Journal of Legolas Greenleaf
(Keep out, you filthy mortals.)
I suppose writing this in Sindarin will not keep Aragorn (hereafter referred to as "Telcontwhore") from being able to read it. I do not care, particularly. Frodo said keeping a journal made him feel better, gave him a place to "vent" - even though he was always too shy to let me read it, dear little thing - so I've decided to try it too. Perhaps it will help me.
For, trust me, there are plenty of things I could vent about. Where do I start?
Gimli still wants me; nothing new there. And now we have to share a horse. Can you believe? I tried to keep count of the number of times he has "accidentally" touched my thighs or my arse or my package while clinging to me from behind, but I lost track somewhere in the twenties. You have no idea how tempting it is to elbow him in the head and "accidentally" send him tumbling down the mountainside. But my prettiness has caused enough trouble in the Fellowship already. I shall refrain.
Aragorn isn't making things any easier. Now that Frodo's gone, his mind seems made up: I'm his sweet little bitch and he's trying to get some sugar every time I turn around. If he grips my shoulder lovingly one more time, I might have to knee him in the nuts.
I know that wouldn't be a good idea, politically speaking - him being the future King and all. Hardly Princely behavior on my part, either. And, you know, it's possible, just possible, that Aragorn can lead us to a miraculous victory over Sauron and we can bring Frodo home safely and I can beg my handsome hobbit's forgiveness and we'll have hot sex until the sun comes up, and life will be a song.
Yeah, right. If I really wanted to help Frodo, I should have gone with him myself. I mean, what the fuck is that useless blob Samwise supposed to do? I am such an idiot. We are so screwed.
* * *
Oh joy. Gandalf is back. Yet another one of my molesters. I knew he probably wasn't dead, but why the hell does he have to show up and hang around with MY group? Seems he's forgiven me for kicking him off the bridge in Moria - in fact, he's started flirting with me again like nothing ever happened.
"Are those new braids, Legolas? No? Well, they're quite attractive. Who does those for you? You do them yourself? Real-ly! How in-teresting! You must be very FLEX-ible." I wasn't born just last century, wizard-perv. Yes, I can, a) braid my own hair, and b) see right through your extremely gross innuendos.
I can't even enjoy this forest. When was the last time I couldn't enjoy a forest? Leave it to Aragorn to drag us into the darkest, meanest, ugliest, most stifling collection of trees on the planet.
Oh, and here's the quote of the day from Gimli: "I know how you feel about hobbits, Master Elf - or at least one hobbit in particular." (I didn't dignify that with an answer.) "I'm not so different from them, you know," he says. "At least, when the lights are out." And then he prods me in the hip with his axe, and laughs in this horrible lecherous way.
I wonder if my father would be overly disappointed if I shot myself in the head with an arrow.
I wonder if it's even possible to shoot yourself in the head with an arrow. Hmm. Well, if there's anyone who can do it, I'm sure it's me.
* * *
UGH. We're in Edoras now, and Aragorn has this hot Rohirrim princess chickie drooling all over him, but he STILL only has eyes for me. I wonder if he's trying to let her down easy by pretending to be gay or something, instead of just admitting he's engaged. Well, that's a fine strategy, but I don't really feel like playing the part of King-boy's lover, thank you very much.
All the Rohirrim people think that's what I am, too. I've seen how they look at us and snicker. It's infuriating. I mean, if everyone thinks you're sleeping with someone, you should at least actually get to sleep with them.
I say that only because I need to get laid. I don't actually want to do Aragorn.
Well, sometimes I do. But then I imagine that stubble scraping across my face, and - yeeeick.
I wish Frodo were here. He has the softest skin...
Sigh.
* * *
Holy fuck. We WON?? Ten thousand Orcs and Uruk-Hai with frickin' DYNAMITE, against like four dozen of us, and we WON??
I'd be happier about this, it's just...okay, here's what I did.
Early this morning we're in the back room at Helm's Deep, right? Orcs are banging on the door with battering rams. Aragorn and Theoden and Gimli and a bunch of useless Men are standing around, saying, "Yep, that's it, we're going to die." Well, duh. I told them that the night before. Still, it was sort of sad and all - not for myself really; I've led a good life, which has been approximately four hundred times longer than any of theirs - but for their pitiful lifespans to be snuffed out so soon made me feel a little sorry for them. A little.
So when Aragorn catches my eye, looking all defeated and regretful and noble, I make the mistake of giving him the Elven love-and-condolences-and-forgiveness gesture, and next thing I know he's striding across the room and hauling me into a coat closet.
