Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the Shield of Ubiquity. It's from a game called Munchkin.
A/N : Woah. I'm really, really sorry I haven't updated in a while. I've been busy and totally swamped with so much stuff…but I'm back!
But I digress. On with our story.
Thranduil stood on the shampoo box and addressed the sacrificial elf men.
"Barbossa, and his crew of miscreants, sail for the dreaded Isle de Muerta. It is an island that cannot be found, except by those-" the great elf-king stopped, brow furrowed, and peered nearsightedly at his pretty purple note cards. They appeared to have pick-up lines of varying quality on them. He shoved them deep into his pocket for later examination and continued on, somewhat less fluently.
"I…er…you people, elves, that is…well, see, the fangirls, and prince Legolas, and demands and things," here, the great King waved his hand in a vague manner. "They sent his note, see, and stuff, and…er…well, after some trouble, we read it, but then we got distracted by the Scary Monkey Show, because the Scary Monkey Show was coming on in just an hour an a half and it was going to be a new episode, and then we got you people. Men. Elves. See, then LOST came on, and so we had to go watch that so this meeting got delayed, and then it was a repeat from the first season-again-and I just got so annoyed with the producers. I mean, we've all seen the first season of LOST! It's out on DVD, for Eru's sake. Why should we have to wait another week to get a new episode of the second season! I mean, seriously, I'm asking you, why-"
"My lord…?" Thranduil shook himself and proceeded with his speech.
"I…that is, we, the royal family, had a long debate and…I think we have decided that we want Prince Legolas back."
There was much groaning. Thranduil glared. The groaning stopped. Thranduil's Chief Advisor-Type Person decided to take over the situation.
"Elves, this is for the well-being of the heir to Mirkwood's throne, Eru forbid something happen to King Thranduil. So quit whining like a pack of stinking humans, get your Anti-Fangirl Survival Kits and Backup Shield of Ubiquity. Then head out to the dropoff point an kick some foul fangirl backside!"
A frightened cheer went up from the assembled elves.
"…and we'll have archers in the trees for backup, completely surrounding your position should anything go wrong."
A louder, heartier cheer went up.
"…you can all go now…" And with that, the brave elves departed.
Meanwhile, the fangirls were waiting at the drop point. But that's for the next chappie. We are now going to see Legolas and the dwarves.
The dwarves were riding in a caravan towards Imladris. The six most important dwarves clustered around their leader, Tim.
"So, here's the plan. We are going to take the elf brat and-"
"Force him to catch squirrels for our dinner? We can roast them over a fire and then simmer them in teriyaki sauce." put in Balian.
The other dwarves just looked at him. Balian looked awkward.
"I like squirrel…" Tim shook his head.
"No, no squirrels. Right, as I was saying. What we do, is we take the brat to Imladris-"
"But decide to keep him at the last moment? Hold him for ransom and have the fangirls and the elves bid for him? And keep the kid in the meantime, allowing him to run loose as he pleases, causing many comic mishaps eventually leading to the breakdown of Tim, which makes us return him safe and sound to the elves, essentially ending this chapter of Legolas' life?"
There was a stunned silence. After a minute, Tim cleared his throat and spoke up.
"Um, no. No, Goris, we're not going to do that." Balian just stared at Goris and shook his head.
"Goris, you are a walking plot device." Goris beamed. "It wasn't a compliment, lack-beard."
Tim interrupted before the situation could turn ugly. (because no one wants to see dwarves mud wrestle.)
"Now, now, there's no call to be insulting Goris' beard! Goris, you have a fine, thick beard that is full of crumbs and tangles and stuff. Balian, you are much smarter than Goris. Is everyone satisfied?" There were grudging nods of assent. "Now, if I may continue…?" More grudging nods of assent.
"Right," continued Tim. "We're taking the kid to Imladris and dropping him off after giving him a quart of sugar water, then scampering to a safe distance and telling Elrond, that great Elven prat, that we'll take the sugar-high kid off his hands if he surrenders mining rights to his hills."
There was much thoughtful nodding. Suddenly, Balian stood up.
"I have a better idea, Tim." he proclaimed. Tim did not look happy.
"What, praytell, is your idea, Balian?" Tim growled.
"I think," said Balian, edging to his left, "that we should do something about Goris, because he's not a dwarf." Goris stood.
"You're right, actually." Goris pulled off his costume and stepped out to reveal he was…not a dawrf! GASP! "I'm not a dwarf. I'm a fanboy. My name is Traion."
The dwarves all hid behind various items of furniture, such as there was in the covered wagon.
"Er…what do you want?" quavered Tim from behind the chamber pot.
"Nothing, really. I'm just going to take Legolas and exchange him for some hot elves from Mirkwood."
The dwarves looked scandalized.
"But this is a non-slash fan fiction! There's no slash warning! People are going to flame us about this!" argued Balian nervously. Traion gave him a strange look.
"I know this is a non-slash fan fiction. When I said elves, I mean the ones about to be sacrificed to the fangirls. Stupid fangirls. If I can save the elves, I get a date with Legolas' eldest sister! Thranduil said so." Traion stared off into the distance with a dreamy look on his face.
"AH. I see." The dwarves relaxed a little.
Traion seemed to snap out of his bemused state and turned back to face the dwarves.
"Anywho, I'll take Legolas and be off." With a jaunty wave, Traion hopped out of the cart, scooped up Legolas, who was playing with the battle axes in the next cart over, and took off towards Mirkwood with the prince safely in a baby carrier.
Oh, what a foolish fanboy Traion was…tune in next time to see what happens, folks! If people are still reading this thing, then I'll update. If not, then I got a little more practice with my typing skills and appeased my shoulder angel.
