1. A Texas Gay Boy in King Thranduil's Court
AN: Blatant self insert, bad humor, groanable puns. The song, "Everything I do I do for You" by Bryan Adams.
Sitting under a tree, reading "The Lord of the Rings", Mike stared at the page as Legolas wailed, "Ai, ai! A Balrog! A Balrog is come!" and he grinned.
"And was it good for you, Legolas?" he snickered to himself.
He closed the book and leaned back against the tree, rubbing his eyes wearily. No matter how many times he read this book he never tired of the lyrical language, the archaic, archetypical characters, and the way Tolkien brought them all to life, integrated everything so vividly in the world he had created.
'It would be awesome to be able to actually go there.' he thought as he regarded the people jogging, walking their dogs, playing with their children, and just generally enjoying, as was he, an afternoon in the park.
Checking his watch, he sighed and rose to leave when, suddenly, a ball thrown by a kid in a red baseball cap whapped him upside the head.
'That kid sure has some hairy feet.' he thought as he fell to his knees, shaking his head while the world spun around him.
He looked around in confusion. For now, not only were all the people in the park - including the baseball chucking kid - gone, but also the wide expanse of open field and the pathways were now densely covered with trees - gnarled, ominous looking trees.
Rising to his feet, he was overtaken by a strange feeling, a feeling of being watched. He looked this way and that and up into the branches above, but could see no one. Glancing down at the book still clutched in his hand, he turned to face the tree trunk and regarded it thoughtfully.
"Are you an Ent?" he asked plainly, feeling rather foolish but also half-expecting to see a pair of eyes crack open from the bark and fix him with a stare.
Someone laughed close behind him, a sound as sweet as silver bells.
Despite his enchantment at the musical laughter, Mike snatched up his backpack and stuffed the oversized book inside. He hefted it defensively with the intent of waylaying the owner of the voice should he choose to appear.
"There are no Ents in these woods, Man." the voice said, even as an Elf materialized from the trees before him.
Mike dropped his backpack and gaped in surprise at the Elf who gazed at him, equally awestruck. The Elf was a strange dark-haired, grey-eyed figure clad in green and brown. He was tall, much taller than Mike's five foot ten inch frame, though not much broader through the shoulders. He wore a pair of light shoes, carried a long white knife at his belt, and held a bow in his hand. Upon his back was strapped a quiver of grey-feathered arrows.
Stumbling backward at the sight, Mike tripped over a tree root and fell on his back with a grunt. His eyes traveled up to the face of the Elf who towered over him and extended a hand to help him up. Mike looked at the hand, then into the Elf's fair face, before taking it and letting himself be pulled to his feet. The grip of the other was strong, but light in a way Mike could not describe. He felt he should say something, since the Elf had taken the trouble to speak to him first, but found he was at a loss for words as he stared into those piercing eyes.
"You're most comely for one of your race," the Elf said, looking Mike up and down appreciatively, "yet your dress is strange to me. How do you come to be here and who are your people?"
"I'm from a place called 'Texas' and my people are called 'Texans'." Mike explained, feeling dumber than when he had spoken to the tree. "It's a place very far from here. So far you've probably never heard of it."
"Indeed, I have not." the Elf admitted, "and yet you speak Sindarin with a Mirkwood accent, do you live among Elves in this place called Texas?"
At the Elf's words, Mike realized he was certainly speaking perfectly accented Sindarin, that he had been since speaking to the tree, though he had no idea how he was doing it.
"No, in the place I come from there are no Elves," Mike smiled, "but there are a few fairies."
He laughed and the Elf looked at him uncomprehendingly. Mike blushed self-consciously and hastened on, "But I do know something of you. I know that you are Legolas and your father is King Thranduil of Mirkwood. Am I in Mirkwood then?" he asked, looking around.
This turned out to be the wrong use of his newfound knowledge as he suddenly found himself pressed to the tree trunk, the Elf's knife at his throat.
"And how do you know these things else you have been spying?" the Elf snarled menacingly.
"I... I don't know." Mike stammered, not at all happy with the turn the situation had taken.
