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prance_legolasSometimes it's comforting to know the more things change, the more they stay the same. Behind the cut tonight, you'll not only find the next events occuring in just another regular day living with "roayaltee", but a question from one of the Prance's readers, answered by none other than the Prance himself. In case I've confused some of you, this LJ was created as an archive for the Prance's adventures. The story was originally told in real time (from 2002-2003) on fanfiction.net, and known as "the only NON-fiction story on a fiction site, because there ARE no NON-fiction LotR story sites out there." The Prance took great delight in answering each of his reviewer's comments every chapter, and this was a series of questions I thought no one but Legolas could really do justice in answering.
A/N: A while back, there were some questions that need answering from Deb. Legolas finally sat down and wrote his answers, and I thought they might be of interest to the rest of you. With her permission, here are her questions and his responses.
Deb:
I finished FOTR finally!!
I do have a couple of questions for The Prance...
First of all, if you're a prince...how come no one really gives you the royal respect you deserve? No one ever calls you prince, and in fact...I feel they sort of keep you in the sidelines in that book. (I'm hoping we'll see lots more of you in the next one). I was also curious what you were up to when you all were in Lothlorien and you left the fellowship for a couple of nights. Was there some good looking she-elf you had to go and make time with? Or was this official business? Also, I'm a little unclear on this immortality thing. Do you have to give that up when you fall in love with a mortal? Or is that more of a symbolic gesture in that one day you'd have to face the mortality of the one you love? (I'm a little worried about Arwen and Aragorn really.) Tell me what happens when an elf and a human mate? Will the offspring be one or the other? Or a cohesive mix of the two?
I know that's a lot of questions...but I just have to know!
And Legolas answers her with:
Wael, furst of all, I dunnoe whie noebuddie treetz me like roayaltee. Mebbe if I woar my grean Feastavil roabe ensted of my tunik an leagginz (dere NOET TIETZ!) moer peepul wuld treet me wid reaspekt. I wuz bizzy trien tu keap Araporn an Boreamir frum keelin eech uthur fur da furst paert of da jerney, noet tu menshun dat Araporn tuk furever tu git ober dat leedle theeng I sed at da Cownsil meating, An Gandalf goet doze hoebitz smoekin dat piepwead, an we all noe whut haeppinz whin DAT haeppinz, an dere I wuz bizzy agin.
Soe u sea, whin we goet tu Lothlorien, I neaded a brake, u noe?
Noew, abot dis immoraleety thaeng....
AHEM!
Whut?
You didn’t answer the question.
Yaes I deed.
No, you didn’t.
*glaerz*
Az I wuz saeing....
Oen dat immoraleety theeng... Elves mae choez tu faell en lub wid moertalz, buet tu due soe wuld meen u muest deaside tu dwaell en Valinor foerevur, liveeng widowt ennithaeng tu woerrie abot buet beeing alowne, oer deasideeng tu give dat up an beacoem moertal buet liveeng wid ur truew lub foer a limated tiem.
Plues, Arwen noez dat if she duzn’t peck Araporn, he noez my nuembur....*weenkz*
Soe, bea uenhaeppie furever, oer bea haeppie fur a moertal life? Hummmm....
Az fur ur naekzt kwestshun, I em noe eggspurt, buet I theenk id is muech like whin tuu huemanz maet. Goe aesk ur muther.
Da oefspreeng of a unyun of an elf an a hueman due noet haev tu bea moertal. Dey ar kaeld peredhil, an like Elrond, dey mae choez tu bea moertal or immoral. Elrond’z paerintz an heez tween bruthr all choez tu becoem moertal. Elrond choez immoralitee. Den he maerried an elf, soe it seamz tu hav wurked owt eniwae.
Legolas?
Yaes?
The part about Lothlorien? I’m still curious about what happened.
I ansurd dat.
No, you didn’t.
Yaes I did.
Did not.
Deed tu. Noe huerrie an tipe ur paert up, wuld u? Tiem iz waestin.
But Legolas?
Yaes?
You’re immortal. What difference does time make?
*groewlz an pokez al* Jest huerrie uep, okae?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 21 The Calm Before The Storm
Lil’ Pip gets her smoothie maker for her birthday. She also gets a pizza and bowling party with four of her closest friends. We start out at Pizza Hut with Legolas intermittently pouring the Pepsi and delving through the big black trash bag, looking to make sure none of the pretty bows from the packages get tossed out with the wrapping paper. He also enjoys helping the girls look through their goodie bags to find the fake-hair punk-rocker wraps to go around their ponytails. After he finishes fixing them all up, I wish I had bought one each for Yes Dear, Legolas, and myself. They looked absolutely lovely.
