Valar Help the Bored, Fighting Elf! 
Author: Minka  
 
PG  
Mystery/Humor 
 
Disclaimer. I own Lord of the Rings - seriously, I have a copy of the 
movie siting in my VCR at this very minute as well as all the books on 
the bookcase just to my left. But other than that, I do not own 
anything else to do with it - I merely 'borrowed' them for awhile. 
Also, this will end up sending up a movie that I saw just this weekend 
(it was the worst piece of crap that I have seen in a long time) but 
if I give away the name than I give away a part of something that you 
will know about by the end of the chapter. Confused yet?

On with the story.

*****

Valar Help the Bored, Fighting Elf!

*****

Sighing and leaning his head back upon the large trunk of the oak 
tree, Legolas turned the page of the small, leather bound book that he 
was reading. Everywhere birds were singing and the sun touched even 
the deepest part of the forest, bathing everything with her soft glow 
and bringing sublime joy to all. As his eyes darted over the fine 
Elven scripted text his fingers idly fiddled with the top right hand 
corner of the page, flicking it in under and over his short finger 
nails.

'Bilbo found himself running round and round (as he thought) and 
calling and calling: 'Dori, Nori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, Fili, Kili, Bombur, 
Bifur, Bofur, Dwalin, Balin, Thorin Oakenshield,' while people he 
could not see or feel were doing the same around him (with the 
occasional 'Bilbo!' thrown in).'

"Oh, who cares?" Legolas whined to himself as he shut the book titled, 
'There and Back Again, a Hobbits Tale,' and placed the book beside him 
on a tree root.

Now you see, it is important for you all to remember that Legolas is a 
caring Elf by nature, and he is not one to just overlook something for 
no reason. But, having lived in Mirkwood all his life, dealt with the 
spiders and his father for close to three millennia and faced and 
defeated a Dark Lord, a simple tale from a Hobbit is not anything to 
get all excited about. Even if it were the uncle of one of his 
friends.

Legolas sighed again (he seems to do a lot of that in these years of 
peace) and closed his eyes. "That's better," he mused as he could see 
a battlefield full of armed Elves ready to fight down anything that 
would come their way in his mind's eye.

After the happenings of 3019 of the Third Age, in which he played an 
immense part of importance, life seemed dull. No all-powerful Evils' 
lurking about the land bent on domination and destruction, no large 
spiders scurrying about in the now lush Eryn Lasgalen, no battles to 
the death with a mass of Orcs while being severally outnumbered. There 
had not even been a local brawl in a bar that had broken out to his 
knowledge (and if one had then he would have been extremely 
disappointed that he had missed it).

It was.perfect. That was it, life was perfect, the way it was meant to 
be and the way that songs' were sung about. Days of endless peace and 
idle beings doing naught of importance but growing old and having 
families.

Ironic really, since, only two years ago all Legolas dreamt about was 
this sort of quiet in which an Elf could sit alone in a green, evil 
free forest and read a tale of adventure and odd happenings that were 
not the same repeated stories of the Last Alliance. He had dreamt of a 
world were everything would be in peace and harmony, where birds could 
sing with no fear of leading large predators to their nest resulting 
in being eaten or where a traveler could ride alone with no fear of 
never making their destination.

And yet, here he was, doing all the things that he had long craved and 
all he wanted to do was kill something - whether it be that spider 
that was no bigger then an arrow head or that damn bird that would 
*not* stop chirping.

He missed the heat of the battlefield, the trepidation that would 
build up whilst strapping on his quiver and fastening his gauntlets 
about his wrists. He missed the thought that, with one simple mistake, 
one tiny slip in his concentration, his life could be stripped from 
him and he would be forced into what an Elf would consider an early 
death. That with every stroke of an enemy's weapon he was at the mercy 
of their skill and that his only chance of survival was to outsmart or 
out power them.

It was not that he was a bloodthirsty creature, just that he was not 
used to the 'quiet life' as his father so liked to put it.

Legolas was a warrior; he always had been and always would be. It was 
in his blood to fight and to fight well, so much so that it was almost 
as necessary as the air that he breathed. And, just like with air, 
when taken away from something that relies so much on it, the being 
starts to whither and die, losing all light in their world and 
eventually dropping dead.

Not that I am saying that Legolas was about to carc it at any moment, 
but he was feeling slightly detached from all that is the world. 'Drop 
dead' was merely used for a dramatic boost to stimulate the worrying 
senses in the readers (that's you) mind and heart, forcing them to see 
all that is bad with eternal peace when you were once a mighty 
warrior.

