Disclaimer:  I do not own Middle-earth or any characters conjured up from the brilliant mind of J.R.R. Tolkien.

A/N:  Thank you for the reviews! :O)

My Head Hurts

Part V:

Too Good to be True

"Lemme at them!  Lemme at them!" Legolas growled against Gandalf's restraining arms.  "Just one good strangle is all I need!"

"Pull yourself together, Legolas!" he firmly shook him.  "This is not the time to be fooling around."

"Oh, eat your beard old Man!" snapped the prince.  "Hey, what's that?" he looked out the window.  "Is that Shadowfax grazing outside?"

Gandalf turned to look.  "Where?"

Ha, ha!  Sucker!

As soon as Legolas caught the wizard off guard, he darted passed him, aiming his sights on the still giggling and now scurrying Hobbits who were trying not to trip over each other's hairy feet in the mad dash.  The whole 'catch me if you can' ordeal with the Elf was beginning to be so much fun that the two started running down the corridor with their arms outstretched to their sides making airplane noises, pretending to do 180-degree turns while saying, "Eagle One, this is Eagle Two, do you copy?"  *static noise*

"Roger." *static noise*

"I have a Blonde, slightly metal, bogie on my tail and I can't shake him off, requesting back up!  Roger."  *static noise*

"Back up is on the way!  Roger."  *static noise*

"When do we eat?  Roger."  *static noise*

The Istari looked to the Gods and silently shook his head with a heavy sigh.  Why me...

"You Halflings better keep running!" yelled Legolas.  Merry had asked if the prince could pick up his shiny marble on the floor that he dropped and when he obliged to get it, Pippin snuck up behind him and gave him a weggie.  The Elf was still sore and angry, pulling down his inner 'garment' and rubbing his bottom.

Pippin's nose suddenly perked up sending Merry crashing against the Hobbit as he abruptly stopped in his tracks.  "Oomphf!" Legolas crashed behind the other, almost toppling over their tiny figures.  "What's wrong with him?" he looked strangely at the Took.

Merry furrowed his eyebrows at his partner in crime.  "Hmm...wait.  Wait a minute.  I think he's picking up something," he examined him closer. 

Pippin looked petrified in place with eyes wide and his mouth somewhat drooling and trembling. "I...I...I sm-smell..."

"FOOD!" Merry exclaimed.  Like a slap in the face, Pippin was freed from his daze and was soon chasing after the Brandybuck in the direction of the aroma.  The other three looked at each other in bewilderment and quickly followed the two who were sniffing the air like dogs.

Legolas' keen senses also picked up the scent and grinned, knowing what exactly caught the Halfling's interest.  "The Hobbits have found the palace bakery," he said.

"Good.  We should eat something before we continue onward," grumbled Aragorn's stomach.

"Yes, I agree," nodded Gandalf.

Merry and Pippin burst through the double doors that held their stomach's insatiable desires without waiting for the others.  Legolas walked in after them and was shocked to see a certain someone with a pink apron around his waist happily humming, "On top of old Mis-ty Moun-tain...all covered with cheeeeese..."

"Ahem," interrupted Gandalf.  He and Aragorn looked equally stumped at the Man before them.

"Oh, I'm sorry.  I didn't notice you all standing there.  I was just doing the finishing touches on my pastries," he said, licking the whip cream off his fingers.  "There, all done!"

"That's smells awfully yummy, Boromir," Pippin inhaled the drool that started to form again around the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, awfully yummy," gulped Merry.

"Me first!" a large body dove for the tray in the DĂșnadan's hands.  Before his grubby fingers could get a hold of anything, however, Boromir gracefully stepped to the side, predicting that something like this would happen. 

He shook his head at the eager being lying upside-down against the wall.  "Now, now, Gandalf.  We must wait for the cream stuffed filling to settle in properly or else it just won't taste right.  You of all people should know that," he disapprovingly motioned with his finger.

"But...they're my favorite," the wizard quietly pouted as he walked back to stand beside his companions.

