Disclaimer: It's not mine, still not mine, will not ever be mine, but
Legolas, Haldir, Faramir, Aragorn, Éomer, Elladan-and-Elrohir, Elrond, and
Q are all welcome to call round my place any time they like (and frequently
do, but shh! PJ mustn't know Haldy's still alive in the real world!)
Thanks a million to all my reviewers, I love you all!!
Some language in this chapter (mostly English, har har ^_~) but nothing too nasty. Enjoy...
Chapter 2. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world: Fangirls!
"New York, New York!" sang Frodo. Three or four hours on a train with the Fellowship (oddly enough, half an hour into the trip, everyone else had mysteriously vacated their carriage) had improved his mood a little, especially since in WHSmith, he had bought 'Jamie's Kitchen', and had been reading up on tasty new recipes all the way to London.
"Wrong city," Legolas pointed out, wearily. The train journey had not done him the same good as it had done for Frodo.
"So?" Frodo asked.
"Don't cry for me, Argentiiina," Boromir sang in an impressive baritone. Aragorn and Gimli joined in on the bass line; Sam did the tenor.
"Shut UP!" Legolas told them, leading the way off Platform 10b of Kings' Cross Station, London. "If we go this way," he led the way outside and through a long, low building containing Platforms 1 through 4a; "and out here," slithering past another compulsory train-station WHSmiths in the hope Frodo wouldn't spot it, "and through these pretty glass doors here, we should arrive out on...some major street-type thing..."
"The truth is I never left yooooooooooou," the Argentina singing quartet continued, having been singing while they were walking. "All through my wild days, my mad existaaaance..."
They were cut off by a shriek. Or, more precisely, several hundred shrieks, and one distinctly Elvish one: "AAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!"
"Legolas?" Aragorn asked, quitting the bass. "Are you okay?"
"Do I look it?" said a little voice from somewhere under about fifty rabid fangirls. "Do I bloody well look it?!"
"No-o-o-oo," Aragorn said slowly, before he too was massacred by shrieking fans. "Ow! Ooh! Ohnoyoudon't! Getthehelloff! OWWW! ARGH! EEEEEEEKKK!!"
Boromir turned sadly to Sam. "You think they'll notice me? Noooo. One little misdemeanour at Amon Hen and they all think I'm some huuuge baddie or something..."
"Huh? How do they know aboot Amon Hen?" Pippin wanted to know.
Boromir turned a ghostly shade of pink. "Oh, I, er, might have mentioned it to some people..."
"Uhhuh?"
"And the one person I mentioned it to who didn't think he was going mad, well, he might have written it down..."
"Ayyeee..."
"And someone might have turned the trilogy he wrote into a movie..."
"Ah." Pippin blinked. "Tha' would explain why they're yellin' 'Orlando' a' Legolas, would it?"
"Yes, and calling poor Aragorn 'Viggo'. That's who played them, see."
"Ken we gan an' see tha movie?"
"Maybe. Ask Legolas, if he's ever the same again."
At that moment, Boromir was distracted by yet another yell, this one from Frodo: "SAVE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! I don't HAVE It any more! STOP it! What evil is taking you, you rabid humans? Argh! I'm only little you know!!"
Legolas, somewhere under a seething mass of screaming rabid fans, was rapidly coming to the conclusion that holidays were NOT a good idea. In fact, he was actually transcending the extreme pain his physical body was experiencing, and perhaps even having a Spiritual Experience, when - "GETTHEHELLOFFTHERE!!" - an over-keen fangirl got somewhere nobody had been in, well...somewhere nobody had been, ever, actually.
Aragorn was having marginally more success, having fought them all back with his best 'I am the king, you will listen to me' commands. "Back!" he yelled once more, for good effect. What possessed you to this mad behaviour?"
"OOOH Viggo!" yelled a couple of the girls, and one of them fainted.
"Someone see to her," Aragorn said. "Who's Viggo, anyway?"
"Ask Boromir," Pippin offered cheekily. He only had a small fan following, but that suited him, as it meant he could get his arms around all of them. Being in the midst of a small and elite group of simpering teenagers was Pippin's idea of heaven itself.
"I will," Aragorn said grimly. "Later."
"OOOH Sean Bean!" yelled a fangirl, earning herself a dirty look from about a hundred others. "What'd I say?"
Thankfully, the Viggoites killing the poor 'misguided' Seanite gave Aragorn a chance to nip away to try and save Legolas and Frodo. He could hear muffled yells from what appeared to be a massive female rugby scrum, radiating several metres each way from its centre, which, it seemed, was an enraged Legolas.
"No for the millionth time I do NOT use Herbal Essences, and why do you care anyway? Whaddyamean did I get to keep the wig?!?! It's MY hair! And yes I really CAN use a bow, and at the moment I really wish I WAS using a bow, it might get some of you lot off me. Ouch!"
"Orlaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaando! CanIhaveyourautograph?!?"
"WHY ME ERU?!?!? Who in all the world is Orlando?!"
"Oooooh," said one fangirl to another, "he's gone all Legolas on us. You know Eru's the head god guy of the Elves?"
"Actually of all Middle-earth; the Elves call Him Ilúvatar," Legolas said brightly. Middle-earthian theology was something he enjoyed.
"Oooooh! Orrliiiiiiiee!" shrieked the intelligent fangirl; "Have you read the books?"
"Books?"
"Guess not," said the world's most intelligent fangirl, and went back to being rabid and screaming.
Meanwhile the Elijahites were arguing.
"He's...frightened!!"
"Awwww!"
"'Liiiiiiiiij!"
"So cute!"
"No he's not frightened," said one brave Elijahite, "he's just pulling a Frodo on us. S'cute."
"I'm not pulling an anything!" Frodo said desperately. "Lemme go!"