"You will come with me." Legolas said. "I'll take you to my Elven-lord and he will decide your fate."
Mike swallowed hard and nodded, after the knife was removed a safe distance away. He could not believe that his dream had come true, that he was actually in Middle Earth, only to make an enemy of Legolas within his first few minutes. Legolas took him by the shoulder and pushed him forward. Mike shouldered his backpack and walked before him through the tangle of trees.
The going was difficult for Mike, though not as difficult as it should have been for a mortal in the Greenwood. But then Mike seemed to have suddenly developed perfect balance and hyper-coordination, making him nearly as agile as an Elf. He walked sure-footedly over root and branch, stone and soft earth as Legolas urged him along. At last the way became clearer, and within another half hour they reached the mountain home of the Mirkwood Elves, where King Thranduil ruled.
He could not see all the Elves he knew must be guarding the stronghold, though they passed at least twenty guards on the way in. He was forced down a maze of hallways, dimly lit by torchlight, until they reached the throne room of the King. Legolas pushed Mike forward and he turned and glared at the Elf.
"Easy there, fella, don't bruise the merchandise," he snapped.
He turned forward to see a large hall, bedecked with forest greenery and flowers, and the Elven-King himself seated on a stone chair at the back of the room, a garland of oak leaves upon his head. Not having read The Hobbit in a long while, and being too lazy to look it up, Mike wondered how accurate was his description of his surroundings. Upon their approach, the King looked up, his green eyes gleaming in the torchlight.
"Why, who is this fine specimen of young manhood?" King Thranduil said, licking his lips as Mike genuflected respectfully.
"I am called Mike, your majesty," he said, "Mike of Texas."
"Rise, Mike of Texas, and tell me why my son brings you before me."
"I met Legolas in the wood, my lord, and because I knew his name, and yours, he thinks I'm a spy."
"And are you a spy?" Thranduil asked.
"No, my lord." Mike replied.
"What else do you know of us?"
Mike proceeded to tell all he knew, which was not a whole lot as the book he had contained very little actual information about Mirkwood, and when he was finished Thranduil fixed him with a stern look.
"You know enough to be suspect, Mike of Texas. Your clothing is like nothing we have seen before..." he waved at Mike's jeans, t-shirt, and Nikes, "...you carry a strange weapon..." he indicated Mike's backpack, "...and yet you speak our language and have knowledge of us. How is this possible?"
"I'm a little sketchy on the details, but I was sitting in the park reading a book when a baseball beaned me in the head..."
"Baseball?" the king said, confused, "Beaned? What are these things of which you speak?"
"Crikey, your majesty, if I have to explain every word to you, we're gonna be here all night. The short answer is, I don't know how I got here or how I can speak Sindarin, but I can show you where I got my information..."
He reached for his backpack and Legolas seized him and pinioned his arms. "Do not attempt to use that weapon," he snarled, but even as he spoke he leaned in close to Mike's neck and inhaled deeply, making the mortal shudder in delight.
"It's not a weapon, it's a backpack," Mike breathed ecstatically. He shook his head and continued, "It's to carry things in. I have a book in there I want to show you."
Legolas reluctantly let him go, letting his fingers slide lightly down Mike's arms. But he kept a wary eye on him as Mike unzipped his backpack and took out the book. He handed it to King Thranduil who looked upon the oversized paperback wonderingly, turning it over and over in his hands before gingerly opening it. He looked through it briefly, flipping the pages until he found the part where "one ring to rule them all" was written in the Black Speech. He looked up at Mike, his eyes flashing with anger and fear, the book falling from his hands... and right on his toe.
Thranduil howled in pain and leapt to his feet. "And you say that is no weapon," he said accusingly. "Seize him!" The king's guards did just that as Legolas glared long white knives at him.
"I cannot read the words in this book, for the letters are unlike any used by Elves, Men, or Dwarves, yet it has a section containing the Black Speech that speaks of the One Ring. Explain this!" Thranduil growled.
Mike stood there in shock, the guards holding him tightly, not knowing what to say. How could he explain what was going on when he didn't know himself? Finally he managed to stammer, "I only know what the book says."
