It’s Leggy To The Rescue!

Genre: Humor/Parody.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the Mouth of Sauron, Barad-dur, or Legolas. I suppose that the Sues are mine, though… mine to do with as I wish….

Summary: Sequel to “Into M.E.” If you haven’t read the first story, then this probably won’t make very much sense. The continuing adventures of Taraieiel Windewen Moonstar, the Improbably Beautiful She-Elf. What will happen when she meets Legolas? Read and SQUEEEE!!!! to find out. Slight cross-over with Movie-Verse “Sleepy Hollow” at the end, with some references to “Army of Darkness.”

Rating. PG-13 for very brief language, some violence and death, and generally silly sorcery.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Sues were singing that night, and at some point the Mouth of Sauron knew that his patience would snap.

He tossed and turned in his wickedly luxurious bed, and shuddered with sleepless loathing as he heard the horrid sound of the Sues singing inane pop songs in their cells. Their sickeningly beautiful voices drifted up through the moldy corridors of the Barad-dur, and assaulted and insulted his sensibilities and his sanity.

Cries of insanity, the Mouth could tolerate. Screams of pain, he could enjoy. Sobs of abject misery, he could appreciate.

But hearing “Sk8tr Boi” and “I’m A Slave 4 U” made him want to howl and stab his own eardrums out with hot pokers.

As the night worn on, minute by minute, hour by hour, the Mouth began regretting taking away the strange little power sources for their abominable musical transmitters. Unfortunately, the batteries were destroyed, and the Mouth could not produce more. It seemed that the situation was hopeless.

But then, he had an idea. It was a fiendish idea, true, but then again, most of the ideas that the Mouth had were fiendish. It was also an idea which might end up causing more trouble than it was worth, but as his sanity slipped gradually away along with the hours of the night, the Mouth surrendered to the fiendish idea with wholesale enthusiasm.

So, he swung his feet over the edge of his bed, dragged on an elaborately embroidered sleeping robe, and combed his hair into some semblance of neatness. He took up an oil lamp and traveled down to the deepest dungeons, where the Sues were held in enchanted cells of iron.

The Sues were indeed singing. Some of them were banging their fists (or heads, in the cases of the stupider ones) onto the cell bars to provide a backbeat. A delicate fairy/dragon hybrid was even doing a passable imitation of a human beat-box, albeit with quite a lot of spit involved.

And almost all of them were singing. The sheer sugariness of the lyrics made the Mouth want to weep. They were all about dancing and true love and getting your freak on, and dancing ’til you go insane, and shaking what your momma gave you until you just don’t care, yo. To the Mouth’s ears they were as alike as though they had been stamped and pressed out of some infernal music-machine mold.

Finally, the Mouth screamed.

“BE SILENT, THOU WRETCHED SUES! SILENCE, OR THY TONGUES SHALL BE CUT FROM THY MOUTHS!”

With one shrill voice they all wailed, “I AM NOT A MARY SUE!!!!”

“SILENCE!” The Mouth shouted back, even louder than before.

There was silence.

Finally the hobbit-Sue who spoke only in gibberish piped up. “My muzik iz pastede on, yay!” she squealed. The Mouth glared at her.

The Mouth crossed his arms against his chest as the chill of the dungeon’s air seeped through the fabric of his robes. “Hark, foul females!” he hissed. “It is I, the Mouth of Sauron.”

Sa’a’qwen, the black-haired ‘daughter of Sauron’, gave him an icy glare from the depths of her inky pools of tormented sorrow. “Oh, please,” she hissed, flipping a strand of hair behind her delicate, moon-pale ear. “Like I don’t know that already. I have so read the frickin’ books, you know. You really are self-aggrandizing, Mouth, you know that? Get a life.” She hunched down in her cell and glared at the other, lesser Sues about her.

The Mouth’s lips thinned, but he let the impudence slide. He forced his mouth into a smile and asked solicitously, “It has occurred to me that my. . . esteemed guests may be in need of something–anything– to help them pass their time. Is there anything that thy hearts desire above all else?”

He waited but a heartbeat, and then the answer came crashing back, in a roar of sound and squealing—

“WE WANT LEGGY!!! SQEEEEE!!!! LEGGY-POO!!! LEGGY-CHAN!!!! LEEEEEGGGGGYYLAAAASSSSS!!!!!!!”

True, not every Sue howled for the noble Elven prince, the Mouth discerned. There were some who cried for Frodo; a few who shouted for Faramir; a number who sighed for Eomer, and a section that chanted for Aragorn. But the overwhelming majority screamed but one name, with one singular, high-pitched, sugar-crazed voice: “Legolas!”