We pile into the van and head for the bowling alley, where the man behind the counter spots our Prance right off the bat and digs out the Magical Mystical Absolutely Disgustingly Horrible Houndstooth Check Bowling Shoes.
“U reemimburd me!” exclaims the Prance, flattered.
“Sweetheart, you’re the only one I think would ever be able to pull off wearing a pair of shoes like those,” the man answers, shaking his head.
“Thaenk u soe muech!” says the Prance, batting his eyelashes and gathering his shoes in one hand before sashaying off to look for his special hot pink bowling ball.
Everyone has a fabulous day, and everyone breaks a hundred, even the ones who claim they’ve never bowled before. I think there’s been some Magical Shoe Rubbing going on while they’re waiting for turns, sitting there innocently sipping on Icee frozen sodas.
Hmmm. I think maybe I ought to ask for those shoes in the future.
We end the day with a trip to Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream, home of the 31 flavors. Everybody gets to pick one scoop, because it‘s almost time for supper. By the time they’ve each eaten about half the single scoop, the sugar has hit in full force, and I’m suddenly thankful we didn’t start the party with the ice cream.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ahhh....Thanksgiving.
We eat at Ryan’s Family Steakhouse, since the kitchen’s still not totally functional. They‘ve got a bigger spread than we could ever fix anyway: turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, ham, green beans, corn, carrots, fried okra, cranberry sauce, and macaroni and cheese. Legolas polishes off most of the entire pan of sweet potato casserole topped with marshmallows, which I discover later is highly processable as sugar through an elf’s system. Within an hour he’s literally bouncing off the walls. He finally crashes on the couch, halfway through the first disc of “The Two Towers Special Extended Edition”, right about the time Treebeard puts Merry and Pippin out too.
I toss a blanket over him, leaving him to dream sweet elven dreams with Princess Elizabeth nestled between his thighs and Haldir, our deaf white kitten, cuddled in the crook of his left arm.
Friday dawns bright and early. Yes Dear’s up at the crack of dawn, ready for the traditional harvest of the Christmas tree.
Okay, so the bright part wasn’t right. That’s the bedroom light overhead shining in my eyes. When I finally struggle out from under the electric blanket to peek outside, the day is dreary and cloudy and the wind is whipping the branches of the oak outside.
This year Legolas is already dressed. I find him standing at the backdoor, a gallon-sized Ziplock baggie of Cocoa Puffs clutched in his hand.
“Moernin!” he mumbles through a mouthful of cereal. “Kin I goe git en da vaen?”
I give him the same looking over I would give Lil’ Pip. “Have you got a T-shirt on under your sweatshirt?”
“Yaes,” he says, tucking the cereal baggie between his chin and chest and using both hands to lift the hem of the sweatshirt to show me. “An I goet da Chreestmus uendurpaentz oen tuu, waenna sea?” His fingers dart down to pop the top button on his jeans.
“No, no, Prance, that’s okay,” I interrupt, reaching to grasp his arm before he goes any further. “I trust you. Run and use the bathroom one more time and you can get in the van, alright?”
“Okae!” he shouts, off in a flash.
Yes Dear’s doing his own imitation of the Prance.
“It’s almost nine o’clock,” he says, tapping his watch. “The weather’s supposed to worsen early this afternoon, so we need to go early.”
At five until 9, he’s in the bathroom stemming the blood flow from the hole where Lil’ Pip’s last tooth has just come out. At five after, he’s reading the newspaper for the tenth time while I braid Lil’ Pip’s hair.
At twenty-five past, the blond bombshell comes bursting back through the door.
“Ar we goen oer noet?”
”Okay! Okay! We’re coming!” I exclaim, dragging Lil’ Pip out the door.
At 9:30 am, we’re all in the van heading into town. There’s a light mist falling, and the wind is gusting against the van in big pushes of strength and sound. By the time we pass the library, Yes Dear turns to me and asks, “Where are the raincoats and umbrellas?”
“There should be two of each in the back of the van,” I answer.
“Noe dere’z noet,” chimes in Prance Helpful from the backseat. “I tuuk dem ouwt whin u weant tu git da neuw kabineatz.”
Yes Dear sighs and turns the van around.
At ten o’clock, we’re rolling through town for the second time. We manage to make it twenty miles north-west before a little voice in the back seat says, “I’m hungry.”
“Didn’t you eat any breakfast?” I ask.
“No, I didn’t have a chance!” whines Lil’ Pip.