Gandalf, whose only fan was a middle-aged woman with auburn hair who also liked Harry Potter - an instant turnoff for the wizard, who kept pretty up- to-date with recent literary developments, (he had simply had the immense discretion and enough good sense not to mention 'The Lord of the Rings' to the others, and it had thankfully escaped their notice, too) - had had the presence of mind to whistle a taxi. Gratefully, the massacred Fellowshippers wriggled free of their fangirls (some, like Pippin, more reluctantly than others) and piled in. Gandalf quickly employed a little Maiar magic to (a) get his staff into the vehicle, and (b) get the ten cases into the boot (two of the extra three were Legolas's and one was Frodo's; Boromir didn't need anything).
"Where to, guv?" the driver asked cheerfully.
"Anywhere well away from here!" Aragorn and Legolas said quickly.
"Rightio, guv," said the driver, and proceeded to go ninety miles around London in order to get back to the King's Cross Hotel, Euston Road, where Gandalf had booked four twin rooms for fourteen nights. The King's Cross Hotel was on the same street as the station, but none of the Fellowship felt safe trying to run up the road, so an hour (and a LOT of holiday money) later, they piled out of the taxi, paid the driver, and dashed into the lobby.
"Hello, sir, how may I help you?" asked the lively blonde behind the front desk.
"Four twin rooms for Grey, please," Gandalf said wearily (an hour in a taxi with Merry and Pippin hadn't done anyone any good). "For fourteen nights."
The blonde, whose nametag read Jayne, tapped at a computer console behind her desk for a moment. "Ah, yes. Mr Grey and...seven companions. You're in rooms 23 to 26, on the first floor, if that's all right."
"That's fine," Gandalf said.
"I hope the children will be accompanied at all times while in the hotel?" Jayne said, raising a perfectly-shaped eyebrow.
"Children?" Merry asked.
"Wha' children?" Pippin wanted to know.
"You," Legolas hissed to the four Hobbits, poisonously. "You four."
Muffling the Hobbit protestations admirably, Legolas steered them towards the stairs and started herding them upwards. "Pippin and Frodo will be in room 24," he told them firmly, "and Merry and Sam will be in 25. And you are not going to argue with me!"
"Aww! I wannae be wit' Merry!"
"I'm not so sure rooming with Merry is such a great idea, Mr Legolassir.!"
"And I wanna be with Pippin!"
"And I DON'T want to be with Pippin!"
"I really do not care," Legolas said evenly (*project an aura of outer Elvishness and complete and unflappable serenity, Legolas, that's good...*), "who you want to room with. You are going where I say, when I say, in the two middle rooms because then Aragorn and I, and Gandalf and Gimli, can muffle your noise and be a buffer zone for the poor occupants of rooms 22 and 27. ALL RIGHT?!"
"Yes," the Hobbits chorused, each one secretly plotting to shift rooms as soon as Legolas wasn't looking.
**
By the time everyone was safely installed in a room (Legolas gave up on moving the Hobbits back to their designated room after Merry and Sam swapped over for the ninth time), it was starting to get dark, and the Hobbits were moaning about being hungry. And THAT was when Legolas sat down on one of the twin singles in his and Aragorn's room (Gimli, despite being Legolas's best friend, refused point blanc to roomie with him, at home or anywhere else) and realised a few things.
"Aragorn...?"
"What is it?" the Ranger asked, plopping down on his own bed and collapsing backwards, exhausted.
"Where are the cases?"
"I dunno...or care...ai!! Oh, shit, did you say cases?!"
"Yes. I did."
"But my boxers are in there!"
"And my haircare stuff...!"
"Who cares about your hair whatsits, I went through all hell to get those boxers this morning and I'm not losing them now!"
"I'll go and see Gandalf," Legolas offered, "and ask if he remembered to get the cases out of the taxi."
Legolas set off down the corridor, and knocked on the door of room 23. It was opened by Gimli, looking furious. "HE forgot the cases!"
"You care?" Legolas asked naïvely.
"OF COURSE I CARE! My mithril und--never mind. Suffice it to say I care!"
"Your mithril Y-fronts," Legolas teased, not realising how right he was. "Can I come in, please, I want to talk to Gandalf."
"Oh. Right." Gimli, scarlet under his beard and helmet, opened the door a little more and let Legolas in.
"Mithrandir?" the Elf called, using Gandalf's Elven name.
"Yes?" said a depressed-sounding voice from the en-suit.
"He locked himself in there when I pointed out about the cases," Gimli said helpfully.
Legolas blinked. "Right. Er. Gandalf.can't you magic the cases here?"
"I'm trying, fool of a Greenleaf!"
"Oh. Right. Sorry. Do you think you'll do it?"
"I'm an Istar, no less, and a Maiar too, of course I can do it!"
"Ye-es..." Pause, blink, think for a moment... "Can you do it...fast?"
"Give me a minute, for crying out loud!"
"Right." Legolas, knowing a death threat when one was implied, shut up.
A minute or two later, two heavy suitcases appeared, one a foot in the air above each bed. They shimmered for a moment, then dropped heavily onto the beds, unmaking the neatly hospital-cornered sheets.
"There," said Gandalf happily, as he strode out from the bathroom. "That's one taxi a little lighter tonight."
"Those are...our...cases, aren't they?"
"Yes. Definitely."
"WOOHOO!" said a voice from the next room.
"I don't think I want to know what Merry and Pippin put in theirs," Legolas said, wisely. "Thank you, Mithrandir."
"You're welcome, Legolas."
And Legolas high-tailed it back to room 26, to find an ecstatic Aragorn gleefully dancing around with some clean boxers. Legolas raised his eyebrows so high they almost left his forehead. "Ahem!"
"Eek!" Aragorn commented, and quickly shoved the boxers back in his suitcase. "Hi! Er...ahem..."
Legolas, for sanity's sake, decided not to comment, and in any case (pun intended), before he had a chance to, there was a hammering at the door.
"Let us in, Lego!"
"Aye, it's soddin' frizzin' oot 'ere!"
