Deck us all with Boston Charlie! Wallalwallawash and Kalamazoo! Nora's freezing on the trolley, swallerdoller cauliflower allygaroo!
Anyway... I started trying my hand at LotR slash (stop laughing, it ain't that funny). More based on the movie than the books because I've only ever read The Hobbit. Pretty much Aragorn/Legolas with a really shitty title... oh, you figure it all out!
Beautiful, anxious, excitable, impetuous youth.
Funny. I think he is actually older than I am. In fact, I'm quite certain he is. But his features are so delicate, his skin so soft, and he seems almost small. Adolescent.
It makes me feel old. Still, I want to sweep him into my arms and brush my fingers through his hair; I want to quell every one of his fears. Not that he has any. The silly boy fears absolutely nothing, sadly. Such is the curse of immortality.
Ah well. He will learn, someday. Because time does catch up with all of us. Those of us lucky enough to be mortal, it kills. And the elves... that which battle does not remove, time either drives mad or makes wiser.
I hope, for his sake, that he is among the later.
Ah... he is watching me with smoldering gray-blue bedroom eyes, shifting a bit in his seat every time he is able to garner my attention. And he licks his lips, not seductively but nervously, toying gently with the ends of his long braids. Yes, his gaze flickers from me, to the ring, and back again. He can't decide... oh, he can't decide what's more enticing!
It would be funny if the situation wasn't so grave. The One Ring... it's so hard to believe that the hobbit- and with this thought, I sneak a sly look at said hobbit, the shy and unassuming Frodo- could have come this far with it. Truly, I am impressed... no small feat, I assure you. Frodo is not brave. He is not skilled, nor is he trained for any kind of battle. He is small and he is frightened. But he made it this far, and for that I must tip my proverbial hat to him, the poor sod.
And yet... and yet... he stares straight ahead, tiny bow lips quivering, and again I am overcome with that strange desire to sweep him into my arms and assure him that we will make this turn out as it should. Childlike, young, innocent. Appealing in a very strange way. So very... very small...
He's caught me looking, my lovely, jealous elf. He glares at me with annoyance and I turn away in mock shame, truly trying my hardest to focus my attention on the matter at hand.
Boromir stands and begins ranting. Speaking again about the state of Gondor and what we should do about it. If I could bury my face in my hands without arousing suspicion, I would. If I could run from the room, I would. If the ground chose at that precise moment to open in a very precise Aragorn-sized hole beneath me, I would not mid in the least.
"-use this ring to restore Gondor to its former magnificence!" Oh, God... did that silly man just say what I think he said?
Yes, I suppose he did. And he's reaching for The Ring, too.
"No!" Someone cries. Boromir jerks as if awakened from a trance and the rest of the company starts as well. I wait anxiously to hear the further argument, but after a pause and a moment of thought, I discover it was I who spoke. "No. You cannot control it. None of us can. It would be idiocy to even try to use The Ring for good. It is evil. It will lead to evil. And It must be treated as such."
Boromir narrows his eyes and advances on me. "And who are you to decide such things?" He asks. "Who are you to pass-"
"He is a man you should show the utmost respect to!" A smooth, silky voice rises above that of Boromir's husky growl, immediately captivating all of our ears. Elfish voices will do that do mortals. "This man is Aragorn, Son of Arathorn. He is Isildur's heir and heir to the throne of Gondor!" He finished triumphantly, the entire council's eyes flowing smoothly from his face to mine, awaiting my reaction to this revelation.
Beautiful, anxious, excitable, impetuous, and ultimately idiotic youth. I want to give him a good, hard slap, but cannot. I am restrained to a very tense "Sit down, Legolas" spoken in Elfish.
A very good language to be angry in, actually.