Of Mirth And Folly.
Chapter One: Forbidden Love, Forbidden Weed.
Legolas, acclaimed archer and Prince of Mirkwood, briefly entertained the thought of skewering Gondor's successor with a well-aimed arrow to the neck. The Fellowship of Eight, he mused to himself with disdain. Has a rather charming ring to it. Heh, ring. How I wish someone were around to hear that. Of course, he would not let any individual infringe upon his secret dislike for Aragorn, for it would be a direct reference to his secret desire for Elf Maiden Arwen, the most beautiful creature known to Middle Earth.
He rested atop a thick marble banister, and against an impeccably chiselled column, his left leg swaying lazily beneath as he plucked distractedly at his bowstring. The chamber selected specifically for him was suspended above the streams of the southern garden, and, unfortunately for him, the lovers had selected this enchanting place for a romantic rendezvous.
Shadows of leaves danced about his fair and handsome face as he gazed longingly at the couple below. Aragorn had his back to the blonde Elf as he embraced the woman, and the archer's pulse quickened with grief and rage at the sight. He could not hear their exchange of dialogue, but could sense the profoundness of Arwen's words simply by the way her full, crimson lips undulated with slow eloquence. She was captivated in her beloved's gaze, and it pained him to see her slender, radiant hands glide softly over the coarse valleys of the Ranger's face.
Legolas studied her in vain despair. The symmetry of her glowingly fair face was precise, and the consequential aura of beauty was devastating to any man who looked upon it. Her eyes embodied the deepest of knowledge and the lightest of innocence simultaneously. The raven curls of her hair cascaded below her slight and dainty shoulders, as they arced backwards to lengthen the shimmering, transparent gown from behind, and heighten its proximity around her perfectly sculpted, soft bosom. Legolas wretched in horror upon realising the pendant usually bejewelling her slender neck was absent. She had forfeited her immortality to a mere man whose track record was so jaded; it would throw her family's name into disrepair. His pain was not alleviated as he watched their lips crush against each other in a passionate kiss.
His very essence in ruin, Legolas slid from his perch and jogged angrily through his sleeping quarters to the adjacent balcony that looked out over the valley of Rivendell. He fought a heaving sob that threatened to wrack his whole body, releasing the stored sorrow in a shallow, ragged breath.
"Uh, 'scuse me," came the insensitive, mischievous voice of a larrikin Hobbit, "But d'you know where me and my friend Pip here can find some pipe weed, perchance?"
"I've not the heart to tell you," whispered Legolas, "For me the grief is still too near."
"Uh………huh," Merry finished, raising an eyebrow in confused concern. "You're sure, now? No idea where we can find a good patch of Old Toby? All this Dark Lord of Death business has given us a mighty cravin' for a puff, y'see………"
"I-I'm sorry?" Legolas suddenly interrupted upon restoring some semblance of consciousness.
"We need some pipe weed!" Pippin demanded impatiently.
"Oh," the Elven archer replied, softly. "I'm afraid the Valley of Rivendell isn't subject to any such flora. All herbal remedies of the Elves are seldom used for smoking."
"Well, bloody hell!" the Hobbit with the sharper nose huffed. "I get all testy when I have'na had a good puff, I do. And that Strider won't let us use any of the leftover Kingsfoil he used on Frodo, neither!"
"Oh, he won't, eh?" sneered Legolas, a wicked plan formulating in his mind. "And why not?"
"He said it does ker-ayzee things to the brain," replied Merry.
"And what would a mere Ranger know of such things?" retorted the Elf.
"A mere Ranger?" echoed Pippin, frowning, "But at the Council meeting you said he was no mere Ranger- -"
"Forget I said that," Legolas interrupted. "I assure you, boys, Kingsfoil is completely harmless. Go and help yourselves to it immediately! Aragorn just wants it to himself!"
"Why, that selfish son-of-a-Proudfoot," Merry hissed, "I'm gonna smoke the whole bag, and douse the embers on the crotch of his trousers! Come on, Pip!"
The Hobbit companions darted away from Legolas as he stood chuckling to himself. Yes, my stout-hearted Hobbits, he mused to himself, Puff away. Puff till you can no longer clasp the pipe between your lips. All's fair in love and war, Aragorn. And I am master of the latter.
~(*)~
The warmth of her kiss was nauseating.
