(Frodo's diary)
Ew, ew, ew, gross, gross, gross.
I want to die. Not only have we been crawling through stinking mud for two days. Not only does Sam keep asking me to talk only in Elvish when we kiss. Not only am I carrying the bloody Ring of bloody Sauron to Mount Doom where I will undoubtedly get raped by Orcs and die in disgrace. No, not only that! Now Gollum has decided he finds me pretty, too.
I try to tell myself he's just after the Ring, but then why was he licking the tip of my ear when I woke up this morning? Why was he running his slimy hand up my knee? Why was he saying to himself, "We likesss this one, Precious, we wantsss to kiss it"?
Ew, ick, ew, gag, YUCK.
I've told him if he tries something like that again, I'll put the Ring on and command him to stick his own head up his arse and he will have to obey, so he "ssswore on the Precioussss" that he'd behave.
Not bloody likely, given everyone else's behavior once they've decided to have a crush on me. To think, Boromir used to disgust me. I would gladly welcome Boromir back right now if it meant getting rid of Gollum. I cannot write any further about this tonight if I want to keep my dinner down. Gross. That's all. Gross.
* * *
Well. Be careful what you wish for. I said I would rather have Boromir back, and lo and behold, who shows up but Boromir's very own baby brother? And here's something you'll just be astonished to learn: fluffy little Faramir thinks I'm pretty! Yeah, big shock. Must run in the family.
He and his fellow Gondorians found us in the forest, in Ithilien. Sam and I didn't hear them coming because, I regret to say, we were having something of a lovers' quarrel at the moment. It started out when we were involved in one of our rather lackluster make-out sessions after lunch, and he kept insisting, "Elvish, sir; say something in Elvish."
"Sindarin or Quenya?" I snapped, rather irritably.
"Makes no difference to me; I can't tell 'em apart," he said.
I shoved him away, and started pacing. "I know you can't," I grumbled. I hate to admit it, but I was thinking about Legolas again. Legolas would have known the difference; and what's more, he would have been able to say the naughtiest, dirtiest things in either language. And he would have taught me how to say them too. How I miss him...
"Look, Sam," I said. "There's no point in our kissing each other. You don't really want me, you want Legolas--or maybe Rosie Cotton." (Heaven knows he's yapped about HER enough on this trip, too.)
"And you still want him, as well," Sam returned. "As if you're actually going to get back together with him. Fat chance, Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon." Word to the wise: don't let your servants get kissed by Elven princes. They just lose all respect and start mouthing off to you.
I was in the process of calling him something rude in Quenya, just because I knew he wouldn't understand it, when Faramir and his band of merry men jumped out of the bushes and seized us.
We explained who we were, and Faramir walked around us, looked us up and down, then sat down in front of me and just gazed dreamily into my eyes. He looked so blissed out I wondered if he'd been eating hallucinogenic mushrooms or something. Then he said, "I've heard of Halflings. But you, I think, are taller than some."
"Yes, yes, and fairer than most," Sam said impatiently. "That's what everyone says. Don't go tellin' him he's pretty; it goes straight to his head."
"But a pretty head it is," said Faramir, and reached out and tousled the hair on my oh-so-pretty head. "I would be lying if I claimed otherwise. You know what I'd like to do?"
"What?" I asked, extremely suspicious.
"Blindfold you," he purred. Oh, joy--he's kinky on top of everything else.
But, as we were threatened by approximately three hundred archers, we let them blindfold us and take us away. Now we're in their cave hideout, which is damp and chilly and reminds me of Moria, and it's making me nostalgic. The place Legolas and I confessed our love for one another... Was that only a few weeks ago? It seems ages now. Ah, how life changes. And seldom for the better.
I guess I shouldn't whine. I've tasted the underpants of an Elven prince; how many hobbits my age can say the same? In fact, how many hobbits of ANY age can say the same?
Doesn't change that my life rather sucks at the moment.
Now Faramir is bringing me wine and offering to give me a foot massage. Time to find a tactful way to get the hell out of here.
* * *
I do not think I can emphasize how bad the past several days have been. Granted, I guess no one expects a picnic when they're vacationing in Mordor. But I think I have a right to complain rather loudly on this one.
Okay, first things first: there was this really big spider. No, I don't think you understand: I mean REALLY BIG. I'm not talking about those spiders back in the Shire, the ones that would sometimes skitter out from under the woodpile and make me yelp, the ones I used to smack with sticks.
This spider would not have FIT in the woodpile in Bag End. In fact, this spider probably has its own area code. Long story short: one minute I'm running for my freaking life; next thing I know I'm waking up in a stone room with torches, and I'm naked and an Orc is fondling my nipples.