And so the Mouth, ever a clever and attentive man, bowed to the wishes of his captives.

He went to his dark and dreary study, and consulted the appropriate tomes of black and sorcerous lore. He painstakingly gathered together the right herbs, and spoke the correct incantations.

“Klaatu; Baradu; Nikto. . .”

For of course, we all know that the Mouth of Sauron is a great sorcerer.

So summoned by the evil enchantment, someone appeared in the Barad-dur. Dragged through time and space, he landed not too far from the dungeons in which the Sues were held. . .

*~*~*~*~*

Legolas was not at all sure about what had just happened to him.

One moment ago, he had been racing across the land of Rohan with Aragorn and Gimli at his side.

One moment ago, he had been tracking the band of Uruk-Hai who had taken Merry and Pippin captive.

Now, however. . .

. . .This was a different matter altogether.

It was as though he had stepped out of one world and into another, and Legolas’s keen eyes surveyed the place that he had ended up in with mounting dismay. His surroundings were a vast room, with slick marble walls and floor, and a vaulted ceiling that arched up so high that even his eyes had difficulty in seeing to the top. The black walls were lined with torches that guttered in the chill and fetid miasma that seemed to suffice for this horrid chamber’s atmosphere. A distant, hideous caterwauling, as of some creature or creatures howling in pain, could be heard echoing faintly.

Legolas shuddered in horror. Truly, this was a black and vile place, and to think of the fell power that had transported him here. . . He drew forth an arrow from the quiver at his back, and notched it securely in place, not yet drawing the string tense, but ready to pull and fire at a moment’s notice. His eyes watched for any sign of an enemy, for he had little hope that he would find a friend in this place.

His mind traveled back to the question of how he had arrived here in the first place. What powers of the Enemy had been used to whisk him from the plains of Rohan to this cave of a chamber?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After the Mouth of Sauron cast the spell, he hurriedly swept the stinking remains of the herbs under a heavy rug, and made for the dungeons. He rubbed his hands together and chuckled at his latest scheme. He’d throw Legolas to the screaming fangirls, and then when they were done with him, the Mouth would have a new Elf to torture. The very thought of it was going to provide him with happy dreams for at least a week.

He chuckled, then cackled, then gave a howl of laughter. Eyes aglow and hair unbraided, he danced through the halls. The Sues should have gotten Legolas by now, and he was eager to see if they ripped him apart in their frenzy to nab him for their own. . . that should be quite messy. . .

“Halt, servant of the Enemy!”

A strong voice rang out, clear and pure in the blackness of Barad-dur. The Mouth gave a little wail and stopped short, shaking in his fuzzy sheepskin slippers.

A tall, lithe figure appeared out of the darkness of the chamber that the Mouth had just walked into. His fair face was stern, and his eyes were cold and fell. In his hands there was an Elven longbow, and an arrow was aimed straight at the Mouth of Sauron’s heart.

It was Legolas, son of Thranduil king of Mirkwood, and he was not happy.

“Please,” the Mouth quavered, his natural cowardice now coming strongly to the fore, “please, have mercy. I am but a humble, simple servant of His Greatness the Lord Sauron– I was merely on a midnight walkabout–”

“What infernal place is this?” Legolas, to the Mouth’s dismay, did not lower the bow.

The Mouth wavered. “This– this is the Tower of Barad-dur, and–”

“What foul spell transported me to the–” Legolas shuddered slightly– “Dark Tower?”

The Mouth whimpered and hung his head.

Legolas stared hard at the Mouth. “I suppose that you intend to deliver me to the Dark Lord for interrogation and torment,” said he, and his voice was cold.

The Mouth gasped at this. He held up his hands in a pose of surrender. “Oh, no, Prince Legolas, of course not! I– I mean to direct you to some fair maidens who, um, who need to be rescued from grave peril!” He smiled wanly.

The Prince of Mirkwood gestured with his bow. “Then, do me the kindness of leading the way, servant of Sauron,” he replied, and the Mouth led Legolas to the dungeons.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taraieiel was rather surprised to see the Mouth of Sauron returning to the Sues’ corner of the dungeon. She was also rather nervous at the prospect, for Sa’a’qwen was telling anyone who would listen as to who the Mouth of Sauron was and what he liked to do.

“– and,” the purported daughter of Sauron said with a leer, “he’s more cruel than any orc!” Her midnight-black eyes had now become sadistically shining orbs of death.