"Shall not we have a moment of tenderness before going to our doom?" he says. (His syntax is rather cute sometimes.)
"What do you want me to do?" I ask, suspiciously.
"Only a kiss, Legolas. You are by far the prettiest, I swear upon it."
"You're just saying that because Frodo's not here and you'll probably never see him again," I say.
"Legolas..." he says; he's breathing on my neck now. "Let us not fight over trifles here, now, at the end of all things." (I'm certain he stole that line from somewhere, by the way; I just can't remember where.)
"All you want is a kiss?" I say.
"I swear," he says.
So, okay. Fine. I kissed Aragorn. Once. Well, one kiss that kind of lasted for two or three minutes. Look, I said I was hard-up; and I thought I was about to DIE, okay?
But, fucking hell. We're alive. Gandalf and Eomer showed up and we won.
Fortunately, Sauron is not done with us and I might get killed in the next battle, if I'm lucky. Ideally Aragorn will get killed too so he can't go around bragging about this.
I feel so cheap. If Frodo survives his Mordor trip, I hope he forgives me. Even though he's probably busy making out with Samwise as we speak.
I hate life so much right now.
* * *
I feel better today. Apparently I am very brave compared to the average Man or Dwarf. Not that this is news, but hey, I needed a self-esteem boost.
Our band of loyal warriors decided to follow this old prophecy and take the fast route to Minas Tirith - which is, namely, the Paths of the Dead. Oooh, spooky! Heh heh. You should've seen Gimli and the Men quivering and crying like little babies. What losers. Like ghosts can hurt you. What, just because nobody who's ever gone into these tunnels has ever been seen again, they're afraid? Silly kids.
Anyway, nothing came of it, except Gimli grabbed my thighs in the dark for moral support rather more often than usual. Blech.
I wonder if Frodo would have been afraid, if he had been with us. I almost like to think he would, because it would be so delightful to carry him and cuddle him and soothe him with Sindarin sweet nothings while we walked through the darkness. Mmm...I daresay we wouldn't have got a lot of walking done, in fact.
Drat. I shouldn't have mentioned him. Now I miss him and want to cry, but as a general rule I don't cry in front of any living being. (I guess half our army is now, technically, composed of ghosts, but the other half is still alive, so...dammit.)
Think happy thoughts, Legolas old boy...happy thoughts...
* * *
Bloody hell. Seems Eomer wants me too. I sort of suspected it in the Riddermark - I mean, please, the man was practically undressing me with his eyes - but that only lasted a few minutes and then he was gone, thankfully. Now I'm stuck in an army with him and the drama just continues to escalate. (Oh, yeah, we were victorious over the Dark Lord's forces again, by the way.) So, recap of today's attempted molestations:
After we made our stylish entry into Minas Tirith on the Black Ships, Eomer came strutting over to say howdy-do. Gave Aragorn a big manly hug, then tried to give me one too. I was about to "accidentally" stab him in the thigh with a knife, but Aragorn stepped in between us with some hilariously dumb excuse like:
"Nay, Eomer: thank him only from a distance. The fair folk do not like to be touched in such ways."
I would have made some sarcastic reply, but Eomer actually beat me to it. "Oh, really?" he said. "I've seen YOU touch him in such ways. Don't be possessive, Aragorn; stand aside."
"I was here first," said Aragorn.
"You already have one elf; give over," said Eomer.
"Do I get a say in this?" I asked. "Because, if so, I'd like to say that anyone who tries to hug me today will get his gauntlets stuffed down his throat."
They looked kind of sheepish, and muttered, "Sorry." I stomped away, and immediately I heard them bickering over me again. "Stay away from him!" "I was just looking! Can't I look?" "No! And don't touch Frodo either!" "Who the hell is Frodo?"
Freaks. By the way, I hate this city. Everywhere I go, I'm stared at and drooled over. If one more person tells me I'm "fair of face beyond the measure of Men," I'm going to punch their lights out.
* * *
Oh, dear. I'm actually nervous. When was the last time this happened?
We're about to leave for Mordor. Yeah, Mordor. Where Frodo is. Technically the plan is to draw Sauron's forces out and distract him so Frodo can get the Ring destroyed and all that, but what if we run into each other? Frodo and me, I mean. Last time I saw him I had just sent him away, and he was in tears, and I felt awful, but it was for the best. Did he understand? Has he forgiven me? Will he even speak to me? Does my hair look okay?
I hate it when I'm like this. I haven't been like this for...wow...I'd say about two thousand seven hundred and eighteen years.
Well, anyway, wish me luck.
