A/N: Uh... yeah.

Legolas frowned. Something was wrong with this picture. He was in a forest somewhere east of Rivendell, and had a weird feeling of foreboding pressing in on him from all sides. There was nothing in sight aside from trees, and a deathly silence had fallen. Legolas took a step back, with half a mind to run screaming from the forest and never look back, but curiosity kept him rooted to the spot. A low rumbling started up, barely reaching his keen elven ears, but steadily growing until the ground trembled and the trees swayed from the sheer volume. And suddenly, as if someone has flicked a purely imaginary switch, all was still again. Legolas twitched. What the...? Just then, as abruptly as the noise had stopped, it began again, this time accompanied by a flailing mass of fangirls as they swept into the clearing and smothered poor Legolas. He hadn't a hope, crushed instantly by the horde. They payed no attention to this fact as they stripped him of his pretteh garments and weaponry, then rampaged off in roughly the direction of Faramir.

Legolas' severely mutilated, and by now largely devoured (the fault of carnivorous forest-dwelling creatures, not fangirls) corpse lay still. A light glowed dimly in the distant realms of Legolas' broken mind. A figure stepped out from the dull radiance, and moved towards him. The lady Galadriel smiled down at him and extended her hand. He took it gladly. She made him feel as though everything would turn out for the best, and he trusted her whole-heartedly. He vaguely noticed that her eyes burned with something like desire. This startled him out of his blissful state, making him aware of other strange things, such as the fact that Galadriel was stroking him in a way that was not entirely comforting... in fact, she was starting to remove her own brilliant garb as well.

Legolas was both shocked and appalled. After all, this -was- the lady Galadriel. She was not acting right, and - Legolas remembered something with a jolt that made him feel sick- what about Celeborn? Something of this internal reverie must have shown on his face, for Galadriel ceased her disturbing actions, locked her eyes on his, and Legolas felt her begin to probe his mind for the problem. She laughed upon finding it, a beautiful noise that made Legolas shiver involuntarily with delight. Galadriel started again with her increasingly intimate movements, now roughly thrusting against Leggy's half dead body, her tounge fully entangled with his. Legolas gasped as she fell heavily on top of him, all intimacy lost. He reached to move her off him, and was shocked to find warm blood on his fingers. Someone -he knew not who- had mercilessly slaughtered Lady Galadriel. Who would do such a thing? He struggled to his feet, only slightly aware of his blatant nakedness. Casting his glazed eyes over the scene, he saw... Gandalf?

Yes, it was most assuredly Gandalf the White standing before Legolas, with staff in hand. And atop that staff was a splash of red, which Legolas knew with much conviction was Galadriel's blood. Legolas struggled to a sitting position. Could it be true? Gandalf had just killed Galadriel, and Galadriel had just almost raped him. What was going on? And now, Gandalf was advancing on Legolas... what to do, what to do? Run, hide? He could not even bear to move, was more dead than alive and far from mobility. And Gandalf was still aproaching...

The next thing poor Legolas knew, he was flat on his back again. But not on the forest floor. No, he was on a bed, and a comfy one at that, with crisp white sheets and everything. This wasn't a bad thing in itself, though Legolas did wonder how he had arrived there. Whilst pondering, he rolled over.

And screamed blue murder. There, lying next to him, was Gandalf the White. And, if this wasn't enough for Legolas to try and comprehend, Gandalf was fully unclothed. Naked, in other words.

He screamed and rolled onto his other side, intending to run, run some more and keep running until he fell off the end of the map. That train of thought, logical though it was, was interrupted by another realisation, something Legolas was having a lot of today. There was another figure asleep at his other side. Arwen, to be precise. Well, while that wasn't anywhere near as bad as Gandalf, what was Aragorn going to say?

Not much, for he appeared to be curled up at the foot of the bed, underneath the covers, and affectionatly nuzzling Legolas' foot.

Legolas leapt up... well, to be honest, he didn't really leap, he sort of clambered. Over what appeared to be 34 eleths in various states of un-dress, and a small horse. He eventually managed to get out of the massive orgy pit. Then, he ran. And ran. Oh boy, did he run.

He ran straight out of Rivendell (for that was indeed the location of his terrifying experience) over the Misty Mountains, and into Rohan. Surely, he though, I will be safe in Rohan. Theoden will accommodate me, and the people will accept me graciously into their close-knit community. I will play my part, the part of a wounded elf seeking assistance, and oh how the women will swoon at the size of my..

