The Unauthorized Biography of Legolas Greenleaf

by alliwantisanelfforchristmas

Disclaimer: AU? I hardly think so. You see, I am living this nightmare. This is a non-fiction story, but since there are no non-fiction sites for LOTR related stories, this will have to do.

No profit to be made, no offense intended to any named or implied names of products, places, people, things, etc.

New Line, JRR Tolkien, whoever will come, PLEASE! If you want him, come and claim him! I love him dearly, but he is wearing me out!


Chapter 1 Greenwood

It all started because I didn't want to sit by myself in the movie theater. They, being my husband and daughter, didn't want to see the same movie again, regardless of how many times I thought we should see it, and frankly at this point, who's counting?

We reached a compromise. I would get to see The Fellowship of the Ring for the 19th time, and they would get to see some Disney flick with talking animals in it, conveniently located in the next theater down. That way, technically, I would not be "at the movies" by myself.


We planned to meet in the lobby in front of the concession stand in 3 hours. I left them, alone, and made my way into the darkened auditorium, sitting in my favored location in the seventh row up on the far left-hand side.

"THE MOVIE", as it is called at my house, was absolutely terrific as usual. I stayed through the credits as always, for it is true that homage should be paid even to those underlings who bring the coffee and wash the costumes. I am one of them, only I do it for our local community theater.

That's when everything in my life changed. As it did in his world as well.

For you see, that is when Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood and member of the Fellowship of the Ring, came to live in the closet at my house. This is his story.


The house lights came up, and once again I noticed I was the last to leave the theater. Alone, again. As I got up to leave, I noticed a movement at the very front of the auditorium, right at the bottom of the screen on the right side. Dear Lord, that can't be a rat in the movie theater, can it? I thought. I would have to pass right by it in order to get to the exit. I decided to hold off a second, thinking maybe the cinema staff would be in to clean up and would scare it away when they entered.

No such luck. It seemed that there were few enough patrons this time to warrant a cleanup effort after every show. After all, it is a Tuesday night, and this is the last show scheduled in this auditorium for the evening. And it is April, and FOTR has been playing at the theater for about 5 months, and is nearing the end of it's run.

I contemplate the rat again. I can't see it now, maybe it is gone. I plan my strategy for escape without running into it. That's when I notice something else. A flash of blonde hair. A glimpse of green and brown. A slight form, squatting on the floor at the edge of the movie screen on the right hand side. That wasn't a rat, it is something else I think to myself, a rat could never get that large, not here in the theater eating buttered popcorn and Junior Mints. And since when do rats have long blonde hair, and wear clothing?

I cautiously make my way to the front of the auditorium, easing toward the right side. I find him there, crouched down low in hiding, his face a mask of confusion. I cannot believe my eyes. I freeze, for I am afraid I will startle him. If he starts to run, there is no way I could catch him.

"Legolas?" I whisper. He looks up, his expression almost the same as the one he has when he happens upon Aragorn and Boromir at Amon Hen. Confused, sad, contemplative. Lost. He says nothing in response.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. His eyes are distant, unfocused, and I begin to wonder if this is the elven sleep everyone at always talks about. Suddenly, he blinks and becomes aware again, and he softly whispers back to me, "I dunno."

We stare for a minute at each other. Finally he speaks again, "whur am I?"

"You're in the movie theater in Greenwood," I answer. At first he seems to relax, then the confused look returns as he repeats, "moovee thee-eater? I am uenfameelear wid da turm. Greanwuud duz not hab a.whut deed u cael dis plaece?"

I realize that I have confused him further by telling him he is in Greenwood, which is his native land, and we are both quite sure that there is no movie theater in the Greenwood of Middle Earth. There also seems to be something wrong with his speech.

"Legolas, are you ok? Are you injured?" I ask, concerned now because he seems.well, sort of out of character.

" I dunno. My haed huertz." He touches his forehead, and sure enough there on the left side is a bruised and swollen area about the size of an egg. Now I am really worried. Elves never allow anyone to see their weaknesses.

I hear voices in the hallway, and I realize we cannot stay here at the edge of the screen. Knowing I cannot get him back into "THE MOVIE", especially injured and confused, I realize I have no other choice left. Legolas will have to go home with me.

I look him over, sizing him up. I can't just walk out with him, his clothes are just too obvious. Not to mention the long blonde hair, and the fact that when he rises along with me, he teeters over backwards and almost falls. As I catch him by the elbow to steady him, it dawns on me.