"Then the book is evil," Thranduil decided. "You will tell me the secret of this book or you will remain in the dungeon until its secret is discovered." When Mike failed to answer, Thranduil said to the guards, "Take him away."
The guards dragged a confused and stunned Mike to the dungeon where they dumped him in and locked the door.
"Uh... wait..." Mike squeaked as the Elves moved away. He sighed and looked around the cell. He saw that it was astonishingly well lit, though he could not discover the source of the light. The cell itself was simply a small space roughly hewn from the rock of the mountain. It seemed the only way out was the way he had come in, and with its thick wood and heavy iron bands Mike knew he would not be leaving through the door unless he was let out.
He wandered around the area of the cell until he got bored, around twenty seconds, then he sat down to think and, as he was facing possibly the most significant, mysterious, intriguing and terrifying situation of his life, he promptly fell asleep.
Mike awakened to someone shaking his shoulder.
"Not again, Karl," he moaned. "Don't you ever get enough?"
He opened his eyes to see Legolas standing over him.
"Gaaagh!!" he shouted, jumping to his feet, suddenly remembering where he was.
Legolas' mouth quirked and his eyes twinkled with amusement, though his manner was all business.
"What are these?" he asked, holding out four Snickers bars.
"Why, one small bar is enough to fill the belly of a grown man for hours, providing energy and staving off hunger clear up till dinner time." Mike said. "And it tastes a lot better than lembas too, I'll bet," he added.
Legolas turned one of the bars over in his hand. "What sort of food has a covering that is like parchment and yet is not parchment?" he mused.
Mike took one of the bars and tore off the wrapping, filling the cell with the scent of chocolate and nuts. Mike's stomach growled and he tore off a bit of the candy and popped it in his mouth.
"Go ahead and try it," he urged, handing the rest to Legolas. "It's very good."
Legolas waited until Mike had chewed and swallowed, and when he showed no ill effects he also tore off a piece. He sniffed it, tested it with his tongue, then finally ate it, a look of sheer joy spreading across his fair face.
"This is... indescribable," he enthused. "You must teach us the secret of making these."
"That might be a bit difficult unless you have cocoa solids and partially hydrogenated peanut oil lying around."
"You are an enigma, Mike of Texas," the Elf sighed. "I sense no evil in you and yet you have a book containing the Black Speech. It's a shame I don't have time to get to know you better."
"Oh, that's all right," Mike said with a shrug, "It's not like you have a lot of time, what with me being mortal and all... wait... what?"
"I would like to get to know you better," Legolas repeated as though talking to a tree - for one must speak very slowly and precisely with a tree - "but my father has ordered your execution. "'Tis a pity..." he said, taking another bite of the Snickers bar, "... but... ai, this thing is truly wonderful," he sighed blissfully, "... but I shall not forget you, with your odd dress, strange weapons, and tasty treats. He finished the candy in two more bites then tucked the rest of the bars in his tunic. "Now if you will be so kind as to turn around," he continued, pulling a length of hithlain from his belt.
Mike considered saying no just to be obstinate, but there seemed to be little point in that just now, and as he was an easygoing sort, he did as Legolas asked.
"Can't have you wandering off before we put a few arrows in you," Legolas said cheerily as he bound Mike's arms behind him.
"So much for the legendary hospitality of the Elves," Mike grumbled.
"Uh, that would be the Dwarves," Legolas corrected, "roaring fires, malt beer, red meat off the bone... Elves tend to keep roaring fires to a minimum - all these trees you know - we detest malt beer, preferring a fine Dorwinion, and while we enjoy a good steak as much as the next race, we insist the meat be cooked medium well to well done, both for flavor and health reasons."
"If you're going to kill me, I would like it very much if my last moments weren't spent listening to you lecture me," Mike huffed.
"You're right, of course," Legolas agreed, "it's not like you'll be putting the knowledge to use."
"But, if you're in the mood to chat," Mike said as Legolas marched him out the door, "there are a couple of things I'm curious about."