Legolas was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he was going to spend his eternity deciding not to pass comment on unusual things the others said or did (freezing? In a four-star hotel?) and just opened the door, to find Merry and Pippin standing in the corridor in hotel bathrobes. "Get in here," Legolas hissed. "Now! What the hell are you doing in hotel bathrobes?!"
"We wur 'avin a bath," Pippin offered.
"Both of you?!"
"Nae, Merry war in the shower."
"And that's any BETTER?!!"
"Tek a look in yer an-swyeet! There's a shower cubicle an' everythin', it's no' like we wur in th' same bloody bat' or anyt'in!"
Legolas poked his head into the en-suit and had a look. Pippin was right: there was a bath and separate shower cubicle, with a frosted glass door. Somehow, though, that didn't make him feel much better. "Go on."
Merry took up the tale. "Well...we got hungry."
"Hungry! Shit! I completely forgot about dinner!" That was the second of Legolas's Great Realisations.
"You swore," Merry noted, wide-eyed.
"It's not than uncommon an occurrence, around you lot," Legolas told him sharply. "Shitshitshit! What're we going to do about dinner? I bet you two ate everything I put in the cool-box!"
Merry had the grace to look embarrassed; Pippin just nodded brashly.
"And the hotel restaurant is way too good for you two. You'd scare away all the other customers!"
"Ah would not!"
"Yes you would, don't argue, good Hobbit. Ohshitohshitohshit..."
"We could always go to McDonalds," said Meriadoc 'McDonalds Marauder' Brandybuck. Pippin the fast-food junkie nodded in agreement.
"Ew," commented Legolas, but he couldn't see many other options. McDonalds, it seemed, was the only way to go. "Is there one nearby?"
"End of the street and turn right," Merry answered a little a little too promptly.
Legolas sighed. "All right. Who's got money?" *I'm certainly not spending my hard-saved cash on McDonalds food for hungry Hobbits!*
Merry and Pippin looked at one another. "Errrrr..." They looked at one another, then turned hopeful faces up to Legolas. He glared back down at them.
"I know you've been saving, you two, or at least that you're getting money from somewhere."
"Awwww," Pippin said.
"Urgh," Merry added.
"All reet," Pippin relented, "we'll pay oor way. Bu' ye lo' 'er payin' fer yeselves."
"ME and a greasy McDonalds hamburger? Oh, per-lease!" Legolas said, wrinkling his nose.
"Did someone say hamburger?" Aragorn wanted to know.
"Unfortunately," Legolas affirmed.
"Ooh goodie! Where? I'm starving!"
"Urrrrgh..."
**
Ten minutes later, the entire Fellowship was in the local McDonalds, crushed around two small tables pushed together. Boromir, visible as ever only to the Middle-earthers, was floating near to the ceiling, lying on one side, head propped up on one hand, the elbow and most of his nonexistent body apparently resting happily on nothing at all.
"Remind me why you needed to get super-size fries?" Legolas said for the millionth time, massaging an ever-growing headache.
"Coz we're 'ung'y!" Merry replied through a mouthful of Big Mac.
"Mmmph!" Pippin added, speaking around a large bite of McQuarter Pounder with Cheese.
Legolas looked vaguely ill and concentrated fiercely on the napkins. "Have you two any idea what you're DOING to yourselves?!"
"Feedin'?"
"No! Do you know what's IN those things?"
"Meat an' shtuff," Merry said intelligently.
"Additives! E-numbers! Colorants and sweeteners!" Legolas informed them frustratedly. "LOTS thereof!"
"You should be a nutritional consultant, Leafy," Gimli said, putting down his McChicken Sandwich (McDonalds, much to his chagrin, didn't do anything involving ale, beer or Wild Meat, by which Gimli meant boars and deers and orcs and the like), and nodding slowly.
"Maybe," Legolas said darkly, glaring at the miscreant Hobbits. "Is there any non-e-numbered lettuce in this place?"
Merry and Pippin twitched their noses, pretending to be rabbits. Legolas shot them a withering glance; Aragorn, supportively enough, kicked them both sharply under the table. "Doubt it," the Ranger said innocently, covering Merry and Pippin's yelps. The two Hobbits looked at each other with their special 'we'll meet later to plot revenge' expressions all over their seemingly innocent faces.
Legolas's soliloquy of depression, his instant reaction to Aragorn's news, was interrupted (thankfully, the rest of the Fellowship thought. Legolas's soliloquies had been known to go on for hours, especially the depressed ones) - perhaps unfortunately - by a group of female teenagers. "'Scuse me," one of them said, tapping Legolas on the shoulder, "are you Orlando Bloom by any chance?"
"No," Legolas said tightly, "I'm afraid not."
"Oh," said the teenager - a blonde C-cup from whom Pippin and Merry could not tear their eyes. "Sorry. S'just you look exactly like that guy he plays in 'Lord of the Rings', whatshisface, you know, the elf bloke--"
"Legolas," Legolas said firmly, beginning to understand the whole LOTR movie deal a little better, since a hurried explanation by Boromir (he would have been killed if he hadn't already been dead). "Thranduilion."
"No, wasn't it Legolas Greenleaf?"
"That's the translation of m--of his first name," Legolas said, recovering quickly from his slip-up. He didn't mind THIS fangirl so much, even if her persistence was a bit annoying. Mortal women were all the same, but at least this one wasn't screaming at him. In desire and longing. "His father was Thranduil, the King of the Elven Realm Greenwood the Great (later renamed Mirkwood due to the untimely interlopers, such as giant spiders and trolls, which came from the Misty Mountains and colonised the once-proud Greenwood), and the suffix '-ion' on the end of any son's name means 'son of'; therefore, Legolas Thranduilion literally means 'Legolas, son of Thranduil,' or to be even more exact, 'Green leaf, son of Thranduil,' and-- "
"Oh," said the teenager, interrupting. "Only they called him Greenleaf in the movie."
