Disclaimer: Not mine.
Golden sunlight struggled to find its way through the thick foliage of the once-called Greenwood the Great, now simply known as Mirkwood. Little could be heard save the occasional breath of a breeze that was strangled by the trees.
Empty air flowed around Legolas as he eyes his quarry. The Elven prince notched an arrow in his bow, sharp grey eyes focused upon the barely moving creature. The overwhelming darkness of the forest was something he was quite accustomed to, though it often moved him to think of how bright it once had been. Now all the dark creatures blended in well, though they were still caught by his well-trained vision. The spider shifted a bit, its giant legs bent and crouched over its victim as it ate at its leisure. The unfortunate deer had not been quick enough to avoid the spider's webbing, and a few soft sounds escaped its throat as the spider feasted.
Legolas drew back, pausing for a moment as he steadied his aim. Inhaling quietly, he released. The spider reared back, screaming in such a tone that it raised the hair on the back of the elf's neck. As the spider hissed, quickly moving forward while its red eyes searched for its assailant, Legolas fired once more. The arrow struck the creature in its monstrous face, and it collapsed upon the body of its prey.
Sighing in satisfaction as a small smile crossed his lips, Legolas ventured forward. Upon reaching the body, he quickly drew one of his knives and cut off the grotesque legs. Bundling them together as a trophy, he turned and began walking back towards the palace, whistling quietly to himself.
Upon re-entering the clearing that faced the mountain of his home, Legolas noted with some pleasure how several of the other elves eyes him with warm smiles and respectful bows. Most knew that while he was a compassionate being, he was also ruthless when needed, and certainly could slay any adversary. As he entered the cave that led down into the palace, he noted that something was amiss. From deep within the caverns he heard a commotion, dining ware being thrown about and many voices were raised.
Running through the well-lit caverns, Legolas came at last to the Grand Hall, whereupon he found a group of elves clustered around several women who were in hysterics.
"What is going on?" he yelled.
Immediately the elves turned and bowed. The women quieted a little, though not enough to cease drawing attention to themselves. Upon closer view, Legolas noted that there were eight women, four she-elves and four mortals, each one dressed rather ornately though somewhat dirtied, and each one was beautiful. Their faces were tear-strained and flushed, very few turning their faces towards the prince.
"Your Highness," greeted one brown-haired elf, bowing low. "You were hunting in the forest again."
Legolas nodded sharply, still staring with some distaste at the commotion in front of him. "Yes, Vanoren. Would you please tell me what is going on? Who are all these women? Where did they come from?"
Vanoren glanced nervously between the prince's stern gaze and the sobbing women. He did not like out of control women any better than the prince did. "Well, you see, my lord, they were in a caravan destined to bring them to Rivendell. As their path brought them through the forest, they were ambushed by goblins."
The prince's gaze flicked across the varying faces. "Where are their escorts? Surely they had guards with them."
"Dead, my lord," Vanoren answered. "The ladies ran through the forest until our guards happened upon them and brought them here."
For a moment Legolas felt a swell of irritation. Firstly that these women would not pull themselves together. Secondly, that whoever had planned this caravan had not seen fit to provide them with suitable protection. With his father in talks with his council all day, the duty of attending to these women fell upon him. Deeply, he admitted, it was not an entirely unpleasant task, especially as seeing how they were all extremely fair to behold--after the tears began to subside, that is.
Handing his parcel and weapons to Vanoren, Legolas stepped forward. "Gentle ladies," he began. Immediately the women quieted, all eyes focused upon him. Offering a polite smile, he continued. "I am Legolas, prince of the city ruled by Thranduil. I welcome you to Mirkwood, though it is terrible you only ventured here on such a perilous journey. Are any of you injured?"
The ladies looked at one another, eyes blinking rapidly. One of the mortals slowly raised a hand. I am, my lord," she said quietly. "I believe my ankle turned while we were running."
Nodding once, Legolas moved towards the woman. He knelt down and began inspecting the injury. The woman smiled shyly, stretching out her leg so her skirt hiked up her leg even more. Legolas swallowed once, his eyes fighting not to stray farther than needed. "Can you walk?" he asked.
