And that's the way the world will end. Not with a bang, but with a near-whispered, awkward request of a LARPing stranger.

See, that's the thing about fanfiction: People tend to forget that just because English is the language LotR was published in doesn't make it fucking Westron.

"Man?" Legolas blinked, nearly dropping then catching my phone with graceful, determined precision.

Oh, damn. They were some of those LARPers. "Look, man," I groaned, pulling out the blue velvet ring box. "We're trying to have a moment here. Just do a girl a favor—"

The shorter, bristly one with the helm and rather dangerous looking axe* harrumphed and shook his head.

I sighed. I was in absolutely no mood to humor them and it'd been ages since I'd read the books in that much painstaking detail. "Look, no quetalyë i lamber eldarinwa okay?"

Blondie blinked.

Oh, Jesus. These guys would just not break fourth wall. They were some of those LARPers. "Okay, um, elen sila lúmenn' omentielvo or something," There. A star shines upon the hour of our meeting. A real Elvish greeting. Nice and proper. I pressed my iphone into his hand again. "Are we good now?"

Blondie just gaped at me, while his sidekick Ginger looked unimpressed.

…Then it hit me. Oh, shit. They were some of those LARPers. "Oh for God's sakes, you're going to make me say it again in Sindarin—?" I asked aghast. Of course their characters wouldn't speak Quenya, it'd become a ceremonial language just shortly after the Noldor landed in exile. There was such a thing as being a too hardcore with your fandoms. As well as being a complete asswipe about it…

"Sindarinwa?" he insisted, crystal eyes sharpening, focusing on my face with an intense, demanding clarity.

"Yes, Sindarin," I sighed back.

A meaningful look passed between the two of them.

"Fuck. Mae govannen already or something." I glanced over my shoulder and smiled back at Prerna to let her know everything was cool. She waved to me shyly, doing that slight sway on the spot dance of hers that let me know she was still intimidated by the pressing crowd. Being left alone in the depths of so many fandoms wasn't a healthy choice for a noob…

"Pedil edhellen?" Blondie asked me again, almost hopefully.

"No, no pedin edhellen," I told him tersely.

Ginger elbowed him with a throaty chuckle. I told you so, that gesture seemed to say.

I was expecting some sort of ridiculous cultural greeting, you know, the stiff nod of and bow of a Dwarf and the customary 'at your service!', or that slight, right-arm-over–heart half bow that the Elves tended to favor—

Instead I got two lightning fast kisses on both cheeks and my head stuck in a vice-like grip, clasped between his hands (which Legolas would explain to me later was almost the Mirkwood version of 'hello' with a tight hug).

"Ai! Mae govennen, meldis!" he cried.

Oh. Godfuckingdamnit. They were some of THOSE LARPers. [You know their kind, the thrice-dreaded, self-identifying "interactive literaturists."]

"Okay, yeah. Ma, I get it, okay?" I demanded breathlessly, disentangling myself with much effort. My ears were still ringing from the force of his grip, and I had half a mind to knee him in the balls for pulling a stunt like that. This wasn't fucking Europe where that sort of thing was socially acceptable. Here in the US we called it sexual assault.

He bowed his head, one hand over his heart. "Im Legolas Thranduillion, aran-en-dawarwaith i-chuinar eryn lasgalen, ernil Ithilien, i buior en Aragorn, ion Arathorn i aran Ngondor hil-Isildur, a dîn merdil Faramir, ion Nenethor, a vess în Eowyn, Rhochundiel aglareb a roveleg, i Uilos, dagnir Angmar—"

And what a goddamned smartass, introducing himself as Legolas when he's dressed up so obviously. "Haha. Smart. Clever. Really funny. I get it—your characters are Legolas and Gimli on their way to Valinor or something, and you got stranded at Comic Con somehow. But are you even listening to me? No pedin edhellen!" I enunciated.

Valinor. They definitely both perked up at that. Goddamned method actors, I grumbled.

