Pipe Dreams
Aragorn took a drag of the leaf. It was good. Smoky with a hint of woody freshness, he decided. It almost distracted him from his brooding. Almost.
He blew a smoke puff, letting it mix with the smoldering embers of the flames. Ah, smoke, he thought, give me strength!
Women were toxic. Why did he have this problem? Was it his prowess with the sword? His general aura of mystery? His finely toned buttocks? Aragorn stroked his stubble thoughtfully. He didn't know. One thing was for sure, though, they were like bees to smooth Ranger honey.
Smooth, indecisive Ranger honey! Choose, damn you! Eowyn or Arwen? Who shall it be?
He knew, mentally, that he should stick with the elf. The whole necklace-immortality thing was kind of a chain around his neck, wrapped around a slim, (cold) hand…
But still, his heart thumped for another. Unbidden, a vision of Eowyn swam in front of his face. Her blonde hair glistened in the sunlight, her head thrown back in laughter. She smiled at him, and he couldn't help but admire her smooth white teeth. And the way her brown cloak hugged her body…his shoulders twitched. Wow. Shieldmaidens. Yeowza. Plus, she was eas--
Oh, cut it out! his conscience poked him. Ar----wen. Arwen! Remember? Whoo, Aragorn, elf hottie? She wants to be with you for all time? Hellooo?
And a vision of Arwen neatly shoved Eowyn out of the way, (with a little slapfighting action and pulling of hair).
Ah, there she was in that dream he'd had, the one with him on the couch. The one where they talked in Elvish, and it hadn't ended in hanky-panky, unfortunately. He didn't quite remember what exactly they'd talked about, only that he'd looked tortured and angsty a lot of the time. But he remembered her purple dress. Boy, did he remember her purple dress. And how, when she had said "If you trust nothing else, trust this. Trust---" he had definitely mentally finished the sentence with, "that I will sleep with you when you get back, sweetums."
Aragorn puffed on the pipe again. Perhaps he would stick with brunettes. They were quite charming, after all—
What?
Another sight flew in his mind. But this time it was of…well. Weird.
A red-haired woman sat on a benchlike sofa in a small room. She was surrounded by a man and several small squalling children, who kept squealing, "Mama! Mama! Fass fohward, Mama! Diss boring!" They were staring at a tiny box…and Aragorn nearly inhaled the pipeweed. He was on it! In fact, it was of him talking to his elf princess! The vision he had just had! Creepy. And… what was he hearing?
A voiceover rang in his mind. "God, he's hot," the lady sighed mentally. "I want a gallon of whipped cream, and then I'm gonna pour it all over that dude. Then I'm gonna eat it off. And THEN we're goin' down to the Tastee Freeze, and he's gonna sing me a song in whatever language that is. And my dress is so damn fantastic, it's one of them ballgowns they have down at Mervyn's, that those high school gals wear at their prom or whatever? And then he takes me home and rips it---"
Aragorn willed with all his mental strength for it to break off abruptly. It obliged, thank God. He sat upright on his log, mouth opened slightly. The pipe fell from his hand.
What in Arda was that about?
Heh. This is, of course, not to be taken seriously--- I love Aragorn, actually. Read? Well, if you've gotten this far, I believe you've read it already. Review! There we go! Review, review, that's the one!
Wow, Viggo and Johnny in the same chapter. Am I smokin' today or what?