"Boromir, shouldn't you be...umm...dead from defending the Hobbits during the battle at Amon Hen?  I mean, you were slain by an Orc and had your rotting corpse thrown down the Anduin," stated Aragorn.

The son of Dethenor II rolled his eyes at the King and stared out the bakery window.  "Yes, in the first book, but those evil sugar-high authors who have the writing and imagination skills of a pea just cannot make up their minds.  Yes, some write, 'Boromir gets slain' and I quietly rest in peace, but then somewhere in the story line you find me being resurrected from the dead to avenge myself/himself/herself/themselves and whomever else you want to add to the list.  Half of the stories aren't even labeled AU.  It's quite a migraine and half of the time I'm portrayed as this lunatic madman who does nothing but want the Ring of Power.  Sure, I love a good scruffy fight and yes, I can be overly proud at times, but deep down inside, I'm not such a bad Man," he pretended to wipe a tear from his eye for effect.  "I like to bake and cook and take long walks on the beach just like everyone else, you know.  Sometimes I wish I could just change my appearance or be reincarnated into a tree in the background letting my branches swing at an unsuspecting passerby.  At least the perennial plants get treated well and are mentioned in most of the stories on FF.Net.  It could turn out to be one cameo after another," he smiled to himself.

"Yes, that is, if no one decides to light you on fire," snickered Merry.  Pippin tried to giggle but instead almost choked on the carrot cake he was eating. 

Boromir heard the coughing sounds and turned around to see if anyone was in fact listening to his rambling story and found that no one really cared.  They were all too busy stuffing their faces behind his back.  He placed his hands on his hips and glared at the five.

"Wha? Whaddaweedoo?" were their response.  Everyone had pastries, cakes, and cookie crumbs smeared on them as they looked up towards him with innocent looks on their faces.

"So..." Aragorn wiped the white powder from a donut from his mouth with his backhand, "Why are you here in Mirkwood if you're pursuing to be a tree?" he asked.

"As I said before, author's can become very indecisive.  I am recently stuck in another story that deals with some 'Super Woman' who defeated our guards like domino pieces with one hand, claiming to be betrothed to one of my father's sons," answered Boromir.

"So, what is the problem?  Your father can't remember who he married off last time?" asked Legolas, who was happily rubbing his bloated (but still 'evlishly' slim) belly.  She would probably eat you up and spit you out alive...hee...hee... 

"Well, yes, that is a problem, but that can be quickly solved by the stick marks carved on the wall to see whose turn it is.  The real problem that is holding up the story and mind you - this is only the second chapter - is that the author can't decided whether to wear her OC's hair up in a very intricate 'I-can-braid-it-to-look-like-Middle-earth-on-my-head' type of pattern or down letting her locks 'flow-gracefully-in-the-cool-gentle-breeze' that just so happens to come out of nowhere every time she walks into a room."

"So how many weeks now has this Female been stuck with this crucial dilemma?" scoffed the Elf.

"Weeks? You mean months?!" he answered.  "We're hoping this to be the lucky month.  Chapter one had left the OC locked in her bedchamber, refurnished all by herself, until she can surpass her own reflection, I suppose.  We had already eaten everything in Gondor waiting for her at the feast held in her 'honor', so Faramir and I decided to take a break from the break and visit old friends.  My younger brother also barricaded her door and windows with steel plates so I may be here for a while until Lady 'You-may-call-me-multi-tasking-Barbie' decides what to do with her mop."

"There goes another unfinished 'Boring-me' story," Aragorn quietly laughed to Gandalf.

"Hey, I heard that!" he replied.

"Heard what?" the Ranger gave him a confused look. 

"Humph, like you should be the one to talk.  Don't act as if I'm the only one with stories that have been completely forgotten or subjected to once a month updates.  By the way, how's that one story you're in coming along?  What was the title? 'Dance of the Sugar Plum Aragorn' was it?" he grinned.

The Ranger pouted his lips.  "I don't know.  The author decided to postpone the story because I kept ripping my leggings every time she made me do the splits," he answered bitterly.  "And she kept saying, 'Tumbe, tumbe!'  Tumbe? What the hell is a tumbe?"