“Legolas, be a dear and give Lil’ Pip some of your cereal, please, “I plead.
“I kin’t. It’z all goen,” he answers, holding up the empty gallon–sized baggie. There’s absolutely nothing left but a dusting of cocoa flavored sugar lining the plastic. He’s eaten the equivalent of a whole box of sugar flavored puffs all by himself in less than an hour.
Oh yeah, baby (c al).
Yes Dear finds a gas station in the next town we pass and stops so everyone can get a bite to eat. Ten dollars later, we get back in the van with a bag of peanut butter M & M’s, a plastic container of mini chocolate M & M’s, two Chunky’s, a dark chocolate Dove bar, a pack of peanut butter crackers, a Coke, an Orange Strawberry and Banana Burst Tropical Twister, and a Minute Maid Lemonade. Oh, and don’t forget the Stuckey’s Pecan Log Roll.
“Where’d you get that?” I exclaim, drooling as I watch the Prance sink his sparkling white incisors through the pecans and into the sweet marshmallow filling. My dad used to always stop at Stuckey’s restaurants when we drove to Minnesota or North Carolina to visit the relatives, and the best thing (besides finally getting to go to the bathroom) was the Stuckey’s Pecan Log Roll that he would buy for each of us as we got back in the car.
“Dey wear rite dere by da cash raegistur,” mutters Prance through the mouthful of goo.
“I don’t think I paid for that,” whispers Yes Dear.
“Legolas? Honey, did you pay the lady at the cash register for that?”
“Oef Koerse!”
Hmmm.
“Uhm... Legolas? Where did you get the money?” I ask.
“Oeh, it deedn’t koest eni muney.”
Uh-oh. Not good.
“What did you do?” growls Yes Dear.
“Nuthin!” insists the Prance in his defensive whiny voice. After a long pause, he continues, “I gave her a kees. Dat’s all she sed dey koest. U shuld hav goet won tuu!”
Fine. Now elfboy’s pouting.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We stop at the beginning of the road that winds up the mountain to switch seats. No lunch beforehand this time, and certainly no elven Princes with motion sickness in the backseat.
Prance Legolas starts the winding trip by producing the first Christmas carol of the day.
“Da bare weant ober da mowntan, da bare weant....”
“That’s not a Christmas carol!” complains Lil’ Pip from her spot in the backseat.
The Prance rolls his eyes and interrupts his song with, “Yaes it iz.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yaes, it iz.”
“Is not!”
“Iz tuu!”
“Knock it off,” says Yes Dear. “Finish that one and then sing regular Christmas carols, please, Leggy.”
“Okae.”
“Da bare weant ober da mowntan,
Da bare weant ober da mowntan,
Da bare weant ober da mowntan,
Tu git a Chreestmus trea!”
“Sea?” he says, twisting in his seat to show off to Lil’ Pip. He sticks out his tongue at her. She doesn’t miss the opportunity to stick hers out right back at him.
The next thirty minutes are filled with beautiful music. Sort of.
“U noe Daeshur an Praensiss an Kearmut an Diekzun....”
“That’s not right!”
“Yaes it iz!”
“No, it’s not!”
“Yaes it iz!”
“Is not!”
“Stop it! Just start with the Rudolph part,” I scold.
“Rudeoelf da Raed nozd ranedear....”
“Reindeer,” echoes Lil’ Pip.
“Haed a vary shiennie noze....”
“Like a lightbulb!” sings Lil’ Pip.
Legolas turns and glares at her but keeps on singing, increasing his volume.
“An if u eber saew it....“
“Saw it,” repeats Lil’ Pip.
“Maek her stoep dat!” growls the Prance to me. “She’z maekin fuen of me!”
“That’s the way the song goes!” Lil’ Pip protests.
“Noe it’z noet!”
“Yes it is!”
“Noe it’z noet!”
“Yes it is!”
“Iz noet!”
“Is too!”
“Alright!” yells Yes Dear. “No more Christmas carols!”
Party Pooper.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Soon little cartoon Santa signs are appearing on both sides of the road, and the singing evolves into another kind of competition.
“Dere’z won!” shouts the elven prince from the front seat.
“I don’t see anything,” whines Lil’ Pip, her nose pressed to the window.
“Rite dere! Luuk!”
She growls at him.
A few moments later, “Luuk! Dere’s anuthr won!”
“Momma, that’s not fair! Why does he always get to ride in the front?”
“Because he always throws up when he rides up the mountains in the back,” I answer.
“That’s disgusting,” she moans.
Three sign-spottings more and Lil’ Pip has had enough.