I glanced over my shoulder again, and sure enough, Prerna was eying us with a mingled look of suspicion and dread. I knew what she was thinking. Some guy had thrown eggs at us once, pulled a knife, told her every girl was down with the D. He said he wouldn't let us go until she kissed him or I gave him a blowjob, her choice. That was the day he learned that women in this city carry mace.

…and a hollowed out pen with a razor blade that I carry as a shiv on my person at all times. Three years in juvy and eighteen months in Bayview taught me as much. […it's also, Prerna has denied repeatedly, the reason she now keeps no less than three hard-covers in her purse at all times.]

"Fanatics!" I mouthed back to her with a big, dopey grin and two thumbs-up, acting much more cheerful than I felt.

Her lips pulled into that wavering smile I knew so well.

"Le suilon!" Legolas wasn't done yet. "E Gimli, elvellon, Fingyl, enfedyr o Maura i-berian i dagor das Sauron i'warth, bauglir, coth edhilliath, naugrim a hedain; ion Glóin, i'ovaethant Thórin Thandoron, ion Thrain, ion Thrór, hil-Dúrin, aran thrand a maethor beleg ennaugrim, halthor, i-chebior Ocrist, megil gódhellim en Gondolin, a tirith broniol him nartha nu-Erebor. Le suilam! "

I gritted my teeth in frustration. I think I have permanent dental damage from our little encounter. "Lasto beth lammen: Ech pedig edhellen," I pointed at him. "E pêd edhellen," I gestured to the Gimli look-a-like. "Ci pedigir edhellen," I nodded to them both, then tapped my chest forcefully. "Im. No. Pedin. Edhellen."

They both nodded. Excitedly.

Oh, fuck. No and ma both meant yes in Sindarin*. I remembered vaguely from Gilraen's linnod you could construct a negative verb with the prefix u…. "Û. Baw." I began as they both started chattering away at once.

Oh, hell. Were they really going to play the lenition game on me? Prefixed vowel before a voiceless labial stop, so…

So goddamn the Celts and the Welsh and their fucked up philology fetish. It took me a minute, not helped by their nonstop jabbering, a lyrical melody punctuated abruptly by the jaw cracking consonants of the Dwarf. No matter what language they're speaking, it still sounds like Khuzdul.

"Ú-bedin edhellen!" I finally burst.

That shut them up. Blondie and Ginger looked at me, then traded looks with each other, utterly puzzled.

"Ú-chenion. Nae! Gohenno! Arhenniad pairf lhaw nín."

Worst. Comic Con. Ever. "Look, I'm tired, I'm hungry, I'm getting all gross and sweaty in this surcoat [how in the name of the fuck did Boromir manage to walk half of Middle-earth without every orc in Isengard* picking up on the stench?] I just want to propose and go out to dinner and my girlfriend's over there waiting, she thinks you're just going to take our picture and if you don't stop this shit she's totally going to figure our what's going on," I begged them both in one long breath. "So please for the love of fuck don't spoil this for us, okay?"

"…man?" he asked weakly.

Maybe they really didn't speak English. Maybe they were using Sindarin as some sort of lingua franca, like Esperanto for Tolkien lovers. Maybe they were just complete assholes. Or really devoted Ringers. I didn't know. I suppose it would be pointless to ask here how likely it would be for someone to actually consider they were, you know, speaking to Legolas and Gimli if they were a sane and rational human being….but not only is this the internet, it's also the world's largest fan-fiction platform, both of which are almost exclusively dedicated to the disturbing phenomena of Legolas erotica. Because here not only is the answer "YES!", it's also accompanied by the uncomfortably public admission of your preference in Hobbit character body pillows. [They don't come in Tauriel. I checked.]

So no, I didn't guess I was speaking to Middle-earth's most squee-worthy, bone-able bachelor. I had no idea that I was about to be dragged kicking and screaming into an epic adventure that most girls would've killed for. All I knew was these assholes, wherever the fuck they were from, had to have seen a goddamned camera before.

"Look, ma, okay?" I put the phone on video record.

He took it gingerly. Now he understood.

