The Perils of Fangorn
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, wish I did. Only thing that's mine is the rabid plotbunny.
Down, boy! Down! Good plotbunny. Gooood... no! Down! Bad plotbunny!
A/N: This takes place the first night the three (Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli) enter Fangorn.
I know that in the book, they didn't make camp next to the Entwade, but that's what works
for this story, and since I'm the author what I say goes.
Please send feedback; this is my first piece of fanfic. What do you think of it? What do
you think should happen next?
Setting: This starts the morning after their first night in Fangorn, camped beside the
The Perils of Fangorn
It was the screams that first roused him to full wakefulness. His hand reached
automatically for his bow as he sat up in his blankets, head turning to locate the origin
of the screams.
It was Aragorn, who was staring in abject horror at his hands and arms, eyes wide.
"Aragorn, I am trying to rest. Please stop screaming. You sound like a girl."
Legolas sank back down to his blankets with a soft sigh and was just slipping back into
that strange meditation elves used instead of mortal sleep when three thoughts popped
themselves into his head, driving away all thoughts of further rest.
The first was the realization that the Ranger's screams had blossomed into near-hysterical
The second was the fact that not only did Aragorn *sound* like a girl, he also seems to
have *become* one. Albeit a scruffy, athletic girl somewhat lost in the Ranger's
clothes, but a girl nonetheless.
The third being that his own voice, also, had changed, becoming somewhat higher in pitch
and even smoother than before.
With hands that shook, he pulled back the blankets that covered him and looked down at
himself. He felt the same hysterical laughter that Aragorn now indulged in bubbling up
inside him, and with only a supreme effort was he able to keep it back.
The differences weren't really very obvious at first glance, as elven males and females
were both slender by nature, but a second glance would show his clothes to be a bit
roomier in the shoulders, as well as tighter across the chest.
Not-quite-as-deep-as-they-should-be curses in dwarvish from Gimli's direction heralded the
fact that he, too, was not quite himself either.
'Alas!' the elf thought to himself. 'We should have heeded Celeborn's warning of the
strange perils of Fangorn, and not drunk of the Entwade!'