Everyone held their hands over their mouths to keep from laughing out loud.  They remembered how frustrated he was when he found out that the author supposedly couldn't find any ballet shoes to go with his eyes.

If it wasn't a bad fiction that Legolas hated, it was the lack of updates.  The long pauses in between great battles or intrigues made him want to shoot an arrow through his head.  Days were fine, but weeks and months of not knowing what was going to happen in the story was torture and...boring.  He'd sit there either eating his hair or twisting it with his finger until the writer remembered, 'Oh that's right, I wrote a story!'.  Many of the Orcs and other extra creatures as well who were foreign to Middle-earth spent most of their days playing 'Go Fish' or sunbathing to keep themselves occupied. 

"I'm ready whenever you are everyone," Gandalf said while picking his teeth with a toothpick.

"I'm ready," burped Pippin.

"Yes, me too," the rest echoed.

"Come, Boromir, we could use you on this little adventure to cook our meals for us," said the wizard.  With the DĂșnadan in agreement, they left the palace bakery.  Legolas made sure to stay away from the Hobbits this time.  Luckily, they were busy talking about their favorite kind of mushroom dishes with Boromir, hoping that he would honor their requests.

Boromir just nodded at the two pretending to be listening when the whole time he was actually looking at King and how dirty he had gotten since the last time they saw each other (not that he wasn't that clean when they parted).  He remembered seeing something useful in one of the doors that they had passed by but didn't go through and smiled at an idea he thought of.

"Aragorn, my brother of Gondor, may I see you a moment?  There's something I'd like to show you," he said.

"Alright," he agreed.  Boromir smiled and placed an arm over his shoulder and led him into the door.  Once inside, he locked it behind them and tackled Aragorn the dark.

The rest of the company stopped when they heard struggling noises inside the room.  Gandalf tried opening the door but it was locked so he placed his ear against it instead.  He couldn't hear much expect for a bunch of muffled words from the Men and something splashing on the floor.  An hour later the door opened.  Boromir unrolled his sleeves and wiped the sweat from his forehead. 

"What happened in there?" asked the Elf.

"Something that I should have done a long time ago," he replied.

Merry and Pippin looked at each other and started giggling.

"No, you Halflings!  Get your dirty minds out of the Farmer Maggot's crops," he shot them a look.  "Alright, Aragorn, you can come out now," Boromir turned to the door.

Everyone gasped at what they saw.

The King was clean!  From head to toe the dirt had vanished and was replaced by the magnificent shine of his hair and boots.  Legolas looked at him and raised an eyebrow.  "Yes, I suppose he looks clean enough.  Maybe even elvishly clean...well almost, but not quite."  I'm still groomed better than he is...

"Wow, Strider, you look fantastic," said Merry.

"Yes, much better," agreed Pippin.

"You did an excellent job, Boromir," smiled Gandalf.

"Thank you."

"I feel so...so...spiffy!" beamed Aragorn.

"Spiffy?" Legolas gave him a strange look.  Everyone could tell the Elf was slightly jealous because his reign in the cleanliness department could be at stake.  He would try and look at himself in his mirror whenever he thought they weren't looking.

"Alright, enough about how clean Aragorn is.  It probably won't last that long in this story, anyway, so let's us resume our course," motioned Gandalf.  They all looked at each other again and paused. 

Then nodded in agreement and followed the wizard.

"Hey, Gandalf, since you said that Aragorn probably won't stay that clean for long, can I dirty him up now?" asked Legolas.

"Why?" 

"Well, look at him.  I don't think he'll be able to handle it for long," he said.  Aragorn kept looking at his hands, unable to believe that his hands were actually only one color.  He even went as far as licking them for further examination.

"So, can I congratulate him on how 'spiffy' he looks then throw him out the window in the bushes or something?"

"No, you may only give him a nice complement.  That is it," said the wizard.

"I can't do both?" asked the prince innocently.

"No, you may not!" snapped the old Man.  "He'll eventually find a way to get dirty all by himself, so just leave the King alone, Legolas." 

"Fine," he pouted.  Party pooper...

End of Chapter

On to Part VI!