Title: I'm Your Fella, Cinderella!
Chapter: Two
Author: Andariel666
POV: Tyrael
A/N The madness continues…
Disclaimer: Still don't own the LOTR empire. *sigh*
Goodness, what a day! Since this festival had called upon the Elves of many kingdoms, servants were flocking to be chosen to serve those of importance – especially the two most renowned and gorgeous elves, Legolas Greenleaf and Haldir of Lórien. Both were very, very fair to look upon, though I found myself more inclined to the latter – his dominating aura just had me in a puddle of mush.
For a moment, I had thought he would choose me from the line-up – until that she-Elf, Kalia, appeared, covered in hay and looking worse for wear. She had obviously brought literal meanings to the term 'a roll in the hay'. But goodness, what of the one who emerged after her! The female! I could not help but smirk. But how she had had the two Elves battling over her. Rather sickening really. She was finally taken by Haldir.
Now I was the blasted prince's servant. And he was nowhere to be found! If I were to help him with his damned ceremonial tunic, then the least he could do was actually be there!
I had had a very trying day, what with running from Haryon the kitchen boy to seek an escape from his flirts and awful lines, making a bid for escape out of the window and getting the skirt of my robe stuck – and what was more, at that moment, a group of Elves had passed by, just in time to see me flash my under-things!
However, I merely smiled at their shocked faces, and said, "Hail, fair Elflings. Do ignore me, for I am only airing my pantyhose. That March Warden caused some trapped steam…" To this, they blushed and hurried on, leaving me to wrench my skirts from the window before Haryon found me. It seemed that not all Elves could stomach my honesty.
I searched the corridors, muttering to myself in annoyance. I'd grab the prince by his ear and drag him, if he were not of such high status and if male's ears weren't so…sensitive. I had begun to sprint, moving at a rapid pace, for if the prince thought that it was I who had become lost, and lay the blame on me, then I would surely pay a price.
Awful, pretty-Elf prince, I thought, shaking my head as I half sprinted, half ran through the corridors. Why, he is probably in a broom closet somewhere, propositioning a maiden with his Mirkwood arrow.
I laughed as I ran, and turned a corner – slamming into something rather solid. Now, I was fairly sturdily built, almost manly – it was not often that anything could withstand me were I to plough into it.
This solid wall not only withstood me, but it also sent me falling backwards, and into unconsciousness.
*
I regained consciousness slowly – at first I could see mere silhouettes, then shapes, and then blurred images, before my vision settled to normal. I did think I had been stupid enough to run into a wall – I knew my way around fairly well, and I did not remember there being a wall or solid structure in the middle of the corridor anywhere.
I sat up, shaking my head, and wondered if perhaps my little trip through the halls had in fact been a figment of my imagination, caused by some of the very strong wine myself and the local scallywag, Rathborn, tended to, uh, borrow from Lord Elrond's cellars.
This was soon dashed when I noticed not only the slight swelling to my nose, and the pain in my derriere, but also the March Warden of Lothlórien staring at me in amusement.
"Unhand me or I shall castrate thee!" I cried, looking around for something sharp. What did I possess that was sharp? "With my, er…tongue!"
I grinned suddenly, realising what that sounded like, before I forced myself to stop smiling – the March Warden might not see that as a very good comment.
However, Haldir's lips seemed to quirk, and he said, "As much as that would be…an enlightening experience…I feel you should remain where you are – you may be concussed."
"Argh, dear Valar, I ran into a wall, did I not?" I sighed.
"You ran into me," he replied haughtily, with a hint of pride in his voice.
"Do not think I was stroking your ego," I said, and added with a grin, "Nor will I stroke anything else." His lip-quirk grew to a smirk. "'Twas my own fault for running at such a pace. I apologise for any inconvenience."
"As do I," Haldir replied, with a sort of gentlemanly bow. "'Tis not always that a she-Elf is knocked unconscious from running into me. They normally faint before impact."
My eyes widened. "Blessed be! Such a show of arrogance, my lord! But might I implore – did they faint from excitement, or did they perhaps turn to stone? Petrified beyond all reason?"
I felt that perhaps I had spoken out of place, and though it did not normally bother me, I realised that not only was this the legendary March Warden of Lothlórien, but he was also quite imposing. Not to mention completely gorgeous. Ahem, I meant…
He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "You speak carelessly, servant. You would do well to know your place."
"My place is in the kitchens, healthily inebriated on wine and ale – unfortunately for me, I am now the Mirkwood prince's lackey. I was in fact supposed to be looking for him before you knocked me unconscious with your…" I gave him a scrutinising look. "Wall." Oh, brilliant, Tyrael, I chastised myself. How eloquent you are. I stood quickly, forcing myself to stop swaying, and squared my shoulders. "I really must be leaving, March Warden."
"Aye, indeed you must," he said caustically, "for the fabulous prince awaits."
"Do I detect jealousy?" I asked, amused. He glared at me, and instead of shrinking back, I found myself thinking, I really must calm these palpitations – not to mention the hot flushes! "Well," I said, stepping forward. "Quel re good day, my lord," I smirked. "It was a pleasure testing your hardness." I grinned wider.
His eyes widened, before he held out his hand. "And it was a pleasure allowing you," he replied smoothly, and held out his hand. I was not accustomed to handshakes, and I instantly felt nervous.
