A Lord of the Rings ficlet by Sera

"Choices"

Summary: Legolas is in Rivendell. He will be leaving with the Fellowship of the Ring the following day, and has a life-threatening decision to make…

I stalk angrily, albeit gracefully, along the diminutive length of the room. A tiny square chamber, only large enough to house two single beds; mine and my younger brother's. It irritates me that I have been forced to share with my sibling - it's not that I don't like him, but I need my privacy sometimes. When you get to my age, every moment alone is one moment more of sanity. The company I keep are fun, but they have their spasms of lunacy.

Like today. Some fool hobbit wants to take the One Ring into Mordor. What possessed me to offer my services? He can cavort off on his suicidal mission for all I care, but did I have to say I'd accompany him?!

Come to think of it, Aragorn would have volunteered me if I hadn't. I could see he was sore about my defending him. He thinks it makes him seem weak. Hah! He hadn't even told anyone he was Isildur's heir. You would think he really was a common Ranger, the way be behaves and dresses.

Not to mention the hair. Ugh. The thought of his greasy head snaps me out of my reverie and back to the pressing decision of the moment. Choices, choices. These may mean the difference between (my) life and death. I should choose wisely.

I pace back down the room, bare feet not even making a whisper on the wooden floor, glaring angrily at the shelf, presenting its silent challenge. Choose one!

Oh, such a heart-rending choice… I love them all. But we must travel light, and I have only space for one or two in my backpack. I suppose food is a more important necessity, although I have this feeling that I shall come to regret that ruling later on.

My brother, Sterransen, barges in at that moment, interrupting my train of thought. He looks quizzically at me.

"What are you doing, Legolas?"

"What does it look like?" I snap, annoyed. The only time he ever pesters me is the precise time I need it least.

"It looks like you're staring at your 'collection'." I can hear the sarcasm in his voice.

"I'm trying to make an important decision. I can do without your interference, Sterransen."

"Well!" he looks surprised. "I'm sorry. But you seem to have forgotten that I live here too."

"Only because Elrond lacks the proper accommodation for guests of our rank," I sneer. "Back home we have that entire wing reserved for visitors."

"True, but…" he walks over to the shelf. "Look, just pick one! This one. It's attractive."

"Not enough body."

"Well…" he says again, replacing the bottle. "This one?" he asks, selecting an orange bottle.

"Not bad, but no moisturiser."

Sterransen sighs. "It's not that hard, Legolas. I know you must always look your best, being sixth in line to the throne, but, you're going to Mordor, for goodness' sake! Orcs aren't going to stop dead and stare in awe at your beauty! And if you stop posing long enough to shoot them, they're not exactly going to compliment you!"

My temper flares. "You… you… you brat! How dare you mock me! Get out!" I grab the nearest bottle to hand, and check it's not one of my favourites before flinging it at his smirking head.

But he is gone, slipping out of the door. His laughter echoes down the corridor.

Scowling, I replace the bottle on the end of the shelf. Decisions, decisions. Which one shall it be? Herbal Essences? Pantene? Organics? Rejoice? So many brands, and so little time…

-fin-

A/N: He's choosing a shampoo, in case you hadn't guessed that.

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