"Precioussss..."

Legolas jumped. He had not heard this creature approaching, but there he now stood, in all of his greasy, unwashed glory. He was a rather loathsome creature, to be sure, and the years of solitude had left him very lonely... if you catch my drift. Which may have been the reason for him to leap on Legolas, pin him down, (oh Eru, thought Legolas, when will it STOP!) and remove his loincloth.

Legolas nearly vomited at the sight. What had Gollum been up too, humping shards of broken glass? He couldn't even bear to imagine the horrible posibilities that could result in such a repulsive view. But there was little time for repulsion, Gollum meant business.

"Yes precious... we is so desperate, my love, so desperatly lonely that we must leapses on the first moving creature we sees... and it is such a pretty thing, precious, yes..."

Legolas screamed like a piglet being stuck through with a spear, as Gollum satisfied his revolting urges.

Luckily, it only lasted for about twenty seconds. Legolas breathed a sigh of relief as Gollum ceased his rigourous routine. But the relief was short-lived...Twice, thrice... Gollum kept it up for hours.

The ex-hobbit eventually tired and ambled off, leaving poor Legolas alone, petrified and thoroughly mentally scarred. His mouth was frozen in a silent shriek, for he had lost his voice somewhere well into the second hour of pain and degradation that Gollum had put him through.

Sometime, a lot later, when the sun had long since hidden its face beyond the horizon, and when Legolas dared to move a little, he found himself paralysed from the kneecaps down. The blond elf cursed the night sky, the hills and valleys of the land of Rohan, and all of human-, dwarf- and elfkind. Especially those who had taken pleasure from him today.

"What is it that I have done to offend so deeply? Why must I suffer so?" He demanded of the dirt he lay upon. "Am I doomed to forever be submitted to this? Will my every waking hour be strewn with suffering?"

The ground, suprisingly enough, yielded no answer to this. Frustrate, Legolas punched himself in the face. At least, he thought as his eyesight blurred, it can't get any worse than this.

Or so he thought.

"Legolas...? Legolas Greenleaf?"

The voice was far off, but kindly. Legolas reached blindly for the speaker.

"Do not strain yourself. Rest, or at least try to. You are safe here, in the house of Denethor."

Legolas, had his eyes been fully functioning, would have blinked. Denethor's house? His mind was sluggish. How in the Grey Havens had he reached Gondor? He forced himself awake, making his eyelids part slightly. He squinted at his rescuer.

"Bo-Boromir?" Legolas almost choked on his own voicebox. Boromir shushed him.

"I told you to rest, and if you are wise, you will heed my words, dear friend."

"But..." Legolas cleared his throat and tried again. "But... how did I come to be in Gondor?"

"That is a long tale, and I fear time will not permit us to explore it tonight. Rest. I shall come to you when I may." And with that, Boromir kissed him swiftly on the forehead, and left the room.

Legolas attempted to blink once more. Had Boromir just... kissed him? Had the whole of Middle Earth gone completely insane? Why did everyone want to mate with him all of a sudden? Sure, he was a beauty, but this was getting ridiculous. He was sore in places he didn't even know he had, but none of that mattered to him now. Now, all that concerned him was sleep. Without even bothering to look at his surroundings, Legolas fell into a deep slumber, hoping that he would never wake from it.

Legolas did eventually wake up, more's the pity. For when his eyes opened once more, it was still night, or else a whole day had passed since his last concious thought. What had awoken him soon became apparent, as Boromir was perched on the bed beside him, patting his arm like a mother hen would comfort her young.

"Boromir... what are you doing?"

"You had a bad dream. I distinctly heard you calling out for me, and so I came to you. How do you feel?"

"My feelings do not concern you," Legolas put bluntly. "Kindly release my arm."

"But Legolas," Boromir leaned in close. "Surely you know of my own feelings... for you, that is."

"I know of no such feelings, nor do I return them. Leave me be."

"Legolas, do not deny your emotions. I feel it too, that inexplicable bond that links us..."

"Boromir..."

"Yes, beloved?"

"Leave. Now. Please"

"But I love you..."

"If you really love me, you'll leave me to myself."

"Oh, so that's how you like it, eh?"

"What?"

"Don't worry, sometimes I enjoy my own company too..." Boromir winked.