The woman met his gaze. Fiery blue eyes stared at him, no longer wet and sobbing. Her pale face was framed by thick golden hair that was pulled back into many braids, the ends lining the low rise of her dress. For a moment Legolas glanced at her heaving chest, drawn to it as any male would be, until he mentally berated himself for such crude thoughts.
"I do not know, my lord," she answered, half a smile rising upon her lips.
"Do not fear, my lady. You will be well taken care of here."
As he began to rise to his feet, one of the other women spoke up. "I am injured also, my lord!"
Legolas turned to the voice, who happened to be a woman with hair black as the forest, a line of silver hair running through the many curls that hung damply around her face. Her. . .violet eyes captured him immediately, drawing him closer to her, and the frantic breathing that made her ample chest tremble. It was certainly not the first time females had thrown themselves at him. He rather enjoyed it. Again the prince felt his eyes studying each curve of her body as he smiled charmingly at her. "Where are you hurt?" he asked.
She leaned forward, shoving her hair away from her chest. Tilting her face forward, which placed her bosom within the prince's line of sight, she answered breathily, "My back is scratched, as is my chest. Do you not see the marks I bare?" She stood up, leaning forward.
Legolas' eyes focused upon her as he swallowed hard, his heart beating quickly in his chest. Very few ladies he had known had ever been this bold, and he had certainly not been so drawn to them before. As his eyes flicked between her face and her flesh, he asked through a deep breath, "What is your name, my lady?"
She smiled, edging closer to the elf. "I am Aphrodite Silverstar."
Immediately one of the she-elfs jumped to her feet. "My lord!" she cried, swaying to and fro. "I fear I should faint!"
As she began to teeter, Legolas sprang forward, easily catching her in his arms as she collapsed. Small grumblings could be heard from the other women. The she-elf smiled gratefully, turning her blue and silver tinged eyes to stare at the prince. She carefully tucked a strand of dark hair behind her pointed ear.
"Are you all right, my lady?" Legolas asked in concern, slowly bringing her to her feet.
The she-elf gave him a dramatic eye-batting before saying, "I--I believe so. I am Luwendolin Windfire."
Legolas felt himself falling into her eyes. The way her slender body curved in his arms made him draw her closer until she placed soft hands upon his shoulders. His breath caught, sending a rush of tingles down his spine. He could feel her breath on his face as she delicately touched his face.
"You are indeed handsome, Prince Legolas," she cooed. "Such a tight embrace you have! Do you hunt often?"
As he opened his mouth to speak, one of the other she-elves fell to the floor near his feet with a pained cry. Legolas quickly looked to her. "My lady?" he asked quizzically.
The elf clutched her side, looking up at him desperately with green eyes framed by a wave of hair the color of fire. "My lord," she said weakly. "Please help me!"
He started to release Luwendolin, but she clamped her fingers tightly around his tunic. Blinking rapidly, he said, "Lady Luwendolin, I must help your friend."
Luwendolin shrugged her hair away, revealing a heavy necklace of silver and sapphires. Legolas blinked at the pure beauty of it. "No," she whispered. "This necklace is magical. Good prince, I have you in my arms, and I yearn only for one sweet kiss from your lips."
Surprise and confusion pulled at his mind, as well as repulsion, but attraction and arousal quickly clouded those feelings, especially as she pulled herself even closer to him, until their noses met. He desired her greatly, and he felt unable to resist her charms.
"I am meant for you, Prince Legolas," she whispered, brushing tender lips against his.
A frustrated scream tore the air. The she-elf on the floor suddenly rose to her feet, her eyes blazing. "Do not ignore me, Prince Legolas, for I am noble of birth. I am Princess Parodia, daughter of King Excaliban. My father is a powerful king and wizard, and my mother is a descendant of Luthien Tinuviel! Do you not see how beautiful I am? I have been bred since birth to be a lady, but my only desire is to wander the lands, righting wrongs and serving justice for free peoples! Come with me, Prince. Let us string our bows and fight evil!" From out of nowhere, it seemed, she pulled a longbow studded with, what looked like, dragon scale. It glowed in the light. As she produced a quiver of mithril arrows, the other women began to scream wantonly.