When I told him I didn't feel that way about people whose breath smells like a dead skunk, he got a wee bit angry and gave me a few whip-lashes. I was about to tell him I wasn't into S&M, either, but then Samwise decided to show up and kill him.
I regret to say we got into another argument at that point. I accused Sam of letting the spider get me so he could go claim Legolas for his own.
He pointed out that if he'd wanted to do that, he wouldn't have come up to the tower to rescue me. I had to admit this was a valid point.
But then I remembered that Legolas had offered to kiss him a hundred times if he brought me back alive, so I threw that in his face.
Sam said, yes, fine, he still hoped to get the hundred kisses, but if I had any particular objections to being alive, it was fine with him and he'd just go home right now and leave me to take the damned Ring to Mount Doom by myself.
I saw I was overreacting, plus I didn't want to carry all the gear, so I apologized. He apologized too, and we kissed and made up.
But the fact remains we're going to Mount Doom now. And I'm wearing smelly Orc clothes because they stole all my stuff (including my pretty mithril negligee). Also I'm accumulating scrapes and scars and scabs, and I'm all out of lip balm, and I haven't washed my hair for at least a week. I don't have a mirror around, but I have to conclude that I could not possibly be pretty anymore under these conditions.
And that's how I'll die. Ugly and hungry and far away from my beautiful love. Ai, Legolas, if you remember me, remember me as I was. Please don't think of me with this stupid-ass Orc helmet on my head.
* * *
Crazy. Thought for sure we were toast, but here I am in some forest-tent in Ithilien, alive and...I guess I won't say "well," but "alive" is good enough for now.
So, to recap: we're on Mount Doom the other day - Sam claims he had to carry me up the slope, but I'm sure he's just whining and exaggerating - and Gollum shows up out of nowhere and starts doing this really disgusting sucking-on-my-finger thing. I was too weak from starvation to fight him off, but I did manage to kick him in the loincloth once. Perhaps a bad move, with my finger in his mouth. His teeth snapped shut and took my finger AND my pretty Ring over the cliff with him and into the fiery chasm from whence it came. Or at least I think that's what Elrond called it. Oh, well. That took care of that, at least.
However, it appeared the mountain was imploding - something about Sauron's power collapsing in upon itself, I suppose - so Sam and I crawled to the nearest island of rock and were slowly losing consciousness from the lava fumes. Suddenly this eagle - I mean a freaking HUGE eagle - swoops down, and who grabs us but Gandalf? Guess my wise Legolas was right after all: you can't kill those blasted wizards.
Anyway, last thing I remember before passing out was the eagle licking me and Gandalf saying, "I think he finds you pretty, Frodo." Somehow not a surprise anymore.
I just woke up this morning, in this tent in Ithilien, and theoretically Legolas is around here somewhere, but he hasn't come to see me yet. I am trying not to pout over this, but it's really quite vexing, especially since everyone ELSE has come to see me.
Merry and Pippin wouldn't leave for four hours, talking about how I'm still pretty, and how they missed me, and how they got to wear chain mail and fight evil guys, and something about talking trees, and blah-de-blah-de-fucking-blah. Aragorn stopped by and spent a while kissing my hands. How dull. Wanted to ask him if he had molested Legolas in my absence, but I couldn't get a word in edgewise; he was babbling on and on about how good it was to see me again, and how grateful he was, and how much he'd like to demonstrate his gratitude to me. Most alarming. Gandalf, luckily, pulled him out of the tent by force at that point.
Well, I must sign off for now, as Gimli just walked in to say hello. Perhaps I can drag some information about Legolas out of him. We shall see.
* * *
AAARRRGGHHH!
Gimli says he saw Legolas making out with Aragorn in a coat closet in Helm's Deep. I wouldn't have believed him, but he seemed just as upset about it as I was. (Because of course he wants Legolas, too.)
I'm so distraught. I can't stand this. I want to kill someone. I want to die. I can't compete with the bloody King of Gondor, who speaks Elvish even better than me, and is the same height as Legolas, and probably acted all heroic during the battles and everything. Oh, I hate life so much.
Gimli says they don't appear to be a couple. He says Legolas tends to brush off Aragorn or make snippy comments or threaten him with weapons whenever they're near each other. But still...the very idea of the two of them making out...it just shows he got over me awfully fast, and I can't stand it.
So maybe this was a bad idea, but I sent Gimli out just now to find Legolas and bring him to me. I know I'm going to be all drama-queen when I see him, but damn it, I have to talk to him. I have to know. So now I'm sitting here chewing down all ten of my fingernails in torturous anticipation.
Er, make that nine.
* * *
(To be continued...really, I promise.)
