A note from your archive hosts: Please be sure to read the reviews and "lub ledder" responses to this story. They are an important part and make it that much more enjoyable. Thank you al and Legolas for allowing us to do this.
PG-13 - Action/Adventure/Humor Disclaimer: AU? I hardly think so. You see, I am living this nightmare. This is a non-fiction story, but since there are no non-fiction sites for LOTR related stories, this will have to do. No profit to be made, no offense intended to any named or implied names of products, places, people, things, etc. New Line, JRR Tolkien, whoever will come, PLEASE! If you want him, come and claim him! I love him dearly, but he is wearing me out!
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It all started because I didn't want to sit by myself in the movie theater. They, being my husband and daughter, didn't want to see the same movie again, regardless of how many times I thought we should see it, and frankly at this point, who's counting?
We reached a compromise. I would get to see The Fellowship of the Ring for the 19th time, and they would get to see some Disney flick with talking animals in it, conveniently located in the next theater down. That way, technically, I would not be "at the movies" by myself.
Great.
We planned to meet in the lobby in front of the concession stand in 3 hours. I left them, alone, and made my way into the darkened auditorium, sitting in my favored location in the seventh row up on the far left-hand side.
"THE MOVIE", as it is called at my house, was absolutely terrific as usual. I stayed through the credits as always, for it is true that homage should be paid even to those underlings who bring the coffee and wash the costumes. I am one of them, only I do it for our local community theater.
That's when everything in my life changed. As it did in his world as well.
For you see, that is when Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood and member of the Fellowship of the Ring, came to live in the closet at my house. This is his story.
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The house lights came up, and once again I noticed I was the last to leave the theater. Alone, again. As I got up to leave, I noticed a movement at the very front of the auditorium, right at the bottom of the screen on the right side. < Dear Lord, that can't be a rat in the movie theater, can it? > I thought. I would have to pass right by it in order to get to the exit. I decided to hold off a second, thinking maybe the cinema staff would be in to clean up and would scare it away when they entered.
No such luck. It seemed that there were few enough patrons this time to warrant a cleanup effort after every show. After all, it is a Tuesday night, and this is the last show scheduled in this auditorium for the evening. And it is April, and FOTR has been playing at the theater for about 5 months, and is nearing the end of it's run.
I contemplate the rat again. I can't see it now, maybe it is gone. I plan my strategy for escape without running into it. That's when I notice something else. A flash of blonde hair. A glimpse of green and brown. A slight form, squatting on the floor at the edge of the movie screen on the right hand side. <That wasn't a rat, it is something else > I think to myself, <a rat could never get that large, not here in the theater eating buttered popcorn and Junior Mints. And since when do rats have long blonde hair, and wear clothing?>
I cautiously make my way to the front of the auditorium, easing toward the right side. I find him there, crouched down low in hiding, his face a mask of confusion. I cannot believe my eyes. I freeze, for I am afraid I will startle him. If he starts to run, there is no way I could catch him.
"Legolas?" I whisper. He looks up, his expression almost the same as the one he has when he happens upon Aragorn and Boromir at Amon Hen. Confused, sad, contemplative. Lost. He says nothing in response.
"What are you doing here?" I ask. His eyes are distant, unfocused, and I begin to wonder if this is the elven sleep everyone at Fanfic.net always talks about. Suddenly, he blinks and becomes aware again, and he softly whispers back to me, "I dunno."
We stare for a minute at each other. Finally he speaks again, "whur am I?"
"You're in the movie theater in Greenwood," I answer. At first he seems to relax, then the confused look returns as he repeats, "moovee thee-eater? I am uenfameelear wid da turm. Greanwuud duz not hab a. whut deed u cael dis plaece?"
I realize that I have confused him further by telling him he is in Greenwood, which is his native land, and we are both quite sure that there is no movie theater in the Greenwood of Middle Earth. There also seems to be something wrong with his speech.
"Legolas, are you ok? Are you injured?" I ask, concerned now because he seems.well, sort of out of character.
" I dunno. My haed huertz." He touches his forehead, and sure enough there on the left side is a bruised and swollen area about the size of an egg. Now I am really worried. Elves never allow anyone to see their weaknesses.
I hear voices in the hallway, and I realize we cannot stay here at the edge of the screen. Knowing I cannot get him back into "THE MOVIE", especially injured and confused, I realize I have no other choice left. Legolas will have to go home with me.
I look him over, sizing him up. I can't just walk out with him, his clothes are just too obvious. Not to mention the long blonde hair, and the fact that when he rises along with me, he teeters over backwards and almost falls. As I catch him by the elbow to steady him, it dawns on me.
At first glance I thought he was a large rat. If I dump my handbag, I could probably get him in there. It is as large as one of those rolling book bags the kids are using now, with a big central pocket. It just might work.
I turn it upside down, spilling the contents on the floor. I stash the essentials like my wallet and checkbook in my jeans pockets, tossing everything expendable into the trash can in the corner.
Legolas is watching me. I borrow a line from Aragorn to get him moving. "Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let's hunt some Orc." I ask him to curl up inside my "pack" so that we can escape undetected. Thank God for the head injury, he does not question me, and folds himself carefully inside.
Unfortunately, the bow and quiver full of arrows does not fold up. I am left with the dilemma of figuring out how to get them past the people in the lobby and into my car, or leaving them behind. I look into his eyes, where the lost and hunted look remains. I cannot ask him to leave them, as they are all he has left of his past. Straightening, I lift up my shirt in back and shove the bow and quiver inside it, up my spine. With some careful arranging, I can make it to the car with only the most observant noticing. The cinema is pretty empty this time of a weekday night, so I decide to take the chance. I hope it will be worth it.
Hoisting him onto my shoulder, I am thankful that Elves are as light as the rumor says. He can't weigh more than a 20 pound sack of dog food. I speak softly to him, reassuring him everything will be ok, and asking him to be still and quiet for a little while. I make my way back into the lights and sounds of the lobby, saying a prayer that what I have promised him will be true.
My husband (I'll call him Yes Dear to protect the innocent), and my 9 year old daughter (aka Little Pip for the same reasons) are waiting for me in the lobby as planned. I pretend that everything is as normal as usual, and save for the slight movement in my handbag on my shoulder, no one would be the wiser.
We make our way out to the car, and I deposit Legolas and my handbag on the floor of the passenger side. I slip the bow and quiver from under my shirt, and hopping into the car, I stash them in the small space between the door and the seat. As Yes Dear starts the car, I hear a little startled cry from the floorboard.
"What was that Hunney?" Yes Dear inquires. He is looking at me, but not at the handbag thank God.
"Oh, I was just yawning and made a little noise," I lie. "I'm just a little tired tonight. Can we drive by the Chick-fil-a for supper instead of going in someplace?" I reach down discreetly and give the handbag a little pat, pretending to scratch my leg.
"Ok," he says. " Do you have any money?"
The jig is up. To get money I will have to open my handbag. Suddenly, I remember that I have stuffed my wallet in my pocket. Now I have to think of a way to explain why the wallet is not in my handbag. So I decide to stall. Knowing payday was last Friday, I take a chance, assuming that there is still enough money for supper in my wallet without actually looking to be sure.
I answer, "I do." Gee whiz, the last time I said I do, look how much trouble I got in to.
We order our supper, and pay without further complications. That is, until the smell of the food starts to waft though the car. The Handbag begins to squirm.
Lord knows how long it's been since he left Lothlorien. He's been existing on berries and lembas, and now I've got Chick-fil-a. I gently ease the zipper on the handbag back just a little ways, and slip a waffle fry through the opening. Seconds later there is a peek of a thumb and index finger sticking out of the crack, so I give him another. In no time at all the fries are gone, and there is a soft contented purring noise coming from the floor near my feet. It's a good thing it was at the same pitch as the sound of the car engine.
We make it home without being detected, and as the car engine stops, so does the purring. He is again on the alert, unsure of what is happening. I carry my handbag into the house and instead of putting it down by the door, I sneak it back to the bedroom and set it down just inside the closet door.
I pull open the zipper, and a pair of deep blue eyes peer out at me. "You can get out if you want," I whisper. "You must hide in here for awhile though. Make yourself comfortable if you can. We'll talk in a little while, when Yes Dear gets in the shower."
He nods, and carefully unfolds himself. I give him a smile, and gently close the closet door. It is the kind with the louvers in it, so he will be able to see what is happening on the other side. Maybe that will make him feel less alone, and less frightened, though elves would never show it if they were feeling alone and afraid.
In a half-hour, I return to the closet bearing a plate of apple slices and some cookies. I have no idea what elves really eat. This is one of the things I intend to talk about.
I open the door. There is no one inside.
"Legolas?" I whisper, wondering where he could have gone if he had gotten the door open. This could be BAD NEWS.
Down in the far corner, I finally find him. He is curled up in a tiny ball, eyes open but unseeing, dreaming his elven dreams. I have not the heart to wake him. For him the shock of it all is far too near. I leave the plate on the floor beside him, and shut the door. Sleep, fair Prince I think, questions that need answering can wait until tomorrow.
(Readers Reviews For Chapter One ), with **al and Legolas' responses**
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A/N: Thanks for your kind reviews! Has anyone got a number where I can reach New Line? I tried calling the Greenwood Theater, but the message says they cannot accept any calls from my telephone number, go figure?
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For some reason, I wake early the next morning. I am not an early morning person, so this is surprising. Yes Dear is still snoring contentedly beside me. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Through the louvers of the closet, I can see swaying. It is very slight, hardly perceptible, but there.
I rise, going quietly toward the closet, and crack open the door. A pair of piercing blue eyes is looking back at me. They have a desperate quality about them, and coupled with the swaying which is still continuing, it suddenly dawns on me. He never went to the bathroom last night before bedtime.
Putting a finger to my lips, I indicate for him to be quiet, and taking him by the hand, I lead him down the hallway to the front bathroom. I gently push him in front of me, ushering him through the door. As I turn on the light, he jumps back, startled. He's never seen a light that turns on with the flip of a switch before. His urgent need forgotten, he begins to inspect the fixture and bulbs overhead.
As he moves towards the light, he catches a glimpse of himself in the large mirror hanging over the sink. He jumps into a defensive position, as does the elf in the mirror. A standoff ensues. They stare at each other. He begins to relax, as does the elf in the mirror. Softly, his voice says, "I hab nevar sean wader haengin frum a wael befour."
He reaches to touch the reflection, and startles again when he finds it is not liquid, but solid that his fingers meet. His head cocks first to one side, then to the other as he studies this wizardry. He raises an eyebrow. My God, it really DOES run in the family! There is the Thranduil eyebrow, just as I imagined it!
I lean in, interrupting his inspection. I do need to get him out of sight before everyone else gets up. "Legolas," I remind him," did you need to relieve yourself?"
He blushes, turning away from his reflection, and replies, "Yeas. Forgeev me, I hab nevar sean anithang like dis."
I smile at him reassuringly. "There will be many things you have not seen before, I am sure." Not knowing what type of facilities elves use inside the palace, I prepare to give him "the grand toilet tour".
I show him the "great white throne," explaining how males lift up the seat as they use it. I make sure he understands the need to put the seat back in place as he finishes. I show him how to push down the silver handle to make the toilet clean itself.
Just for kicks, I tell him that if you don't replace the seat before you flush, the water will come back UP from the toilet instead of going down. That should make things easier for Little Pip and me.
I leave him there, contemplating his next actions, and go to make sure Yes Dear is getting up for work.
Once Yes Dear is finished dressing and moves up front to the den to read the morning paper and eat his Pop Tart for breakfast, I sneak Legolas back to the closet and get Little Pip up for school. Soon they are both on their way, and I finally have time to ask my questions. Primarily, how are we going to get Legolas back where he belongs?
I invite him out of the closet, and into the kitchen to have a bite of breakfast. This is where my first questions will start. What do I feed him?
As I look through the cabinets for something appropriate to feed a Prince, I notice Legolas is not standing beside me. Glancing around, I discover to my horror that he is kneeling on the floor, almost nose to nose, reaching out to pet my poodle Goliath. Now, mind you, Goliath is 18 years old and weighs maybe 8 pounds, but he is still as fast as a striking cobra and did NOT get the name without due cause. No one, and I mean NO ONE has ever been able to touch Goliath but me. Even then, I have sustained far more bites than I care to remember. And now Legolas (and his nose!) are inches from a fate worse than being flogged by Saruman himself.