Now that I have gotten that out of the way, back to the feelings of 
withdrawal.

It was with this in mind that Legolas chose to sit there, in the shade 
of the large elk - no - oak tree and relive the moments that he 
treasured so much from his 'past life of mindless killing and 
slaughter' as his father so liked to put it.

"Ah, those were the days," he whispered into the wind only to receive 
a small part of a dandy-lion in his mouth. Coughing and spluttering 
until it feel out, the Elven prince glared at the rustling of the 
trees as if it were their fault.

He recalled the fear that had pounded through his heart at Sarn Gebir 
when the Fellowship was split and the life of Boromir was taken. He 
could see the endless plains that made up Rohan as he, Aragorn and 
Gimli ran, desperately searching for the two little Hobbits that were 
taken prisoner of the Orcs. He remembered the reappearance of Gandalf 
as Gandalf the White and the simple beauty of Edoras. Once again he 
was standing on the battlements of Helm's Deep next to Aragorn, clad 
in armor and awaiting the masses of Orcs and Uruk-hai. The battle, the 
noise and the smell of the rain as it hit bloodstained ground, the 
feeling of need as he groped for arrows in the dark as all his were 
spent. The fear that had curled its way up his chest to squeeze upon 
his heart when he found that Gimli was missing and the relief that had 
flooded him like a river after the lifting of a dam when he found his 
friend, alive and well. That was what he was alive for, why he was on 
Middle-Earth in the first place, for that feeling of adrenaline that 
hit him every time he drew his bow, arrow fixed to the string.

He was that string, drawn and ready for action, and yet, now there was 
none, now there was only sitting and procrastination. It was 
thoroughly depressing and he despised it more then anything that he 
ever had in his immortal life.

Looking wistfully out into the distance, Legolas strained his eyes to 
see a glimpse of anything that was out of the ordinary. Anything! 
Alas, he could have sat there for the next three thousand years (and 
he did have that sort of time on his hands) and still nothing strange 
would have come looking for him and proclaimed, 'I am strange, slay 
me!'

Just because he felt like it, Legolas sighed yet again. It was while 
he was telling himself that he had every right to sigh if he wished to 
that a bright idea hit him hard in the head.

Well, actually, that was a slight exaggeration of the truth as it was 
really an egg and it was not all that bright, but it hit him in the 
head nonetheless.

Wiping egg yoke from his blue eyes and conveniently ignoring the bird 
that was flapping about his face and blaming him for being in the way 
of its falling egg, Legolas tossed the idea that had come to him over 
and over in his head.

It was not one of the best that had been thought, but then again it is 
awfully hard to think straight whilst being hit hard in the head with 
an egg so I guess we can let him off this time. It was simple enough, 
not requiring too much effort and yet it had that slight hint that 
something interesting might evolve from it if it were put into action. 
In fact, it was so simple that Legolas found it hard to believe that 
it took the authoress 1,442 words to come up with it.

'Minka must be getting slow,' he thought.

"Hey!" the authoress interjected into the story for her only 
self-insertion slot.

Leaping to his feet and running into the woods, it only took Legolas 
only about three minutes to come back and snatch up the leather book 
that he had left behind, ruining his grand exit with the need to 
return.

So, off into the woods he ran for the second time, but not before 
carefully looking about where he was sitting to make sure that he had 
not forgotten anything again.

*****

"Are you ill, my son?" Thranduil asked while pushing his glass of mead 
to the far side of the table at which he sat. The disbelief on his 
face said a thousand words as he looked his only son up and down with 
worry.

"No, father,' Legolas replied solemnly. Legolas was rather confused 
himself as to his father's question as it was a common fact that Elves 
do not get sick, and, being the fact that he and his father had been 
Elves for their entire lives (as far as he knew), it was slightly 
strange to be asked such a question.

"Then you are just crazy!" Thranduil stated.

"Quite possibly," Legolas replied in all seriousness.

"Ah, all right then," the King said somewhat reassured, which in 
itself was off putting to the prince. His father would rather him to 
be crazy then to be sick, how did that work?

This little interrogation had gone on since Legolas had returned from 
the forest and proposed his plan to his father, the King of Mirkwood. 
It had started with, "please come again," and when Legolas had been 
more than willing to re-explain his plan, it turned into, "who are you 
and what have you done with my son?" It had taken a good hour to get 
over that phase and all of Legolas' prior knowledge of things that he 
should not have known (along the lines of: what Thranduil sings when 
washing his hair and what happened 'that' night with 'that' certain 
Elven lord from 'that' place) to make him see that Legolas was in fact 
Legolas.