"Really," said Legolas in tones of great interest, making a mental note to see this Movie as soon as possible.
"You know an awful lot about him," the teenager said brightly.
"Mmmm," Legolas muttered distractedly.
"But, I guess, if you're not Orli..." She straightened up and made as if to go. "Sorry 'bout the mistake, mister. Nice chatting to you," she added happily, and wandered off to order.
Her friend, a short girl with bright green eyes and flame-red hair, had managed to squeeze in between Merry and Pippin, who were very happy with this arrangement. They were holding a detailed discussion about various nu- rock and metal bands, such as Metallika, Greenday, and Blink 182 (Merry and Pippin kept up-to-date with musical developments; they were currently moshers though by next month they'd probably be Goths or punks or something).
Another of the group, a tall brunette with straight mahogany hair three- quarters of the way down her back, was talking to Aragorn. "You really remind me of someone," she was telling him. "You know, someone out of a film. I know!" she said in a burst of sudden realisation. "It's the 'Lord of the Rings' thingamer, you know, the one that came out end of last year? You remind me of that Ranger bloke, the one the little things called Strider or something, you know?"
*One more 'you know'*, Aragorn thought, *and I'm going to have to throttle her. Mind, she does look a bit like a younger Arwen, only her eyes aren't as nice...and her--* It was at this point that he VERY firmly disconnected his libido from his brain. He was WAY too old for her anyhow, seeing as how he was getting on for several millennia and all. "Oh?" he said, smiling blankly at her. "That ranger bloke, huh?"
"Yeah," the brunette said. "I'm Desiree, you know, by the way. What was he called again?"
Aragorn considered throttling her but instead got distracted going through his various names. "Aragorn, Strider, Wingfoot, Longshanks, Estel, Elfstone, Elessar, Dúnedan--" He stopped suddenly, realising Desiree was positively goggling at him.
"Whoa," she muttered. "Er. Never mind. Mr Mortensen. Sir." She started edging away slowly, then made a break for it to join her blonde friend in the queue. "I never realised the guys who played other guys in movies got so, you know, INTO the roles!" she enthused. "You know, I reckon he's that Mortensen guy, you know, who played the ranger bloke in that film? And he's just, you know, sitting there QUOTING me everything anyone ever called that guy, Strider, you know? And some I haven't ever heard of too!! It's, you know, amazing?"
"I KNOW!" the blonde squealed. "See the one that looks JUST like Orli Bloom?! The blonde guy who's, like, to the short ones' left? Yah? Well he TOTALLY knew, like, EVERYTHING about elves and Legolas and, like, EVERYTHING! Actors are, like, SO cooooooooooool!!"
Desiree nodded. "You're telling me. You know. I reckon he is Orli, just, you know, not saying it in case he gets, you know, massacred or something?"
"Yeah," the blonde said, nodding. "Prob'ly. Oh," she added, realising she was at the front of the queue, "I'll have a, er, Chicken McNugget Meal, please..."
Legolas watched the girls with a detached sort of Elven superiority. Great Realisation Number Three: Female movie fans are bad. BAD!! Not to mention completely crackers...
**
Late that night, long after the others were asleep, Legolas - having meditated for a couple of hours while everyone else was...doing something the elf probably didn't want to know about - got up, made sure he had the key to Room 26, and went outside for a breath of fresh air.
Not a bright idea. London is one of those amazing cities that has a tendency to never sleep, and is also populated by a...varied...clientele. A tall blonde person standing dreamily below a streetlamp in the hazy London smog (complete with Elven night time glow), wearing some kind of leggings with knee boots and a shirty-tunic-type thing was just too much for one greasy pimp to resist. A small and very battered Ford pulled up to the pavement by Legolas and someone hissed: "Hey, babe - how much an hour?"
"Er, pardon?" Legolas said, blinking, completely lost off.
"Half an hour?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh come on, you can't be standing there like that and tell me you're not a...?!"
"Umm. I don't think I'm a...?! What IS a...?!"
"Just get in the car, okay??"
"I really think I'd better not..."
"Come on, the missus kicked me out an' I need something to make me feel good...!"
"Then might I suggest a warm bath, with plenty of bubbles, a nice hair- wash, a good stiff night-cap, and a good nights' sleep," Legolas said understandingly.
"Sounds good to me, babe--"
"Right then, why don't you come in and we'll see if you can have a room in the hotel--"
"Mmmmmmrrrrr..."
Legolas led the way into the hotel, oblivious to the guy's intents. A few minutes later, there was a frantic scrabbling at the door of Room 26 and a panicky-looking Elf burst in and threw himself on the empty single bed.
Aragorn turned over and cracked an eyelid. "What the hell...? Lego, it's 2am!!"
"Help me! Mad humans...think I'm...don't know WHAT he thinks I am...but I know it wasn't good...all I was doing was standing there, what's the law against that--!?"
It took Aragorn a long time to calm his friend down that night (minds out of gutter please, this is a non-slash fic), but by 6.30 on Thursday morning, Legolas was starting to come to his fourth Great Realisation...
It is NEVER a good idea to stand beneath a streetlamp when you're as damn sexy (and effeminate) as an Elf is.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Addendum: (I don't do author's notes, I do Addendums, or Epilogues sometimes...bear with me, it's all the same idea really...) The whole part about Thranduilion I got from my Encyclopaedia of Tolkien, which is Not Authorised by Tolkien Estates Or New Line Cinema, but written by some supposed JRRT buff, so I thought it was pretty trustworthy info. If anyone cares to contradict, please review or mail me, and we can discuss it or make corrections or something... ^_^ (I do so love intelligent, cultured discussion on the works of the great Tolkien - no, really!)
Chapter Three is in the works, for those who care :)
PS Thankies to Captain-Emily for the following idea: "Then might I suggest a warm bath, with plenty of bubbles, a nice hair-wash, a good stiff night- cap, and a good nights' sleep." She said in her review that poor ol' Leafy deserved a good stiff drink and a bubble bath, and I liked that so much it got put in, albeit mutilated a little ^_^
Thanks a million to all my reviewers, I love you all!!
