"You have awaken!" A loud, booming voice came from some hidden loudspeaker and Strider positively jumped, and would have fallen and injured himself if not for the padded walls. "Very good." A large booming voice. This wasn�t good. Maybe he had been captured by the forces of Mordor! Was it Sauron himself whom he was hearing? But how could that be possible? Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur here? What were they going to subject him to? And what did they want?!
"Who are you?" Strider blinked again. This wasn�t Sauron! It couldn�t be! It sounded clearly female. Was this an Arwen joke? It had better not be. "State your name, rank and serial number!"
Name, rank and serial number? He frowned, and saw no harm in that, "I am . . ." Strider took a very deep breath, "Aragorn, son of Arathorn, foster son of Elrond, heir of Isildur, also heir to the throne of Gondor, to be King Esslar, elf-friend Estel, Ranger of the North, Strider, Wingfoot, to wed Arwen, wielder of a broken sword, friend of Gandalf the Grey � "
"Are you quite finished?" The voice snarled, and Strider frowned. No, he was not finished. He had a very long name. And what was wrong with that?
Taking another deep breath, he continued, "I am also called . . ."
"ENOUGH!" The voice boomed, "You are the Sought!"
"The sought?" Strider echoed, scratching at his head again, "Are you sure?"
"Who else has like fifty names?" The voice cried in desperation, but before Strider could suggest that his father, our dear late Arathorn had a whole sixty names and that Isildur had a fair share as well, the voice continued. "You have some visitors."
"Oh, now, how quaint." Strider rolled his eyes, and nearly jumped out of his skin when a padded wall opened and in stepped . . . Gandalf! Oh! His prayers must have been answered! So excited, he could just jump around the room, he screamed, "You have no idea how glad I am to see you! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"
"Hmm," Gandalf muttered, and after him, there came strolling into the room an apparition Strider wasn�t quite sure he was glad to see. Her again. Some professor at some school or another. Darn annoying. And what would Arwen think? Arg.
"Please! I have to get back to Middle Earth!" Extremely desperate, if asked, Strider was just about ready to sell his kingship. Just about. "I really need to!" He turned to Gandalf, "And what about that hobbit? I�m sure that the Nazgul have caught up to him and . . . oops . . . we have another wraith!"
"The situation is not very dire." Gandalf replied sternly, and Adhara began to smirk, "There is another in your place."
"In my place?" Strider�s mouth dropped open, "If he even tried to get within fifty miles of Arwen � "
"I assure you that Elrond keeps his children quite safe," Adhara rolled her eyes, "Gosh."
"But . . . you don�t understand!" Very close to tears, Strider protested, "It�s not Arwen I�m worried about, it�s . . . Arwen�s soap!"
"Arwen�s soap?" The wizard raised his bushy white eyebrows, "What about her soap?"
"Well, you see, it�s very pretty soap, arranged into little cakes shaped like little flowers . . . kingsfoil flowers, to be exact . . . but . . ." Strider sighed and breathed in deeply as if recalling the scent of his favorite soap, "And it cleans you right down to the skin and you feel so minty fresh afterwards . . ."
"I don�t think I want to hear this!" Adhara looked like she was going to be sick, "And what is wrong with Dove?"
"Arg!" Gandalf screamed and stepped in between Adhara and Strider before they could even start to argue who uses the best soap, "Look, the point is, we have to get you . . ." he gave Strider a dirty look, "Back to Middle Earth without taking Sirius out of Middle Earth!"
"Why not?!" Strider sniffed, "That imposter!"
"Because you can�t go back yet!" Gandalf looked a little confused himself, "You can�t! You can�t! You can�t! Because I can�t send you back because . . ."
"Because why!?" Strider demanded angrily, "I need to go back!"
"Because . . . well . . . This is quite embarrassing . . ." The wizard blushed and tried to hide under his large pointy hat, "When I sent him to Middle Earth, for some reason you got sent back here! It�s almost as if you were the same person, which you are not! I don�t understand the balance yet . . . and if we were hasty . . ." Strider gave Gandalf a mean look, "I could end up eliminating both you and Sirius!"
"Oh gosh!" Strider paled, "But then, who will marry Arwen?"
"Could we forget about Arwen for a brief second?" Adhara interrupted, "So here�s the game plan. Gandalf is going back � "
"You can�t be serious!" Strider gasped, "No!"
"Why not? Do you think that the hobbits will survive without me? Do you want Middle Earth to be taken over by Sauron?!" Gandalf stood, eyes flaming angrily, clutching his staff, "Is that what you want? For if it was . . ."
"I�d stone you for being consorting with the enemy." Adhara gasped, "Oh, Strider! You wouldn�t do anything like that would you?"
"But you just can�t leave me here in a building with padded walls!" Strider was getting clearly desperate, "No! You can�t!"
"Of course I won�t." Before he could congratulate himself on his good fortune, Gandalf continued, "Adhara here has offered to put up with you . . . er . . . put you up . . . for a few days at Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts?" Strider rubbed his nose, "I don�t have any warts."