[No, Legolas would tell me later. He came out of that conversation understanding two things: I both did and did not speak Elvish, and I was very, very adamant that he hold something in his hand. As at the time I appeared to be an increasingly pissed-off, gender-ambiguous Gondorian guard, so he thought best not to argue.]

…at least I thought.

"Ma," I adjusted the height of his arm to make sure both Prerna and I would be in frame. "Mae. Daro, okay?"

"Dortham," he affirmed.

"Yeah. Thanks, man," I sighed, feeling jitters rise up in my stomach and maybe a bit of vomit go up my throat as I clutched the velvet ring box in my pocket. "Wish me luck!"

I stumbled back through the crowd without a second thought, edging my way past three steampunk TARDIS dresses taking group selfies and a platoon of chubby LARPing stormtroopers attempting to march in unison. I got roped into taking a shot with Cersei, Danerys, Ygritte and Sansa, lovely group, really friendly, sounded Chicago in accent, and under the mistaken impression I was cosplaying as Ned Stark. Retrospective me wonders how things would have been had I asked them to film instead…

Finally I reached her, still swaying nervously on the spot, that green dress just so goddamn gorgeous and her smile so damned sincere.

"Well…" I sighed as her dark eyes focused on my face. "I'm back."


*How he ever managed to get that thing past security is completely beyond me. Perhaps he was easily overlooked in such a dense and flamboyant crowd? Legolas would later tell me it was probably because once a Dwarf is sufficiently grumpy military types and even us civilian pukes can pretty much deduce to just let the wookie win.

*So remember, Elves are like Ents, incredibly verbose and polite and take forever to fucking say anything. Sure, it sounds beautiful but there's a lot of extraneous information and poetic imagery thrown in. I mean, did you see how long it took just to say "Hi, I'm Legolas, this is my pal Gimli?"

A brief translation, for those of you who are interested in that sort of thing:

L: The Grey Elves? You speak Elvish? Ah! Well met, friend! I am Legolas, son of Thranduil, King of the forestfolk who live in Greenwood, Prince of Ithilien, allegiant of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King of Gondor and Isildur's heir, and his stewards Farmir, son of Denethor, and his wife Eowyn, famous daughter of horselands exceedingly mighty, the Everwhite, slayer of Angmar—

L: I greet you! He is Gimli, Elf-friend, Lock-bearer, of the walkers of Frodo the halfling during the war against Sauron the betrayer, tyrant, enemy of Elves, Dwarves, and Men; son of Gloín who fought alongside Thórin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, heir of Dúrin, true king and mighty warrior of the Dwarves, Protector, keeper of Ocrist, sword of the Noldor of Gondolin, and abiding vigilance ever-faithful under Erebor. We greet you!

L: I do not understand. Alas! Forgive me! Your words are without sense to my ears.

And yeah. My Sindarin isn't perfect, even now. YOU try mutations and three forms of lenition that change with word order and parts of speech…

*Every orc in Isengard…Boromir joke. Too soon?

*'No' is a construction of 'may it be' or 'let it be', whereas 'ma' is more along the lines of 'good, excellent, right'. Yeah. You've got to be careful what online Elvish resources you use, or you'll end up sounding like an idiot. Both here on fanfiction. net and on the ever-increasingly small offchance that you actually meet a native speaker at Comic Con or end up on the backside of beyond in Oh Fuck, Mordor on accident. Hisweloke's Sindarin Dictionary is a good start for vocabulary, as is Pedin Edhellen for an introduction to grammar and anything by Mans Bjorkman or Helge Favskenger (try searching Ardalambion). David Salo is an excellent resource if you can afford his book. Basically you'll want something that quotes its sources for every entry, and avoid anything that just says "Elvish" since Quenya and Sindarin are two separate languages. The Arwen Undómiel site is an example of "internet Elvish" that works well enough for fanfiction purposes and the casual fangirl, but not really for you know, the actual conversationalist.

I mean, I'm mortified by my toddler-speak Sindarin as it is. My side of the conversation sounds like a drunken three year-old ordering Chinese food in a Spanish restaurant in Koreatown, Beleriand.