attract unwanted sexual attention.

[Shit. I just 'look what she's wearing'-ed him, didn't I?]

"That's no excuse!" Prerna chimed, glaring at us both with her small hands on her soft hips. "You could've hurt her!"

Could've, but didn't. And I've pepper-sprayed guys for less. Still…I'd been in enough real fights by then to know posturing when I saw it. And either this guy wasn't kidding or he's the goddamned best method actor I'd ever met. Scott joined the Marines to pay for college, so I'd seen his 'take no shit' face before. And Legs' here was spot on.

"Ha ú-idher," Gimli shook his head grimly. "Ha ú-vaer."

"Ach 'imli—"

But Gimli was unimpressed, and I got the feeling he was very much a 'let's have his head and be done with it' sort of influence. He bumped Legs forward with the handle of his great axe. "Boe!" he ordered. "Hi!"

Legolas knelt, head bowed, one hand over his heart. "Dihenno úgarth nin, meldis. Nae! I-'ûr Gimli ion Glóin noen. Gohenno nin, ú-anirannen eitho."

Prerna looked back and forth between us, confused. "Are they…Welsh? And is that even legal?" she continued to eye the sheath, quiver and longbow on his back with unease.

"Worse," I shook my head, giving her back the purse. "LARPers." Forged in the fires of Mount Doom, apparently. Pulling a real knife on a girl in public like that? He's lucky she didn't have any mace. Or a boyfriend. Or there were no police or security guards watching. Either way, I was liking our new friends less and less.

"Rise, less an asshole," I told him, motioning for him to stand.

Yeah, no. One of THOSE LARPers, remember? He clasped and kissed my outstretched hand.

"…fucking seriously?" I raised an eyebrow and set my jaw.

Legolas gulped, and released my hand very, very delicately. "Gohenno nin?" he looked over at Gimli for guidance, and got a bristly, bearded shrug.

"I think chivalry's dead because you killed it," Prerna opined. "Will you just let him be sorry already?"

"You know what, I like one-liner Prerna. I might just keep her."

"No returns, refunds or exchanges!" she said happily. "Well, um, thanks guys. I guess this is goodbye. Sorry I can't say it in Elvish!"

"How many times, Prer? How many times? Elvish is not a language!" I shook my head in mock disgust. "That does it. Give me the ring back."

She pursed her clever lips, playing with the Big! Shiny! Expensive! symbol of our eternal love and affection currently residing on her fourth finger. "…but it's my Precious?"

I kissed her. Not the 'we're going to live happily ever after together' sort of kiss, but more of the 'God I can't wait to fuck you' variety.

Legolas did NOT approve. "Ú-chenion." he uttered. "E benn?"

"E bess," Gimli shrugged.

"Tiro, Gimli. E benn."

"Û e benn," Gimli grumbled. "Hi edain."

Legs just frowned. "Hai edain."

"So you guys aren't real big into the whole PDA thing, huh?" I asked him as Prerna flushed and straightened her hair. Then again, if Legs and Gimli here had started making out, NYC would've probably exploded with the force of a million fangirls having simultaneous orgasms.

"Thanks so much," Prerna gushed. "Really! Bye, Lost-his-legs, bye, Gim-bob!"

"Yeah. Thanks guys," I said with less enthusiasm. "Er…namarië?" Damn, Quenya again. They were die-hard LARPing fanboys, sure, and would-be-virgins if it weren't for the whole, you know, OTP vibe they had going on. But they had filmed our proposal, so besides taking their obsessive role-playing fetishism far too seriously than could be considered sane or healthy or legal and being far too liberal/literal with their kiss giving, how bad could they really be?

[Yeah. That's almost as bad as "what could possibly go wrong?", or "this was going to be the best Christmas Walford has ever had!". I've since learned not to ask questions like that. I mean, Legolas and Gimli? In real life? Every Ringer or fangirl's dream, right? To which I say, girls, have you ever actually seen those movies—?