“He always wins! It’s just not fair! How come I can’t ever see one first, huh? Just one, that’s all I ask!”
“I hav da eyez of a haewk an da eerz of a foex,” boasts Elfboy.
I knew Thranduil was right about him spending entirely too much time with that dwarf.
We pull into the farmyard and head up the hill to the barn to find a place to park. This year the lot’s so full of cars they’ve got an employee directing traffic.
Legolas is out of the van as soon as we stop. He makes a beeline first for the bathroom, then I see him dash across to the area where the big old farm truck picks everyone up to take them out to the tree field. A few seconds later, he’s dashing back, dodging through the bumpers of the $40K SUV’s lined up for parking, waving to the drivers as they slam on the brakes to keep from hitting him.
“Luuk! Luuk, al!” he cries, holding his hand out to me. “Luuk whut I goet!”
I peer carefully into his outstretched palm, looking for whatever it is that has gotten him so excited. I see nothing but the lines of his palm and maybe a raindrop or two.
“Sea?” he says, pointing to his hand.
Still nothing. Not even a speck of dirt.
“You’ll have to tell me, baby. Your eyes are better than mine.”
“Rite dere! Sea dat?” When I shake my head no, he gives an exasperated sigh and points again, “Sea dat snoewflaek?”
Well, maybe there USED to be a snowflake on his palm, but it’s long gone now. “I think it melted, sweetheart. Go catch me another one.”
“Okae!” he says, bounding off through the line of cars, setting off another round of beeping horns.
By the time I can change into my old tennis shoes, he’s back. “Coem oen!” he begs, tugging on my arm. “Mike sez we goetta git oen da trueck rite noew if we waenna goe!”
A few moments later, we’re coasting down the hill with Legolas perched firmly on top of the cab of the truck, humming away to himself. The soft strains of “O Tannenbaum” followed by “White Christmas” waft down from where he’s balanced precariously. Every time we hit a rut in the dirt road or make a turn, it’s all I can do not to reach out to steady him, though I know I really don’t need to. It’s just become a habit I’m finding hard to break.
Or maybe it’s just a habit I don’t WANT to break.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It doesn’t take long before the snow is falling freely. Big, beautiful white flakes that drop down from the sky, spinning slowly before they hit the ground. The wind is picking up too, making us a lot less selective than last year as far as wandering around endlessly looking for perfection in tree form. Before long we’re back on the truck, heading up the hill to the barn.
Legolas gets more antsy by the minute as the day wanes on. When the truck finally rolls to a stop, he bounces down off the cab in such a hurry I think maybe he’s after another bathroom break, but he heads in the opposite direction. He heads toward the concession stand in the barn.
Moments later, while I ‘m helping Yes Dear match the ticket in his hand with the ticket on the tree we selected, Legolas wanders dejectedly out of the barn and goes straight to the car. I find him sitting on the wet ground beside the passenger side door.
“Legolas? What’s wrong?” I ask, dropping to my knees beside him. The worried, defeated look on his face scares me to death.
“Legolas?”
He looks up, and his deep blue eyes meet mine. They hold the weight of the worlds combined, both Middle-earth as well as our modern one.
“He’z goen.”
“What? Who’s gone?”
“Saenta Klawse. He’z alraedy goen. He deedn’t wate fur me tu git hear.” He looks up at me, and there are tears in his eyes.
“al? Hoew em I goenna ask heem tu seand me bak agin if he izn’t hear?”
A/N: A while back, there were some questions that need answering from Deb. Legolas finally sat down and wrote his answers, and I thought they might be of interest to the rest of you. With her permission, here are her questions and his responses.
Deb:
I finished FOTR finally!!
I do have a couple of questions for The Prance...
First of all, if you're a prince...how come no one really gives you the royal respect you deserve? No one ever calls you prince, and in fact...I feel they sort of keep you in the sidelines in that book. (I'm hoping we'll see lots more of you in the next one). I was also curious what you were up to when you all were in Lothlorien and you left the fellowship for a couple of nights. Was there some good looking she-elf you had to go and make time with? Or was this official business? Also, I'm a little unclear on this immortality thing. Do you have to give that up when you fall in love with a mortal? Or is that more of a symbolic gesture in that one day you'd have to face the mortality of the one you love? (I'm a little worried about Arwen and Aragorn really.) Tell me what happens when an elf and a human mate? Will the offspring be one or the other? Or a cohesive mix of the two?
I know that's a lot of questions...but I just have to know!