They clamored forward, pawing at Legolas, reaching out to him, staring at him with eyes as large and wide as anime characters. As he stumbled, still in the tight embrace of Luwendolin, Legolas felt panic rising through his clouded mind. Dark tendrils clawed at every part of his body, desperately seeking some way to claim him. There were cries of a woman with pure blood from the Valar, some saying they had run away from abusive parents or arranged marriages, others of queenly birth or unparalleled ranger abilities. The estrogen level was suffocating, toxic, and they were all pulling him down.
The other elves, frozen in amazement and horror until now, began to shout. "My lord! You must move! These are no pure women."
Legolas looked about wildly as hands began grabbing him in places not to be mentioned. "What is this?" he cried.
One of the elves shouted, "These are demons, Prince Legolas! If you do not run, they will consume you, do terrible things to you--like compare hair products, demand that you take them to your bedchamber, strive for a child with you, or even--" he paused, unable to squeeze the words out-- "best you at archery!"
There was a collective gasp from the Mirkwood elves.
"Please, you must fight!"
The elf prince suddenly saw the beautiful faces shifting, becoming wild, drooling, crazed creatures. Absurd professions of love filled his ears, and he screamed as one of the women spoke of the horrible things she would do to his elfhood.
He struggled to grasp for his weapons, only to remember he had handed them away earlier. Gathering his strength, he pulled free of the masses, leaping to the other side of the room. Tousled, disarrayed, his clothes half-torn---there was a shriek of "I have his shirt!"--Legolas began to breathe frantically. "Demons," he gasped. "These creatures are of foul craft, bewitching in their appearance, yet there lies only death in their touch, or the fearful fate of being locked forever in their embrace!"
Vanoren grabbed a spear, as did the other elves, standing between the prince and the mouth-foaming women. "Run, my lord! We will hold them until the guards come. You must leave! They are coming!"
Somewhat dazed, Legolas ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Behind him he heard the wails and rants of the creatures, soon followed by several knock-down fistfights, and harried cries from Vanoren. Never before had Legolas run from an enemy. Never had he turned his back on a challenge. Now, however, he realized for the first time in his very long life that he was completely helpless. No skill he possessed could serve him in warding off those beasts, those demons, those things that could only be called Mary Sues.
Golden sunlight struggled to find its way through the thick foliage of the once-called Greenwood the Great, now simply known as Mirkwood. Little could be heard save the occasional breath of a breeze that was strangled by the trees.
Empty air flowed around Legolas as he eyes his quarry. The Elven prince notched an arrow in his bow, sharp grey eyes focused upon the barely moving creature. The overwhelming darkness of the forest was something he was quite accustomed to, though it often moved him to think of how bright it once had been. Now all the dark creatures blended in well, though they were still caught by his well-trained vision. The spider shifted a bit, its giant legs bent and crouched over its victim as it ate at its leisure. The unfortunate deer had not been quick enough to avoid the spider's webbing, and a few soft sounds escaped its throat as the spider feasted.
Legolas drew back, pausing for a moment as he steadied his aim. Inhaling quietly, he released. The spider reared back, screaming in such a tone that it raised the hair on the back of the elf's neck. As the spider hissed, quickly moving forward while its red eyes searched for its assailant, Legolas fired once more. The arrow struck the creature in its monstrous face, and it collapsed upon the body of its prey.
Sighing in satisfaction as a small smile crossed his lips, Legolas ventured forward. Upon reaching the body, he quickly drew one of his knives and cut off the grotesque legs. Bundling them together as a trophy, he turned and began walking back towards the palace, whistling quietly to himself.
Upon re-entering the clearing that faced the mountain of his home, Legolas noted with some pleasure how several of the other elves eyes him with warm smiles and respectful bows. Most knew that while he was a compassionate being, he was also ruthless when needed, and certainly could slay any adversary. As he entered the cave that led down into the palace, he noted that something was amiss. From deep within the caverns he heard a commotion, dining ware being thrown about and many voices were raised.
Running through the well-lit caverns, Legolas came at last to the Grand Hall, whereupon he found a group of elves clustered around several women who were in hysterics.
"What is going on?" he yelled.
Immediately the elves turned and bowed. The women quieted a little, though not enough to cease drawing attention to themselves. Upon closer view, Legolas noted that there were eight women, four she-elves and four mortals, each one dressed rather ornately though somewhat dirtied, and each one was beautiful. Their faces were tear-strained and flushed, very few turning their faces towards the prince.