Some language in this chapter (mostly English, har har ^_~) but nothing too nasty. Enjoy...
Chapter 2. There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world: Fangirls!
"New York, New York!" sang Frodo. Three or four hours on a train with the Fellowship (oddly enough, half an hour into the trip, everyone else had mysteriously vacated their carriage) had improved his mood a little, especially since in WHSmith, he had bought 'Jamie's Kitchen', and had been reading up on tasty new recipes all the way to London.
"Wrong city," Legolas pointed out, wearily. The train journey had not done him the same good as it had done for Frodo.
"So?" Frodo asked.
"Don't cry for me, Argentiiina," Boromir sang in an impressive baritone. Aragorn and Gimli joined in on the bass line; Sam did the tenor.
"Shut UP!" Legolas told them, leading the way off Platform 10b of Kings' Cross Station, London. "If we go this way," he led the way outside and through a long, low building containing Platforms 1 through 4a; "and out here," slithering past another compulsory train-station WHSmiths in the hope Frodo wouldn't spot it, "and through these pretty glass doors here, we should arrive out on...some major street-type thing..."
"The truth is I never left yooooooooooou," the Argentina singing quartet continued, having been singing while they were walking. "All through my wild days, my mad existaaaance..."
They were cut off by a shriek. Or, more precisely, several hundred shrieks, and one distinctly Elvish one: "AAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!"
"Legolas?" Aragorn asked, quitting the bass. "Are you okay?"
"Do I look it?" said a little voice from somewhere under about fifty rabid fangirls. "Do I bloody well look it?!"
"No-o-o-oo," Aragorn said slowly, before he too was massacred by shrieking fans. "Ow! Ooh! Ohnoyoudon't! Getthehelloff! OWWW! ARGH! EEEEEEEKKK!!"
Boromir turned sadly to Sam. "You think they'll notice me? Noooo. One little misdemeanour at Amon Hen and they all think I'm some huuuge baddie or something..."
"Huh? How do they know aboot Amon Hen?" Pippin wanted to know.
Boromir turned a ghostly shade of pink. "Oh, I, er, might have mentioned it to some people..."
"Uhhuh?"
"And the one person I mentioned it to who didn't think he was going mad, well, he might have written it down..."
"Ayyeee..."
"And someone might have turned the trilogy he wrote into a movie..."
"Ah." Pippin blinked. "Tha' would explain why they're yellin' 'Orlando' a' Legolas, would it?"
"Yes, and calling poor Aragorn 'Viggo'. That's who played them, see."
"Ken we gan an' see tha movie?"
"Maybe. Ask Legolas, if he's ever the same again."
At that moment, Boromir was distracted by yet another yell, this one from Frodo: "SAVE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! I don't HAVE It any more! STOP it! What evil is taking you, you rabid humans? Argh! I'm only little you know!!"
Legolas, somewhere under a seething mass of screaming rabid fans, was rapidly coming to the conclusion that holidays were NOT a good idea. In fact, he was actually transcending the extreme pain his physical body was experiencing, and perhaps even having a Spiritual Experience, when - "GETTHEHELLOFFTHERE!!" - an over-keen fangirl got somewhere nobody had been in, well...somewhere nobody had been, ever, actually.
Aragorn was having marginally more success, having fought them all back with his best 'I am the king, you will listen to me' commands. "Back!" he yelled once more, for good effect. What possessed you to this mad behaviour?"
"OOOH Viggo!" yelled a couple of the girls, and one of them fainted.
"Someone see to her," Aragorn said. "Who's Viggo, anyway?"
"Ask Boromir," Pippin offered cheekily. He only had a small fan following, but that suited him, as it meant he could get his arms around all of them. Being in the midst of a small and elite group of simpering teenagers was Pippin's idea of heaven itself.
"I will," Aragorn said grimly. "Later."
"OOOH Sean Bean!" yelled a fangirl, earning herself a dirty look from about a hundred others. "What'd I say?"
Thankfully, the Viggoites killing the poor 'misguided' Seanite gave Aragorn a chance to nip away to try and save Legolas and Frodo. He could hear muffled yells from what appeared to be a massive female rugby scrum, radiating several metres each way from its centre, which, it seemed, was an enraged Legolas.
"No for the millionth time I do NOT use Herbal Essences, and why do you care anyway? Whaddyamean did I get to keep the wig?!?! It's MY hair! And yes I really CAN use a bow, and at the moment I really wish I WAS using a bow, it might get some of you lot off me. Ouch!"
"Orlaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaando! CanIhaveyourautograph?!?"
"WHY ME ERU?!?!? Who in all the world is Orlando?!"
"Oooooh," said one fangirl to another, "he's gone all Legolas on us. You know Eru's the head god guy of the Elves?"
"Actually of all Middle-earth; the Elves call Him Ilúvatar," Legolas said brightly. Middle-earthian theology was something he enjoyed.
"Oooooh! Orrliiiiiiiee!" shrieked the intelligent fangirl; "Have you read the books?"
"Books?"
"Guess not," said the world's most intelligent fangirl, and went back to being rabid and screaming.
Meanwhile the Elijahites were arguing.
"He's...frightened!!"
"Awwww!"
"'Liiiiiiiiij!"
"So cute!"
"No he's not frightened," said one brave Elijahite, "he's just pulling a Frodo on us. S'cute."
"I'm not pulling an anything!" Frodo said desperately. "Lemme go!"