And Legolas answers her with:
Wael, furst of all, I dunnoe whie noebuddie treetz me like roayaltee. Mebbe if I woar my grean Feastavil roabe ensted of my tunik an leagginz (dere NOET TIETZ!) moer peepul wuld treet me wid reaspekt. I wuz bizzy trien tu keap Araporn an Boreamir frum keelin eech uthur fur da furst paert of da jerney, noet tu menshun dat Araporn tuk furever tu git ober dat leedle theeng I sed at da Cownsil meating, An Gandalf goet doze hoebitz smoekin dat piepwead, an we all noe whut haeppinz whin DAT haeppinz, an dere I wuz bizzy agin.
Soe u sea, whin we goet tu Lothlorien, I neaded a brake, u noe?
Noew, abot dis immoraleety thaeng....
AHEM!
Whut?
You didn’t answer the question.
Yaes I deed.
No, you didn’t.
*glaerz*
Az I wuz saeing....
Oen dat immoraleety theeng... Elves mae choez tu faell en lub wid moertalz, buet tu due soe wuld meen u muest deaside tu dwaell en Valinor foerevur, liveeng widowt ennithaeng tu woerrie abot buet beeing alowne, oer deasideeng tu give dat up an beacoem moertal buet liveeng wid ur truew lub foer a limated tiem.
Plues, Arwen noez dat if she duzn’t peck Araporn, he noez my nuembur....*weenkz*
Soe, bea uenhaeppie furever, oer bea haeppie fur a moertal life? Hummmm....
Az fur ur naekzt kwestshun, I em noe eggspurt, buet I theenk id is muech like whin tuu huemanz maet. Goe aesk ur muther.
Da oefspreeng of a unyun of an elf an a hueman due noet haev tu bea moertal. Dey ar kaeld peredhil, an like Elrond, dey mae choez tu bea moertal or immoral. Elrond’z paerintz an heez tween bruthr all choez tu becoem moertal. Elrond choez immoralitee. Den he maerried an elf, soe it seamz tu hav wurked owt eniwae.
Legolas?
Yaes?
The part about Lothlorien? I’m still curious about what happened.
I ansurd dat.
No, you didn’t.
Yaes I did.
Did not.
Deed tu. Noe huerrie an tipe ur paert up, wuld u? Tiem iz waestin.
But Legolas?
Yaes?
You’re immortal. What difference does time make?
*groewlz an pokez al* Jest huerrie uep, okae?
Chapter 21 The Calm Before The Storm
Lil’ Pip gets her smoothie maker for her birthday. She also gets a pizza and bowling party with four of her closest friends. We start out at Pizza Hut with Legolas intermittently pouring the Pepsi and delving through the big black trash bag, looking to make sure none of the pretty bows from the packages get tossed out with the wrapping paper. He also enjoys helping the girls look through their goodie bags to find the fake-hair punk-rocker wraps to go around their ponytails. After he finishes fixing them all up, I wish I had bought one each for Yes Dear, Legolas, and myself. They looked absolutely lovely.
We pile into the van and head for the bowling alley, where the man behind the counter spots our Prance right off the bat and digs out the Magical Mystical Absolutely Disgustingly Horrible Houndstooth Check Bowling Shoes.
“U reemimburd me!” exclaims the Prance, flattered.
“Sweetheart, you’re the only one I think would ever be able to pull off wearing a pair of shoes like those,” the man answers, shaking his head.
“Thaenk u soe muech!” says the Prance, batting his eyelashes and gathering his shoes in one hand before sashaying off to look for his special hot pink bowling ball.
Everyone has a fabulous day, and everyone breaks a hundred, even the ones who claim they’ve never bowled before. I think there’s been some Magical Shoe Rubbing going on while they’re waiting for turns, sitting there innocently sipping on Icee frozen sodas.
Hmmm. I think maybe I ought to ask for those shoes in the future.
We end the day with a trip to Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream, home of the 31 flavors. Everybody gets to pick one scoop, because it‘s almost time for supper. By the time they’ve each eaten about half the single scoop, the sugar has hit in full force, and I’m suddenly thankful we didn’t start the party with the ice cream.
Ahhh....Thanksgiving.
We eat at Ryan’s Family Steakhouse, since the kitchen’s still not totally functional. They‘ve got a bigger spread than we could ever fix anyway: turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, ham, green beans, corn, carrots, fried okra, cranberry sauce, and macaroni and cheese. Legolas polishes off most of the entire pan of sweet potato casserole topped with marshmallows, which I discover later is highly processable as sugar through an elf’s system. Within an hour he’s literally bouncing off the walls. He finally crashes on the couch, halfway through the first disc of “The Two Towers Special Extended Edition”, right about the time Treebeard puts Merry and Pippin out too.