Before I can yell a word of warning, he has made contact. His long elven fingers gently glide over the dog's head and down his back in an intimate caress. He is crooning to the dog, and though Goliath is totally deaf at this point, they are making some kind of connection.
I am holding my breath, lightheaded. He rises, and comes into the kitchen to me as if nothing has happened.
I decide to let well enough alone for now, and begin to pull out various things that he might like for breakfast. He ends up tasting a bite of every breakfast cereal in the cabinet, followed by a strawberry filled Pop Tart, and ends up at the kitchen table with a plate bearing 2 slices of toast cut into 4 triangles, each with a different type of jelly on them. I think he might have a sweet tooth.
I hear the little ding-a-ling noise from the computer in the other room that signals me someone is typing a message for me on the Instant Message (IM). Legolas cocks his head to the right, but continues eating his toast and jelly. I excuse myself for a moment, and go to answer the machine. It is my husband, Yes Dear. Remember him?
Yes Dear needs yesterday's copy of the newspaper, and wants me to bring it to him on my way to work. As we type back and forth, I notice Legolas has come to stand in the doorway. I look up at him, and he questions," Due u hab sum kiend of bierd enn hear?"
Processing his strange dialect, I realize he thinks the sound of the IM is some type of new birdcall. It does sound rather like the canary my Aunt had when I was a child. "No, Legolas," I say, motioning for him to come in, " it is not a bird, though it sounds like one! That noise you hear is my husband asking me a question."
He sits on the chair I have pulled up beside me, and watches in fascination as I type words into the keyboard, and they appear on the screen. He is even more fascinated by the words that appear by magic from someone else who is not here. "Iz dis sum kin of palantir?" he asks, concerned.
"No," I reply, giggling. "You will learn many ways of speaking without sending a messenger as you are used to." He just gives me the Thranduil eyebrow again.
(Reviews For Chapter Two) **al and Legolas**
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A/N: Major giggle alert! Put down your soda. You have been warned.
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The morning passes, and soon I must also leave for a little while to go to work. Fortunately for Legolas, I work only 2 hours a day at the local library as a bookshelver. It will not be long before his personal tour guide returns, and I can sense he is glad of this.
We have discussed how I know who he is, and he was surprised to find that his life is recorded in a book. A trilogy, no less. I dig up one of the copies of Fellowship of the Ring for him, and leave him curled up on my bed, reading while surrounded by two of our 4 cats.
When I come home, he is full of questions himself. First of all, he wants to know about the book compared to the movie. He has managed to get through Hobbiton and Bree, and has stopped just before the Council of Elrond. His speech might seem impaired, but his reading comprehension is pretty good.
"Dis buuk is all roeng," he says sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Arwen roed Assfelloff tu git Frodo. Not Glorfindle. " He shakes his head emphatically, blonde mane flowing from side to side.
I try to explain about creative licensing, and how directors sometimes have to change things from the book to make them work better in a movie, but he is not buying it. Not for one skinny little minute.
"I no Assfelloff is Glorfindle's hoerse," he continues. "Bud dat wuz Arwen who roed heem." He pauses, thinking to himself. "Due U hav tiem fur a storee? Den I kin eggsplain."
I get a package of Keebler Elf cookies from the cabinet, and take a seat at the kitchen table. He sits down across from me. Taking one of the cookies and striking the Thranduil's eyebrow pose, he says, "Whut is dis deavilery? Dis is no Elf!"
Smiling, I tell him we will go there another time. "Now, what is the story you wanted to tell me?"
" I wuz goen tu tael u how Arwen got Glorfindle's hoerse. U sea, Glorfindle herd that Frodo wuz staebd bie da Morgul blaed," he says very seriously. "He wuz abot tu git ontu Assfelloff, whin Arwen snuk up beehin heem an hit heem on da haed wid a shuvel."
A little snort escapes before I can stop it. He glares at me, dead serious.
He continues, "She cuvered heem in da hoerse maneur. Den she stoel heez hoerse, an roed off tu git Frodo. Dat is why he is not sean in da moovee. He wuz in da House of Heeling da hoel tiem, wid a beeg bandaje on heez haed."
I cannot control the little snickers that are coming out behind my hand that is clamped over my mouth. He glares some more, and now the tips of his ears are getting a little pink.
Breaking eye contact, he mutters something under his breath. "I'm sorry," I say, "but I didn't hear what you said. Would you mind repeating it?"
"I saed dat Glorfindle is an azhoel aniwae."
"Legolas!" I gasp. I never expected a Prince to say anything quite like that!
"Weel, he is! I wuld like tu ask heem why he incists on kallin da hoerse by dat naem. Id is a crewel joek."
"I don't understand. What is cruel about the name Asfaloth?" I ask.
"DA DAM BEEST THREU ME! I DEED NOT FALL OFF!"
A burst of laughter explodes from my lips. I can no longer contain it. I am soon holding my sides and the tears are running down my face.
The thought of Legolas Greenleaf falling off of the back of another elf's horse, which I am pretty sure by the look on his face was NOT taken with permission, is more than I can take.
He is starting to turn red in the face. "Id is not fundy!" he yells. "I am da Prance of Murkwuud! U weel stoep dat laffin rite now!"
"I'm sorry, Legolas, but that was really funny!" I choke out between fits of giggles.
" ID IS NOT FUNDY! ID IS A MEEN JOEK!" The Prance of Mirkwood continues, voice raised to the heavens. "I AM DA PERTIEST PRANCE IN ALL OF MEEDLE ERTH, AN U WEEL STOP DAT LAFFIN AT ME RITE NOW!
He is standing up now, drawn to his full height in his rage. He reminds me so much of Galadriel when Frodo offers her the ring that I cannot catch my breath. The image is so complete that I think I can even smell something burning.
"Okay, Okay, you are the prettiest prince in Mirkwood!" I squeak out. "You are the prettiest prince that ever lived, even for a minute! I promise, I promise."
I KIN STILL HERE YOU LAFFIN!! I HAV ELF EARS, REMAMBER?
"Pretty Pretty prince,"I giggle (with my fingers crossed behind my back) "I promise I won't ever mention it again. Just because Tolkien wrote the horse's name down for all eternity, and no one will ever read his name or for that matter see a white steed without thinking of you ever again, that does not mean that we do not love you and think you are the prettiest elf in all of Middle Earth."
"Du u mean dat?" he asks, cocking his head and using the Thranduil eyebrow on me again.
"Of course I do!"
"Eben pertier dan dat azhoel Glorfindle?" he growls.
"Even prettier than Glorfindel."
"Sae id agin. Da hoel thang."
I stifle my giggles, though it takes all I have. I clear my throat, and say again, "You, Legolas Greenleaf, are the absolute prettiest prince that ever lived in Middle Earth, even prettier than.. Glorfindel."
He watches me a minute, making sure I am sincere this time. Then, "I am goen tu reed sum moer of dis buuk," he says, and turning gracefully on one heel, he stalks off to the bedroom.
(Reviews For Chapter Three) **al and Legolas**
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A/N: Ok, Yes Dear hereby claims copyrights for the theory of Arwen hitting Glorfindel over the head with a shovel. Those who disagree, please see TreeHugger's fantastic story "An Orc in Rivendell", my review of Chapter 6, dated 4/26/02.
I will take The Prance of Mirkwood (copyright alliwantisanelfforchristmas) and you can call me Al when you use it, OK?
A/N: Saes is Elvish for Please. Responses to my beloved reviewers are at the end of this chapter. No, I have not heard anything from New Line or Tolkien's estate about when they will be coming to pick him up.
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After a few hours, the Prance of Mirkwood appears in the computer room, looking a little bleary-eyed. He had gotten past the Mines of Moria in The Book, and was none too happy that Tolkien gave him the line, "Ai!, ai!. A Balrog! A Balrog has come!"
"Maekz me saund like a seesy" he grumbled. "An elf wuld NEBER droep heez aroe like dat."
"It's ok, Legolas," I assure him. "Put The Book down for a little while and come look at this." I am typing an e-mail message to my mother, so I let him watch as I press the keys to get the letters I want to make themselves into the words I need. He is fascinated with this form of letter writing.
"Mae I trie dat?" he inquires.
"Sure," I reply, vacating the seat. "My mother would just LOVE to get an e- mail from you. She waits by the computer all day, everyday for an e-mail from me already."
"Reely?" he asks, unbelieving.
"No, Legolas. It was a joke. Here, sit down."
I open a new e-mail and get him started toward the body of the message. He asks, "Hoew due I adraess her?"
"Why don't you call her Grandma like Little Pip does?" I suggest.
He types in, "Deer Grammar Laede,
Ur dawter iz a varie niec hueman. She iz taekin guud kaer of me. Saes excuz miy spaelin. Elvis iz miy naetiv laengwidg, an dis Eangleesh eez a leedle haerd fur mee."
Being a Prince, he is familiar with the writings of the Common tongue, but currently it appears that he reads much better than he spells.
"Whut ealse shuld I sae?" he asks.
"Close with something like 'Love, Legolas'," I say.
He types, "Wid Elbin Lub, Legolas."
"Now you just click on this little box that says 'Send'," I tell him.
He does so, then rises from the chair and goes to the back door, standing in the doorway looking out, waiting patiently.
"Legolas, do you want to type something else?" I call to him. No answer. "Legolas?" I follow him, and look out the glass door to see what it is he is watching so intently.
Seeing nothing unusual, I ask, "What are we looking for?"
"I em luukin fur da maesinjr. Hoew loeng weel he taek tu aribe?"
I suppress my giggle, and explain that there will be no messenger, that the computer takes the message all by itself. He is puzzled by this, but takes it all in stride. Just one more fascinating thing in this world to go with the flushing toilets and Keebler Elf Cookies.
We return to the computer room. I give him a blank page Word document and let him practice typing letters for awhile to keep him entertained. I show him how to use the space bar, and to push enter to go to the next step with things. After a while, I leave him contentedly typing away, making up a poem to fit the notes of the song that he is humming softly to himself. Peck, peck, peck, one little key at a time.
I head outside to bring in the laundry. It is only two loads worth, so I am gone only a couple of minutes. When I return, I hear him talking in the computer room. Thinking he is composing his song and putting things together, I do not interrupt, but stand quietly at the doorway, listening in.
That is when I discover that an instant message has appeared on the computer screen. It is from my husband. It starts out, "Hello!" and I see that Legolas has already answered correspondingly "helo!"
"Having a good day?" Yes Dear asks.
"Yeas" is the answer typed in already.
"Have you been busy?" says Yes Dear.
" I hab bean reedin a buuk," says the answer.
" I didn't know you would have time for that today," Yes Dear teases, knowing my full schedule does not include reading until the evening hours.
"I am immoral. I hab ael da tiem in da wurld," types in the Prance of Mirkwood.
A little laughing smiley face icon appears on the screen, accompanied by a burst of laughter from the computer speaker. Legolas jumps back, almost tipping over in his chair. He is in defensive mode again. He stands poised, ready to take on this new attacker, but nothing happens. Cautiously, he resumes his seat.
"Whoe iz dis?" he types in carefully, as if the keys might bite his fingers.
Playing along, Yes Dear answers, "it's just me."
I hear Legolas say aloud, "me? I em rite hear. Hoew kin dat bea me?" He types in, "Whoe iz me?"
Yes Dear, always the practical joker, continues the game he THINKS he is playing with his wife saying, "me, myself and I."
"Ai, Valar!" I hear Legolas exclaim, " I am taelkin tu..misef!"
He sits and contemplates the computer screen, cocking his head first to the right, then to the left. He tries again, peck-peck-peck, "Whoe iz dis?"
Yes Dear types back, "Who is this?" to which Legolas answers before I can stop him, "dis iz Legolas."
UhhOhh. Busted.
"That is funny, Hunney," Yes Dear replies. "Pretending you are Legolas, imagine that!"
" I em nod Hunney!" types Legolas angrily, " I em Legolas Greenleaf, Prance of Murkwuud. Dere iz noe reezun tu pertind."
