Legolas' Dilemma: the Surprise
by SkyFire

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, wish I did. Rabid plotbunnies, however, are all mine, and they bite
hard.

A/N: 1)This is the third in the "Dilemma" arc, beginning with "Legolas' Dilemma," then "Legolas'
Dilemma: Aragorn." Read those first. *g* Yes, this is the much-anticipated Aragorn's Surprise
chapter. Poor Legolas. *g*

2)Thoughts are in / /.

Please, leave a review, let me know what you think, or what you would like to see, or just leave
an anonymous smiley, just "Please, *Please*, Review!"

*****
Legolas' Dilemma: the Surprise
by SkyFire

The Sun was setting in a brilliant red sky when Legolas' footsteps turned at last toward the
palace and his rooms therein.

The first indication that something was not quite right was the cloying scent of roses that
permeated the air of that whole section of the palace. The scent was so thick in the air that he
could hardly breathe.

Legolas was, upon registering the scent, slightly apprehensive. /Perhaps I hadn't managed to
convince Aragorn after all?/ he wondered. But that feeling faded as he remembered that the room
Arwen had been given was also in that section, a mere four doors down from his own chamber. He
smiled. /Surely, with the help of *that* many flowers, Arwen had forgiven Aragorn and they would
now be free to wed,/ he mused. /Hopefully, the fangirls won't set him on me again./

His smile froze as he saw Lord Elrond of Rivendell knock on the door of his daughter's chamber.
The Elf-lord saw Legolas standing there in the hallway, glowered fiercely at him before entering
Arwen's room at a call from within.

Legolas' smile faded. /Surely, Elrond isn't still angry at me?/ he wondered with a strange
sinking sensation. Then he brightened slightly. /But perhaps he doesn't know that Aragorn gave
Arwen all the flowers./ Worry satisfied, he continued on to his own door.

He opened the heavy oaken door, slipped into his chamber, closed the door and turned to face the
room.

And moaned in despair at the sight that greeted him.

/So Elrond *is* still angry at me./

His room had been transformed. Every flat surface bore some sort of dish full of flowers; big
red roses. Vases, bowls, and was that a bucket? All were full of flowers. Candles, short and
fat, burned everywhere as well, though the room was not brightly-lit at all, and full of long,
flickering shadows. A meal had been laid out for him on the little table, along with wine and
yet more candles and flowers, but the sight of the room had destroyed what little appetite he'd
had.

That was it. That was all of this that he could take. He would leave Minas Tirith in the morning.

Weary in both mind and body, he went around the room, blowing out the candles, then opened the
windows to let the room air out. Once that task was done, he walked over to the bed. He stood
beside the massive piece of furniture and shed his clothing until he stood there nude, neatly
folding the clothes and setting them on a chair near the bed. He parted the bedcurtains and then
flopped heavily to the mattress.

A short squawk of surprise escaped him as he landed on something both harder and warmer than the
mattress should be.

It was pitch black in the bed with the bedcurtains drawn, but Legolas didn't need to see to know
who it was that he had landed on, whose arms were now wrapped around his waist.

"Aragorn!" Legolas exclaimed in shock. Then he remembered his state of undress. He struggled
free of the other's grip and scrambled out of bed, quickly wrapping himself in a velvet robe that
was on the back of the chair by the bed. He tied the sash tightly at his waist, then turned to
face the bed.

He could feel the blood pounding in his face, turning his fair skin pink with embarrassment. He
felt the heat in his face intensify as he saw Aragorn there, lounging on his bed, the sheets of
which he just now noticed were strewn with rose petals, wearing nothing but a lustfully inviting
smile.

"Aragorn!" Legolas choked out. He quickly averted his gaze, went quickly to fetch a spare robe.
Approaching the bed once more, he held it out blindly, still looking away. "Please, Aragorn, put
on the robe," he begged.

"But, Leggy," Aragorn began.

"No, Aragorn," Legolas said. /Did he just call me *Leggy*??/ "Please, just put on the robe and
go."

To his relief, he heard the heavy rustle of velvet, then the nearly inaudible sound of bare feet
padding over the rug-covered stone floor. He heard a rustle that indicated a reaching arm and
stepped aside, neatly avoiding it. "Go, Aragorn," he said firmly.

He heard a deep sigh. Then he was unexpectedly grabbed and swung around. He was held firmly in
place as Aragorn leaned in quickly to land a soft, chaste kiss on the Elf's lips.

Then Aragorn released him and left the room, pausing at the door to say a quiet, "good night,
Leggy."

/He *did* call me Leggy! I can't believe he would call me *Leggy*! My name is *Legolas*! And
he kissed me!/

It was many long moments before Legolas shook off his shock enough to lock the door, then go back
to bed. He climbed up into bed, flopped down once again, this time face-up.

And cursed in surprised pain as his head hit something hard.

He reached up to the object, found that it was a small, thin book that had been lying on his
pillow.

Curious, he climbed back out of bed, lit a single candle. He held the book up to the dim,
flickering light, opened it somewhere near the middle and frowned. It was poetry. Short poems
four lines long, the first two lines always merely variations of each other. All in all, it was
probably some of the *worst* poetry Legolas had ever had the misfortune of reading. One poem
caught his eye; his name was in it. He read:

"Roses are red,
Violets grow near grass,
My beloved Legolas
Has a beautiful, pert -"

He snapped the book shut, tossed it away from him with a strangled curse, as if it had burnt him.
It landed heavily on the floor, opened to show yet more of the so-called poetry. He blew out the
candle, went back to bed. /How could Aragorn have written that drivel about me? Really! Pert?/

This time, there were no more mishaps and he was able to fall asleep, surrounded by the smell of
candles and roses, bad poetry disturbing his dreams.

He was definitely leaving in the morning, and he was *not* waiting for the dwarf. He was not
going to wait for *anyone*; who knew what else Aragorn might have planned? He, for one, did *not*
want to find out!


END

So, what do you think? Let me know! Please review, even anonymously! I want *at least* 10
reviews before I post another section of this arc, okay? I really want to know what you think!!
Feed my plotbunnies!! *g*