I toss a blanket over him, leaving him to dream sweet elven dreams with Princess Elizabeth nestled between his thighs and Haldir, our deaf white kitten, cuddled in the crook of his left arm.
Friday dawns bright and early. Yes Dear’s up at the crack of dawn, ready for the traditional harvest of the Christmas tree.
Okay, so the bright part wasn’t right. That’s the bedroom light overhead shining in my eyes. When I finally struggle out from under the electric blanket to peek outside, the day is dreary and cloudy and the wind is whipping the branches of the oak outside.
This year Legolas is already dressed. I find him standing at the backdoor, a gallon-sized Ziplock baggie of Cocoa Puffs clutched in his hand.
“Moernin!” he mumbles through a mouthful of cereal. “Kin I goe git en da vaen?”
I give him the same looking over I would give Lil’ Pip. “Have you got a T-shirt on under your sweatshirt?”
“Yaes,” he says, tucking the cereal baggie between his chin and chest and using both hands to lift the hem of the sweatshirt to show me. “An I goet da Chreestmus uendurpaentz oen tuu, waenna sea?” His fingers dart down to pop the top button on his jeans.
“No, no, Prance, that’s okay,” I interrupt, reaching to grasp his arm before he goes any further. “I trust you. Run and use the bathroom one more time and you can get in the van, alright?”
“Okae!” he shouts, off in a flash.
Yes Dear’s doing his own imitation of the Prance.
“It’s almost nine o’clock,” he says, tapping his watch. “The weather’s supposed to worsen early this afternoon, so we need to go early.”
At five until 9, he’s in the bathroom stemming the blood flow from the hole where Lil’ Pip’s last tooth has just come out. At five after, he’s reading the newspaper for the tenth time while I braid Lil’ Pip’s hair.
At twenty-five past, the blond bombshell comes bursting back through the door.
“Ar we goen oer noet?”
”Okay! Okay! We’re coming!” I exclaim, dragging Lil’ Pip out the door.
At 9:30 am, we’re all in the van heading into town. There’s a light mist falling, and the wind is gusting against the van in big pushes of strength and sound. By the time we pass the library, Yes Dear turns to me and asks, “Where are the raincoats and umbrellas?”
“There should be two of each in the back of the van,” I answer.
“Noe dere’z noet,” chimes in Prance Helpful from the backseat. “I tuuk dem ouwt whin u weant tu git da neuw kabineatz.”
Yes Dear sighs and turns the van around.
At ten o’clock, we’re rolling through town for the second time. We manage to make it twenty miles north-west before a little voice in the back seat says, “I’m hungry.”
“Didn’t you eat any breakfast?” I ask.
“No, I didn’t have a chance!” whines Lil’ Pip.
“Legolas, be a dear and give Lil’ Pip some of your cereal, please, “I plead.
“I kin’t. It’z all goen,” he answers, holding up the empty gallon–sized baggie. There’s absolutely nothing left but a dusting of cocoa flavored sugar lining the plastic. He’s eaten the equivalent of a whole box of sugar flavored puffs all by himself in less than an hour.
Oh yeah, baby (c al).
Yes Dear finds a gas station in the next town we pass and stops so everyone can get a bite to eat. Ten dollars later, we get back in the van with a bag of peanut butter M & M’s, a plastic container of mini chocolate M & M’s, two Chunky’s, a dark chocolate Dove bar, a pack of peanut butter crackers, a Coke, an Orange Strawberry and Banana Burst Tropical Twister, and a Minute Maid Lemonade. Oh, and don’t forget the Stuckey’s Pecan Log Roll.
“Where’d you get that?” I exclaim, drooling as I watch the Prance sink his sparkling white incisors through the pecans and into the sweet marshmallow filling. My dad used to always stop at Stuckey’s restaurants when we drove to Minnesota or North Carolina to visit the relatives, and the best thing (besides finally getting to go to the bathroom) was the Stuckey’s Pecan Log Roll that he would buy for each of us as we got back in the car.
“Dey wear rite dere by da cash raegistur,” mutters Prance through the mouthful of goo.
“I don’t think I paid for that,” whispers Yes Dear.
“Legolas? Honey, did you pay the lady at the cash register for that?”
“Oef Koerse!”
Hmmm.
“Uhm... Legolas? Where did you get the money?” I ask.
“Oeh, it deedn’t koest eni muney.”
Uh-oh. Not good.
“What did you do?” growls Yes Dear.