Aragorn, successor to the throne of Gondor, felt light-headed as he asserted his desire for his one true love. Their forearms were intertwined in an embrace that distanced their bodies slightly, and he rectified this hindrance with discretion, sliding his calloused hands along their full length to her shoulders, and sealing the gap by pulling her whole body to his as the intensity of the kiss deepened significantly. Unintentionally, small, pleasurable moans escaped her throat, and this served as extreme provocation for the now intoxicated warrior. Though he was lost in the sheer surrealism of the moment, his level head encouraged him to change locations, as the thin bridge over the stream was far too precarious a position for the heated consummation of eternal love. Still adjoined at the face, he lowered himself to snake his arm beneath her firm buttocks and lift her off her feet. Eyes closed, he traversed the remaining length of the bridge and rested his beloved at the base of the large tree that masked their hiding place from intrusion. With capricious determination, he began to unfasten her gown.
~(*)~
"So, what d'you think?" enquired Pippin as he sucked tentatively at his pipe.
"S'not bad," replied Merry after a deeper inhalation.
Pippin nodded as he stared vacantly at the floor.
"I mean, it's no Old Toby," his friend added, "But it's got a really refreshing fragrance, y'know? Subtle, yet bold and aromatic."
A giggle suddenly escaped Pippin's lips.
"Whass so funny?" snickered Merry, his speech slurring slightly.
"Eh?" chuckled Pippin, looking up. "Oh, a-hee hee! Not much. Just………well, y'know, journey to the bowels of Mordor, fate of the world, yadda yadda yadda………all seems a bit nutty, dunnit?"
"Hey, yeah………a-heh heh, I guess it kinda does! Hmmph-ha ha ha!"
"Wee hee hee!"
"Bwa-hoo-hoo-ha-ha-haaaa!"
The wisps of Kingsfoil smoke grew thicker as the incoherent sniggering of the companions grew increasingly raucous.
~(*)~
Arwen had attained nirvana.
Under the dominant weight of her beloved Estel, the heat of her body could not have matched her desire for him, although it was certainly difficult to tell. She was on fire with primeval lust as he slid the delicate fabric of her gown away from her shoulders, exposing the naked flesh to the crispness of the evening and sending a pleasurable shudder down her spine, that remained as he planted feather light kisses against them soon afterwards. It was impossible to maintain any semblance of conscious thought as his hips began to gyrate against hers, and this made it difficult to prepare her body for the mother of all carnal experiences.
Then, all of a sudden, her lover paused.
Now only her desperate breathing infringed upon the silence of the evening, and she quickly dulled the sound in frustrated impatience.
"Why did you stop, my love?" she breathed.
"Can you not smell that peculiar essence?" he whispered in reply.
"It is merely the aroma of my own heated arousal," she gasped dismissively as she grabbed at his neck, eager to continue.
"No," he insisted, "It smells like………Kingsfoil………"
"WAAA-ZUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUP?!?"
The jarring holler from above completely obliterated the atmosphere of unabashed passion between the lovers, and they turned to observe Merry and Pippin staggering about the balcony in a vain attempt at dancing the jig.
"WOO-ZUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup……………?!?!"
The Hobbits howled like sedated hyenas as they stumbled clumsily about. They fell against each other, tears of delight streaming unrestrained down their faces, and fought to catch their breath as they whooped in glee.
"I told them to stay out of the Kingsfoil," seethed Aragorn through clenched teeth.
Suddenly aware of her surroundings, Arwen rolled her beloved onto his back and clambered to her feet, covering her naked breasts with her arms. Ashamed, she darted barefoot into the night as Aragorn drew his sword and stalked angrily to his hysterical prey.
With solemn determination, he marched along the defined marble stairwell to the second floor of the southern hall, only to be greeted by the wizard Gandalf. The exceptionally tall conjurer stood stoic, holding the giggling Hobbits steadfast by the ears. He gazed down at the furious Ranger understandingly.
"Stoned Hobbits," sighed the wizard, "Is there a more pathetic visage? I sincerely apologise, Aragorn, I hope these two haven't spoilt your evening with the Evenstar."
Aragorn stared longingly over the railing, down to where he had stood with his love, captivated in her piercing gaze.
"Think nothing of it, Gandalf," he replied, softly. "These things happen."
"Would you care to join us gentlemen in the eastern garden?" the wizened old man murmured as consolation, "We're about to begin a small game of croquet."
"No," sighed the Ranger. "I may just retire for the evening. We have quite an adventure ahead of us."
"That we do, my boy," he smiled. "I'll just escort these two to the dungeon below Elrond's chamber. Come along, you accursed stoners! By the Valar, you're lucky I got to you before he did!"
From his perch on the rooftop, Legolas grinned smugly as the Hobbits were dealt with, and Aragorn struck at a tree in frustration.
~(*)~
End Chapter One.