The laughing smiley face appears again, and Legolas is out of the chair in a flash. He hesitates, thinking, and that unusual toasted sort of smell is starting to invade the room again. He reclaims the chair once more, and types with his one fingered pecking method, "Anser mi! Whoe iz dis?"
Yes Dear, enjoying the game thoroughly, decides to up the stakes. He answers, "I AM A NAZGÛL."
"Ai! Ai!" Legolas cries, leaping back from the screen, tipping the chair over in the process. "A Naezgool! A Naezgool has come!"
(Reviews For Chapter Four) **al and Legolas**
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Stay tuned! More adventures on the way. That makes 4 chapters already, and we haven't even covered the first 24 hours yet! Let me know what you think by (e-mailing me) -Legolas reads the reviews and gets really excited to hear from all of you. You all know what happens when he gets excited don't you?
A/N: Thoughts in < > 's. References and Notes to reviewers at end of chapter.
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It took me an hour to find him. By chance, I happened to get caught in that game cat's play, you know the one where they stare off into space, concentrating intensely, and when you finally look to see what it is they are observing, you realize there is nothing there. Absolutely, positively, nothing there. The cat will always give a little smirk, saying to itself, "Stupid human." Then it will wander off, in search of more intelligent minds to mess with.
I saw Mikey staring above the TV entertainment center. I avoided the game at first. After searching the whole house (I'd spent almost a whole hour already), I happened to fall for it and look toward the ceiling. There he perched, squatting back on his haunches, right up there at ceiling level. He had his bow in hand, arrow nocked and ready. There would be no Nazgûl sneaking undetected into this dwelling today, no siree!
"Legolas, you can come down now," I call up to him. "The Nazgûl is gone."
"Hoew due u noe?" he whispers, still clutching his bow.
"I typed back and told it you were gone. It left and has not come back," I state assuredly, using my most convincing voice. It is the same voice I use when I tell Little Pip she had better give back my favorite fuzzy black shoes for the last time.
Legolas drops soundlessly from his perch, six feet above the ground. He doesn't bounce on the landing, doesn't leave a mark on the carpet. < Maybe they can use him on the US Gymnastics Team in the next Olympics > I think.
"Thaet thang eez sum kiend of palantir, I noe id," he insists.
"Enough for now, " I gently tell him. "Yes Dear and Little Pip will be coming home soon, so we need to get you something to eat and get you settled back in your closet, ok?"
"Weel u tael dem abot mie toonite?" he inquires. He sounds almost shy when he says it.
"I will, if the time is right," I reply. "But first, let's get you prepared in case tonight does not work out."
He selects the box of Oat Bran Flakes and the package of dried fruit bits from the breakfast food cabinet, and I give him an apple and a banana as well. The apple he is familiar with, but the banana is an entirely different subject.
"An whut, prae tael, due I due wid dis thang?" he asks, eyebrow raised.
"It's a banana, Legolas. You eat it. Don't you have bananas in Middle Earth?" I answer.
"Id luuks like sumethang Haldir wuld uze . . . . nebermind," he turns away, blushing. Ah, the mysteries of elves!
He settles into the bottom corner of the closet, and is contentedly munching away on the bran flakes straight out of the box when I hear the car in the driveway. "I'll check on you later," I tell him, shutting the door.
Yes Dear comes back to the bedroom. I don't have to worry yet, for he gets a T-shirt and shorts from the dresser drawer and puts his work clothes into the laundry hamper, never going near the closet. I am thankful Legolas has the good elven sense to avoid chewing the bran flakes while Yes Dear is in the room.
That's when I notice the rumpled bedcovers and the copy of "The Fellowship of the Ring" in the middle of the bed. At exactly the same time Yes Dear notices the same thing.
"Ah, so you've decided to read it," Yes Dear teases.
"I did read it. Now I'm reading it again," I retort.
"What page are you on?" he inquires, moving toward the bed and picking up The Book before I can get to it.
"Page 204. The Council of Elrond," I snap back.
"I don't think so," says Mr. Tolkien bookverse trivia knowledge contest winner without cracking The Book's cover. "The Council of Elrond doesn't start until page 233 in this particular publisher's print. Page 204 is where Glorfindel arrives riding Asfaloth and finds Strider and the Hobbits on the Road to Rivendell." *
I hear a low growl coming from the closet behind me. < Please Legolas, not now, the time is most definitely NOT RIGHT! >
"What was that?" Yes Dear asks. "I didn't hear you."
Quick! Think quick! "I said I meant 234. Didn't I say page 234?"
"It sounded like you growled at me," he says.
"My stomach is growling. I'm hungry," I say. "Time for supper, ok?" I make a hasty retreat down the hall, praying Yes Dear will follow me, hoping the growling has ceased.
Thankfully, he follows, and the subject is dropped. At least, for now. I can't keep an elf in my closet forever, can I? Legolas will need to see the stars, and feel the sun on his face. No, it cannot last forever.
Sooner or later, Legolas will have to come out of the closet.
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Thank goodness Yes Dear sleeps like the dead. I sneak Legolas out twice for a bathroom break, once last night and again this morning. We have managed to make it almost 36 hours undetected.
After they have gone for the morning, I fix Legolas some toast, covered in strawberry jam, which appears to have won his favor. I leave him at the kitchen table and head for work. "Make yourself at home," I call from the door, "and I'll be back in a couple of hours, ok?"
Around noon, I arrive home, planning to fix peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch. Since toast with jelly has been such a success, how could I possibly go wrong with peanut butter and jelly? I open the back door and step into the kitchen. He has managed to put his dirty breakfast paper plate into the garbage can, but the jelly is still on the table. Apparently he has not quite figured out how to open the refrigerator door. I am glad it was only the jelly, and not the milk.
"Legolas?" I call down the hallway. "It's just me. You can come out now."
There is a muffled "Okae," from the master bedroom. When 5 minutes go by and he has not appeared, I wander down the hallway to see what is keeping him.
I hear him talking in a chatty little voice, then answering in his own natural tone. I cannot quite catch the conversation, so I decide to eavesdrop momentarily again.
"Wuld u like sum caek?" he says in the chatty voice. It is quite high- pitched, and very feminine sounding.
"Dat wuld bea kwite niec endeed," he says in his own voice. There is a pause, punctuated with little clicking sounds, and then a deep, "Mmmm, deelishus!"
"Wie, thaenk u!" says the chatty voice.
"ur kwite wekome," says the deeper more natural Legolas voice.
Then another feminine voice joins in. This one is slightly lower toned and I think to myself, surprisingly like Arwen's voice from the movie. "Maehapz I culd poar u a leedle moer whine, Lord Legolas?"
His musical laughter rings throughout the house. "Nae, nae, **nin lirimaer, bud I em jest Legolas, nod a loerd bie eny meenz."
The Arwen voice says, "Shirly u r of sum lien of nobilatie. Ur manerz r impekable."
He laughs again, then answers, "I em da sun of King Thranduil, soe if u muest, u mae kall mie Prance Legolas."
I cannot stand it any longer. I have to peek to see what exactly is going on in my closet.
He is sitting cross-legged on the floor, just inside the closet door. There are 2 tiny wicker chairs and a tiny wicker table on the floor in front of him. On the table are 3 miniature maroon wine goblets, and 3 teensy pink plates with 3 wee slices of plastic vanilla frosted cake on them. In the center of the table sits what is left of the little cake, raised up on one of those elevated cake stands. There is also an itsy bitsy pink teapot with a monogrammed "B" on it.
Sitting across from Legolas, in the tiny wicker chairs, are Little Pip's blonde haired Barbie and her Brunette friend Teresa.
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* "The Fellowship of the Ring" by J.R.R. Tolkien. Houghton Mifflin Company c.1994
**nin lirimaer: Elvish for my lovely one
The banana story belongs to Quiseyes, and I read it last on Quiver (avada- kedavra.net/quiver) if you are interested. It is called "Feasting"
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(Reviews For Chapter Five) **al and Legolas**
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Disclaimer: Nope. I do not own him. I am not sure anybody really owns him at this point but himself. Therefore, I am not really at liberty to loan him or rent him out either. Sorry. Nor do I own any of the other everyday items you will see listed throughout this story.
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"Weel, der u ar!" says the Prance of Mirkwood from his position on the floor. "I deed nod thank u wuld eber git hear! Wuld u caer tu joyne us?"
How can I resist an invitation from the Prance? My brain says to myself, if he pulls out a glass slipper, I will just DIE!
"Well, just for a minute," I say, blushing a little. Ok, a LOT!
"Guud!" he exclaims, moving over on the carpet to make room for me at his side. As I get settled, he leans over conspiratorially and whispers in my ear, "I wuld entrudoose u, bud de laedeez hab bean verry hezitaent abot taelling mie dere naemz."
"Maybe I can help," I reply. Addressing the dolls I say," Ladies, it has come to my attention that you have not been formally introduced. My profuse apologies are in order. Please forgive me." I give a little half curtsy from my seated position.
"Prance Legolas," I begin, "May I present Barbie of Mattel and her best friend Teresa?" I point to each of the ladies in turn as I announce them.
"Ladies, may I present Prance Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood, " I gesture toward Legolas as he gives a little seated bow and inclines his head. He reaches out and takes Barbie by the hand, saying" Sech a plaezur tu meat u," and then doing the same to Teresa, "I em honurd tu maek ur akwainteance."
What a charmer!
His voice changes to the high pitched feminine one I heard before, and he says, "weel u joyne uz fur sum kaek?"
It changes again, and this time the Arwen voice adds, "yeas, plaez due!"
Now he waits, looking at me expectantly. With a start, I realize it is my turn. I have gotten so wrapped up in the unusual voices coming from him that I almost forgot I was having an afternoon tea party with a Prance!
"Oh, certainly!" I answer.
Legolas produces another teensy pink plate and a minature wine goblet from the far side of him. " I thot u mite sae dat!" he says, grinning. He doles out a wee slice of the plastic vanilla frosted cake for me on the teensy pink plate, and hands it gracefully to me, then pretends to pour a goblet full of whatever is in the itsy bitsy pink teapot for me. "Hear u goe!" he says, handing the goblet to me.
"Thank you, Prance Legolas," I reply.
Before I can make another move, he leans close to my ear again and whispers, "Wach dat kake. Haerder dan Da Won Rang idsef. Gimli culdn't kut dat kake wid heez akz eethr. An dat whine burnz like da fierz of Moredoor goen doewn." He winks at me.
I give him a smile back, pretending to taste the cake and to take a sip of the wine. "Excellent vintage!" I exclaim. "This must be from your father's vines, Lady Barbie?"
"Ah yaes, frum da yeer of da Prance'z koeming of aege," he reflects in the high pitched feminine Barbie voice.
"A miety fien yeer endeed!" says the Arwen voice.
Leaning back to my ear again, he becomes Legolas again, and whispers, "An dat kake iz abot dat saem aege tu!"
We make small talk for a while longer, when suddenly I realize the afternoon is passing and I still have to go get Little Pip. "Legolas," I ask, "would you like to accompany me to pick up Little Pip from school?"
"U meen goe bie bie een da kar?" he asks, leaping to his feet. "O, culd I? Culd I?"
"Well, sure, I guess it would be ok," I reply. "You will have to ride in the very back of the van though, and not let anyone see you. I haven't told anyone about you yet."
"Okae!" He is past me in a flash, blonde mane flying behind him, bow and quiver in hand, though I never saw him pick them up. Before I can blink, he is standing at the back door, waiting, shifting from foot to foot. Funny, I don't remember ever seeing him do that in the movie.
"No, no, the bow and arrows stay here," I tell him. This produces the scowl of the deadly elven warrior I knew before. "The school does not allow any weapons on the grounds, for the children's safety you know."
"Whut abot Orkz?" he questions.
"No Orcs are allowed either," I say.
"Gobbelinz?" he inquires.
"No Goblins either."
"Waergz?"
"Nope. No scary bad things allowed at all. It is a very safe place to be," I tell him, reaching for the weapons and placing them respectfully on the kitchen table. "Come now, or we'll be late."