Two guards joined them outside the cell and they escorted Mike up to the throne room.
"And what might that be?" Legolas said magnanimously.
"Well, for one thing, you have dark hair. Why don't you have blond hair like your father?"
Legolas laughed, "What odd questions you ask. Nearly all of our people have dark hair, why would mine be blond just because my father's hair is?"
"What about your mother, what color was her hair?" Mike pressed.
"I don't know, I never met her," Legolas said, and for a moment Mike fell silent, not knowing what to say.
"How about sex then?" he blurted out, and the three Elves suddenly halted and looked at him, astonished.
"Here? Now?" Legolas asked. He looked around and the hall was empty except for the four of them. "Well, we might have a couple of minutes..." Legolas said, unlacing his leggings, "You two, turn around," he said to the guards, "I'll let you know when we're done."
'That certainly answers one question.' Mike thought happily. But then a group of Elves rounded the corner and Legolas gave a disgruntled snort, quickly laced up, and shoved Mike forward.
"Keep moving there, you prisoner you," he said haughtily as they all moved down the hall again. One of the guards snickered and Legolas winked at him.
They soon entered the throne room where King Thranduil awaited them. Mike's book sat on a small marble table that had been placed next to his throne.
The king waited until they approached, and then he spoke to Mike. "I have decided, since none of our scholars can figure out this evil book, to kill you, lock the book in a deep vault, and pretend this whole unpleasantness never occurred," Thranduil said.
"Oh, smart move, your majesty," Mike scoffed. "No wonder Sauron lived upon your southeastern border for centuries; you really keep on top of things around here, don't you?"
Thranduil turned nine shades of red at Mike's remark, and Mike knew because he counted them. "Chinese, crimson, scarlet, candy apple..." he muttered to himself.
"Finally the king composed himself enough to speak, "Nobody, not Elves, not Men, not Dwarves, not even Orcs, likes a smart ass," Thranduil sneered.
"So I gather," Mike said dryly. "Now, if you're going to kill me would you get on with it? I might as well tour the Halls of Mandos while I'm here."
Thranduil nodded, "So be it. Legolas, my son, will you do the honors?"
Legolas gave a slight bow, "As you wish father, though it seems a shame to kill one of such beauty over so trivial a matter as a book," he said, looking at Mike rather sadly.
"You're too soft-hearted," Thranduil growled. "If it was up to you, you'd probably take him out and let him climb trees all day."
"Under guard!" Legolas said defensively.
"Yeah, right, just get it over with." Thranduil said.
"Where would you like it done?"
"Just take him out back or something, somewhere there will be no blood to clean up. Or you can put down a tarp... No, outside is best... or here... or back to the dungeons..."
While the king spoke, Legolas pulled Mike from one side of the room to the other as he sought to carry out his father's command.
Mike was beginning to feel like a pinball by the time Legolas gave up and dragged him toward the door.
Suddenly, the book flew open, its pages whipped by an unseen wind. Light shot from the words in a dazzling display of pyrotechnics and when the light dimmed, Gandalf was standing in the room, leaning on his staff, looking quite pleased with himself.
"I have come to you at the turn of the tide!" he intoned importantly. Mike wasn't sure but he thought he saw Legolas roll his eyes.
"Unhand that gay man," he ordered Legolas. "I bring you news and seek a favor."
"Why do those two always go together?" Legolas muttered.
"What do you know of all this, Mithrandir?" Thranduil asked. "Is this sorcery of your doing?"
"It is," Gandalf said, "I arranged for Mike to be here, for there is a very special task he must perform."
Mike looked at Legolas lustfully, his eyes shining with excitement.
Legolas glanced at him and shook his head, "It's not what you think, trust me," he sighed.
"As Mike mentioned but a moment ago, the Necromancer who works his dark will within the Greenwood is none other than Sauron himself. I have convinced the Wizard's Council to move against him. We must act swiftly, for time is of the essence. When the wizards go forth to do battle, we will need your warriors for back up, killing Sauron's Orc minions and the like."