After that had come denial - both on the subject at hand and on the 
happenings of 'that' night. This was closely followed by the mental 
breakdown (more so over 'that' night) and then the random questions 
that were mixed with a good couple of goblets of Elven mead.

"Father?" Legolas questioned at the far away look upon his father's 
face. Thranduil came back to the present with a few "huh's" and 
"what's" and when he saw Legolas looking down on him with an 
expression that said, 'getting a bit senile in your old age, huh old 
man?' he near jumped out of his skin.

"Ah, Legolas, so nice of you to join me,' Thranduil stated and no 
sooner had the words left his mouth, he relised that he had been 
talking to his son for the past four hours. "I mean-"

"It is all right, father," Legolas finished for him, hoping to get the 
Elven King to agree with his idea so he could get out of there as soon 
as possible. "Now," he started while standing up and pacing back and 
forth, his hands clasped neatly behind his back making him look every 
bit the prince that he was, "what say you about my idea?"

"Yes, umm, about that, Legolas," Thranduil stalled for time, praying 
for some sort of thing to save him from the let down he was about to 
deal out to his only son. "I think it would be a -"

"Wonderful idea," Legolas finished again, "I knew you would 
understand, father." Trying to hide the smile that was fast creeping 
upon his face, Legolas prepared himself for what he knew was coming.

"Legolas, I did not say that!" Thranduil informed the prince, "What I 
was going to say was that-'

"It was a splendid plan," Legolas slotted in between Thranduil's 
words, "I know, father."

"No, I was going to say that-"

"I should get started on it as soon as possible," Legolas ended. 
Leaning down to kiss his confused father lightly on the cheek, he then 
added, "I knew you would understand!"

"I-"

"I know father, there is no need for words - I can read your mind!" 
With that said Legolas turned and quickly dashed out of the room, 
shutting the door behind him and leaving his father and King 
completely flabbergasted and to his mead.

Leaning his head against the large wooden door in relief, Legolas 
congratulated himself on a job well done and the completion and 
successful execution of the first part of his plan. Phase 'trick 
father into agreeing to mindless and complete follyish plan' had been 
a roaring success, well apart from the incorrect English concerning 
'follyish'.

Making his way quietly down the hallways to his chambers, Legolas 
thought over what he would need for this to work.

*****

Rope, check. Dark and menacing looking cape with low hood, check. 
Riding clothes, check. Food for two, check. Spare cloth, check. Paper 
and quill for writing, check. Wax, check. That thing that I stole from 
that person that died in case of emergencies, check. Seven notes for 
seven other people, check.

Mentally going through all that was either in his hands or in his 
pack, Legolas assessed that he was finally ready to put phase two; 
'alert the ones that are to be alerted and then do that to that 
person,' of his plan into action.

Handing over the seven notes, all sealed in their envelopes with his 
royal seal, to seven messengers of his fathers, Legolas ran over their 
instructions once more. When he was at last satisfied that they could 
not mess his plan up, he hoisted himself up onto his own white charger 
and bid farewell to the others. All seven of the messengers split up, 
riding like the wind off to their allocated locations, leaving the 
prince watching them with only his imperial guard standing beside his 
horse, looking up at him worriedly.

"Are you sure this is such a good idea, my prince?" the Elf asked of 
Legolas.

Looking down and smiling widely, Legolas nodded his head frantically. 
"Yes, it is a good idea, one of the best that I have had in a long 
while, my friend."

"Are you certain that you do not wish for me to accompany you on your 
trip?" The apprehension was evident in the guard's voice and reflected 
clearly in his eyes as he looked upon the irrational 'young' prince 
upon his horse.

"I m certain, I mean, what could possibly go wrong?" as soon as he had 
said the words, Legolas felt inclined to regret them as this authoress 
was a particularly nasty one and liked to cause mischief.

"Hey, we agreed on ONE self-insertion part!"

"Sorry!"

Back to the story.

"All right then, but I beg you, my prince, be careful." The guard 
pleaded with the strong willed 'young' Elf. "What you plan to do is 
folly, do not let it destroy your life -, as your father so likes to 
put it!"

Sighing for the last time in this chapter, Legolas turned his horse in 
his intended direction without so much as a glance to the guard. 
Spurring his horse on, he caught the guard's last words on the subject 
float on the wind to his ears.

"Do not do anything that you will not live to regret - as your father 
so likes put it!"

It was then that Legolas first relised that his father was very 
opinionated on his choices in life.

*****

Tbc.