* * *
(Keep out, you filthy mortals.)
I suppose writing this in Sindarin will not keep Aragorn (hereafter referred to as "Telcontwhore") from being able to read it. I do not care, particularly. Frodo said keeping a journal made him feel better, gave him a place to "vent" - even though he was always too shy to let me read it, dear little thing - so I've decided to try it too. Perhaps it will help me.
For, trust me, there are plenty of things I could vent about. Where do I start?
Gimli still wants me; nothing new there. And now we have to share a horse. Can you believe? I tried to keep count of the number of times he has "accidentally" touched my thighs or my arse or my package while clinging to me from behind, but I lost track somewhere in the twenties. You have no idea how tempting it is to elbow him in the head and "accidentally" send him tumbling down the mountainside. But my prettiness has caused enough trouble in the Fellowship already. I shall refrain.
Aragorn isn't making things any easier. Now that Frodo's gone, his mind seems made up: I'm his sweet little bitch and he's trying to get some sugar every time I turn around. If he grips my shoulder lovingly one more time, I might have to knee him in the nuts.
I know that wouldn't be a good idea, politically speaking - him being the future King and all. Hardly Princely behavior on my part, either. And, you know, it's possible, just possible, that Aragorn can lead us to a miraculous victory over Sauron and we can bring Frodo home safely and I can beg my handsome hobbit's forgiveness and we'll have hot sex until the sun comes up, and life will be a song.
Yeah, right. If I really wanted to help Frodo, I should have gone with him myself. I mean, what the fuck is that useless blob Samwise supposed to do? I am such an idiot. We are so screwed.
* * *
Oh joy. Gandalf is back. Yet another one of my molesters. I knew he probably wasn't dead, but why the hell does he have to show up and hang around with MY group? Seems he's forgiven me for kicking him off the bridge in Moria - in fact, he's started flirting with me again like nothing ever happened.
"Are those new braids, Legolas? No? Well, they're quite attractive. Who does those for you? You do them yourself? Real-ly! How in-teresting! You must be very FLEX-ible." I wasn't born just last century, wizard-perv. Yes, I can, a) braid my own hair, and b) see right through your extremely gross innuendos.
I can't even enjoy this forest. When was the last time I couldn't enjoy a forest? Leave it to Aragorn to drag us into the darkest, meanest, ugliest, most stifling collection of trees on the planet.
Oh, and here's the quote of the day from Gimli: "I know how you feel about hobbits, Master Elf - or at least one hobbit in particular." (I didn't dignify that with an answer.) "I'm not so different from them, you know," he says. "At least, when the lights are out." And then he prods me in the hip with his axe, and laughs in this horrible lecherous way.
I wonder if my father would be overly disappointed if I shot myself in the head with an arrow.
I wonder if it's even possible to shoot yourself in the head with an arrow. Hmm. Well, if there's anyone who can do it, I'm sure it's me.
* * *
UGH. We're in Edoras now, and Aragorn has this hot Rohirrim princess chickie drooling all over him, but he STILL only has eyes for me. I wonder if he's trying to let her down easy by pretending to be gay or something, instead of just admitting he's engaged. Well, that's a fine strategy, but I don't really feel like playing the part of King-boy's lover, thank you very much.
All the Rohirrim people think that's what I am, too. I've seen how they look at us and snicker. It's infuriating. I mean, if everyone thinks you're sleeping with someone, you should at least actually get to sleep with them.
I say that only because I need to get laid. I don't actually want to do Aragorn.
Well, sometimes I do. But then I imagine that stubble scraping across my face, and - yeeeick.
I wish Frodo were here. He has the softest skin...
Sigh.
* * *
Holy fuck. We WON?? Ten thousand Orcs and Uruk-Hai with frickin' DYNAMITE, against like four dozen of us, and we WON??
I'd be happier about this, it's just...okay, here's what I did.
Early this morning we're in the back room at Helm's Deep, right? Orcs are banging on the door with battering rams. Aragorn and Theoden and Gimli and a bunch of useless Men are standing around, saying, "Yep, that's it, we're going to die." Well, duh. I told them that the night before. Still, it was sort of sad and all - not for myself really; I've led a good life, which has been approximately four hundred times longer than any of theirs - but for their pitiful lifespans to be snuffed out so soon made me feel a little sorry for them. A little.
So when Aragorn catches my eye, looking all defeated and regretful and noble, I make the mistake of giving him the Elven love-and-condolences-and-forgiveness gesture, and next thing I know he's striding across the room and hauling me into a coat closet.