Legolas cottoned on rather slowly than would be expected of an elf. "Boromir, leave, I beg of you."

Boromir merely chuckled. "I am Boromir, first son of Denethor, steward of Gondor. Hear me roar!" He kissed Legolas forcibly on the mouth, probing with his tounge, and giving occasional moans of delight. Legolas, exhausted but indignant, rolled away, breaking the passionate kiss.

Boromir merely laughed, lifting Legolas to his feet and pressing him up against a nearby wall, sliding his hands over Legolas' pale flesh. Legolas gasped and tried to conceal himself with a blanket pulled from a bed. Boromir seemed to take this as an invitation to up the level of intimacy, as he pushed against Legolas, his own tunic long since abandoned.

Why Denethor chose that exact moment to walk in, Legolas never found out. Boromir didn't even hesitate to greet his father or make up an excuse as to why he was being so friendly with the elf. He merely threw Legolas down upon the bed, and clambered on top of him, kissing every inch of skin he could reach. And then, to Legolas' everlasting horror, Denethor joined in.

Luckily for Legolas, Faramir was running from the aforementioned fangirl mob, or else he would undoubtedly be part of the merry band too.

Not quite so lucky was the fact that at that exact moment, the nine Nazgul, complete with dragons, stormed into Minas Trinith and through the roof of Boromir's bedchamber. These creatures abducted Legolas, leaving Denethor and his son confused but happy in each other's embrace.

Legolas then wiped all memory of the incest incident from his mind, least he commit mental harakiri now. The Nazgul sped on, dragging Legolas behind them, all the way to Minas Morgul. Here, another orgy started up. Legolas went completely rigid at the thought of what lurked underneath the Nazgul's robes, but the ex-kings of men took this as a sign to begin their despicable acts, the details of which are so explicit, so totally horrific, that no one has yet dared to publish them, so not many people can understand the full terror of a Nazgul orgy party.

Once all of the nine had had their fill of hot, steamy, Legolas lovin', they departed again, this time headed for the dreadful tower of Sauron. Legolas knew, in his heart of hearts, that no good could possibly come of this.

And he was right.

Sauron too, wanted to make sweet sweet lemons with Legolas. Why this was, no-one knows. When this occured, no-one knows either. How Sauron went about it, that much is disgustingly clear.

But I'll spare you the details. Let's just say Legolas got burned. Literally.

Sauron's eye hissed and spluttered with rage, as who should come soaring into view but Gimli, son of Gloin, riding on the back of a giant eagle. Legolas was relieved to see a friendly face after all he had been through, until he recovered enough to be suspicious of Gimli's motives.

"Oh Gimli, son of illustrious Gloin, what brings you to these parts?"

"Legolas, dear comrade, I was out a-huntin' when I did look up, and who should I see wingin' away on a Nazgul's back but Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil and prince of the forest realm of Mirkwood."

"So you have rescued me because...?"

"You are my friend." Gimli said proudly.

Legolas breathed a sigh of relief. Here, at least, was one true brother-in-arms, who would help him through this difficult time where everyone and everything seemed to want him.

"Oh Eru... did that Lembas just WINK at me?"

Gimli coughed. Legolas is acting somewhat strange today, he thought.

Meanwhile, Legolas was also thinking hard. First, the fangirl mob... then Galadriel acting most un-elleth-ly... then Gandalf, Arwen, Aragorn, 34 Elleths and a horse, Gollum... ew, ew, ew... then good ol' Boromir and his father Denethor... then the Nazgul, dear Eru, the Nazgul... Legolas shivered. And just now, Sauron. The only being who HASN'T raped me yet is Gimli. Oh, and Faramir, but he's off being chased by a mob o' fangirls.

Legolas looked suspiciously at Gimli.

Gimli looked suspiciously at Legolas.

They embraced.

"Oh Gimli, a truer friend could never be found in all the realms of Middle Earth and beyond."

"Oh Legolas, I feel exactly the same way. Now, I have one favour to ask..."

"Is it sex?"

Gimli shuffled his feet a bit. "Umm... yes."

"Well, at least you, of all people, asked before raping me in the ass. Lead on, I will follow." With that, Legolas leapt into Gimli's arms, and they skipped off together into the sunset.

So came to pass the days of Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, heir to the throne of Mirkwood and personal loveslave of Gimli, son of Gloin.