Gandalf, whose only fan was a middle-aged woman with auburn hair who also liked Harry Potter - an instant turnoff for the wizard, who kept pretty up- to-date with recent literary developments, (he had simply had the immense discretion and enough good sense not to mention 'The Lord of the Rings' to the others, and it had thankfully escaped their notice, too) - had had the presence of mind to whistle a taxi. Gratefully, the massacred Fellowshippers wriggled free of their fangirls (some, like Pippin, more reluctantly than others) and piled in. Gandalf quickly employed a little Maiar magic to (a) get his staff into the vehicle, and (b) get the ten cases into the boot (two of the extra three were Legolas's and one was Frodo's; Boromir didn't need anything).
"Where to, guv?" the driver asked cheerfully.
"Anywhere well away from here!" Aragorn and Legolas said quickly.
"Rightio, guv," said the driver, and proceeded to go ninety miles around London in order to get back to the King's Cross Hotel, Euston Road, where Gandalf had booked four twin rooms for fourteen nights. The King's Cross Hotel was on the same street as the station, but none of the Fellowship felt safe trying to run up the road, so an hour (and a LOT of holiday money) later, they piled out of the taxi, paid the driver, and dashed into the lobby.
"Hello, sir, how may I help you?" asked the lively blonde behind the front desk.
"Four twin rooms for Grey, please," Gandalf said wearily (an hour in a taxi with Merry and Pippin hadn't done anyone any good). "For fourteen nights."
The blonde, whose nametag read Jayne, tapped at a computer console behind her desk for a moment. "Ah, yes. Mr Grey and...seven companions. You're in rooms 23 to 26, on the first floor, if that's all right."
"That's fine," Gandalf said.
"I hope the children will be accompanied at all times while in the hotel?" Jayne said, raising a perfectly-shaped eyebrow.
"Children?" Merry asked.
"Wha' children?" Pippin wanted to know.
"You," Legolas hissed to the four Hobbits, poisonously. "You four."
Muffling the Hobbit protestations admirably, Legolas steered them towards the stairs and started herding them upwards. "Pippin and Frodo will be in room 24," he told them firmly, "and Merry and Sam will be in 25. And you are not going to argue with me!"
"Aww! I wannae be wit' Merry!"
"I'm not so sure rooming with Merry is such a great idea, Mr Legolassir.!"
"And I wanna be with Pippin!"
"And I DON'T want to be with Pippin!"
"I really do not care," Legolas said evenly (*project an aura of outer Elvishness and complete and unflappable serenity, Legolas, that's good...*), "who you want to room with. You are going where I say, when I say, in the two middle rooms because then Aragorn and I, and Gandalf and Gimli, can muffle your noise and be a buffer zone for the poor occupants of rooms 22 and 27. ALL RIGHT?!"
"Yes," the Hobbits chorused, each one secretly plotting to shift rooms as soon as Legolas wasn't looking.
**
By the time everyone was safely installed in a room (Legolas gave up on moving the Hobbits back to their designated room after Merry and Sam swapped over for the ninth time), it was starting to get dark, and the Hobbits were moaning about being hungry. And THAT was when Legolas sat down on one of the twin singles in his and Aragorn's room (Gimli, despite being Legolas's best friend, refused point blanc to roomie with him, at home or anywhere else) and realised a few things.
"Aragorn...?"
"What is it?" the Ranger asked, plopping down on his own bed and collapsing backwards, exhausted.
"Where are the cases?"
"I dunno...or care...ai!! Oh, shit, did you say cases?!"
"Yes. I did."
"But my boxers are in there!"
"And my haircare stuff...!"
"Who cares about your hair whatsits, I went through all hell to get those boxers this morning and I'm not losing them now!"
"I'll go and see Gandalf," Legolas offered, "and ask if he remembered to get the cases out of the taxi."
Legolas set off down the corridor, and knocked on the door of room 23. It was opened by Gimli, looking furious. "HE forgot the cases!"
"You care?" Legolas asked naïvely.
"OF COURSE I CARE! My mithril und--never mind. Suffice it to say I care!"
"Your mithril Y-fronts," Legolas teased, not realising how right he was. "Can I come in, please, I want to talk to Gandalf."
"Oh. Right." Gimli, scarlet under his beard and helmet, opened the door a little more and let Legolas in.
"Mithrandir?" the Elf called, using Gandalf's Elven name.
"Yes?" said a depressed-sounding voice from the en-suit.
"He locked himself in there when I pointed out about the cases," Gimli said helpfully.
Legolas blinked. "Right. Er. Gandalf.can't you magic the cases here?"
"I'm trying, fool of a Greenleaf!"
"Oh. Right. Sorry. Do you think you'll do it?"
"I'm an Istar, no less, and a Maiar too, of course I can do it!"
"Ye-es..." Pause, blink, think for a moment... "Can you do it...fast?"
"Give me a minute, for crying out loud!"
"Right." Legolas, knowing a death threat when one was implied, shut up.
A minute or two later, two heavy suitcases appeared, one a foot in the air above each bed. They shimmered for a moment, then dropped heavily onto the beds, unmaking the neatly hospital-cornered sheets.
"There," said Gandalf happily, as he strode out from the bathroom. "That's one taxi a little lighter tonight."
"Those are...our...cases, aren't they?"
"Yes. Definitely."
"WOOHOO!" said a voice from the next room.
"I don't think I want to know what Merry and Pippin put in theirs," Legolas said, wisely. "Thank you, Mithrandir."
"You're welcome, Legolas."
And Legolas high-tailed it back to room 26, to find an ecstatic Aragorn gleefully dancing around with some clean boxers. Legolas raised his eyebrows so high they almost left his forehead. "Ahem!"
"Eek!" Aragorn commented, and quickly shoved the boxers back in his suitcase. "Hi! Er...ahem..."
Legolas, for sanity's sake, decided not to comment, and in any case (pun intended), before he had a chance to, there was a hammering at the door.
"Let us in, Lego!"
"Aye, it's soddin' frizzin' oot 'ere!"
Legolas was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he was going to spend his eternity deciding not to pass comment on unusual things the others said or did (freezing? In a four-star hotel?) and just opened the door, to find Merry and Pippin standing in the corridor in hotel bathrobes. "Get in here," Legolas hissed. "Now! What the hell are you doing in hotel bathrobes?!"