"Your Highness," greeted one brown-haired elf, bowing low. "You were hunting in the forest again."
Legolas nodded sharply, still staring with some distaste at the commotion in front of him. "Yes, Vanoren. Would you please tell me what is going on? Who are all these women? Where did they come from?"
Vanoren glanced nervously between the prince's stern gaze and the sobbing women. He did not like out of control women any better than the prince did. "Well, you see, my lord, they were in a caravan destined to bring them to Rivendell. As their path brought them through the forest, they were ambushed by goblins."
The prince's gaze flicked across the varying faces. "Where are their escorts? Surely they had guards with them."
"Dead, my lord," Vanoren answered. "The ladies ran through the forest until our guards happened upon them and brought them here."
For a moment Legolas felt a swell of irritation. Firstly that these women would not pull themselves together. Secondly, that whoever had planned this caravan had not seen fit to provide them with suitable protection. With his father in talks with his council all day, the duty of attending to these women fell upon him. Deeply, he admitted, it was not an entirely unpleasant task, especially as seeing how they were all extremely fair to behold--after the tears began to subside, that is.
Handing his parcel and weapons to Vanoren, Legolas stepped forward. "Gentle ladies," he began. Immediately the women quieted, all eyes focused upon him. Offering a polite smile, he continued. "I am Legolas, prince of the city ruled by Thranduil. I welcome you to Mirkwood, though it is terrible you only ventured here on such a perilous journey. Are any of you injured?"
The ladies looked at one another, eyes blinking rapidly. One of the mortals slowly raised a hand. I am, my lord," she said quietly. "I believe my ankle turned while we were running."
Nodding once, Legolas moved towards the woman. He knelt down and began inspecting the injury. The woman smiled shyly, stretching out her leg so her skirt hiked up her leg even more. Legolas swallowed once, his eyes fighting not to stray farther than needed. "Can you walk?" he asked.
The woman met his gaze. Fiery blue eyes stared at him, no longer wet and sobbing. Her pale face was framed by thick golden hair that was pulled back into many braids, the ends lining the low rise of her dress. For a moment Legolas glanced at her heaving chest, drawn to it as any male would be, until he mentally berated himself for such crude thoughts.
"I do not know, my lord," she answered, half a smile rising upon her lips.
"Do not fear, my lady. You will be well taken care of here."
As he began to rise to his feet, one of the other women spoke up. "I am injured also, my lord!"
Legolas turned to the voice, who happened to be a woman with hair black as the forest, a line of silver hair running through the many curls that hung damply around her face. Her. . .violet eyes captured him immediately, drawing him closer to her, and the frantic breathing that made her ample chest tremble. It was certainly not the first time females had thrown themselves at him. He rather enjoyed it. Again the prince felt his eyes studying each curve of her body as he smiled charmingly at her. "Where are you hurt?" he asked.
She leaned forward, shoving her hair away from her chest. Tilting her face forward, which placed her bosom within the prince's line of sight, she answered breathily, "My back is scratched, as is my chest. Do you not see the marks I bare?" She stood up, leaning forward.
Legolas' eyes focused upon her as he swallowed hard, his heart beating quickly in his chest. Very few ladies he had known had ever been this bold, and he had certainly not been so drawn to them before. As his eyes flicked between her face and her flesh, he asked through a deep breath, "What is your name, my lady?"
She smiled, edging closer to the elf. "I am Aphrodite Silverstar."
Immediately one of the she-elfs jumped to her feet. "My lord!" she cried, swaying to and fro. "I fear I should faint!"
As she began to teeter, Legolas sprang forward, easily catching her in his arms as she collapsed. Small grumblings could be heard from the other women. The she-elf smiled gratefully, turning her blue and silver tinged eyes to stare at the prince. She carefully tucked a strand of dark hair behind her pointed ear.
"Are you all right, my lady?" Legolas asked in concern, slowly bringing her to her feet.
The she-elf gave him a dramatic eye-batting before saying, "I--I believe so. I am Luwendolin Windfire."