DoS made Legolas look like a chubby, stalking douchebag* but they did get one thing down pat: he's an absolutely fucking ruthless killing machine with a deep-seated prejudice against anything he perceives as evil with a license to kill order strapped to his sniper bow and a hard on for decapitations. And that sort of eye-for-an-eye MegaCity One style executioner justice just doesn't go over so well in modern Middle-earth. Trust me. The guy's like fucking Adrian Veidt and Ollie Queen had a baby and let Rorshack raise him (And you thought Sherlock was a high functioning sociopath?).*

Let me put it like this: of all the people to bump into from a book, the very last race you want to meet up with are J.R.R. Tolkien's Elves. Hot as motherfucking hell, sure. But they're all so fucking fey they'll murder you without a thought and they'll laugh and sing as they do it. His Dwarves aren't much better, but at least you'll hear them coming. They might be underwhelming, un-adventurous, and more than a little bit plump but when it comes to babysitting your favorite fictional characters, you want a goddamned Hobbit.]

But Erstwhile Ida didn't know any of these things. She remained blissfully unaware of all the bloodshed that Dumb and Dumberass might cause, so she figured the least she could do was be nice and say something Sindarin. "No vaer!"

"Cuio vaer, meldir," he bowed to us both, and I thought we might have even gotten an 'at your service' in what was probably Neo-Westron or something from Gimli (definitely not enough consonants to be Khuzdul, and besides, a fanboy of that caliber would know better than to speak the sacred tongue of the Dwarves in front of a non-Dwarf). But they didn't seem too happy about it. I got the uncomfortable feeling that they wanted to follow us, and I felt their eyes on us for several blocks.

Prerna didn't seem to notice.

"Are you on facebook already?" I teased her as she stumbled into me again. I'd already had to save her from at least three curbs and a jogging stroller. She'd never really learned to text while walking.

"Shut up," she said, her dark eyes never leaving her phone. She hit 'send.' "…aaand it's official," she skipped over and grabbed my hand.

I stopped. "You changed your relationship status?"

"And posted pics."

Shit. Outting yourself to your family on facebook—? My voice was tight. "Prer…is that going to be a problem?"

"Not for me it isn't," she said firmly.

It was just us, just her and I. There'd be upsets and troubles and turbulence and bumps, and we were standing on the fragile skin of a swiftly tilting planet hurtling around our dying star lost in the echoes of a long-forgotten explosion. In all the universe, in all of time, there was only one Prerna Prashad, and she was mine. I didn't want to lose her, didn't want to see her lose contact with the people who loved and raised her who I owed everything about my current happiness to, but as Rose Tyler said: everyone leaves home in the end.

Prerna made her choice long ago. And she chose to be with me.

"Okay," I nodded. We were happy, excited, giddy and newly-engaged. If she didn't want to discuss it just yet, I couldn't see a reason to spoil the mood.

And let's be honest: for as good as she looked in that Tauriel cosplay, I really couldn't wait to get her out of it.

*French the llama that's a strange expression. Now eat five sheets of toilet paper while discussing the political situation in Nepal.

*If you don't know who Randall Munroe or xkcd is then you've lost some serious nerd credentials. I might have to stop speaking to you.

*All hail the Mighty Bill Amend, and yea, has he prophesized correctly.

*You sang that last line. Admit it.

*What? It's a valid English collective. And it's the first thing that pops into my mind when confronted with a crowd of brainless, selfie-obsessed, angsty adolescents. Newly discovered hormones and a lack of frontal lobe development are an ugly thing. Trust me: I've been there, done that, served time.

*…OR IS IT—? Gandalf would later explain the exact metaphysics of this whole fucking fiasco to me as "Wibbly Wobbly, Timey Wimey."

[Then again, his first words were also "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Twe—no, wait, sorry, that's Dumbledore." As far as Wizened-Old-Man-Mentor Quest tropes go, the guy is pretty fucking mental. I think it's down in the job description: Creator of epic fantasy seeking one Guide for Hero's Quest. Must provide own Red Shirt and magical means of transport. Regeneration always a plus. Pre-requisites include magic staff and bat-shittingly insane sense of humor. Women and Minorities need not apply (Asian kung fu masters and Magical Negroes on a case-by-case basis only).]

*Da fuq, PJ? That's one of the last fucking lines she ever says to him before she rides off to Gondor for Death and Glory. That's Dernhelm's origin story, and the movies shit all over it. I'd say they TDKR'd her, but I guess it's more like TDKR Dernhelm'd Catwoman. And Talia. And Rachel.

…NOLAN!

*I um, I like big tits and I cannot lie.

