Post by Mirele Silverbow on Aug 1, 2003 17:02:08 GMT -5
Hey. This is a fanfiction I'm writing. I'll just post chapter one, and if you like it, tell me.
Chapter One: In Which We Meet Legolas
Legolas, Elven-prince of Mirkwood, son of the King Thranduil, was bored. It seemed that he had stared at every pretty she-Elf in Mirkwood, and, still, there was none prettier than him.
“My Prince?” said the collector. “Do they satisfy you? Are they beautiful enough?”
“No, Alder,” Legolas said, sighing. “None of them are more beautiful than I.” He held up a hand mirror and gazed into it lovingly. “Worry not, my beauty,” he told his reflection. “Soon we will find a wife who pleases us.”
Alder, standing and staring at his Lord, murmured under his breath, “He and his reflection are worse than Sméagol and the Ring of Power.”
Legolas’s head whipped around, flawless blonde hair landing perfectly straight on his shoulders. “What?” he asked. “What did you say, Alder?”
“Nothing, my Prince,” he said. “Just that I shall return these women to their homes and then search for a new group that will please my Prince.”
“You are dismissed, Alder,” Legolas replied, returning to gaze at himself in the mirror. “I am so lovely,” he said to the mirror. “Women just love me.” His voice grew moody and sullen. “As should Arwen…” He sighed. “But she still loves that fool Aragorn! What is he besides the heir of Isildur? Anyways, that idiot bound himself and his line to the Ring of Power long ago…” He stopped speaking, still staring at his reflection.
Suddenly, Legolas threw the mirror across the room. “Am I not beautiful enough that Arwen will love me? Am I not the most beautiful Elf in all of Arda?”
“My Prince?” a servant said, sticking her head into the room. “Are you well?” She winced, seeing the broken glass strewn across the fine carpet. It would take hours to pick out.
“I am fine,” Legolas snapped. He thought for a moment, a rare time in the Elven-prince’s life. “Take me to my father,” he commanded.
“To the King, my Prince?” the servant asked. “He is in a Council with the Lord Elrond Peredhil, my Prince. He cannot see you now.”
“Lord Elrond?” Legolas gasped. “He is the Elf I wanted to see! Take me to him as soon as he and my father are done talking.”
“Yes, my Prince.” The servant curtsied, and left.
“Ah, my beauty,” Legolas said, drawing a new mirror from a drawer on his vanity, and meanwhile staring into the larger one set onto the vanity itself. “Soon we shall have Arwen, and all of Rivendell and Mirkwood. Perhaps Lothlorien as well.”
Now, this was odd for the Elven-prince. He normally would have just unintelligently followed the servant out of his rooms and straight to the Council Rooms. He was showing true intelligence today. “When Galadriel the Blindingly White passes into the West, she shall leave all of Lothlorien to Arwen. And Arwen,” he giggled girlishly. “Arwen shall be my wife!”
Legolas began to laugh evilly, coughing at first, but managing a rather quality villainous laugh in the end. Lightning flashed as thunder rumbled above the palace in Mirkwood.
Chapter One: In Which We Meet Legolas
Legolas, Elven-prince of Mirkwood, son of the King Thranduil, was bored. It seemed that he had stared at every pretty she-Elf in Mirkwood, and, still, there was none prettier than him.
“My Prince?” said the collector. “Do they satisfy you? Are they beautiful enough?”
“No, Alder,” Legolas said, sighing. “None of them are more beautiful than I.” He held up a hand mirror and gazed into it lovingly. “Worry not, my beauty,” he told his reflection. “Soon we will find a wife who pleases us.”
Alder, standing and staring at his Lord, murmured under his breath, “He and his reflection are worse than Sméagol and the Ring of Power.”
Legolas’s head whipped around, flawless blonde hair landing perfectly straight on his shoulders. “What?” he asked. “What did you say, Alder?”
“Nothing, my Prince,” he said. “Just that I shall return these women to their homes and then search for a new group that will please my Prince.”
“You are dismissed, Alder,” Legolas replied, returning to gaze at himself in the mirror. “I am so lovely,” he said to the mirror. “Women just love me.” His voice grew moody and sullen. “As should Arwen…” He sighed. “But she still loves that fool Aragorn! What is he besides the heir of Isildur? Anyways, that idiot bound himself and his line to the Ring of Power long ago…” He stopped speaking, still staring at his reflection.
Suddenly, Legolas threw the mirror across the room. “Am I not beautiful enough that Arwen will love me? Am I not the most beautiful Elf in all of Arda?”
“My Prince?” a servant said, sticking her head into the room. “Are you well?” She winced, seeing the broken glass strewn across the fine carpet. It would take hours to pick out.
“I am fine,” Legolas snapped. He thought for a moment, a rare time in the Elven-prince’s life. “Take me to my father,” he commanded.
“To the King, my Prince?” the servant asked. “He is in a Council with the Lord Elrond Peredhil, my Prince. He cannot see you now.”
“Lord Elrond?” Legolas gasped. “He is the Elf I wanted to see! Take me to him as soon as he and my father are done talking.”
“Yes, my Prince.” The servant curtsied, and left.
“Ah, my beauty,” Legolas said, drawing a new mirror from a drawer on his vanity, and meanwhile staring into the larger one set onto the vanity itself. “Soon we shall have Arwen, and all of Rivendell and Mirkwood. Perhaps Lothlorien as well.”
Now, this was odd for the Elven-prince. He normally would have just unintelligently followed the servant out of his rooms and straight to the Council Rooms. He was showing true intelligence today. “When Galadriel the Blindingly White passes into the West, she shall leave all of Lothlorien to Arwen. And Arwen,” he giggled girlishly. “Arwen shall be my wife!”
Legolas began to laugh evilly, coughing at first, but managing a rather quality villainous laugh in the end. Lightning flashed as thunder rumbled above the palace in Mirkwood.