Everyone stood silently for a few seconds, drinking in this new bit of information. Then Mike asked the obvious but oh-so-delicate question on everyone's lips.
"Because this is your battle also, Mike of Texas. You are a direct descendent of King Thranduil on your exponentially great grandfather's alternate universe side of the family. Without you, neither of our universes will ever exist."
"We seem to be existing pretty well up until now," Legolas put in.
Gandalf glared at the Elf. "Well from now on, we need him."
"So, I'm related to the king how exactly?" Mike piped up.
"That's not important now," Gandalf said gruffly. He hated having his pronouncements questioned. "There is one other thing," he said to Thranduil.
Thranduil looked unhappy. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"
"Probably not. Mike must accompany your warriors on this quest."
"Oh, now this is too much!" Thranduil interjected, "He's a Man. How can he hope to keep up with my warriors? Can he even wield a bow?" he asked, lifting Mike's arm up for Gandalf's inspection. "Is this the body of an archer?"
"I've got to agree with King Thranduil here," Mike said, "I've never been very athletic."
"Nonsense," Gandalf said, "You never know until you try." He picked up Mike's backpack and rummaged in it, bringing forth an apple. He took one of the guards by the shoulders and steered him to the center of the large room, placing the apple on his head. "Legolas," Gandalf urged, "loan Mike your bow."
Legolas untied Mike and handed over his bow and one arrow. "Make sure you adjust for the air currents in the room," he advised.
"Well, duh!" Mike said, taking the bow that weighed nearly as much as he did and lifting it with ease. He nocked the arrow and sighted his shot, closing one eye and sticking the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, as the poor guard trembled nervously before him.
"And the shaking," Legolas said, "don't forget to take his shaking into account."
Mike ignored the Elf and loosed his shot, neatly splitting the apple in two perfect halves. The guard caught a half in each hand as it fell, looking at the pieces with something akin to wonder in his eyes.
"Well done!" Thranduil said. "Okay, that's good enough for me, Mithrandir. He can go."
Mike looked at Gandalf, "How did I do that?" he asked, as surprised as the onlookers.
"You have the blood of the Elves within you. All you needed was the right circumstances to bring it out."
"So back home I'd have been a superhero if I'd ever taken the time to shoot a basket or throw a football?" Mike asked, impressed.
"No, you'd still suck at those things," Gandalf said. "But if you'd ever run across a dark wizard or evil Maia, you'd have kicked ass."
"Born in the wrong time and place," Mike said, shaking his head.
"It happens to a lot of people." Gandalf shrugged. He turned to Thranduil. "And now we must move with all speed, for time is of the essence."
"When must my forces be ready?" Thranduil asked.
"I'd say eight, maybe nine months, tops." Gandalf said.
Mike's jaw dropped. "But you said we must move with all speed. Now you're gonna have us wait nine months?"
"Of course," Gandalf said, "Nine months is immediately in Middle Earth time."
Mike thought it over and nodded as understanding struck him. It wasn't too much different from working in social services when he came to think of it.
"Very well," he agreed. "What must I do?"
The next nine months showed Mike just how long it took to put together a battle plan, make and hone weapons, feast nightly (that really took it out of a person) and keep in constant practice with his bow and long knife.
Why, just making enough arrows for the quest proved to be a laborious process as each piece of wood had to be begged from individual trees. An Elf would go up and ask a tree if he might be allowed to cut a piece of its living wood in order to make an arrow to conquer an evil force. Sometimes the tree would say yes, and sometimes no. If the answer was no, the Elf would move on to the next tree and ask again. With this process it might take several weeks just to get enough arrows to fill a quiver.
The forging of swords and knives also took a long time since a company of Elves had to be sent to barter metals from the Dwarves in order to make them. And as the Dwarves were, in general, an ill-tempered, drunken bunch of disagreeable little reprobates who didn't much care for Elves, it took a lot of cajoling, much ale, and often some downright con artistry to get them to give up any of the necessary materials.