I open the glass storm door for him, letting him out into the yard in the sunlight. He stands for a moment, face uplifted, eyes closed, reveling in the delight of its warmth. As I lock up to go, I notice the smile that has crept up on his face as he stands there in the bright light. Yes, Legolas, it is time to come out of the closet. You need to be out of the darkness that has befallen you, through no fault of your own.
I open the hatch of the van for him, and watch as he climbs in and makes himself comfortable sitting on the picnic blanket I always keep back there on the floor. "Ready?" I ask him.
"Raedie!" he proclaims.
I head for the drivers seat, crank it up, and begin to back out of the driveway. There is a scrambling noise, and I brake to see what it is that has caused him to move so rapidly.
"Legolas, are you all right back there?"
"Hoew due I maek dis thang woerk?" he yells back, obviously startled.
"What are you trying to work?" I call back to him.
"Dis thang! Dis kar! Id eez moevin dis wae! I thot U wuz goen tu maek id wurk!"
I forgot to explain we have to go backward first to get out of the driveway. He must have thought we would be going forwards all the time, since I told him he had to ride in the back of the car. Ooops!
After a brief lesson in which way the car goes, we head down the driveway and are off to school. As we are driving along, I catch glimpses of a blonde head in my rear view mirror from time to time, but all in all he does an excellent job of keeping himself hidden. When we get to the school, I call to him, "Better hide good now, we are here and Pip is about to get in the car, ok?"
"Okae!" I hear some rustling sounds, and then all is quiet in the back of the van.
The side door slides open, and Pip climbs in. "Guess what?" I ask her. "Have I got a surprise for you when we get home!"
(Reviews For Chapter Six) **al and Legolas**
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A/N: My heart is breaking! I cracked my DVD disc! *wipes tears away* Be very careful when you push the disc down into the little holder-there was a pop noise and my DVD disc now has 3 little cracks running outward from the center hole! It still plays, but if anyone sees PJ please tell him I would like another one, after all I went 24 times to see it, doesn't loyalty count for anything?
At least the extended version will be here in just another month or so. *sighs*
Nope. Still can't say I own him, though I should get credit for keeping him out of trouble as long as I have so far. Oh yeah, thoughts are in ~ ~ this time.
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Little Pip is very excited to hear there will be a surprise for her, as all children are. "What is it, Momma?" she asks, not able to contain her curiosity.
"If I tell you now it won't be a surprise when we get home, will it?"
She gives The Drama Queen sigh. "No, I guess not."
"Finish your homework on the ride home, then you will be ready to play when you get there," I suggest.
As we drive, I see a blonde head and a pair of bright blue eyes peering over the top of the third row seat back. Legolas is carefully checking out Pip. I realize the only time he may have seen her would be in a photograph or in a quick glimpse as she passed by the closet door, which she doesn't do all that often. Thank Goodness she is concentrating hard on her homework and does not notice the scrutiny coming from behind her.
She finishes just as we are turning onto our street. I give Legolas the warning eye in the rear view mirror, and he ducks back down into his hiding place.
Pip is out of the car, scurrying into the house in anticipation of her surprise. Legolas is half out behind her before I catch him. "Wait here for just a second," I tell him. " I want her to have a chance to look into your closet before you come in."
He nods his head, blonde tresses waving gently. " I weel stae rite hear unteel u kum bak."
She passes the kitchen table, throws her bookbag on the couch, and turns to face me. "OK, I'm ready!" she proclaims.
~~Oh boy, NO you are NOT!~~ I think to myself.
"About your surprise. . . " I begin. "You remember the other night when we went to Greenwood to the movies?"
She nods and continues staring at me, blue eyes wide with a big anticipatory grin gracing her lips.
"Well, I brought something . . . let's call it 'unusual', home," I tell her. "You aren't going to believe this, but . . . " I hesitate, trying to be certain I am doing the right thing. As I pause, I see out of the corner of my eye a figure peering out of the back window of the van, patiently awaiting his fate. Yes, it is time. Legolas must come out of the closet today.
". . .when we were at the movie theater the other night, I brought Legolas home in my purse."
"Momma, you are too much," Pip says.
"I'm serious. He fell out of the movie screen, and I picked him up and put him in my purse and brought him home." She gives me that look all parents know, the one that says 'Yes, its really true, my parents ARE aliens from the planet Quark.'
After a few moments trying to figure out why I have not cracked up laughing, she begins to think that I might just be delusional enough to have actually tried to pull this off.
"Are you serious?" she asks in a dubious voice.
"Yep." I answer.
She ponders how this could have happened, knowing full well she was there and yet never saw anything out of the ordinary. "Well, then why haven't I seen him? Where are you keeping him?"
"I snuck him into the closet in my room."
"I don't believe you," she says, folding her arms across her chest.
"Then go see for yourself."
She hesitates. There is something about her mother's attitude that says caution is in order; this crazy turn of events might actually be happening right under her nose. She turns, and with big strides goes down the hallway to the bedroom across from her own. The sight on the floor in front of her stops her.
"LEGOLAS!!!!" she bellows. "Those are MY Barbie dolls!" After a moments pause, taking in that there is no actual damage to her personal effects, she starts to plunder through the clothes in the closet, searching.
"He is not in there!" she turns and confronts me, angry that her dolls have been disturbed. Honestly, you'd have thought he had bitten the heads off of them she was so upset.
"Of course not. I took him with me to pick you up from school. He's still in the car."
"He is not! I would have seen him!" she replies, indignant.
"He is trained in hiding skills. No one could see him unless he wanted them to." I wait, watching the wheels turn in her 9 year old brain. She wants to believe, she really does, but she is pretty certain at this point that her old mom is ready for the funny farm.
"I still don't believe you," she says.
I give her a moment, then ask, "Would you like to meet him?" She nods yes, and I take her by the hand, leading her to the back storm door and pointing to the van.
"He is in there. Wait right here for a moment and I'll go get him."
"Well, ok," she replies, once again folding her arms across her chest, standing at the door watching the van like a hawk.
Out I go, around to the side sliding door of the van. When I open the door, however, there is no Elf there. None. Nada. ~~ Don't panic, he can't have gone far~~ my mind screams at me.
"Legolas?" I call. "LEGOLAS?"
"Yeas?" He is so close he startles me. I must have deafened his elven ears calling him that loudly. I honestly expected to be hunting the neighborhood looking for him.
"Don't scare me like that!" I tell him.
"I em soerrie. I deed nod meen tu skeer u," he replies. "Kin I kum een noew?"
"It's ok," I say. "Please do come in now, Little Pip wants to meet you."
He unfolds himself from his hiding place in the back of the van, and I wonder how he managed to camouflage himself like that. He really was in plain view, but I never saw him.
As he stands to his full height, I take the opportunity to glance at the storm door. Little Pip has dropped her arms to her sides, and her mouth is hanging wide open, her eyeballs popping from their sockets.
As I open the door to let us in, one long, drawn out whispered word emerges; no longer a name, but now a figure of speech, " momma. . . "
"Little Pip, meet Prance Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood. Prance Legolas, meet Little Pip."
"Verrie pleezd tu meat u, Leddle Peep," says the Prance with a sweeping bow.
She stares at him unresponding, eyes scanning him the entire 6 feet of his height, taking in the blonde hair, the hunter green tunic, the soft elven boots, the leather bracers on his forearms. After a few moments she asks skeptically, "Where are your bow and arrows?"
He points to the weapons still lying on the kitchen table.
She eyeballs me again. "Is this some kind of trick?" she asks.
"No. Not at all. In fact, I think it would be easier if it were a trick. "
I see her wheels start turning again, and I get ready because I know what is coming next. Legolas cuts a glance in my direction, as if asking what he should do now. I slightly raise my hand, indicating for him to hold his position. He nods ok back to me. Here it comes.
"What has he been eating? When does he sleep? Where does he go when Daddy opens the closet door? How does he go to the bathroom?" She pauses to take a breath, and then the biggest question of all comes, "Why in the world did you do this?!
I've been sneaking food in there to him."
"Yes," she begins again, "but just WHAT does he eat? Where does he put the dishes when he is done with them? Do we have the right kind of food for him? Does he drink water or tea?
"I have been.." I start, only to be hit by another wave of questions.
"Did he sleep in the closet last night? Why not in the spare bedroom? Did you give him a blanket? Did he bring his teddy bear?"
"Has Daddy seen him yet? Where does he hide when you open the closet door? What will he wear when you need to wash his clothes? My, he IS a little dirty for an Elf, isn't he?"
She begins anew, "Does he have his own hairbrush? How did you sneak him to the bathroom without Daddy seeing him? Does he leave the seat up or down when he uses the toilet? Has he tried my new shampoo and conditioner yet?
Legolas looks from me to Pip to me again. He is blinking his eyes, unsure where this interrogation is going. He is aware that so far, none of the questions have actually been addressed to him, so officially he is still maintaining his position.
She gulps a breath of air and finishes with, " AND WHAT IN THE WORLD WERE YOU THINKING WHEN YOU PUT HIM IN YOUR PURSE?"
Don't forget to tell Legolas how much you like his life story! He really enjoys hearing from all of you. He is very lonely for his home and friends from Middle Earth, and your comments really help to cheer him up!
(Reviews For Chapter Seven) **al and Legolas**
A/N: Don't own him, can't lend him, the usual stuff. No offense to any products listed, not responsible if you try any of this at home, yada yada yada. . . .
Look, Legolas, you got 100 reviews! Thank you all so much!
(Thank yourself too, Mr. Smarty-Pants. That's what I get for letting someone else watch you while I go to work. I know you had help, and I know who it was! You would never spell "that" or "car" correctly, not to mention substituting "ewe" in there. But I know who would! )
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After the barrage of questions stops, I say to Little Pip, "You know, you really should tell Prance Legolas you are pleased to meet him as well." I wink at the Prance, who is a bit rattled by the flurry of words that had been flying through the air moments ago.
"Oh," says Pip, "sorry! I am very glad to meet you too, Prance Legolas."
" U ar a deelite, Ladie Leedle Peep," he says, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. His smile would light up a football field.
Pip turns to me and whispers, "Momma, he KISSED my hand!"
" I know!" I exclaim. "And the best part is. . . Elves don't have any cooties!"
She grins up at me. " I don't have to go wash?"
"Nope!" I reply. "And even better, he LIKES to play with Barbie!"
"REALLY?!" she gawks. "Can he come in my room and play with me?"
"Why don't you ask him?" I urge.
Soon they are sitting happily in the middle of Pip's bedroom floor, surrounded by layer upon layer of Barbie clothes, and Barbie furniture, and Barbie cars, and Barbie hairbrushes, and so on, and so on, and so on. . .
I spend the time they are using to get acquainted by working on e-mails and instant messaging Yes Dear. Around 6:00 pm I get the message I have been dreading all day. "I'm on the way home," it reads. The jig is up.
"Pip," I call towards the bedroom," your Daddy is on the way home."
"Can I go out on the deck and watch for him?" she asks.
"Sure," I reply halfheartedly.
"Kin I goe oudsied tu?" asks Legolas.
"Can you hide when the car comes up?" I ask him.
"Shur!" he replies confidently. " I deed a guud joeb hiedin in da vaen din't I?"
I didn't need the reminder of the double heart attack I almost had when at first I couldn't find him, and then when I did. "Yes," I say with a smile, "you are an excellent hider."
"Furst, I muest goe tu da bafroom," he whispers, blushing. "Wade fur mie, Peep!"
"I'll be right out here!" hollers Little Pip.
He gives me a look of frustration and worry at being left behind. "Don't worry, she won't go anywhere without you. Just go on and hurry up," I reassure him.
"Okae," he says, moving quickly across the hall and closing the door behind him. A few seconds later there is a flush, and the bathroom door is flung almost off the hinges as he comes flying out.
"Wade! Wade fur mie!" he calls to Little Pip, who has already gone out onto the deck. I can barely hear his running footsteps, and my brain makes a mental note to remind him not to run in the house, when . . . .
KAWHAM!!
Then
THUMP!!
I leap from my chair, knowing full well what just happened and feeling like an idiot for not preventing it.
Legolas has run headlong into the sliding glass door.