“Oh please, stuff a sock in it, Miss Doom and Gloom,” snorted a particularly freakish half-unicorn/half Elf Sue.

They both fell silent, however, as the man known as the Mouth of Sauron walked into the dungeon hall. No one begged for their freedom this time, and no one sang. They sensed the Mouth’s tension.

“Here we are, Prince Legolas,” the Mouth said, “the fair maidens are in here, waiting for your gallant rescue of them. . .”

There was a collective gasp from most of the cells’ occupants, then an awed, disbelieving hush, then a loud collective scream of delight. Chants of “Legolas! Legolas!” filled the air.

Taraieiel surged forward, pressing her youthful, rosy cheeks against the rusting bars of the cell’s door. After all that she had endured– missing out on seeing “The Two Towers” on opening day, tripping over a fire hydrant the next day, landing in an ugly part of Middle-earth, and now being locked in a dungeon by some mean stupid guy who was probably just jealous because he didn’t get to be in the movies– her personal quest was now complete. She was going to meet Legolas! She pinched herself to see if she was dreaming, squeaked because of the pain, and then decided that, yes, this was indeed real life.

Then Legolas stepped into the room.

A hush fell.

Taraieiel gasped in shock.

He didn’t look like Legolas AT ALL!!!

His hair was long and dark, and bound into a single thick braid. His eyes were hued a dark shade of grey, and his face was thinner than Legolas’s face in the movies.

Taraieiel gasped again, but now it was the wounded gasp of betrayal. He didn’t look like the REAL Legolas! Who was this imposter?

“Hey, you!” she shouted. “Go away and bring us Legolas! You aren’t him!”

The dark-haired Elf turned to gaze at her in astonishment. “My lady, of course I am Legolas. I am the son of Thranduil, king of Mirkwood. Who else would I be?”

Taraeiel was now weeping bitter tears of disappointment. “No,” she sobbed, “you’re NOT Legolas; you don’t look like him! You’re not!” Her eyes, which were like deep pools of emerald, amber, and amethyst, were now sloshing over with silvered tears. She threw herself down to the floor and howled. “It’s not FAIR! I–WANT–LEGGY!!!!”

Legolas looked at her with pity and concern, as though she were a young child who was throwing a tantrum, or a raving lunatic who needed care. “Lady,” he said, “I know not as to the nature of your malady, but I assure you that I am indeed Legolas Thranduilion. I was told that you are in grave danger; nay, that you all are. Is there nothing that I can do for you?” He gave the cowering Mouth of Sauron a dark glare. “Has this villain put you under a spell?”

Taraieiel glared at him and screwed up her face into a most unlovely expression. “Go AWAY, you stupid pooey-head!” she shrieked. “You’re not Leggy-chan; you’re just a cheap brunette rip-off.”

Legolas’s backbone stiffened, and a stern look began to replace the expression of concern in his ageless eyes. He was not quite sure what a ‘pooey-head’ was, but he was quite sure that he had just been childishly insulted. Here he had been dragged leagues off of his true quest and tricked into rescuing immature girls who inexplicably wanted nothing to do with him! He could not explain it. He looked again to the Mouth of Sauron, who shrank back against a mold-covered wall and hyperventilated with terror at the thought of being spitted like a partridge on one of Legolas’s arrows.

But the Elf, who was as noble in heart as he was in his bloodline, did not take joy from the thought of his enemy’s fear. Instead, he cast his gaze to the other girls, who were gazing at him with varying degrees of boredom, disappointment, resentment, or disinterest. One of them, who was loudly popping her bubblegum between her slack jaws, said in a tone of utter ennui, “He don’t look like Orli. Whazzup with dat?”

Legolas sighed impatiently. Thoughts of the hardships Gimli and Aragorn might be facing or the torment that Merry and Pippin were being taken to filled his mind, and he finally asked, in a tone of great irritation, “Does not anyone here wish to escape the clutches of Mordor? Does not a one of you comprehend the cruelties of the evil that has you in its grip? Come with me, and I shall help you. You shall be set free, and allowed to go wherever you see fit.”

No one said anything for awhile, until finally Saa’a’qwen, the daughter of Lord Sauron, said, “I don’t want to be seen in public with some sissy Elf! I want the frickin’ King of Men!” She spat on the floor and shed A Single Tear.

The hobbit-hybrid with the striped hair and violet eyes shouted, “I waht Fordo teh Hoobit! He iz HAWWT!!!” She collapsed into a pile of straw, giggling to herself.