"We wur 'avin a bath," Pippin offered.
"Both of you?!"
"Nae, Merry war in the shower."
"And that's any BETTER?!!"
"Tek a look in yer an-swyeet! There's a shower cubicle an' everythin', it's no' like we wur in th' same bloody bat' or anyt'in!"
Legolas poked his head into the en-suit and had a look. Pippin was right: there was a bath and separate shower cubicle, with a frosted glass door. Somehow, though, that didn't make him feel much better. "Go on."
Merry took up the tale. "Well...we got hungry."
"Hungry! Shit! I completely forgot about dinner!" That was the second of Legolas's Great Realisations.
"You swore," Merry noted, wide-eyed.
"It's not than uncommon an occurrence, around you lot," Legolas told him sharply. "Shitshitshit! What're we going to do about dinner? I bet you two ate everything I put in the cool-box!"
Merry had the grace to look embarrassed; Pippin just nodded brashly.
"And the hotel restaurant is way too good for you two. You'd scare away all the other customers!"
"Ah would not!"
"Yes you would, don't argue, good Hobbit. Ohshitohshitohshit..."
"We could always go to McDonalds," said Meriadoc 'McDonalds Marauder' Brandybuck. Pippin the fast-food junkie nodded in agreement.
"Ew," commented Legolas, but he couldn't see many other options. McDonalds, it seemed, was the only way to go. "Is there one nearby?"
"End of the street and turn right," Merry answered a little a little too promptly.
Legolas sighed. "All right. Who's got money?" *I'm certainly not spending my hard-saved cash on McDonalds food for hungry Hobbits!*
Merry and Pippin looked at one another. "Errrrr..." They looked at one another, then turned hopeful faces up to Legolas. He glared back down at them.
"I know you've been saving, you two, or at least that you're getting money from somewhere."
"Awwww," Pippin said.
"Urgh," Merry added.
"All reet," Pippin relented, "we'll pay oor way. Bu' ye lo' 'er payin' fer yeselves."
"ME and a greasy McDonalds hamburger? Oh, per-lease!" Legolas said, wrinkling his nose.
"Did someone say hamburger?" Aragorn wanted to know.
"Unfortunately," Legolas affirmed.
"Ooh goodie! Where? I'm starving!"
"Urrrrgh..."
**
Ten minutes later, the entire Fellowship was in the local McDonalds, crushed around two small tables pushed together. Boromir, visible as ever only to the Middle-earthers, was floating near to the ceiling, lying on one side, head propped up on one hand, the elbow and most of his nonexistent body apparently resting happily on nothing at all.
"Remind me why you needed to get super-size fries?" Legolas said for the millionth time, massaging an ever-growing headache.
"Coz we're 'ung'y!" Merry replied through a mouthful of Big Mac.
"Mmmph!" Pippin added, speaking around a large bite of McQuarter Pounder with Cheese.
Legolas looked vaguely ill and concentrated fiercely on the napkins. "Have you two any idea what you're DOING to yourselves?!"
"Feedin'?"
"No! Do you know what's IN those things?"
"Meat an' shtuff," Merry said intelligently.
"Additives! E-numbers! Colorants and sweeteners!" Legolas informed them frustratedly. "LOTS thereof!"
"You should be a nutritional consultant, Leafy," Gimli said, putting down his McChicken Sandwich (McDonalds, much to his chagrin, didn't do anything involving ale, beer or Wild Meat, by which Gimli meant boars and deers and orcs and the like), and nodding slowly.
"Maybe," Legolas said darkly, glaring at the miscreant Hobbits. "Is there any non-e-numbered lettuce in this place?"
Merry and Pippin twitched their noses, pretending to be rabbits. Legolas shot them a withering glance; Aragorn, supportively enough, kicked them both sharply under the table. "Doubt it," the Ranger said innocently, covering Merry and Pippin's yelps. The two Hobbits looked at each other with their special 'we'll meet later to plot revenge' expressions all over their seemingly innocent faces.
Legolas's soliloquy of depression, his instant reaction to Aragorn's news, was interrupted (thankfully, the rest of the Fellowship thought. Legolas's soliloquies had been known to go on for hours, especially the depressed ones) - perhaps unfortunately - by a group of female teenagers. "'Scuse me," one of them said, tapping Legolas on the shoulder, "are you Orlando Bloom by any chance?"
"No," Legolas said tightly, "I'm afraid not."
"Oh," said the teenager - a blonde C-cup from whom Pippin and Merry could not tear their eyes. "Sorry. S'just you look exactly like that guy he plays in 'Lord of the Rings', whatshisface, you know, the elf bloke--"
"Legolas," Legolas said firmly, beginning to understand the whole LOTR movie deal a little better, since a hurried explanation by Boromir (he would have been killed if he hadn't already been dead). "Thranduilion."
"No, wasn't it Legolas Greenleaf?"
"That's the translation of m--of his first name," Legolas said, recovering quickly from his slip-up. He didn't mind THIS fangirl so much, even if her persistence was a bit annoying. Mortal women were all the same, but at least this one wasn't screaming at him. In desire and longing. "His father was Thranduil, the King of the Elven Realm Greenwood the Great (later renamed Mirkwood due to the untimely interlopers, such as giant spiders and trolls, which came from the Misty Mountains and colonised the once-proud Greenwood), and the suffix '-ion' on the end of any son's name means 'son of'; therefore, Legolas Thranduilion literally means 'Legolas, son of Thranduil,' or to be even more exact, 'Green leaf, son of Thranduil,' and-- "
"Oh," said the teenager, interrupting. "Only they called him Greenleaf in the movie."
"Really," said Legolas in tones of great interest, making a mental note to see this Movie as soon as possible.
"You know an awful lot about him," the teenager said brightly.