I find him laid out flat on his back on the carpet, arms outstretched, legs spread-eagled. Pip is standing outside still with her hand over her mouth and a look of absolute horror on her face. There is a bright red mark in the dead center of his forehead, and the goose egg is already starting to rise.
"Don't just stand there!" I yell at Pip, "get me an ice pack from the freezer!"
I move to his side, looking closely at him. "Legolas?" I call to him gently. "Legolas, are you all right?" No response.
Ok, you're a Girl Scout Leader, I say to myself, now what do you do? That's right, the ABC's of First Aid. Airway, Breathing. . . Except when I do Step #1 Open the Airway, nothing is coming out. Nothing. Not one little breath, not one little breeze, not one single little wisp of air escapes his lips.
Holy Cow! The Girl Scout leader thinks. Now what do I do?!
Breathing. I must get him breathing. I try poking him in the ribs first, just in case, but to no avail. I look around, wishing there might be someone else I could pass this responsibility off to. No such luck. It is totally up to me. I must give Prance Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood mouth to mouth.
Grasping his nostrils firmly in one set of fingers, I use my other hand to gently tip his head back and once again check to see if there is any way the slightest bit of breath might just have decided to come out of his lungs. With my cheek a mere hairsbreadth from his lips, I slowly count to 5, feeling and watching for anything that might be there. Nothing. Ok, so I do it again and count to 10, but still no air passes from the Prance.
Look, Listen, and Feel. . . and I feel NOTHING.
Oh Lord, here we go.
I put my lips gently over his and begin rescue breathing just like I learned from my mother in class. My mother was a CPR instructor for years, and her students competed many times on the national level, and she made sure I was also well trained and quite competent in the technique. I watch as his chest rises and falls with each breath I give him, and at the appropriate time I stop to check for a pulse just like in the manual.
What am I going to do? I can't call for help. I can't take him to the hospital. No one there would know how to treat an Elf. I am on my own.
I lower my mouth to his again, continuing to push air into his lungs, blocking everything else from my mind as I concentrate on the task at hand. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand. . . Suddenly there is a throat clearing noise behind me, and I lose my rhythm as I look up to see Yes Dear standing in the den watching everything that is going on.
Fortunately, Legolas takes this opportunity to take his own breath, and he lifts his head, shaking it as his glassy eyes come back into focus. "Wow!" he whispers.
"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"
Gotta get out of the way quick! Legolas is SO excited and anxious to tell you all how much he likes to read your reviews. I tell you things HAPPEN when he gets excited, you don't know the half of it yet! He is waving madly and leaning all over me trying to get to the keyboard, so let me get started . . ..
(Reviews For Chapter Eight) **al and Legolas**
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Don't forget to tell Legolas that you are out there! He loves his fan mail reviews, and likes to respond personally as you can see! Next chapter..nekkid Legolas takes a bath!
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"Momma, you are SOOO BUSTED!"
Still on my knees on the floor bending over the Prance, I focus on the red face and piercing hazel eyes of my husband. His nostrils are flaring. I swear I just saw some of the dark brown hair at his temples lighten even more towards gray.
Legolas tosses back his own blonde locks, pushes himself up onto his elbows, and thus brings his eyes level with my cleavage. A slow grin spreads across his face.
"I said, WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" bellows Yes Dear.
"Look, Dad, Momma's giving Legolas CPR!" exclaims Little Pip, jumping up and down. "You know who he is, don't you Dad?!"
"Of course I know who HE is!" growls Yes Dear. "What I want to know is WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!"
"Shee EEEEZ soe buestd!" Legolas beams with wide eyes, staring down my neckline.
Feeling the heat rushing to my cheeks, I scramble to my feet. "Don't just stand there, help me get him up!" I bark at Yes Dear. "Be careful, he hit his head awfully hard. Let's put him in the recliner there. Pip, hand me the ice pack, will you?"
I push the chair back, pop the footrest up, grab the ice pack from Pip, and press it against the rising knot on Legolas' forehead.
By the time Legolas is comfortable, Yes Dear's face has returned to normal color and his breathing evened out. He unclenches his jaw, and repeats in a carefully controlled voice, "What exactly is going on here?"
"Legolas hit his head on the sliding glass door. They don't have sliding glass doors in Middle Earth apparently," I answer, still holding the ice pack firmly in place.
His jaw is clenching again, and I can see the tiny ticking motion of the skin around his left eye. "I meant, what is he doing here in MY house?"
"He's been sleeping in your closet, Daddy. He's been eating all our elf cookies AND the cereal, and he's been playing with my Barbies too!"
"I was asking the question to your mother."
"Taddletel," mutters Legolas.
"Pip, go straighten up your room. Put the Barbies up for now, ok? I need to talk to your father."
"What about HIM? He played with them too!" Little Pip points her finger at the invalid Prance, outraged that Legolas is going to get to lay back in the recliner with his feet up while she cleans up the huge mess they have left in the middle of her floor.
"I'll send him back to help you in a minute, when the swelling stops. You go get started. " I watch as she crosses her arms, sticks out her lower lip, and stomps off down the hallway.
"You," I address the stretched out Prance, "hold this yourself. Don't take it off until I tell you it is ok."
"Yaes, milaydee," he murmurs, eyes now downcast.
I take Yes Dear by the hand and lead him to the kitchen table. While he sits, I pour us each a glass of iced tea, wishing it were a little later in the day so I could have something a good bit stronger instead. I dig through the cabinet and find what is left of the package of Keebler elf cookies. < These will make an appropriate sacrifice > I think, carrying them to the table too.
I start at the beginning, and tell the whole thing from the end of the movie when I first discovered Legolas on the floor, all the way up to how he managed to knock himself silly on the door. The CPR part is self- explanatory.
Or so I thought.
"He really wasn't breathing? Are you sure?" Yes Dear asks, for the third time.
"I'm telling you, it's not like that! I've told you a million times before," I persist. "I don't look at him that way. I see him. . . differently. . . than others do."
Yes Dear glances over at his recliner chair, currently inhabited by a sprawled out Prance with a ice pack pressed to the center of his forehead. The same Prance that just a few minutes ago was lying on the floor with his lips touching mine. My lips that belong to Yes Dear, my husband.
Legolas eyes him right back.
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Yes Dear asks, breaking eye contact with Legolas and returning his scowl to me.
"I guess I'll keep him awake for a while to make sure he doesn't have a brain hemorrhage or something," I sigh, resting my weary head on my hands on the tabletop. This is not going according to my plan at all.
"I meant what are you going to do about HIM. He can't stay here forever."
"I suppose this means he can come out of the closet," I reply.
Yes Dear and I make eye contact as the depth of that statement sinks in. Suddenly we are snickering and tittering just like Gandalf and Frodo meeting each other at Bag End.
"Whut? Whut r u laffin abot?" Legolas erupts from the chair, knowing full well that we are laughing at his expense, though he has no idea why.
"Now he's coming out of the chair too!" Yes Dear cackles, now totally lost in the giggling fits we are having.
"Hae! Hae! I komand u tu stoep dat laffin rite now!" The ice pack is discarded on the floor, the chair abandoned.
"You better stop laughing," I warn, forcing on my straight face and trying to be serious. "He does things when he gets angry!" I pause, and then another burst of laughter rushes out of me, accompanied at the end by a snort.
"Ha! You snorted first!" squeals Yes Dear, pointing his finger at me and snorting himself.
Legolas has drawn himself up to full height and assumed the Elven warrior pose. I notice a funny odor in the kitchen.
"I em da Prance of Murkwuud, an I komand dat u stoep dat laffin! U weel stoep dat laffin at me rite noew!"
Yes, there is a fell smell in the air here. A smell of something hot, smoldering. The air seems to be getting hotter too.
I glance over at the Prance, who is doing the Galadriel thing again. His hair is blowing about, he is taller than I remember him from before, and there is a white-hot glow emanating from his persona. Not to mention the distinct burning smell directly associated with where he is standing.
"He looks just like Galadriel!" Yes Dear crows, holding his side with one hand and gripping the table to keep from falling out of his chair with the other.
" I know! I know!" I howl, unable to stop laughing at this point even if my life depended on it. Which, by the look on Legolas' face, may very well be the case very soon.
" I SED STOEP DAT LAFFIN RITE NOEW!!" He is so angry now he is actually shaking.
"He's gonna blow! " hollers Yes Dear, losing his battle and falling to the floor in a fit of convulsive cackles.
"Ok, ok, we will stop, Legolas, I promise, we will stop laughing right now." I give Yes Dear a nudge in the ribs with my toe. When this only escalates the sniggering from the floor, I give him another nudge a little harder and a little better placed.
"Ow, not the balls, not the balls!" Yes Dear sounds remarkably like Gimli at this point. I see Legolas is having a memory too, for he has cocked his head sideways and the glow has receded a bit.
I nudge Yes Dear again. "Now you have to apologize," I tell him. "Say you're sorry."
"I didn't start it. You did. Besides, HE needs to say he's sorry for kissing MY wife!"
"I deed nod kees ur wiefe! Whin I woek up, shi wuz keesing ME!" Legolas counters.
"Legolas! " I exclaim. "You weren't breathing! I wasn't kissing you, I was giving you mouth to mouth resuscitation!"
"Faelt like keesin tu me..," the Prance mumbles.
"Looked like kissing to me too, Legolas," Yes Dear affirms.
"You say you're sorry first," I break in, pointing at Yes Dear. "Then you say you are sorry too," I point at Legolas. "Then, if I am not still mad at both of you for taking advantage of my kindness, I might say I am sorry too. Now do it!"
"Sorry," mumbles Yes Dear.
"Sorry," replies Legolas, extending a hand to help Yes Dear off of the floor.
They both turn to look at me, expectantly. I eyeball them both. "Ok, I'm sorry too," I acknowledge. We stand there, awkwardly looking around, trying not to make eye contact with each other.
I look at Legolas out of the corner of my eye. A tiny smile has appeared on his lips, and he has a twinkle in his eye. A quick glance at Yes Dear reveals the same expression on his face. Now my own is a mirror image of both of theirs.
It is the Prance of Mirkwood who makes the first move, as a tiny snicker escapes his lips. He is soon joined by Yes Dear and myself, as another round of absurd laughter envelops us. Pip is soon standing there, looking at us as if we have all gone mad.
"What is going on here?" she says.
All right, Legolas, here is where you begin. Sit down, this will take you awhile.
Hae eberibuddy! Soerrie I em laete. *pops Hershey's kiss between his lips*
(Reviews For Chapter Nine) **al and Legolas**
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Good Lord, he's finally done! With all that sugar in him, it is a wonder he sat here as long as he did. I think I'll have to go hide the candy jar, don't you???
Send him a note and let him know you love him, otherwise I'll have to deal with the little lost puppy look again. Thanks for reading!
A/N: It's real life, non-fiction. I really mean it. No one owns him; he's a free spirit. This chapter has been ready for a week now, but Prance Free Spirit has had the lust for Halloween candy so bad that he couldn't sit still long enough to answer all of you. It has taken him forever to type up his responses to his fans. Shoot your arrows at him for being late this time.
Let's see, we left off with Little Pip wanting to know what was going on. . .
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Sounds just like her father, doesn't she?
As the laughter subsides, Little Pip crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me. Her left foot is tap, tap, tapping on the floor. She might sound like her father, but she looks exactly like me.
"I don't think this is funny at all. You said you were going to make him come back and help me clean up, and ya'll are out here laughing," she pouts.
"I em soerie, Leedle Peep," Legolas says.
"What are you laughing about?" she asks.
"I told your dad how Legolas came to live in the closet. Now we are trying to decide what to do with him," I tell her.
Legolas looks at me with the big puppy dog eyes.
"He can live in my room," Little Pip offers, adopting the puppy dog eyes herself as they both turn to look at me.
Well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
I too put on my best lost puppy look, and all three of us look piteously at Yes Dear, begging like a whole litter of little starving Basset Hounds.
"Come on, Dad, can we keep him?" asks Little Pip.
"No. He must go back," says Yes Dear.
"But Dad, he's lost!" counters Pip, turning the heat up a notch.
"No," Yes Dear insists.
Moving to put her arms around his neck, she kisses her father's cheek. He melts like the lava in Mount Doom.