“Nuthin!” insists the Prance in his defensive whiny voice. After a long pause, he continues, “I gave her a kees. Dat’s all she sed dey koest. U shuld hav goet won tuu!”
Fine. Now elfboy’s pouting.
We stop at the beginning of the road that winds up the mountain to switch seats. No lunch beforehand this time, and certainly no elven Princes with motion sickness in the backseat.
Prance Legolas starts the winding trip by producing the first Christmas carol of the day.
“Da bare weant ober da mowntan, da bare weant....”
“That’s not a Christmas carol!” complains Lil’ Pip from her spot in the backseat.
The Prance rolls his eyes and interrupts his song with, “Yaes it iz.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yaes, it iz.”
“Is not!”
“Iz tuu!”
“Knock it off,” says Yes Dear. “Finish that one and then sing regular Christmas carols, please, Leggy.”
“Okae.”
“Da bare weant ober da mowntan,
Da bare weant ober da mowntan,
Da bare weant ober da mowntan,
Tu git a Chreestmus trea!”
“Sea?” he says, twisting in his seat to show off to Lil’ Pip. He sticks out his tongue at her. She doesn’t miss the opportunity to stick hers out right back at him.
The next thirty minutes are filled with beautiful music. Sort of.
“U noe Daeshur an Praensiss an Kearmut an Diekzun....”
“That’s not right!”
“Yaes it iz!”
“No, it’s not!”
“Yaes it iz!”
“Is not!”
“Stop it! Just start with the Rudolph part,” I scold.
“Rudeoelf da Raed nozd ranedear....”
“Reindeer,” echoes Lil’ Pip.
“Haed a vary shiennie noze....”
“Like a lightbulb!” sings Lil’ Pip.
Legolas turns and glares at her but keeps on singing, increasing his volume.
“An if u eber saew it....“
“Saw it,” repeats Lil’ Pip.
“Maek her stoep dat!” growls the Prance to me. “She’z maekin fuen of me!”
“That’s the way the song goes!” Lil’ Pip protests.
“Noe it’z noet!”
“Yes it is!”
“Noe it’z noet!”
“Yes it is!”
“Iz noet!”
“Is too!”
“Alright!” yells Yes Dear. “No more Christmas carols!”
Party Pooper.
Soon little cartoon Santa signs are appearing on both sides of the road, and the singing evolves into another kind of competition.
“Dere’z won!” shouts the elven prince from the front seat.
“I don’t see anything,” whines Lil’ Pip, her nose pressed to the window.
“Rite dere! Luuk!”
She growls at him.
A few moments later, “Luuk! Dere’s anuthr won!”
“Momma, that’s not fair! Why does he always get to ride in the front?”
“Because he always throws up when he rides up the mountains in the back,” I answer.
“That’s disgusting,” she moans.
Three sign-spottings more and Lil’ Pip has had enough.
“He always wins! It’s just not fair! How come I can’t ever see one first, huh? Just one, that’s all I ask!”
“I hav da eyez of a haewk an da eerz of a foex,” boasts Elfboy.
I knew Thranduil was right about him spending entirely too much time with that dwarf.
We pull into the farmyard and head up the hill to the barn to find a place to park. This year the lot’s so full of cars they’ve got an employee directing traffic.
Legolas is out of the van as soon as we stop. He makes a beeline first for the bathroom, then I see him dash across to the area where the big old farm truck picks everyone up to take them out to the tree field. A few seconds later, he’s dashing back, dodging through the bumpers of the $40K SUV’s lined up for parking, waving to the drivers as they slam on the brakes to keep from hitting him.
“Luuk! Luuk, al!” he cries, holding his hand out to me. “Luuk whut I goet!”
I peer carefully into his outstretched palm, looking for whatever it is that has gotten him so excited. I see nothing but the lines of his palm and maybe a raindrop or two.
“Sea?” he says, pointing to his hand.
Still nothing. Not even a speck of dirt.
“You’ll have to tell me, baby. Your eyes are better than mine.”
“Rite dere! Sea dat?” When I shake my head no, he gives an exasperated sigh and points again, “Sea dat snoewflaek?”
Well, maybe there USED to be a snowflake on his palm, but it’s long gone now. “I think it melted, sweetheart. Go catch me another one.”
“Okae!” he says, bounding off through the line of cars, setting off another round of beeping horns.
By the time I can change into my old tennis shoes, he’s back. “Coem oen!” he begs, tugging on my arm. “Mike sez we goetta git oen da trueck rite noew if we waenna goe!”