Ew, ew, ew, gross, gross, gross.
I want to die. Not only have we been crawling through stinking mud for two days. Not only does Sam keep asking me to talk only in Elvish when we kiss. Not only am I carrying the bloody Ring of bloody Sauron to Mount Doom where I will undoubtedly get raped by Orcs and die in disgrace. No, not only that! Now Gollum has decided he finds me pretty, too.
I try to tell myself he's just after the Ring, but then why was he licking the tip of my ear when I woke up this morning? Why was he running his slimy hand up my knee? Why was he saying to himself, "We likesss this one, Precious, we wantsss to kiss it"?
Ew, ick, ew, gag, YUCK.
I've told him if he tries something like that again, I'll put the Ring on and command him to stick his own head up his arse and he will have to obey, so he "ssswore on the Precioussss" that he'd behave.
Not bloody likely, given everyone else's behavior once they've decided to have a crush on me. To think, Boromir used to disgust me. I would gladly welcome Boromir back right now if it meant getting rid of Gollum. I cannot write any further about this tonight if I want to keep my dinner down. Gross. That's all. Gross.
* * *
Well. Be careful what you wish for. I said I would rather have Boromir back, and lo and behold, who shows up but Boromir's very own baby brother? And here's something you'll just be astonished to learn: fluffy little Faramir thinks I'm pretty! Yeah, big shock. Must run in the family.
He and his fellow Gondorians found us in the forest, in Ithilien. Sam and I didn't hear them coming because, I regret to say, we were having something of a lovers' quarrel at the moment. It started out when we were involved in one of our rather lackluster make-out sessions after lunch, and he kept insisting, "Elvish, sir; say something in Elvish."
"Sindarin or Quenya?" I snapped, rather irritably.
"Makes no difference to me; I can't tell 'em apart," he said.
I shoved him away, and started pacing. "I know you can't," I grumbled. I hate to admit it, but I was thinking about Legolas again. Legolas would have known the difference; and what's more, he would have been able to say the naughtiest, dirtiest things in either language. And he would have taught me how to say them too. How I miss him...
"Look, Sam," I said. "There's no point in our kissing each other. You don't really want me, you want Legolas--or maybe Rosie Cotton." (Heaven knows he's yapped about HER enough on this trip, too.)
"And you still want him, as well," Sam returned. "As if you're actually going to get back together with him. Fat chance, Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon." Word to the wise: don't let your servants get kissed by Elven princes. They just lose all respect and start mouthing off to you.
I was in the process of calling him something rude in Quenya, just because I knew he wouldn't understand it, when Faramir and his band of merry men jumped out of the bushes and seized us.
We explained who we were, and Faramir walked around us, looked us up and down, then sat down in front of me and just gazed dreamily into my eyes. He looked so blissed out I wondered if he'd been eating hallucinogenic mushrooms or something. Then he said, "I've heard of Halflings. But you, I think, are taller than some."
"Yes, yes, and fairer than most," Sam said impatiently. "That's what everyone says. Don't go tellin' him he's pretty; it goes straight to his head."
"But a pretty head it is," said Faramir, and reached out and tousled the hair on my oh-so-pretty head. "I would be lying if I claimed otherwise. You know what I'd like to do?"
"What?" I asked, extremely suspicious.
"Blindfold you," he purred. Oh, joy--he's kinky on top of everything else.
But, as we were threatened by approximately three hundred archers, we let them blindfold us and take us away. Now we're in their cave hideout, which is damp and chilly and reminds me of Moria, and it's making me nostalgic. The place Legolas and I confessed our love for one another... Was that only a few weeks ago? It seems ages now. Ah, how life changes. And seldom for the better.
I guess I shouldn't whine. I've tasted the underpants of an Elven prince; how many hobbits my age can say the same? In fact, how many hobbits of ANY age can say the same?
Doesn't change that my life rather sucks at the moment.
Now Faramir is bringing me wine and offering to give me a foot massage. Time to find a tactful way to get the hell out of here.
* * *
I do not think I can emphasize how bad the past several days have been. Granted, I guess no one expects a picnic when they're vacationing in Mordor. But I think I have a right to complain rather loudly on this one.
Okay, first things first: there was this really big spider. No, I don't think you understand: I mean REALLY BIG. I'm not talking about those spiders back in the Shire, the ones that would sometimes skitter out from under the woodpile and make me yelp, the ones I used to smack with sticks.
This spider would not have FIT in the woodpile in Bag End. In fact, this spider probably has its own area code. Long story short: one minute I'm running for my freaking life; next thing I know I'm waking up in a stone room with torches, and I'm naked and an Orc is fondling my nipples.