While Thranduil's Elves busied themselves with stocking the armory, Gandalf, Thranduil, Legolas, and Mike spent weeks poring over maps and discussing angles of attack. Mike and Legolas butted heads often, Legolas insisting he be in charge of the troops with Mike under him, and Mike saying he could take on a command of his own and that he didn't need Legolas telling him what to do, not with his special powers and all. As time passed the animosity, and accompanying sexual tension, grew between them until they couldn't stand the sight of each other but insisted on never being out of the other's sight.
Mike's ADD was a distinct disadvantage in these sessions also as he tended to grow bored quickly and doodle on the edges of the map.
"Mike + Legolas = twu luv," Legolas read one time, "What does that mean?" Mike blushed and crossed it out quickly.
"Nothing," Mike said hastily, and Gandalf frowned.
"Focus, man. You could still die here," he snapped.
"Yes, your wizardship," Mike said, chastened.
"If we move half our forces in here..." Thranduil was saying as he pointed to a spot on the map, "we might be able to draw out his minions for a frontal assault while our elite forces move around to flank them here."
"Yes, that will work, and the wizards will be back here..." Gandalf pointed, "...working our spells to contain his power until your Elves can move in and finish him off."
"Can you cast a spell from that far away?" Mike asked, suddenly interested. "That's almost where we're standing now."
"Saruman says we can, and he is the head of our order. He is both wise and powerful," Gandalf said confidently.
Mike snorted and Gandalf looked at him curiously. Mike sobered at once and turned the snort into a cough. He realized that, if he could be thrown into Middle Earth, then maybe there was a possibility that Professor Tolkien could travel from the past into his future and thrash him soundly for giving away events that had not happened in this time yet. At the very least, saying too much was bound to screw something up. He settled for what he hoped was a sage nod.
Weeks later, Mike and Legolas were practicing with their weapons when Mike had what he thought was a marvelous idea. "You really should have two of these knives you know, maybe in a scabbard you could carry on your back."
"Drawing such knives would slow me in battle, and fighting with two knives would leave me with no way to hold my bow." Legolas pointed out.
Mike thought it over. "Yeah, what did you do with your bow when you were fighting with both knives?" he asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"I never really know what you're talking about," Legolas said irritably. "You do realize that don't you?"
"That's all right," Mike said, reaching up to clap him on the shoulder, "I'm not always entirely sure myself."
As they practiced, Mike's preternatural proficiency with the Elven weapons shone through again. After only a few days of practice he had found he was able to best Legolas easily, and he now did so again, much to the ire of the Mirkwood prince.
"Blast your preternatural proficiency, Mike," he groused, "It makes it hard to practice when you disarm me in one move."
"I know, and I'm sorry," Mike apologized, smoothing the prince's ruffled feathers, "I'm trying to go easy on you."
"Get your hands off my feathers," Legolas said, snatching his arrow away. "Must you always stroke them like that?"
"They were ruffled, what do you expect?" Mike said.
Legolas glanced at the darkening sky, "Oh well, it's almost time for the feast anyway. Let's go in."
He put his weapons away and Mike did likewise then they walked off the field together.
"Tomorrow we must begin our journey south to Dol Guldur. Are you ready for the hardship of the journey and the gruesomeness of battle?
"I have to admit I'm a bit afraid," Mike said nervously, "but I've trained and we've prepared, and we have a plan, and Gandalf is with us, so everything should be all right."
"Spoken like true wizard fodder," Legolas said derisively. "You and I will be in the same party, so when we get there just keep your head down and follow my lead. I don't want you doing something stupid and getting me killed, I don't care what Gandalf says."
"What about you getting me killed? I'm supposed to be pretty important you know," Mike said, puffing out his chest proudly.
"Sure, and Gandalf is always right," Legolas snorted. "Do you know he told me once I was getting a pony for my begetting day, said he'd "foreseen" it. Do you know what I got? A horse. Shows how good he is."
"I'm sure foresight can be a bit of a tricky business," Mike said, somehow feeling he should be defending Gandalf, "I mean, even the wisest can't see all ends."
"Where do you get this stuff?" Legolas laughed. "Of course they can see all ends. They just say things like that so they don't lose their power over the rest of us."