She drops her voice to a very soft whisper, and gives it one more try, "Please, Dad?"
After a moment of hesitation, he says, "Well, just for now. He can stay in the blue guest room." He has cracked, but swiftly recovers by adding, " But only until we can figure a way to get him back to Middle-earth."
"YEEEAAAA DAD!!!!!" shouts Little Pip, doing her most superb champion college cheerleader routine. "You're The Best Dad in the Whole Wide World!"
"Yaeh, da baest Daed dere eber wuz!" joins in Legolas, grinning from ear to pointed ear while looking at Little Pip and bouncing up and down, trying to imitate her actions.
Me, you ask? What did I say? Well, lets just say that CPR sometimes IS a lot like kissing . . ..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legolas goes with Little Pip to finish straightening up the Barbies, and Yes Dear and I go about our normal evening routine. As we are working in the kitchen together, Little Pip returns, her nose wrinkled up. She stands beside me, waiting.
"What's the matter?" I ask as I prepare the salad for dinner. "You aren't being impolite to your guest by making him clean up all by himself, are you?"
"Momma," she whispers, "Legolas has a problem."
"What is it?" I ask, not looking up from the carrot I am chopping.
"He, well. . . he. . .uhm. . . "
I continue chopping, waiting while she stalls.
"He sort of, well. . . ."
Glancing up, I realize she is not just creating a ruse to avoid cleaning up, but is actually serious about whatever the matter is.
"You're not gonna tell me that he peed on the carpet, are you?" I inquire, joking with her. With four cats and an invalid 18-year-old dog in the house, accidents DO tend to happen. Accidents that Pip would rather die than clean up by herself. Did I say clean up? She won't even touch the gallon jug that the clean kitty litter comes in.
"No, not that, it's just that he. . . well, he ummm. . ."
"Just say it!" I blurt out.
"Momma, Legolas smells. He smells BAD. Like he's been smoking cigarettes or something."
<Ahh,> I think, <so the Galadriel effect has not entirely dissipated.>
About this time, the Prance himself comes trudging down the hallway, fingering his left warrior braid as if he is thinking of asking me something but is reluctant to mention it. His nose is wrinkled up too.
"What's the matter, Legolas?" I ask.
"I seam tu hav devaellupd an oeder. I wuz wundering eef I culd sumhoew hav sum wader weeth sich tu waesh."
He's right. So is Little Pip. Legolas certainly does have a problem. He smells bad. Not terribly bad, but compared to before, a definite change in aroma lurks about the Prance. The heat from the Galadriel sized temper tantrum must have set off the atomic particles that cause elf-smell, because Legolas has certainly got it.
Trying not to be impolite by wrinkling my own nose, I leave the salad bowl and gesture for him to follow me. I lead the way down the hallway to the bathroom, and as I get to the tub, I hear him clear his throat behind me.
"What is it?" I ask, noting the hesitation and the skeptical look on his face.
"Wael, not dat u doen't keap id VARY kleaen, but. . . id's jest dat I thank I mite bea a beet tu beeg fur dat baesin dere. . . " he nods his head toward the toilet.
I can't help but giggle. "No, Legolas, we don't use that to bathe in!" I guess with the shower curtain drawn, he has not seen the bathtub. Middle- earth may have chamber pots instead of flushing toilets, but surely they have some sort of tub to put water in to bathe! I pull the curtain back, saying, "We use this one, and you can sit down in it and soak like in a lake, or stand up like under a waterfall."
He gives the tub a good looking over. "Whut ar dose shieny thangz?" he inquires.
"Those are the faucets; that's where the water comes out." Pointing to the showerhead, I explain, "this one makes a waterfall, and that one," I point to the spout, "is the one that fills it up like a lake."
"We've got a hot tub, too!" exclaims Little Pip, who has followed us on the Grand Bathroom Tour.
"A hoet tueb?" asks Legolas. "U meen like a hoet sprang, wear da waeter buebblz up ael da tiem?"
"Yes! It's out on the deck," Pip answers, all excited now. "It's big enough to hold 3 or 4 people," she says. "I take Barbie, and Teresa, and Ken swimming in it with their trained killer whales."
"Keeler Wellz?!" he exclaims, his eyes wide. He turns to me and asks, "Ar doez like Wargs?"
"Not at all. Very fishy for a mammal. Very friendly, very small, very plastic in this case," I assure him.
"Oh. . . .okae," he says. "Kin I sea dis hoet tueb?"
"Right this way, " I work my way past him toward the hallway, and then back out to the den.
As I reach to open the sliding glass door, I feel a strong hand gripping my shoulder. "Bea karefuel!" he warns. "Thear eez sum tipe of whizardree goen on dere. U kannot paes thru dere. An eenvizabel foerce noked me on da haed whin I triead id." He nods towards Little Pip who is following along behind us. "Onlee Leedle Peep seemz tu noe hoew tu deefeet da spael."
"Ah, it IS devilry, Legolas! But I too know how to unlock the spell, as you call it. Watch carefully, and I will show you." I push the little gold latch to unlock the door, then slide the glass frame to the right. "See? Look how easy it is to unlock the spell."
"Woew. . . ," mouths Legolas.
So easily entertained.
I move to uncover the hot tub. Legolas is standing just to my right, and still has that dumbstruck look on his face. He stares down at the water, marveling at the clarity I guess.
"Woew. . . " he says again. "U eben hav a pet tuerdle een it."
"WHAT?!" I jerk to attention. "A pet turtle?" I realize he is looking at the floating turtle shaped temperature gauge. "Oh, that is plastic too, Legolas. That's a decoration on the temperature gauge that tells us about the heat of the water. That's so we can make sure it's not too hot or too cold when we want to get in."
"Here's the button that you push to make the bubbles," says Little Pip, starting up the jets. Foaming bubbles pop up everywhere as the motor kicks in. Legolas gives a little start, but soon settles down. He is finally getting used to modern electrical conveniences and their inherent noises, I guess.
"Buebblez. . . " he murmurs, staring at the foam.
"Can we get in, Mom?" asks Little Pip.
"I guess you could take a quick dip before supper," I tell her. "Go put your bathing suit on and get your Barbies. I'll go see if your dad has a bathing suit or a pair of shorts Legolas can wear."
I head back to our "enchanted" sliding glass door, and just as I reach to pull the door open, I catch a flash of light from the corner of my eye. My brain tells me I did not see that which was just reflected in the glass. I stop dead in my tracks, and Little Pip does the patented Hobbit move of running headlong into my back.
I close my eyes for an instant, wanting to peek, knowing what my eyes have just told my brain cannot possibly be happening . . .
There is a loud splash, and Little Pip grabs my arm. I turn to her, thinking < It can't be. There's no way I missed that. . .>
There beside the hot tub lies a pile of hastily discarded clothes, all greens and browns, with a silky silver fabric layered on top. Lounging in my hot tub, eyes closed, head thrown back, blonde locks spilling forth, arms outstretched over the sides, smiling as if he has just won a lifetime supply of Lothlorien arrows, is Middle-earth's finest, the Prance of Mirkwood.
"Mom, is he. . .?" whispers Pip.
"Yep," I answer.
"Are we allowed. . .??" she asks.
"Nope," I sigh.
"Mom, he forgot his towel."
(Reviews For Chapter Ten) **al and Legolas**
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I wish you could see how excited Legolas gets over your messages to him. He is just CRAZY about all of you! Send him a little note and tell him how much you love him, and he promises to send one back to you next chapter!
A/N: If you haven't seen the costume Legolas wore for Halloween, go now to my bio page for a surprise. Then come back and catch up with us.
I don't own him. Never will. He is a free spirit if I ever saw one. He still has a whole half-bushel basket of chocolate candy to eat from his adventures for Halloween. Maybe now he can type your responses faster.
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"Go on and get your bathing suit," I tell Little Pip. "Before you do, ask your father to send me one of his for Legolas to wear."
"But, Momma, how's he gonna . . .?"
"Just go, ok? There are some things you just shouldn't ask people, you know that," I say, nudging her through the glass door.
Time for a little "talk" with the Prance.
I move over to the side of the sunken tub, kneeling down so that I can speak to Legolas. < Damn those bubbles > I brood to myself. It would be nice to have this talk without having the whole neighborhood hearing me yell over the sound of the swirling jets. < You could just turn them off > the little devil sitting on my left shoulder says. Hey, I COULD do that! Just long enough to get my message across.
As I reach out for the button, the little angel sitting on my right shoulder reaches out to smack me sharply on the hand.
"Ow!" I yelp, obviously aloud because Legolas opens his clear blue eyes and looks at me.
"Whut is da maettr?" asks Bathing Beauty.
< Glad you asked > says my brain. "Oh, nothing," says my mouth, "I must have knelt down on an acorn or something here." I rub my knee to give myself time to collect my thoughts.
"Noe, I meen whut is da maettr bekuz u ar luukin at me fuennie" he clarifies, turning now to face me and raising about half of his chest from the bubbles.
Dang, busted AGAIN.
And now I'm speechless. And blushing. And I'm starting sentences with the word "And."
Averting my eyes momentarily, I clear my throat and turn back to him again. "Legolas," I begin, "it's just that. . . well,. . . we don't really. . ."
"Yeas?" he encourages, cocking his head a little toward me and to the left.
"Well, you don't. . . I mean, you took. . .Ummm. . . "
"Jest spid it oud, okae?"
Ok. Ok, I will. I will just spit it out. If I can get my tongue back in control, that is.
"Legolas, you see, ummmm. . . you are. . . naked."
He looks down at himself, most of which is still covered in foamy bubbles, and blinks. In slow motion. Then he looks back up at me, blinking twice more. He waits, saying nothing.
< Go on, say something > I send my thought processes to him. < It's your turn >
Finally, the Thranduil eyebrow raises up, and "Yaes?" issues forth. That is all. Just the one word, "Yaes?"
Ok, try again, al.
"Legolas," I begin, "You see, you can't get into the hot tub without a bathing suit on if Little Pip is getting in there too." There. That covers that.
I mean, that covers that subject. Done. Complete. THAT is still uncovered.
"Whie?"
"Well, ummm, she's still very young in mortal years," I reply.
He looks at me, as if confused about where this conversation is going.
"She, ummm. . . doesn't really know much about what it is like to not wear a bathing suit when in the hot tub," I try.
"Buet I doent hav a bafing suwt."
Ah, truth comes out. He didn't put one on, because quite frankly, he's not got one. Maybe he thought his birthday suit would suffice. Maybe elves really are uninhibited about their bodies like all the fanfiction authors would have you believe.
There is a loud, "HMMMPPHHHTTT" behind me, and a deep voice says, "Would you be needing these?" Yes Dear is holding out a pair of bright blue bathing trunks that are going to be big enough for 3 of Legolas from the looks of things. At least they have a drawstring waist.
"Are those the smallest pair you have?" I ask.
"Well, no, I still have that pair of Speedos I bought to wear under my diving wetsuit," answers Yes Dear.
Well, if those are the ones I remember from 15 years ago, you could squeeze one Legolas into them, but it wouldn't leave much to the imagination. "You still have those? . . .Nevermind," I shake my head to clear my thoughts. "We'll just make do with these blue ones until we can get him a pair that fits."
Legolas starts to stand up and reach for the trunks. Yes Dear hastily smacks them up against Legolas' bare chest, wetting them. "YOU put those on while you are IN THERE," he says to the Prance. He points to the water swirling in the tub, bubbles popping merrily against Legolas' flat, muscular belly.
Did I say merrily? Whew..
After a brief staring contest, Legolas turns and sits back down to put on the trunks. Little Pip shows up, a plastic bucket full of Barbie and her entourage in tow.
"Ready?" she says, and not waiting for an answer, climbs over the edge and down into the pool.
"Iz dat a Keeler Well?" Legolas asks, reaching to take the basket from her.
"That's Squirty, she's a girl. I named her after a real whale I saw in the Pacific Ocean. If you want to, when we get out I will show you the pictures I have of her."
"Okae!" he answers, enthralled.
Soon they are splashing happily, having underwater races to see who can swim the furthest holding their breath, Barbie or Ken. Legolas appears a bit concerned about this, especially since his Ken always comes up to the surface with a whole head full of water, which Little Pip promptly removes by squeezing his head flat. Ken's head, not Legolas'.