When I told him I didn't feel that way about people whose breath smells like a dead skunk, he got a wee bit angry and gave me a few whip-lashes. I was about to tell him I wasn't into S&M, either, but then Samwise decided to show up and kill him.
I regret to say we got into another argument at that point. I accused Sam of letting the spider get me so he could go claim Legolas for his own.
He pointed out that if he'd wanted to do that, he wouldn't have come up to the tower to rescue me. I had to admit this was a valid point.
But then I remembered that Legolas had offered to kiss him a hundred times if he brought me back alive, so I threw that in his face.
Sam said, yes, fine, he still hoped to get the hundred kisses, but if I had any particular objections to being alive, it was fine with him and he'd just go home right now and leave me to take the damned Ring to Mount Doom by myself.
I saw I was overreacting, plus I didn't want to carry all the gear, so I apologized. He apologized too, and we kissed and made up.
But the fact remains we're going to Mount Doom now. And I'm wearing smelly Orc clothes because they stole all my stuff (including my pretty mithril negligee). Also I'm accumulating scrapes and scars and scabs, and I'm all out of lip balm, and I haven't washed my hair for at least a week. I don't have a mirror around, but I have to conclude that I could not possibly be pretty anymore under these conditions.
And that's how I'll die. Ugly and hungry and far away from my beautiful love. Ai, Legolas, if you remember me, remember me as I was. Please don't think of me with this stupid-ass Orc helmet on my head.
* * *
Crazy. Thought for sure we were toast, but here I am in some forest-tent in Ithilien, alive and...I guess I won't say "well," but "alive" is good enough for now.
So, to recap: we're on Mount Doom the other day - Sam claims he had to carry me up the slope, but I'm sure he's just whining and exaggerating - and Gollum shows up out of nowhere and starts doing this really disgusting sucking-on-my-finger thing. I was too weak from starvation to fight him off, but I did manage to kick him in the loincloth once. Perhaps a bad move, with my finger in his mouth. His teeth snapped shut and took my finger AND my pretty Ring over the cliff with him and into the fiery chasm from whence it came. Or at least I think that's what Elrond called it. Oh, well. That took care of that, at least.
However, it appeared the mountain was imploding - something about Sauron's power collapsing in upon itself, I suppose - so Sam and I crawled to the nearest island of rock and were slowly losing consciousness from the lava fumes. Suddenly this eagle - I mean a freaking HUGE eagle - swoops down, and who grabs us but Gandalf? Guess my wise Legolas was right after all: you can't kill those blasted wizards.
Anyway, last thing I remember before passing out was the eagle licking me and Gandalf saying, "I think he finds you pretty, Frodo." Somehow not a surprise anymore.
I just woke up this morning, in this tent in Ithilien, and theoretically Legolas is around here somewhere, but he hasn't come to see me yet. I am trying not to pout over this, but it's really quite vexing, especially since everyone ELSE has come to see me.
Merry and Pippin wouldn't leave for four hours, talking about how I'm still pretty, and how they missed me, and how they got to wear chain mail and fight evil guys, and something about talking trees, and blah-de-blah-de-fucking-blah. Aragorn stopped by and spent a while kissing my hands. How dull. Wanted to ask him if he had molested Legolas in my absence, but I couldn't get a word in edgewise; he was babbling on and on about how good it was to see me again, and how grateful he was, and how much he'd like to demonstrate his gratitude to me. Most alarming. Gandalf, luckily, pulled him out of the tent by force at that point.
Well, I must sign off for now, as Gimli just walked in to say hello. Perhaps I can drag some information about Legolas out of him. We shall see.
* * *
AAARRRGGHHH!
Gimli says he saw Legolas making out with Aragorn in a coat closet in Helm's Deep. I wouldn't have believed him, but he seemed just as upset about it as I was. (Because of course he wants Legolas, too.)
I'm so distraught. I can't stand this. I want to kill someone. I want to die. I can't compete with the bloody King of Gondor, who speaks Elvish even better than me, and is the same height as Legolas, and probably acted all heroic during the battles and everything. Oh, I hate life so much.
Gimli says they don't appear to be a couple. He says Legolas tends to brush off Aragorn or make snippy comments or threaten him with weapons whenever they're near each other. But still...the very idea of the two of them making out...it just shows he got over me awfully fast, and I can't stand it.
So maybe this was a bad idea, but I sent Gimli out just now to find Legolas and bring him to me. I know I'm going to be all drama-queen when I see him, but damn it, I have to talk to him. I have to know. So now I'm sitting here chewing down all ten of my fingernails in torturous anticipation.
Er, make that nine.
* * *
(To be continued...really, I promise.)