Upon reflection, Mike had to admit to himself that might be true.
They feasted, as was usual in Mirkwood, far into the night until everyone was drunk on wine and mead. That's when the festivities really began, for the Elves got completely crazy at these times, singing bawdy verses of the Lay of Beren and Lúthien and playing strip mumbley peg.
Mike joined in as long as he could, translating dirty limericks into Sindarin and teaching the Elves disco dancing while the sound of music and laughter swirled around him. But while the Elves needed little sleep, Mike was useless without his eight hours and so, finally yawning and lifting his head from the table where it had fallen a few hours before, he pushed himself slowly to his feet and stumbled, unnoticed by the still singing, partying Elves, to his room.
He fell into bed, fully clothed, and was just about to drift off when he felt a presence in the room. Casting about him with bleary eyes, he saw Legolas sitting in a chair in the corner, watching him intently.
"May I help you?" Mike asked groggily.
"I certainly hope so," Legolas replied. He stood and came over to the bed as Mike watched him sashay across the room in a decidedly suggestive manner. His senses went on alert and he sat up quickly.
"We are leaving tomorrow on a quest that could take our - well, more likely your - life, and even though I hate you, even though you're better than I am at everything, and even though you are more beloved among the Greenwood Elves than their rightful prince, I want to spend our last night having wanton, sweaty, do-that-to-me-one-more-time sex with you."
Mike did not hesitate. "And even though you're an annoying, arrogant, prick, I would love nothing more than to oblige you."
And so they had sex: steamy, full on, animalistic, sex-like-your-gay-parents-never-had, S-E-X; a plethora of times in a Kama Sutra of positions, their lengthy staying power and brief refraction time allowing them more orgasms than any male of any race had any right to or expectation of. Mike took Legolas again and again... and again as Legolas begged for more. And afterward, as if by Elven magic, there was no sticky mess to clean up and both smelled better than when they had started. It was the best sex both had ever had, though they refused to admit it to each other, rolling over and going to sleep back to back with secret, sated smiles on their faces.
The next morning Mike awoke next to a naked, staring Elf and he yawned and jabbed Legolas in the ribs. "Wake up sleepy head," he sang, "time to get ready for the quest."
Legolas blinked, then groaned, as he remembered what had transpired the night before. 'I knew I shouldn't have had that last cup of mead,' he thought as he watched Mike gathering up his clothes. 'By the Valar, he's even better at that than I am,' he sighed inwardly. Then Mike bent over to retrieve his shoes and Legolas thought, 'But in this case I'm willing to overlook it.'
As they made ready, Mike did not dress in the jeans and t-shirt he'd been wearing since his arrival but instead put on the leggings and tunic of an Elf so as not to stand out among the warriors. He refused to give up his Nikes, however, saying they were much more comfortable and durable than the Elven shoes, which resulted in another argument, and another quickie, between him and Legolas. When he was dressed, Mike pulled his copper-highlighted brown hair, which had grown long in his time in Mirkwood, into the Elven braids to add to the illusion. Only his ears gave him away, and one would have to have the eyes of an Elf to notice from a distance.
They left after a breakfast of raw eggs and Tabasco sauce - since everyone had massive Elven hangovers - and set out for Dol Guldur. The journey was long and arduous but Mike made it go quickly, singing Evanescence and Josh Groban songs to lighten the spirits of all around him.
The subsequent battle was like nothing Mike had ever experienced. His arrows sang with deadly accuracy, felling the attacking Orcs like ripe grain, his arrows often igniting in mid-flight from the friction created by their speed. He and Legolas fought side by side, and whenever there was even the briefest break in the action they managed to find each other for a grope and giggle. They killed and cuddled, fought and fondled their way through the huge fortress. Then, just as they were about to break into the room where Sauron was holed up, Legolas fell limply to the ground. Mike ran to him, scooping him up and carrying him to the field infirmary the Elves had set up.
"Don't you dare leave me!" Mike cried out. "Oh, Eru, Eru, do not take him from me. I can't live without him."