When supper is almost ready, I call them to come in. Legolas climbs out readily, though Pip is reluctant and protests and procrastinates. As they stand dripping and shivering on the deck, I hand Legolas one of the towels Little Pip has brought outside.
"NO, Momma!" protests Pip. "Don't give him THAT one!" She snatches the brown towel with the white horses from him.
"Pippin, that was not nice!" I say. "Whatever is the matter?"
"That's my favorite," she says, hugging the towel to her chest. " I don't want him to get his stinky butt on it."
Legolas glances back at his posterior.
"It's a figure of speech, dear," I tell him, tossing the 101 Dalmatians towel around his shoulders. As I bend to pick up Barbie and Ken, I see him do a little shimmy with his hips.
"NO! NO!" I shout in my best gruff, no nonsense basic dog training voice. He stops shimmying, his back still turned to me, the blue trunks hanging halfway down his legs. Jewel the Dalmatian puppy winks at me from her position on the towel just above Legolas' left thigh, her tongue lolling from her mouth.
"No, Legolas! Wait and take them off INSIDE the house."
"Bud I weel git da floar ael weat!" he argues.
"It's okay," I say," we do it all the time."
"Some people." mutters Little Pip, shaking her head.
"Whut?" says Legolas, as she stalks off into the house.
"Whut?" he repeats, as I nudge him through the door.
"Don't worry about it. Just go put on the clothes I left for you on the bed in the blue room."
Three minutes later he is back in the den, looking quite Modern earth in my forest green T-shirt with "SPOKANE" written in matching embroidery across the front. I picked it for him because the letter A is made from a pine tree. I hoped maybe he would feel more at home in it.
I notice he is clutching the waistband of the jeans tightly through the untucked T-shirt. "Are they too big?' I ask him, pointing at his lower half.
"Meabe a leedle," he answers. He lets go of the waistband, then does a frantic clutch to catch the pants as they collapse down his legs towards the floor.
"Let's try a belt." Digging through my closet, I find one that is braided, adjustable to any size. I help him run it through the belt loops while he holds up the jeans.
"Oh, dat IZ bedder!" he exclaims, waving his hands about in the air.
Supper goes by uneventfully, and I am happy to say he is not a picky eater, and did well cleaning his plate even though he did not take out very large proportions to begin with. After the dishes are cleared away, Legolas and Little Pip settle down on the couch to look at her scrapbook from her trip to Washington State to visit my brother, taken when she was 6 years old.
She shows him the vintage carousel we rode, telling him about the plastic rings that you try to grab as the horses go by the dispenser. She tells him about how the lucky person who gets the gold ring wins a special prize. I see him flinch from where I am sitting all the way across the room.
She shows him the mountains, covered in snow in the middle of July, the pictures of our summertime snowball fight in short sleeve shirts and sandals. He mumbles under his breath, and it sounds something like, "remienz me ov Caradras."
She shows him the pictures of the rainbow trout farm we visited; the vast holding tanks of baby fishes you could feed ground corn to. I can almost see the clear blue lakes reflected in the memories passing before his eyes. "We aet a raneboew trawt at Amon Hen," he whispers.
When she shows him the pictures of the ferry boat we road to the islands, and the fishing boat we took to see the Orca whales, he becomes even more wistful. I know what he is thinking. Will he ever hear the call of the Sea?
A tear slides down my cheek, and I brush it hastily away. As much as I want to keep him, as much as I have enjoyed having him here, there is one thing I am now certain of.
Legolas must go back.
(Reviews For Chapter Eleven) **al and Legolas**
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I wish you could see how excited Legolas gets over your messages to him. He is just CRAZY about all of you! Send him a little note and tell him how much you love him, and he promises to send one back to you next chapter!
A/N: You all knew this was coming. Don't say I didn't warn you.
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After a bedtime snack, Little Pip brushes her teeth and gets ready for bed. I give Legolas a new toothbrush that I keep in the drawer for overnight guests who may have forgotten theirs. He imitates Little Pip perfectly, watching her every move. He's not too keen on the taste of the Listerine though.
I tuck Little Pip into bed, turning on her cassette tape with the singing dolphins on it. After all the hugs and kisses, I turn off the light and wave goodnight from the door. Turning to come back down the hallway, I run straight into Legolas, who has been standing silently behind me.
"Dang, Legolas, do you have to sneak up on people like that? You're gonna give me a heart attack!" I exclaim.
He stands his ground.
"What is it?" I ask.
"I wuz wundrin if u wuld tuek me een tu."
"I would be happy to. I put some pajamas on the bed in the blue room for you. Go put them on and climb under the covers, and I will be right there."
He bounds off happily down the hallway to his new room. There I find him, flat on his back, coverlet pulled up underneath his chin. He is grinning madly, mischief dancing in his eyes.
"What are you up to?" I ask him.
"Nuthin," comes his reply. The grin is still there. I see a movement under the covers between his legs.
"Legolas," I scold, "What are you hiding?"
He giggles, stalling. "Dis. . . " he finally answers, pulling back the covers.
Princess Elizabeth, Little Pip's brown and white longhaired cat, has nestled herself down between his thighs. She is purring contentedly, and her eyes dare me to try to move her. "Kin she sleap wid me?" he asks, using the puppy dog eyes.
"Sure," I say, pulling the covers back over them.
"Weel u seeng tu me, like u deed fur Leedle Peep?"
"Aren't you a little old for me to sing a lullaby to?" I inquire.
"My muther uzed tu seang tu me whin I wuz a leedle boiy," he says dreamily. "I mees her varie muech."
"What did she sing to you? Will you sing it for me?" I ask.
He begins in a very soft voice, so low I can barely hear him.
"Lisse' kaimel, amelamin,
I-du' na ot,
I' Iluvatar ar' Elbereth feith-le.
Aa' Valar tir-le,
Tenna' I-amrun tulya,
Iire aure panne-le re."
"That's beautiful, Legolas, " I tell him when he pauses.
"Wuld u like tu here it en Weastron?" he asks politely.
"Yes, very much."
He clears his throat, and begins again the haunting melody,
"Sweaet dreemz, my luv,
Da nite iz yueng,
Da muun an staers awate u.
Mae da Valar gard u
Unteel da moarneeng comz,
Whin suenlite feellz ur dae."
"Thank you, my dear Prance, " I say, deeply moved. "Now sweet dreams to you." I tuck the covers underneath his chin just as I did to Little Pip, and kiss him gently on the forehead. I rise from the bedside, reach to turn off the bedside lamp, and go to the door. I wave and blow him a kiss from there, which he returns, still grinning.
Yes Dear is waiting for me. We discuss our plans for tomorrow night. We will explain them to Legolas in the morning. As I pass his room on the way to my own bed, I cannot help but peek in. He is just as I left him, flat on his back, knees apart with a fuzzy cat snoozing contentedly between them. He is perfectly still, staring at the ceiling.
"Legolas," I call softly to him, "close your eyes and go to sleep." Then I remember. Elves in good health don't close their eyes when they sleep. I move a little closer, checking him out. His eyes are wide open, but there is nobody home inside. He sleeps on soundly, dreaming his elven dreams.
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We go through a rather uneventful day; Little Pip going off to school, and Yes Dear to the office. Legolas has learned how to turn the CD player on and off, so I leave him in the den listening to music and head to the library.
When I get home, I contemplate trying to clean up his clothing for him. I don't own a single piece of leather, with the exception of my suede boots, which I am very careful not to get dirty. I have no idea how to get Orc blood out of a forest green jerkin.
'Whut ar u thankin abot?" he interrupts my thoughts.
"I was just wondering if we should try to clean up your clothes today," I tell him. "I am afraid I will not be much help. Your clothes are very different from mine."
"I kin due it," he says. "Due u hav sum saend?"
At first my brain registers only that our property is made of the slimiest red clay, capable of permanently staining anything and everything. Then I remember Little Pip's sandbox. "Yes, right out here," I say.
Legolas fetches his clothes from the laundry room where we have stored them, and together we head outside to the sandbox. "I weel nead sum wader an a bruesh, tu," he informs me.
Once I have returned with the requested items, he proceeds to carefully rub a little of the sand onto the spots on his coat, followed by a little of the water. Gently he scrubs the spots with the brush, and then rinses with just a touch of water again. He moves on to the other items of his clothing. When he has finished cleaning the worst of the stains away, he goes to the clothesline and drapes his things across it.
"Thear," he says, brushing his hands together to rid them of the rest of the sand. "Thaet weel du tu git me kleen. Noew I suspaeckt u hav a leedle kleenin of ur oen tu due."
As I reach for the bowl of water and the brush, he intercepts my hand with his own. I suddenly realize he knows. I cannot make eye contact with him.
He gently reaches out with his other hand, lifting my chin so that our eyes meet. "Tael me, al," he says softly. "I em noe fuul. I kin sea sumpthang iz boethring u."
"It's tonight, Legolas. Yes Dear is taking us back to Greenwood tonight. We will try to get you back home."
He watches me, silent. He holds eye contact for far longer than I can stand it. Finally, he says, "I hav eenjoed my stae hear. I wuld like tu stae loengr, but I muest goe bak."
"I know," I respond. "Then tonight it will be."
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When Yes Dear gets home, we all load into the car and head down the road to Greenwood. The last movie of the evening starts at 8:00 pm sharp, so we have just enough time to get a bite to eat beforehand.
"Kin we stoep at dat plaece we weant befour? Dat plaece dat haz da thangz wid all da hoelz een it?" He's talking about the waffle fries from Chic-fil- a.
Yes Dear gives me a look and says, "How does he know about waffle fries?"
"I was feeding them to him the night I brought him home. I was stuffing them through the hole in the top of my handbag."
"I thought you had an obsession with scratching yourself on the leg," Yes Dear answers.
"Kin we?" Legolas repeats.
"Yes, Legolas, we will eat at Chic-fil-a and you can have all the waffle fries you want," I tell him.
That turns out to be a mistake. He forgoes the sandwich, eating 4 orders of waffle fries. He leans back in his chair, rubbing his stomach.
I begin to wonder if he will go back in through the screen, with his belly swollen full of French-fries the way it is.
Turns out we didn't need to worry about the waffle fries anyway. When we arrive at the theater, we realize we've got a bigger problem.
"The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring" is no longer playing at the Greenwood movie theater.
"Now what are you going to do?" Yes Dear hisses at me.
"I don't know!" I wail.
Legolas just sits in the backseat, looking lost.
When we get back to the house, Yes Dear begins an immediate Internet search for theaters in our state that still are playing LOTR. He finds a matinee, Saturday at 3:30 in Columbia, which is only about an hour away. "Even better," he says, "you can both get in for a dollar each." Penny-pincher.
Legolas is actually excited about the prospect of getting to see himself on the big screen. He likes the mirror so much that I wonder what it will take to get him out of his seat and down front at the appropriate moment. We have decided after much debate that the time to reinsert Legolas will be at the very end, right where he fell out. This time he has plans to duck when Gimli releases the tree branch in front of him. Or maybe it was Aragorn. Or maybe he stepped in a hole and fell, hitting his head on a rock. He doesn't remember. Either way, he will be on the alert this time.
Yes Dear and Little Pip drop us off in front of the theater. They are heading across town to another theater to see "Ice Age." Legolas is dressed in one of Yes Dear's extra large T-shirts and a pair of baggy jeans, with his own clothes carefully concealed beneath. He's got the bow unstrung, and has run it down his left pants leg with the quiver of arrows. It is hot as blue blazes today, and I am sweating bullets. The elf looks cool as a cucumber. Sometimes I want to pinch him to see if he is real.
I buy the tickets, and we enter the darkened theater, but not before Legolas hits the concession stand for a large buttered popcorn, a box of Junior Mints, a package of 4 Reeses' Peanut Butter Cups, and a large Mountain Dew.
He makes it to Rivendell, fascinated and enthralled, before the Mountain Dew becomes his 'Undewing." He starts to squirm right about the time Frodo does when waking up from being stabbed by the Nazgul.
"What's the matter?" I whisper to him.