"Mmmm," Legolas muttered distractedly.
"But, I guess, if you're not Orli..." She straightened up and made as if to go. "Sorry 'bout the mistake, mister. Nice chatting to you," she added happily, and wandered off to order.
Her friend, a short girl with bright green eyes and flame-red hair, had managed to squeeze in between Merry and Pippin, who were very happy with this arrangement. They were holding a detailed discussion about various nu- rock and metal bands, such as Metallika, Greenday, and Blink 182 (Merry and Pippin kept up-to-date with musical developments; they were currently moshers though by next month they'd probably be Goths or punks or something).
Another of the group, a tall brunette with straight mahogany hair three- quarters of the way down her back, was talking to Aragorn. "You really remind me of someone," she was telling him. "You know, someone out of a film. I know!" she said in a burst of sudden realisation. "It's the 'Lord of the Rings' thingamer, you know, the one that came out end of last year? You remind me of that Ranger bloke, the one the little things called Strider or something, you know?"
*One more 'you know'*, Aragorn thought, *and I'm going to have to throttle her. Mind, she does look a bit like a younger Arwen, only her eyes aren't as nice...and her--* It was at this point that he VERY firmly disconnected his libido from his brain. He was WAY too old for her anyhow, seeing as how he was getting on for several millennia and all. "Oh?" he said, smiling blankly at her. "That ranger bloke, huh?"
"Yeah," the brunette said. "I'm Desiree, you know, by the way. What was he called again?"
Aragorn considered throttling her but instead got distracted going through his various names. "Aragorn, Strider, Wingfoot, Longshanks, Estel, Elfstone, Elessar, Dúnedan--" He stopped suddenly, realising Desiree was positively goggling at him.
"Whoa," she muttered. "Er. Never mind. Mr Mortensen. Sir." She started edging away slowly, then made a break for it to join her blonde friend in the queue. "I never realised the guys who played other guys in movies got so, you know, INTO the roles!" she enthused. "You know, I reckon he's that Mortensen guy, you know, who played the ranger bloke in that film? And he's just, you know, sitting there QUOTING me everything anyone ever called that guy, Strider, you know? And some I haven't ever heard of too!! It's, you know, amazing?"
"I KNOW!" the blonde squealed. "See the one that looks JUST like Orli Bloom?! The blonde guy who's, like, to the short ones' left? Yah? Well he TOTALLY knew, like, EVERYTHING about elves and Legolas and, like, EVERYTHING! Actors are, like, SO cooooooooooool!!"
Desiree nodded. "You're telling me. You know. I reckon he is Orli, just, you know, not saying it in case he gets, you know, massacred or something?"
"Yeah," the blonde said, nodding. "Prob'ly. Oh," she added, realising she was at the front of the queue, "I'll have a, er, Chicken McNugget Meal, please..."
Legolas watched the girls with a detached sort of Elven superiority. Great Realisation Number Three: Female movie fans are bad. BAD!! Not to mention completely crackers...
**
Late that night, long after the others were asleep, Legolas - having meditated for a couple of hours while everyone else was...doing something the elf probably didn't want to know about - got up, made sure he had the key to Room 26, and went outside for a breath of fresh air.
Not a bright idea. London is one of those amazing cities that has a tendency to never sleep, and is also populated by a...varied...clientele. A tall blonde person standing dreamily below a streetlamp in the hazy London smog (complete with Elven night time glow), wearing some kind of leggings with knee boots and a shirty-tunic-type thing was just too much for one greasy pimp to resist. A small and very battered Ford pulled up to the pavement by Legolas and someone hissed: "Hey, babe - how much an hour?"
"Er, pardon?" Legolas said, blinking, completely lost off.
"Half an hour?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh come on, you can't be standing there like that and tell me you're not a...?!"
"Umm. I don't think I'm a...?! What IS a...?!"
"Just get in the car, okay??"
"I really think I'd better not..."
"Come on, the missus kicked me out an' I need something to make me feel good...!"
"Then might I suggest a warm bath, with plenty of bubbles, a nice hair- wash, a good stiff night-cap, and a good nights' sleep," Legolas said understandingly.
"Sounds good to me, babe--"
"Right then, why don't you come in and we'll see if you can have a room in the hotel--"
"Mmmmmmrrrrr..."
Legolas led the way into the hotel, oblivious to the guy's intents. A few minutes later, there was a frantic scrabbling at the door of Room 26 and a panicky-looking Elf burst in and threw himself on the empty single bed.
Aragorn turned over and cracked an eyelid. "What the hell...? Lego, it's 2am!!"
"Help me! Mad humans...think I'm...don't know WHAT he thinks I am...but I know it wasn't good...all I was doing was standing there, what's the law against that--!?"
It took Aragorn a long time to calm his friend down that night (minds out of gutter please, this is a non-slash fic), but by 6.30 on Thursday morning, Legolas was starting to come to his fourth Great Realisation...
It is NEVER a good idea to stand beneath a streetlamp when you're as damn sexy (and effeminate) as an Elf is.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Addendum: (I don't do author's notes, I do Addendums, or Epilogues sometimes...bear with me, it's all the same idea really...) The whole part about Thranduilion I got from my Encyclopaedia of Tolkien, which is Not Authorised by Tolkien Estates Or New Line Cinema, but written by some supposed JRRT buff, so I thought it was pretty trustworthy info. If anyone cares to contradict, please review or mail me, and we can discuss it or make corrections or something... ^_^ (I do so love intelligent, cultured discussion on the works of the great Tolkien - no, really!)
Chapter Three is in the works, for those who care :)
PS Thankies to Captain-Emily for the following idea: "Then might I suggest a warm bath, with plenty of bubbles, a nice hair-wash, a good stiff night- cap, and a good nights' sleep." She said in her review that poor ol' Leafy deserved a good stiff drink and a bubble bath, and I liked that so much it got put in, albeit mutilated a little ^_^