- Of Insanity and Elves -

By: Bill the Pony

Rating: G

Spoilers: Nothing really except general Tolkien stuff.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters do not belong to me. Obscure sort such as Fasse, Ralamir etc., are hereby my brain buddies.

Summary: Long trips can take a lot out of a person. Boredom abounds and the mind can take many different tangents. Such as…Well I won't mentioned anything. A supremely disturbing trip through Legolas's head during an interlude for 'Shadows on the Snow' during the second day of their travel.

Note: Thanks to Sandra of the MC group, I got attacked by a plot bunny. She seems to be sending those little beasts out in great numbers recently. She had mused what Aragorn and Legolas daydream about. This really isn't daydreaming, but it's still kind of along that line. Making our noble elf highly un-elvish. I don't really mean any insult to our elf friend, just playing around. I mean, we all have our days. This is just meant for amusement, if you can find any. Thanks especially to Vikki who helped me out with some of the logistics of it.


Of Insanity and Elves


Life is an odd notion indeed. You have those that live, and those that are dead. Do elves really know what dead is though? It is a thing that is not natural to us of course so how do we know that it is a real event? Of course, I know that elves have 'died' before in battle and by the hand of evil, but what if this mortal coil is a lie with which men have filled our heads. What if they actually have the upper hand and are privileged to disappear and walk unseen when they wish? Ai! What a horror that would be.

I cannot help but smile a bit at the thought of countless old men walking about me at this very moment. It is both amusing and disturbing. My face falls then. Ai! What if they drift about in my chambers while I rest or, Valar no…bathe. I do not realize that my face has gone slightly pale at this idea.

I shake myself, dislodging my strange ideas and bring myself back to the dull present. Alas, how dull it is. We have been riding for what seems like ages. I know it is extremely childish of me, but I have this odd irrepressible urge to ask "Are we there yet?" I have a feeling that Aragorn would be quite mortified if I did. Mortified, mortal…I wonder if the word 'mortified' has any root in 'mortal'. Humans do have a way of embarrassing themselves often. It is more likely due to their clumsy nature and impulsive ways.

There I go again, Father is always telling me my mind wanders too much. I think he may be right. But given the circumstances, even he would be listless at a time like this. I wrinkle my nose as a gentle breeze blows broadside of our company of three, not including the horses. Fasse smells absolutely horrid. Does that Maia ever bathe? Hm, I doubt any 'dead' men float around in his bedchambers. His stench has the power to raise the dead, if they really are dead of course.

Ai! I am helpless! Why can I not keep my mind on the task at hand? Then again, there is no task except remaining sane, but still…Maybe I should count the squirrels I see. There are many of those little rodents bouncing about with far too much vigor. Dirt, there is much dirt as well. Of course there are many trees, but their slumber is too deep to wake. Spindly branches hang limply from winter bitten limbs. They remind me strangely of Aragorn's hair. My brow furrows, sparing a glance at Aragorn's hair to confirm my thought. I am not mistaken. Limp, slightly wet, and just as temporarily lifeless. The only time I think that I've actually seen it clean is when Arwen has been present.

I blink lazily, my mind is obviously detaching from my half conscious body. Why are the trees suddenly turning into floating Aragorns? Oh look, there's an Arwen, and another! Or wait, is it just a multitude of Aragorns? Maybe it's the other way around and it's a multitude of Arwens that look like Aragorns?

Ai! I frown, my numb mind slowly pulling itself from the dredges of the mire it had sunk into. How could I mistake the two? Well there is the slightly greasy hair, the noble air that I seem to lack. I wonder why I did not get that air? Do they live in a bubble of air that I don't? Yrch spit, I really am going insane! I knew this day would come. I just knew that when I started to see Aragorns slash Arwens floating amongst the trees I would be legally insane. I had a dream. I sensed it. I just knew it!

"Legolas, are you ill?"

To my chagrin, I squeal. Yes, squeal, a most un-princely utterance. "Aragorn! Curse you, man! Do you wish to stop my heart all together?"

Aragorn looks at me, Ralamir has stopped as well, exchanging a worried – or is that paranoid? Ai, that would be interesting, a paranoid horse – glance with my horse. Why they are worried I am not quite certain. It is unfounded whatever the reason. "It is just, you looked, strange."

Strange, so that is what he thinks of me eh? Odd, the feeling is mutual at times. "Well I am neither strange, nor ill. Your worries are misplaced." I suppress the urge to smirk. That sounded all too Thranduil-ish. Elvish snootiness incarnate right there.

It seems to have worked, Aragorn looks at Fasse, the wizard shrugs. "If you insist, but if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask." Turning Ralamir reluctantly, he nudged the horse off again.

Do I need anything? I think on that for a moment. Well, I could use a new bow. I noticed just yesterday that the wood is a bit brittle. Ai, a new bow would be nice. A bit longer perhaps. Mine seems to have shrunk, or I grew an inch. But I thought that elves stopped growing at 100 years.

A bath, that would be enjoyable. That is unless there are any 'dead' men… Aragorn probably needs a bath as well. But Aragorn always needs a bath, so that isn't saying much. I really do wonder how the lord of Grime managed to catch the queen of Cleanliness. 'Tis a wonder. Perhaps Aragorn insists on remaining so soap forsaken because he's shy of being seen for what he really is. I do wonder what he really looks like beneath all that muck.

Perhaps I do not want to know.

Mentally, I kick myself for what seems to be the hundredth time. If I keep this up, my poor mind will be black and blue and shaded with purple. This whole venture was doomed from the start. I fear that if I do not find some way physically to vent my, err, energy, then I shall truly go mad! Here I sit, for hours and hours, expected to look interested and intrigued with every tree that passes. It is an impossible task, I say! Us elves cannot always be regal and un-plagued by mortal troubles such as boredom. It is our curse to endure drama and emotional trials of, boredom for instance, with a straight face. I'm sure that if elves were suddenly allowed to show emotion, we would all be bald for the sudden release from stress. It would be detrimental to our health. We, the elven race, are doomed either way.

Hmm, now there's a thought. Would it be that I gave up this elvish façade and allowed my true emotions to show, would I be disowned? Maybe thrown from the realm of Mirkwood? That would be interesting. It would surely add some flavor to my life. I swear by my father's wine, mortal's have all the fun in life. They are naturally insane and impulsive, no one expects them to be regal.

I sigh heavily, glad to be in the back of the short line. Aragorn is riding ahead, looking plainly unamused and listless. Of course if Elrond or some other elf were here, it would mean nothing to them if he was bored and showed it. But then if I so happened to let my emotionless face fall then they'd be on me in a heart beat, poking and prodding me and worriedly asking if I am ill. Not asking if you are well, mind you, and being optimistic at first call, but automatically going to the negative and assuming the worst. Oh the injustice of life, I note dolefully.

I look up from my musings to see Aragorn peering back at me, worry plain on his face. "What?" I ask defensively. I already know what he is going to say.

"Are you sure you are not ill, you look, odd."

Oh, sigh.