At first glance I thought he was a large rat. If I dump my handbag, I could probably get him in there. It is as large as one of those rolling book bags the kids are using now, with a big central pocket. It just might work.

I turn it upside down, spilling the contents on the floor. I stash the essentials like my wallet and checkbook in my jeans pockets, tossing everything expendable into the trash can in the corner.

Legolas is watching me. I borrow a line from Aragorn to get him moving. "Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let's hunt some Orc." I ask him to curl up inside my "pack" so that we can escape undetected. Thank God for the head injury, he does not question me, and folds himself carefully inside.

Unfortunately, the bow and quiver full of arrows does not fold up. I am left with the dilemma of figuring out how to get them past the people in the lobby and into my car, or leaving them behind. I look into his eyes, where the lost and hunted look remains. I cannot ask him to leave them, as they are all he has left of his past. Straightening, I lift up my shirt in back and shove the bow and quiver inside it, up my spine. With some careful arranging, I can make it to the car with only the most observant noticing. The cinema is pretty empty this time of a weekday night, so I decide to take the chance. I hope it will be worth it.

Hoisting him onto my shoulder, I am thankful that Elves are as light as the rumor says. He can't weigh more than a 20 pound sack of dog food. I speak softly to him, reassuring him everything will be ok, and asking him to be still and quiet for a little while. I make my way back into the lights and sounds of the lobby, saying a prayer that what I have promised him will be true.

My husband (I'll call him Yes Dear to protect the innocent), and my 9 year old daughter (aka Little Pip for the same reasons) are waiting for me in the lobby as planned. I pretend that everything is as normal as usual, and save for the slight movement in my handbag on my shoulder, no one would be the wiser.

We make our way out to the car, and I deposit Legolas and my handbag on the floor of the passenger side. I slip the bow and quiver from under my shirt, and hopping into the car, I stash them in the small space between the door and the seat. As Yes Dear starts the car, I hear a little startled cry from the floorboard.

"What was that Hunney?" Yes Dear inquires. He is looking at me, but not at the handbag thank God.

"Oh, I was just yawning and made a little noise," I lie. "I'm just a little tired tonight. Can we drive by the Chick-fil-a for supper instead of going in someplace?" I reach down discreetly and give the handbag a little pat, pretending to scratch my leg.

"Ok," he says. " Do you have any money?"

The jig is up. To get money I will have to open my handbag. Suddenly, I remember that I have stuffed my wallet in my pocket. Now I have to think of a way to explain why the wallet is not in my handbag. So I decide to stall. Knowing payday was last Friday, I take a chance, assuming that there is still enough money for supper in my wallet without actually looking to be sure.

I answer, "I do." Gee whiz, the last time I said I do, look how much trouble I got in to.

We order our supper, and pay without further complications. That is, until the smell of the food starts to waft though the car. The Handbag begins to squirm.

Lord knows how long it's been since he left Lothlorien. He's been existing on berries and lembas, and now I've got Chick-fil-a. I gently ease the zipper on the handbag back just a little ways, and slip a waffle fry through the opening. Seconds later there is a peek of a thumb and index finger sticking out of the crack, so I give him another. In no time at all the fries are gone, and there is a soft contented purring noise coming from the floor near my feet. It's a good thing it was at the same pitch as the sound of the car engine.

We make it home without being detected, and as the car engine stops, so does the purring. He is again on the alert, unsure of what is happening. I carry my handbag into the house and instead of putting it down by the door, I sneak it back to the bedroom and set it down just inside the closet door.

I pull open the zipper, and a pair of deep blue eyes peer out at me. "You can get out if you want," I whisper. "You must hide in here for awhile though. Make yourself comfortable if you can. We'll talk in a little while, when Yes Dear gets in the shower."

He nods, and carefully unfolds himself. I give him a smile, and gently close the closet door. It is the kind with the louvers in it, so he will be able to see what is happening on the other side. Maybe that will make him feel less alone, and less frightened, though elves would never show it if they were feeling alone and afraid.

In a half-hour, I return to the closet bearing a plate of apple slices and some cookies. I have no idea what elves really eat. This is one of the things I intend to talk about.

I open the door. There is no one inside.

"Legolas?" I whisper, wondering where he could have gone if he had gotten the door open. This could be BAD NEWS.

Down in the far corner, I finally find him. He is curled up in a tiny ball, eyes open but unseeing, dreaming his elven dreams. I have not the heart to wake him. For him the shock of it all is far too near. I leave the plate on the floor beside him, and shut the door. Sleep, fair Prince I think, questions that need answering can wait until tomorrow.