Legolas lay with his eyes closed, his brow damp with sweat and his breathing so shallow Mike was not sure he breathed at all. He took Legolas' hand and wept softly as he sang:
"Look into my eyes - you will see
What you mean to me
Search your heart - search your soul
And when you find me there you'll search no more
Don't tell me it's not worth tryin' for
You can't tell me it's not worth dyin' for
You know it's true
Everything I do - I do it for you
Look into your heart - you will find
There's nothin' there to hide
Take me as I am - take my life
I would give it all - I would sacrifice
Don't tell me it's not worth fightin' for
I can't help it - there's nothin' I want more
Ya know it's true
Everything I do - I do it for you
There's no love - like your love
And no other - could give more love
There's nowhere - unless you're there
All the time - all the way
Oh - you can't tell me it's not worth tryin' for
I can't help it - there's nothin' I want more
I would fight for you - I'd lie for you
Walk the wire for you - ya I'd die for you
Ya know it's true
Everything I do - I do it for you"
Mike bowed his head, holding Legolas' hand to his forehead, his voice choked off as he broke down completely. At the sound of Mike's voice Legolas opened his eyes and looked at him weakly. The hand Mike was holding moved to feebly stroke his cheek, and Mike looked into the Elf's eyes, tears streaming down his face. "Don't ever scare me like that again," Mike admonished with mock sternness.
"But, why are you scared? I'm not wounded," Legolas said.
Mike dropped his hand and glared at him. "What? But I saw you fall."
"I fainted. I don't know why. It must have been all the energy from the wizard's spells. I was momentarily overcome, but I'm all right," Legolas said, sitting up.
Mike found he could not be mad at the Elf. He hugged him happily. "The battle is over, but Sauron escaped. Gandalf doesn't know where he's gone but figures we haven't heard the last of him. Something tells me he's right... again."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas said snidely. Mike forgave him that too, he was so happy Legolas was alive.
Just then, Gandalf came over, accompanied by King Thranduil, and they stood over Legolas and Mike, both looking decidedly uneasy.
"We have won the battle, father, but we also lost. I'm sorry I let you down by fainting before Mike and I captured Sauron. Please forgive me."
"I'm afraid we have a bigger problem than Sauron at the moment," Thranduil said glumly.
Mike and Legolas both looked at the king in surprise. "What's wrong?" Legolas asked, the look on his father's and Gandalf's faces alarming him.
"This is hard to say but will be even harder to hear," Thranduil said. "You're pregnant."
"But... but... how is that possible!!" Legolas screeched hysterically.
"It is something that happens to males in our family," Thranduil shrugged. "Why do you think you had no mother?"
"But... that means the... other parent would be..." he trailed off, looking at Mike.
Now it was Mike's turn to faint, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.
The last thing he heard was Legolas saying, "So who was my... other father?" and Gandalf clearing his throat.
When Mike opened his eyes, he was lying under the tree in the park, the sun rapidly fading in the west. Most of the people who had been there had left and Mike knew it was time for him to go also.
He looked down to see he still held his dog-eared copy of "The Lord of the Rings" in his hand.
"So it was all a dream," he sighed with relief. "Some of that was fun, but that last part was horrible. How could I possibly have gotten a male Elf pregnant? Must be the pickles and ice cream I had for lunch."
As he stood, he saw the kid in the red baseball cap run toward him and pick up the ball that lay at his feet.
Upon closer inspection, Mike could see the boy was a bit rotund and looked much older than the child he appeared to be. He wore short pants and his bare feet were large and hairy.
"No," Mike said as the "child" peered up at him and smiled, "it can't be."
"Like Gandalf said, without you, neither of our realities would ever have existed. Welcome home, Mike, and thanks for all you've done."
"So what happened to Legolas'... our... baby?" Mike asked.
"He grew up and had children, who had children, and so on, all the way down to you." the Hobbit said brightly.
Mike gasped, "If that's true, then my exponentially great grandfather..."
"Was an Elfish bastard," the Hobbit finished, a twinkle in his eye.
Mike lunged for the tiny creature who laughed wickedly as he scampered away into the warm Texas twilight.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.