Disclaimer: Located on the first page, (if it lives) buwahahahaaaaa

A/N: Well, again, I have nothing to say, so:

ONWITHTHERANDOMNESSTHATMKAESNOSENSETHATWASWRITTENLATEATNIGHTWITHAMUFFIN!

(I like muffins!)

Chapter 3: Disembodied voices and a mad Aragorn

That night as I go to my position to stand guard, I notice Gandalf's staff lifting the back of my tunic for a better view of my arse, and the distant howl of Wargs sounds tonight more like Pippin relieving some tension behind a tree.

I try to relax as I stand guard, listening to the sounds of my amorous companions falling asleep, (some of them murmuring my name quietly and muttering, "No, I'll still respect you...") and ponder the events of the day.

Without being arrogant, I can understand why they all seem to want to something other than innocent camaraderie from me. I am rather dashing. The way I nimbly leap from rock to rock, how I haven't fallen on my ass in nine hundred years, the way my hair never needs combing... Hell, I'd want me too.

In the night, a dark and faraway voice calls to me.

Saruman, I think.

"Legolaaassss..."he calls.

"Quit the phantom stuff, please," I request. "We both know you don't have to talk that way."

"Ahem, hrum, right," he says. "Well uh... I'll just get on with it then, shall I?"

"Please do."

"Right–––Legolas! Come with me, my handsome Elven prince! Together, we can be––"

"Can you hurry this along? It's been a rough evening," I sigh, sliding down the trunk of a tree, feeling a bit odd at being hit on by a disembodied voice.

"I command you to be mine, Legolas!" Saruman orders harshly. "Forget the quest, forget the others! Your world will only be me!"

I stand in one nimble leap. "Alright, whitey, zip it," I growl. "Or the next time you want to look at your palatir it'll be through an x-ray."

The bodiless voice of Saruman fades, grumbling expletives.

After a while, Aragorn comes to where I sit and leans in, whispering in my ear what I assume to be the dirtiest thing he could think of. I turn, shocked, and slap him.

He winces, rubbing his cheek and looking chagrined.

"It was worth a shot."

"No it wasn't."

"Well, shit, I'm out of ideas."

Aragorn sits heavily on the log beside me.

"You and everyone else," I say. "The Bitch of Gondor is over there pouting because I won't give him any sugar."

"Well, that's different, I know you'll do me."

"I am not a slut."

"You shag people left and right in other stories!" Aragorn shouts, standing

up. "This sucks, I'm asking for a transfer to The Contest."

Then he stomps off, leaving me alone with my grumbling and frustration.

T.B.C............

A/N: ok, the disembodied voice was a cheap shot, but wuteva.

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