*For you movieverse people, think "A scout!" mixed with "Do not think I would not kill you, Dwarf!" minus the whole "flames of war are upon y…(gurgle)" only directed at that type of vapid teenybopping, pushy twenty-something who gives all girls a bad name.

*You see why I love her? Dude pulls a knife and I all want to do is put some distance between us and protect what's mine. Prerna just charges in like a fucking pink sparkly unicorn without a thought for herself. It's not because she's brave or anything, she just has a "saving people thing", as Hermione put it. If he'd done the same to her she'd be petrified.

*A certain pointy-eared Elvish princeling would like me to point out that in fact he would never utter a phrase so impolite or unpoetic. His exact words were: I will hew your hands if you dare it again! Monster! Begone! Only think more Thee's and Thine's. He's the only guy I know who makes sure to use the proper pronouns when telling someone to kindly fuck off or I'll kill you. I mean, he wouldn't want to be rude about it.

[Yes, yes, I know that thou, thee, thy, and thine are actually the informal English pronouns. But in historical fiction and in canon Rohan and all fan fiction they're treated as archaic and therefore very formal. So I'm honoring Tolkien tradition here by being blatantly incorrect. Suck it, Trebek.]

*…JACKSON! Character development, my scrawny white ass. In FotR, Legolas befriends Gimli because it was the last request Gandalf made of him, and he saw firsthand the sorrow of what happens when Dwarves and Elves fight each other rather than the real enemy. He's blindfolded in Lothlórien not due to the stubborn neck of Gimli but by his own pride, and well he comes to repent it. Which is more fucking character development, my dead ex-girlfriend (who I used to stalk and pity-party and abandoned my post over, btw) fell in love with a Dwarf, so now I'm not a fucking Dwarf racist Party Prince (except for the first full half of FotR…) or a fucking Maia died for whom to me the grief is still too near? What, we really have to fridge a woman just for that—? WTFuck, Phillippa and Fran. WTFuck.

[…Which reminds me:

Knock, knock.

Who's there?

To.

To who?

To WHOM!

Every. Goddamned. Time.]

*What, you thought this fic was going to be rated T for my pornographic Legomance tell all? Yeah, no. 'Less wise and more perilous' doesn't even begin to cut it.

Translations, and such, for those of you interested in that sort of thing:

L: Friend, what place is this? Do you pledge allegiance to the white tree of Gondor?

Me: Yes, Gondor.

L: Do not abandon me to the clamoring horde. I am Legolas. I am Prerna. What? Alas! Forgive me! I do not understand.

Me: I [am] Ida, she [is] Prerna, you [are] Legolas. [I might've misled you when I told you it was toddler speak. Newborn Elves have better grammar and bigger vocabularies, damnit.]

L: Hail and well met, Prerna of the East! Through Middle-earth have I wandered under starless heavens and deadly horrors, yet I would dare again to wander there for the glimpsing of thy fair face. [Don't get too excited. He's an Elf and a Prince. He talks like that to fucking everyone. My brother Scott's certainly not a homophobe, but he's sworn to pummel his Elf-ass if he ever uses the words fair, strong, or brave or any variation or synonym thereupon about him again. He's also—unsurprisingly—not a big fan of the face kissing.

…Nessa and I think it's fucking hilarious.]

L: Cease harassing me, let go of me! I am Legolas Thranduil's son, King of the forest-folk…prince of Ithilien (Don't!), the allegiant of Aragorn (It is not good!), son of Arathorn (Begone!) the king of Gondor and Isildur's heir (Stop!), a his stewards Faramir (It is bad!), son of Denethor, and his wife Eowyn (It is not well!), daughter of horselands famous and beyond mighty (Stop harassing me!), the Everwhite, Agmar's bane (Let me go!)

L: Alas, release me. Wilst thou not give me peace? I will hew thine hands if thou darest it again. Monster! Be ye gone! Harassing demons. I have no peace in this place. The horror! Why? Do you know this terrifying illness? What is it?

G: It was unwise. It was Unwell.

L: But Gimli—!

G: It is necessary! Now!

L: Forgive my trespass, friend. Alas! The council of Gimli son of Gloin is wise. Forgive me, I did not wish to insult. Forgive me? I do not understand. Is he a man?

G: She is a woman.

L: Look, Gimli. He is a man.

G: No she is not a man, they (feminine) are Men.

L: No, they (neutral) are Men.

Me: Be well!

L: Live well, friend!