"I hav tu goe tu da bafruum," he whispers back, a little too loud. Heads from about 4 rows down turn back to look at us.
"Now?" I ask, knowing his entrance on the white steed is fast approaching. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"
"I deed nod hav tu goe dis baed erleer!" he says, louder.
"Shhhh!" says a woman, 6 rows down and to the left.
"Come on," I hiss, grabbing him by the hand.
We run all the way there and all the way back. That in itself must be quite a spectacle, but the fact that I am now carrying Legolas' Modern Earth clothes and he is wearing his Middle Earth clothes does not help a thing. I am glad the theater is dark as we reenter while Aragorn and Arwen are making eyes at one another on the bridge.
I decide not to tell him he missed seeing himself riding a horse.
He sits awestruck through the rest of the movie. He pretends to fire an imaginary bow at every chance he gets. I make him leave the real one down the pants leg of the Modern Earth jeans until the fighting scene at Amon Hen is finished. As Sam runs after Frodo, I nudge him to get up. "It's time," I whisper.
At first he doesn't budge. I realize he does not yet know about Sam almost drowning. I grab him by the hands, physically pulling him along down the aisle. He is actually stumbling as he tries desperately not to miss a single second of the scene.
At the bottom right hand corner of the theater, I turn him toward me. "It's time," I say again. "When Aragorn says, 'Let's hunt some Orc,' and Gimli grunts, 'Yeah!' you must be ready. I don't know exactly what for, but be ready, ok?"
"Okae!" he says excitedly. He is ready to rejoin the Fellowship, to be with his friends again. He moves quickly right up to the edge of the screen.
I cannot watch. My heart is already in my throat. I turn away quickly and make my way back to my usual seat, left hand side, 7 rows up.
I watch the end credits roll as usual, wait until everyone else has left and the theater is empty. ~ Well, ~ I think, wiping away a tear, ~ now that is that. ~ I drag myself up out of my seat and head to the nearest exit, which fortunately for me is on the left hand side of the auditorium this time. I don't think I can stand to cross over to the right again.
Just as I reach the door to the foyer, I notice a figure standing in the shadows at the right hand side of the common exit for both sides of the room. He is looking expectantly down the right hand aisle, as if waiting for someone. He sees my movement, and turns to face me.
Legolas is still with me.
(Reviews For Chapter Twelve) **al and Legolas**
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OK, you guys. If I haven't warned you yet, I will be updating frequently, as there is now only a little over a month left until The Two Towers. I have so many things to tell you about! Send Legolas a note; he prints them out and reads them every day, I swear. He loves all of you!
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"What happened?" says Yes Dear, as he drives up to pick me up. "Don't tell me that you decided not to let him go." He is well aware of my tendency with animal rescues to feel that no one else can give a pet as good a home as I can. Thus the reason why we have 4 cats and a dog living inside the house now.
"I don't know!" I tell him.
"I knew I should've gone with you," he mutters.
"I culd not fiend hoew tu git bak een," Legolas says. "Thear wuz noe opurtuniety."
We spend the rest of the ride home and most of the next day discussing what went wrong.
Legolas sticks with his theory that since he fell out in Greenwood, he must return to Greenwood. Major problems with ever resolving that one!
Yes Dear thinks that since he fell OUT at the end of the movie, and does not return in any scenes of FOTR after that, he will never be able to get back into the same movie. He holds that Legolas will only have an opportunity to reenter Middle earth at the very beginning of The Two Towers, and agrees with Legolas that it will only work at the very beginning of TTT only in Greenwood and only on Premier night.
Little Pip thinks he had way too much candy ssssssstuffed in his pocketsssssss and there wasn't enough room for him to fit through the portal.
What do I think? I think he liked the hot tub, and the flushing toilets, and the waffle fries, and the Keebler elf cookies too much to leave. At least, I hope so.
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Monday dawns bright and sunny. Legolas takes his bowl of Oat Bran Flakes with extra dried fruit to the rocking chair in the den to eat breakfast, which also keeps him out from underfoot as Yes Dear and Little Pip do the mad rush out the door to school and work. Since he eats his cereal without milk, I don't worry too much about him making a mess on the carpet. Besides, the big fat black tuxedo cat perched at his feet will clean up anything he drops better than a turbo vacuum cleaner. He's sort of like a Swiffer for carpet. The cat's name is "Y." Why, you ask? Exactly.
Legolas watches from his chair as we do the goodbye routine of "hugs, kisses, Eskimos, and I love you's," enthralled by the spectacle we create. Soon I am waving from the door, watching as the car pulls down the driveway. As soon as they are out of sight, I collapse into Yes Dear's recliner beside Legolas.
"Due all Modren erth humaenz due dat?" he asks.
"Well, the law says children must go to school, and parents must earn a living to pay for things like food and houses and hot tubs," I tell him with a grin.
"Noe, noe, I meen due dey all tuch dere faecez tugethr like dat whin dey goe awae?"
I have to laugh, because it is a complex little ritual we have been doing since Little Pip was old enough to blow kisses. "No, Legolas, I think we are probably the only family that does it exactly like that every day, though I am sure there are many other ceremonies for leaving in the morning that other families might use."
"Wuld u teech me hoew tu due it?"
He's feeling left out. He wants to be a part of the family. How sweet!
"Tomorrow morning you can do it with us, ok? I promise."
"Hoew weel I noe whut tu due? Weel u teech me?"
Hey, this thing involves kissing. Maybe it should wait. I glance at Legolas, who is looking at me expectantly. Ok, maybe not.
I take the coward's approach. You know, in case Yes Dear forgot something and needs to come back to the house to get it. Right now.
"First, you hug each other tight. You know how to do that, right?"
He nods enthusiastically.
"Second, you give each other a little kiss on the lips."
"Like See Pea Ar?"
"No, not for that long. Just touch your lips together for just a quick second. Like a chicken peck. Don't forget to make the little sucking noise."
"Ohhh..," he says. He makes the sucking noise. A little long, but it will suffice.
"Third, you rub your noses together. That's how the Eskimos kiss."
"Easkiemoas?"
"Yes. They are a tribe of Indians that live in the Northwest, where it is very cold and snows all the time."
"Okae. Whut iz dat laest thang, de won u due wid ur haenz?"
"That's says 'I love you' in sign language. See," I say, taking his right hand in my own, "first you make a fist. Then stick out your thumb, your index finger, and your pinkie finger."
"Peenkee?" he asks, cocking his head skeptically.
"Yes. This one on the end. Now you touch your 'I love you' sign to the other person's 'I love you' sign. Then you are ready to start your day." I watch as he mentally adds all this up and files it inside his head. "Got it?
"I got it. Whin due we due it agin?"
"Tomorrow morning. Right now we are going to clean up a little and change our clothes. Come on, let's find something for you to wear."
"Bud I like dese!" he protests, pulling the dorm pants he is wearing out from his hips by the pockets. I'll just bet he does. They are my favorites too. The fabric is flannel, in black with red, orange, and yellow flames all over them. A gift to me from Yes Dear, they weren't out of the box 30 seconds before they were dubbed the Baby Balrog Britches. Soft and comfortable, and I want them back.
"Those are MY pajama pants, Legolas. You don't wear them during the day. Maybe we can go to the store to get you some clothes of your own this afternoon. Come on."
He can wear the same jeans he had on last night, as he didn't get them dirty. I scrounge around for another T-shirt that will fit him. Suddenly he points into the drawer. "I like dat blaek won. Ar doez orkz?"
Pulling the one he selected from the drawer, I wonder if his taste in music will match his taste in T-shirts. He has selected, from the very bottom of the pile, my Styx "Kilroy Was Here" T-shirt with the robot faces on the front, from 1983. Classic Rock 'N' Roll.
"These are robots, Legolas. They can be a sort of modern day Orc I suppose, if evil forces were to get ahold of them."
"Whut duz dat meen?" he inquires, pointing at "Styx."
"Styx is the name of a river. It is also the name of a musical group. I got this T-shirt when I went to see them perform their music, a long, long time ago. Would you like to hear a sample of their work?"
"Of korse!" he says. "Kin I chaeng my klothez furst?"
"Yes." I realize as soon as the word is out of my mouth what he is about to do, so I amend quickly with, "In the blue room, please."
He stops with his arms crossed and his T-shirt raised about 3 inches above his bellybutton, ready to 'skin the cat' as my grandmother used to call it. A silly grin passes over his features, followed by a blush. "Sorree, I furgot," he apologizes.
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When I leave for work, he is curled up on the bed amidst the cats, contentedly reading all about himself in "The Fellowship of the Ring." Styx is gracing the stereo speakers with my favorite album "The Grand Illusion." There are several songs there that I think he will like.
When I get back at lunchtime, he is sitting in Yes Dear's recliner chair, brushing Little Pip's cat. With MY hairbrush.
Elizabeth is THE Princess Cat. She has very long, very fine, very thick fur, and is as soft as any rabbit I have ever touched. She is mostly white, with patches of all different shades of brown, and the world's fluffiest and most beautiful brown tail. She is one fantastic piece of fluff, and you better bet she knows it. She does not favor just any commoner with her majesty. She knows the Prance of Mirkwood when she sees him. He's royalty, and she can spot royalty a mile and a half away.
His hand holds the brush at a slight angle, gliding along, making long slow strokes from her ears to her tail. Elizabeth is raising her hindquarters every time he comes across. She is so into Legolas right now, she could eat him from a crystal bowl with a spoon.
He looks up from his ministrations, but continues stroking. "Dis kat likes me," he says matter of factly. No 'Hulo, al, hoew wus ur dae?' Only his relationship with Elizabeth matters right now.
I just glare at her.
"I thank she iz da moest beeutaful keetty, maeybea da moest beeutaful won een da whoel wiede wurld," he croons to her. "She iz plaeyin haerd tu git, thoa, fur she weell not taell me her naeme."
I can hardly wait to pop her selfish little bubble. "Her name is Elizabeth, but we call her Lizzie," I announce. She shoots me a look that would make Sauron tremble, and leaps from his lap, prissing into the other room now that 'the servant woman' is home.
"Luuk whut u deed," Legolas scolds. "U maed her mad, an noew she leaft."
"Good," I retort. "Now that I have your attention, let's get some lunch so that we can pick up Little Pip from school and then go buy you some clothes that fit."
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Pip jumps excitedly through the open side door of the van, "Hi, Legolas!" she says. "What did you do all day? Did you play with Barbie again?"
"I plaed wid da katz moestlie," Legolas answers. "I reely like dat flueeffie wite won."
They talk about the cats for awhile, then about Little Pip's day, then about other things. It is only when I pass the normal turn toward home that Pip comes to realize the car is not driving itself.
"Mom, where are we going?"
"Hi, Little Pip. I am just fine. Yes, I had a very good day."
"MOM!"
I sigh. "We are going to Walmart to get something for Legolas to wear that will fit him." As I turn into the parking lot, I tell them both, "Now stay close, I don't want to wander about looking for you if we were to get separated." I hand Legolas one of Yes Dear's baseball caps as he climbs out of the van. "Put this on your head, and tuck up your hair so maybe no one will recognize you."
We do get some funny looks as we make our way to the Men's Wear section. Maybe it's the pointed ears, but I really think it's the way he is staring open mouthed at all of the merchandise that is making people wonder what planet he came from.
Together we pick out a package of socks, a belt, and a couple of shirts. He does prefer green, but finds a light sandy brown and a sky blue shirt that he likes as well. Because he doesn't have a clue what size pants he wears, I select a couple of different pairs of jeans for him to try on, and start looking for a dressing room.
On the way, we pass the display with underwear on it. "Boxers, or briefs?" I ask him. When he doesn't answer, I glance up to see what has drawn his attention this time.
Nothing. He's staring now at me, puzzled. Realization hits me like a brick in the face. He doesn't have a clue what I am talking about.
So I pick one package of each, making sure to get the ones with the foresty colors in them.
I send Little Pip just across the aisle to the Junior's section, warning her to stay where I can see her. I help Legolas get his things to the dressing area, and leave him to try them on while I stand outside and look at the sale rack.
Ten minutes have passed, and I can still see Pip, but no Legolas. I stick my head over to the entranceway to the dressing rooms, and call, "Legolas?&