Legolas leaned back and lowered his bow. “Very well. You have made your choice, and I shall pray to Elbereth and Manwe that you shall not suffer for it. But as for me, my fate lies on a different path.” He turned to the Mouth. “Man, whatever thy name may be, set these maidens free, back to their own homes. And turn me back to my appointed quest, posthaste.” He motioned with the bow in case the Mouth did not quite get the message.

“Of course, of course,” the Mouth muttered, picking up the hem of his robes and hurrying back to his study, with Legolas following close on his heels to ensure that he did no mischief.

Hastily, the Mouth paged through his tomes and reorganized his herbs and potions. He reversed the spell and set Legolas packing as soon as he could.

Then he made ready to do the same with the Sues. He whipped up a batch of incense, herbs, and draught suitable to send every blasted one of them back to the accursed lands from whence they had issued.

Then, swiftly, he uttered the dark reverse of the evil spell– “Nikto, Barada, Klaatu. . .”

He closed his eyes, crossed his bony fingers, and silently prayed to Morgoth– or indeed to any among the Valar who cared to take pity on his plight– that the Sues would leave and not come back.

And fortunately for the Mouth’s sanity, they did.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There was a flash, a puff of purple smoke, and a faint odor of brimstone. Dimly, Taraieiel could hear the mean old Mouth of Sauron frantically babbling some spooky nonsense words. He sounded quite desperate.

Then, she was back on Fairweather Street again.

The fateful fire hydrant was a foot or so behind her. She glared at it cautiously and gave it a wide berth.

She then shrugged and continued skipping to school. Her clothes were a little bit dirty, but she figured that she could always explain that away by saying that she had fallen into a ditch or something. It happened often enough.

Ellyson Anita Maria Susan Smith was now just an ordinary girl again. Her skin was clear and youthful, her body had curves in all the right places, and her eyes were a perfectly normal shade of grassy green. Her ears were as beautiful as the rest of her, even though they were not pointed.

She soon found that she didn’t care much for either Lord of the Rings or Legolas anymore. She sold her DVDs, and her copy of the Two Towers book, which she had never read but had bought because it had a hot picture of Legolas on the cover. She sold her ‘making of the movie’ books, and took down her Internet fanfiction where Legolas made out with a girl called Ahidirielaaawenielorien, who was a princess of a lost Elven tribe called the Daughters of the Sisters of the StarMoon.

Soon, Ellyson turned to other things.

One night, she watched a really cool movie along with some of her friends. It was scary– it had a Headless guy on a black horse. He was kind of like a Ringwraith, except his fashion sense was a little better, not to mention the fact that he was also headless. The movie had a girl in it, whom she hated, and there was a really hot guy who had also been in another movie that had yucky dead pirates in it. Every time he came on the screen, she squealed with delight, as she had once done for Legolas. She tore down her posters of Legolas and put up posters of Ichabod Crane and Jack Sparrow. Heck, she even put up a few pictures of Edward Scissorhands, even though he was rather yucky.

Then, one day, as she was walking home from school, Ellyson fell into a glowing ditch. It was a glow of sorcerous power, and very evil besides, and she was sucked into a swirling vortex that looked like a big flushing toilet.

She landed in a dark, foggy forest. The air was thick and still, and heavy with the scent of rotting plant matter. The ground was slightly spongy. The sky was dark, with no moon to be seen.

Ellyson looked at her clothes. She was wearing a bright red ball gown with a huge hoop skirt and a very low neckline. Her hair was bright red, just like she’d always wanted!!! She bent down to a boggy pool, and saw that her lips were crimson with lipstick, and that her eyes were now a deep shade of blue-green, like the sparkling summer sea.

She squealed. “Oh my gosh! I’m in Sleepy Hollow!!!!!” She clapped her hands to her make-up coated cheeks. “And my real name is Charity Chastity Amelia Amadeus. I’m Ichabod Crane’s True Love, and. . . ohmygosh!!!” A small spark shot from her left pinkie. “I’m magical, too!”

While she sighed and swooned over her newfound powers, an evil shape slowly approached her from behind. It was a black and ominous creature, who was mounted upon a black and ominous horse. The hellish steed’s breath snorted into the air, but Charity Amadeus paid it no mind. There was a faint metallic ring as a sword was unsheathed, but the babbling girl never noticed it. . . until it was too late.

There was a whistle of a sword slicing through the air, a grisly thump– then silence.

Somewhere, the Headless Horseman’s head smiled.

THE END.