Legolas felt himself falling into her eyes. The way her slender body curved in his arms made him draw her closer until she placed soft hands upon his shoulders. His breath caught, sending a rush of tingles down his spine. He could feel her breath on his face as she delicately touched his face.
"You are indeed handsome, Prince Legolas," she cooed. "Such a tight embrace you have! Do you hunt often?"
As he opened his mouth to speak, one of the other she-elves fell to the floor near his feet with a pained cry. Legolas quickly looked to her. "My lady?" he asked quizzically.
The elf clutched her side, looking up at him desperately with green eyes framed by a wave of hair the color of fire. "My lord," she said weakly. "Please help me!"
He started to release Luwendolin, but she clamped her fingers tightly around his tunic. Blinking rapidly, he said, "Lady Luwendolin, I must help your friend."
Luwendolin shrugged her hair away, revealing a heavy necklace of silver and sapphires. Legolas blinked at the pure beauty of it. "No," she whispered. "This necklace is magical. Good prince, I have you in my arms, and I yearn only for one sweet kiss from your lips."
Surprise and confusion pulled at his mind, as well as repulsion, but attraction and arousal quickly clouded those feelings, especially as she pulled herself even closer to him, until their noses met. He desired her greatly, and he felt unable to resist her charms.
"I am meant for you, Prince Legolas," she whispered, brushing tender lips against his.
A frustrated scream tore the air. The she-elf on the floor suddenly rose to her feet, her eyes blazing. "Do not ignore me, Prince Legolas, for I am noble of birth. I am Princess Parodia, daughter of King Excaliban. My father is a powerful king and wizard, and my mother is a descendant of Luthien Tinuviel! Do you not see how beautiful I am? I have been bred since birth to be a lady, but my only desire is to wander the lands, righting wrongs and serving justice for free peoples! Come with me, Prince. Let us string our bows and fight evil!" From out of nowhere, it seemed, she pulled a longbow studded with, what looked like, dragon scale. It glowed in the light. As she produced a quiver of mithril arrows, the other women began to scream wantonly.
They clamored forward, pawing at Legolas, reaching out to him, staring at him with eyes as large and wide as anime characters. As he stumbled, still in the tight embrace of Luwendolin, Legolas felt panic rising through his clouded mind. Dark tendrils clawed at every part of his body, desperately seeking some way to claim him. There were cries of a woman with pure blood from the Valar, some saying they had run away from abusive parents or arranged marriages, others of queenly birth or unparalleled ranger abilities. The estrogen level was suffocating, toxic, and they were all pulling him down.
The other elves, frozen in amazement and horror until now, began to shout. "My lord! You must move! These are no pure women."
Legolas looked about wildly as hands began grabbing him in places not to be mentioned. "What is this?" he cried.
One of the elves shouted, "These are demons, Prince Legolas! If you do not run, they will consume you, do terrible things to you--like compare hair products, demand that you take them to your bedchamber, strive for a child with you, or even--" he paused, unable to squeeze the words out-- "best you at archery!"
There was a collective gasp from the Mirkwood elves.
"Please, you must fight!"
The elf prince suddenly saw the beautiful faces shifting, becoming wild, drooling, crazed creatures. Absurd professions of love filled his ears, and he screamed as one of the women spoke of the horrible things she would do to his elfhood.
He struggled to grasp for his weapons, only to remember he had handed them away earlier. Gathering his strength, he pulled free of the masses, leaping to the other side of the room. Tousled, disarrayed, his clothes half-torn---there was a shriek of "I have his shirt!"--Legolas began to breathe frantically. "Demons," he gasped. "These creatures are of foul craft, bewitching in their appearance, yet there lies only death in their touch, or the fearful fate of being locked forever in their embrace!"
Vanoren grabbed a spear, as did the other elves, standing between the prince and the mouth-foaming women. "Run, my lord! We will hold them until the guards come. You must leave! They are coming!"
Somewhat dazed, Legolas ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Behind him he heard the wails and rants of the creatures, soon followed by several knock-down fistfights, and harried cries from Vanoren. Never before had Legolas run from an enemy. Never had he turned his back on a challenge. Now, however, he realized for the first time in his very long life that he was completely helpless. No skill he possessed could serve him in warding off those beasts, those demons, those things that could only be called Mary Sues.