"Shall not we have a moment of tenderness before going to our doom?" he says. (His syntax is rather cute sometimes.)
"What do you want me to do?" I ask, suspiciously.
"Only a kiss, Legolas. You are by far the prettiest, I swear upon it."
"You're just saying that because Frodo's not here and you'll probably never see him again," I say.
"Legolas..." he says; he's breathing on my neck now. "Let us not fight over trifles here, now, at the end of all things." (I'm certain he stole that line from somewhere, by the way; I just can't remember where.)
"All you want is a kiss?" I say.
"I swear," he says.
So, okay. Fine. I kissed Aragorn. Once. Well, one kiss that kind of lasted for two or three minutes. Look, I said I was hard-up; and I thought I was about to DIE, okay?
But, fucking hell. We're alive. Gandalf and Eomer showed up and we won.
Fortunately, Sauron is not done with us and I might get killed in the next battle, if I'm lucky. Ideally Aragorn will get killed too so he can't go around bragging about this.
I feel so cheap. If Frodo survives his Mordor trip, I hope he forgives me. Even though he's probably busy making out with Samwise as we speak.
I hate life so much right now.
* * *
I feel better today. Apparently I am very brave compared to the average Man or Dwarf. Not that this is news, but hey, I needed a self-esteem boost.
Our band of loyal warriors decided to follow this old prophecy and take the fast route to Minas Tirith - which is, namely, the Paths of the Dead. Oooh, spooky! Heh heh. You should've seen Gimli and the Men quivering and crying like little babies. What losers. Like ghosts can hurt you. What, just because nobody who's ever gone into these tunnels has ever been seen again, they're afraid? Silly kids.
Anyway, nothing came of it, except Gimli grabbed my thighs in the dark for moral support rather more often than usual. Blech.
I wonder if Frodo would have been afraid, if he had been with us. I almost like to think he would, because it would be so delightful to carry him and cuddle him and soothe him with Sindarin sweet nothings while we walked through the darkness. Mmm...I daresay we wouldn't have got a lot of walking done, in fact.
Drat. I shouldn't have mentioned him. Now I miss him and want to cry, but as a general rule I don't cry in front of any living being. (I guess half our army is now, technically, composed of ghosts, but the other half is still alive, so...dammit.)
Think happy thoughts, Legolas old boy...happy thoughts...
* * *
Bloody hell. Seems Eomer wants me too. I sort of suspected it in the Riddermark - I mean, please, the man was practically undressing me with his eyes - but that only lasted a few minutes and then he was gone, thankfully. Now I'm stuck in an army with him and the drama just continues to escalate. (Oh, yeah, we were victorious over the Dark Lord's forces again, by the way.) So, recap of today's attempted molestations:
After we made our stylish entry into Minas Tirith on the Black Ships, Eomer came strutting over to say howdy-do. Gave Aragorn a big manly hug, then tried to give me one too. I was about to "accidentally" stab him in the thigh with a knife, but Aragorn stepped in between us with some hilariously dumb excuse like:
"Nay, Eomer: thank him only from a distance. The fair folk do not like to be touched in such ways."
I would have made some sarcastic reply, but Eomer actually beat me to it. "Oh, really?" he said. "I've seen YOU touch him in such ways. Don't be possessive, Aragorn; stand aside."
"I was here first," said Aragorn.
"You already have one elf; give over," said Eomer.
"Do I get a say in this?" I asked. "Because, if so, I'd like to say that anyone who tries to hug me today will get his gauntlets stuffed down his throat."
They looked kind of sheepish, and muttered, "Sorry." I stomped away, and immediately I heard them bickering over me again. "Stay away from him!" "I was just looking! Can't I look?" "No! And don't touch Frodo either!" "Who the hell is Frodo?"
Freaks. By the way, I hate this city. Everywhere I go, I'm stared at and drooled over. If one more person tells me I'm "fair of face beyond the measure of Men," I'm going to punch their lights out.
* * *
Oh, dear. I'm actually nervous. When was the last time this happened?
We're about to leave for Mordor. Yeah, Mordor. Where Frodo is. Technically the plan is to draw Sauron's forces out and distract him so Frodo can get the Ring destroyed and all that, but what if we run into each other? Frodo and me, I mean. Last time I saw him I had just sent him away, and he was in tears, and I felt awful, but it was for the best. Did he understand? Has he forgiven me? Will he even speak to me? Does my hair look okay?
I hate it when I'm like this. I haven't been like this for...wow...I'd say about two thousand seven hundred and eighteen years.
Well, anyway, wish me luck.
* * *