A few moments later, we’re coasting down the hill with Legolas perched firmly on top of the cab of the truck, humming away to himself. The soft strains of “O Tannenbaum” followed by “White Christmas” waft down from where he’s balanced precariously. Every time we hit a rut in the dirt road or make a turn, it’s all I can do not to reach out to steady him, though I know I really don’t need to. It’s just become a habit I’m finding hard to break.
Or maybe it’s just a habit I don’t WANT to break.
It doesn’t take long before the snow is falling freely. Big, beautiful white flakes that drop down from the sky, spinning slowly before they hit the ground. The wind is picking up too, making us a lot less selective than last year as far as wandering around endlessly looking for perfection in tree form. Before long we’re back on the truck, heading up the hill to the barn.
Legolas gets more antsy by the minute as the day wanes on. When the truck finally rolls to a stop, he bounces down off the cab in such a hurry I think maybe he’s after another bathroom break, but he heads in the opposite direction. He heads toward the concession stand in the barn.
Moments later, while I ‘m helping Yes Dear match the ticket in his hand with the ticket on the tree we selected, Legolas wanders dejectedly out of the barn and goes straight to the car. I find him sitting on the wet ground beside the passenger side door.
“Legolas? What’s wrong?” I ask, dropping to my knees beside him. The worried, defeated look on his face scares me to death.
“Legolas?”
He looks up, and his deep blue eyes meet mine. They hold the weight of the worlds combined, both Middle-earth as well as our modern one.
“He’z goen.”
“What? Who’s gone?”
“Saenta Klawse. He’z alraedy goen. He deedn’t wate fur me tu git hear.” He looks up at me, and there are tears in his eyes.
“al? Hoew em I goenna ask heem tu seand me bak agin if he izn’t hear?”
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no subject
Date: October 6th, 2006 05:04 am (UTC)aww poor baby! *hugs him*
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Date: October 6th, 2006 05:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: October 6th, 2006 07:29 am (UTC)And I am *not* a "scurvy scallywag". I am a wobbly-legged, rum-soaked, rapier-wielding pirate.
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Date: October 8th, 2006 04:12 pm (UTC)Prance on a sugar-high - now that was definitely worth seeing! And the total collapse afterwards. Perhaps he could use his healing talents to restore "Haldir's" hearing . . .??
Poor Legolas, though - such misery at the end . . . someone's going to get a big shock when the truth about Santa's revealed . . .!!
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Date: October 13th, 2006 04:37 am (UTC)Finding out about Santa really rocked his boat, and all the wrong kind of rocking. He's an elf of action, though, and he regrouped and carried on like a true "worrier".
Thanks for loving him!
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Date: October 13th, 2006 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: October 13th, 2006 04:41 am (UTC)As for that "scurvy scallywag" thing, you DID go read "A Hidden Passion" first, didn't you???
Fantastic fic. I was incredibly sorry to see it end, as I usually am with all good fictions.
And put that rapier away before you fall over and hurt yourself.... *wink*
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Date: October 13th, 2006 04:46 am (UTC)I wish I had videotaped that sugar high. Pingpingpingpingpingpingpingpingpingpingpingpingpingpingpingpingpingpingping!*flop!*
Haldir doesn't have the internal ear components--he was born deaf, as a lot of white cats with blue eyes and albino characteristics are. Legolas is a fair healer, nowhere near Aragorn though. Mostly I think the elf is just damned lucky.
Santa was a bit of a shock, but I never tried to truly explain that...we sort of just left it that the old guy just wasn't around that day and dropped the subject for the time being. The Prance used to always amaze me with how he could move from elfling wonder to warrior maturity. Blink!
Thanks for reading!
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Date: October 20th, 2006 02:18 pm (UTC)If you are really really really really good, when you die you come back as a house cat named Princess Elizabeth.
Al? You can't really.. He has tears in his eyes, you can't leave it like this.
He's crying. Real tears and everything.
*sniffle* ..no tissue warning either..
And after he was soooo excited about catching snowflakes... and showing them to you.
Is it working? How about if I whine? Pout? Darn, P&P made you immune to cohersion by guilt.
(P&P.. Pip & Prance.)
((HUGS))
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Date: October 22nd, 2006 09:43 pm (UTC)And so I have some new stuff to tell you about. A little bit happier stuff. Love and all that....
I'm pretty immune to the whine thing, and the guilt thing. YD and PP have helped me develop my immunity along with P&P. My mum's about the only one the guilt thing works with anymore, 'cause she's the master of that....
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Date: November 14th, 2006 02:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: November 14th, 2006 03:30 am (UTC)