And that is where I made the biggest fool out of myself in all my 1,988 years. Picture this. You are in a room with one of the most revered, most handsome, and strongest Elves ever spoken of or seen. You have just run into him and been knocked out by his rather robust muscles. If that wasn't enough, perversities are passed like wine at a celebration. Before you know it, it is time to say goodbye. He is going to shake your hand. But in your nervous hurry, you swing out your own hand perhaps too eagerly, and with very little coordination.
Now picture this. You are a sturdy woman, built in a rather masculine way, with a strong punch. You swing your hand with nervous eagerness, and you miss his hand entirely…only to thump the March Warden's elfhood.
I punched Haldir of Lórien in the crotch. And even if it was accidental, it was mortifying.
He apparently noticed my strength – this was noticeable in the widening of his eyes and the subtle hunch as he bent forward, breathless. That had to hurt. This theory was accentuated by the cute little squeak that burst forth from his lips.
"Oh, dear Valar!" I gasped, and stepped back, my eyes wide. I actually wanted to laugh, but I feared that such a reaction would not sit well with Haldir.
He gave me a very pained look, as he fought to compose himself and catch his breath. "Are you certain you are a woman?" He asked eventually, still not quite breathing normally. "You are not built like one, and you certainly do not punch like one."
My jaw dropped. The nerve of him!
"I beg your pardon, lordship!" I cried, laughter and disbelief in my voice. "I most certainly am a woman!" As if to accentuate this, I placed my hands under my breasts and gave a gentle push, moving them up and emphasising them. "I would have thought that these were rather a giveaway!"
He stared at my chest, his breathing now returned to normal, though he was still partially slumped over. He finally pulled himself up, and said, "Have you ever been mistaken for a male, Tyrael?"
Knowing he was trying to bait me, I replied, "Nay, March Warden. Have you?" And with this jibe said and done, I did a quick curtsey, said in a sing-song voice, "Quel re, my lord." And then I darted into the corridor quickly. I ran to the end and around the corner, before stopping and letting out a burst of laughter. Fancy that!
I then realised that Haldir too was an Elf, and could probably hear my maniacal laughter, and I began to run all over again, attempting to put as much distance between the March Warden and myself as possible.
Upon turning another corner, I found myself running into something yet again. I was beginning to think of myself as accident prone, which was rather belated, seeing as in all my years, I had broken many bones – both my own and those of others. Not to mention the various furniture implements and crockery…
This person, unlike Haldir, was willowy and small, and had no chance when compared to my sturdy build. She crumpled under my weight, falling back to the floor, taking me with her. I hit the ground on my side, and groaned, as I heard an angry, indignant squawk from whoever was beside me.
"How dare you! Honestly! Running around the corridors like no others would pass through!" I pulled myself up, shaking my head, and recognised the Elf from the picking – Haldir's own little Kalia.
"Oh, why hello there," I grinned. "Such a delight it is, to meet the young she-Elf that kept Petrenella company in the stables."
Her eyes widened, before she glowered at me. "And how delightful it is to meet Prince Legolas's wench."
I grinned wider. Did I sense a longing there for the dashing Legolas?
"Why are you bruised?" She asked, in a haughty tone that would make Haldir admire her greatly.
"Your master, my dear, is very sturdy. Rather stiff, I might add." I had to laugh at the confused look on the she-Elf's features. Truly an innocent. "Worry not, my dear. It shall not hinder my services to the Mirkwood Goldenboy. I am certain I shall have his arrows taut and ready for action."
No matter how naïve she seemed, Kalia understood that one straight away. She frowned at me. "Honestly! Have you no shame?"
"No, I do not believe I do," I smirked, pulling myself to my feet. "Why should it matter to you anyway, Kalia dear? Do you rather like the Prince's choice of meal?"
"Choice of meal?" Kalia wrinkled her nose in confusion, as she grudgingly accepted my hand. I pulled her up a little too enthusiastically, and she almost fell to the ground on the other side of me, but I managed to prevent her from doing so at the last moment.
"Aye, his meal of choice," I nodded. "Meat and two vegetables, I believe."
Amazingly, she understood this too. I had not expected her to, but she seemed a lot more tutored in the art of subtlety than I had perceived. "You are truly…truly…"
"Brazen? Articulate? Eloquent?" I grinned and fluttered my lashes.
"Obnoxious and preposterous!" Kalia snapped back, rubbing her arm. "Your words are perverse and absurd."
"Oh, nay nay!" I gasped playfully, though it seemed my antics were only proving to annoy her more. "I simply enjoy the finer things in life. And speaking of them, I really must find Rathborn…" I tapped my chin thoughtfully, drawing out every action and revelling in the redness of Kalia's face. The little darling desired the Prince of Mirkwood, that much seemed obvious. Rather sweet, in some ways. "Well, it was my absolute pleasure meeting you, Kalia," I said, bowing down low with a flourish, purposely declining to curtsey. I straightened, smirking. "You shall find Haldir in his rooms. I believe he is ready to be fitted into his fineries. Am I to presume the prince is in his own fair chambers?"
Kalia blushed slightly, and nodded, and I tapped my nose.
"Well then, by the Valar, I must not keep him waiting!" I bowed again. "I shall be seeing you, Lady Kalia." And with this said, I turned away and began walking towards Legolas's rooms with a swagger that I knew made me appear both highly drunk and rather insane. When I was out of Kalia's sight, I cackled madly to myself, knowing she could hear me, and executed a neat cartwheel in celebration to my skills of confusing people. I really outdid myself sometimes.