"No, no, no, no, no," Adhara laughed, "Remember the magic school?"
"So I won�t have to get a quadruple-cardiac-by-pass?" Strider asked skeptically, "I don�t want one."
"Oh, I suppose not," She waved a casual hand, "And if you flop suddenly, it�s not my fault."
"Oh, I suppose not." Strider repeated, and turned to Gandalf, "And when can I go back?"
"Back?" The wizard sniffled, "I�ll think about it. Maybe a week at the least."
"And at the most?" Strider finally decided just to call himself Aragorn, "I need to get back!"
"You will," Gandalf grinned, and raised his staff, "Eventually."
"Eventually?!" Before Aragorn could scream or do anything rash, the wizard had disappeared in a puff of blue smoke and he was left staring at Adhara. "This sucks!"
"Hey," Adhara whipped a clothespin out of her pocket and clamped it on her nose, "You�re not going anywhere near Hogwarts until you shower!"
"Why?" Aragorn looked down at himself, "I�m clean!" He paused and added, "For an orc!"
"You�re not an orc, now are you?" She pointed to what seemed to be a washroom down the white-washed hospital hallway, "I only have Dove soap. It�ll have to do."
"I don�t need a shower!" Aragorn protested weakly, but she grabbed his arm and half threw him in to the room (he almost hit the toilet, falling into the room), "And how does a shower work?"
"You don�t want me to show you now, do you?" Adhara threw a cake of soap and a bottle of shampoo at him, "And wash your hair too!"
"Women! And I thought no one could be as demanding as Arwen!" Still, he was a guest here, and was willing to conform. Before Aragorn could have gave a sigh of relief as she walked out of the room, she was back again, "What do you want?"
"And those . . ." She gave him a sweeping glance from head-to-toe, "Clothes . . . they�ll have to go. Aren�t you up on fashion?"
"This is very fashionable!" Aragorn pointed to his scabbard which she scowled at, and his boots, "I got them from the REE catalogue!"
"The what?" She snorted, "Never mind."
"You don�t know with what I had to bribe Legolas with for him to get them for me!" He sighed, wondering if he�d ever have a chance to tease that vain elf about his looks again, "Then what am I supposed to wear?"
"I don�t know what wizards wear!" Adhara protested, planting her hands on her hips angrily, "How am I supposed to know?"
"I thought you were . . ." He growled, "Fashionable!"
"Alright Mr. Smarty Pants!" She snarled, "I�ll show you what is fashionable these days!" Snapping her fingers, she instantly pulled a mannequin out of thin air and waved a hand down what seemed to be the most-in thing with witches. Actually, Aragorn liked it. If it was on a female version of his species. Adhara began explaining the features of the set of stylish robes, quite well designed and . . . he didn�t have a word for it . . . outstanding? Becoming? Arg, he didn�t know. "Now that is in fashion!"
"Well, I don�t see you wearing it!" He snapped back, "If you�re so fashionable, why don�t you wear it?"
"If you were listening," She rolled her eyes, "They are dress robes."
"So?" Aragorn didn�t like where this was heading, "Why does it matter?"
"They�re for formal occasions and I don�t suppose that meeting you is quite formal!" Adhara sniffled, "But then again . . ." She adopted a high squeaky voice which annoyingly reminded Aragorn of a certain elf, "You�re Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur . . ."
"I am perfectly clear on my lineage!" Aragorn snapped angrily, "Now this doesn�t solve my problem! So I�m not supposed to wear my clothing, then what am I supposed to wear?"
"I don�t care!" She sniffled, "Just not . . ." She closed her eyes and looked slightly pale, "Those . . ." And pointed a finger at Aragorn, "If you are, I�m giving you a few knuts and you�re on your own! Out there! In the big world!"
"Oh." That was the last place he wanted to go. The big world. He�d never get back to Middle Earth that way. "Alright."
"Well," Adhara snapped, impatiently, "I don�t see any of that grime coming off!"
"That�s because you�re in here!" Using just enough force to constitute pushing rather than pitching her out the door, Aragorn slammed the door shut, and was quite glad to be rid of her. For at least five minutes. Annoying. "I�ll be FINE!"
And how did a shower work? Aragorn studied the knobs. Push in or push out? Or did you not touch them? Or was . . . arg . . . this was so complicated! Why couldn�t there be just a copper bath tub full of water like Middle Earth? Arg. And as though he needed any more problems, Aragorn grabbed the nearest knob and yanked on it as hard as he could. The knob came off in his hand. And that was not the only thing. From some type of pipe thing above his head, what seemed to be a steady gigantic jet of steaming hot water pounded out at alarming rates and slammed against the opposite wall with such force, the paint was stripped from it. Aragorn watched the white paint fall of in strips. This was not a good sign. And how was he to shut it off? The knob clearly didn�t go back on . . .
"Adhara?!" Aragorn called, timidly, "I have a problem!"
"Well, I can�t help you now!" She screamed, but as an afterthought added, "AND DON�T FORGET TO SCRUB BEHIND YOUR EARS!"
"Well, it looks like I�m on my own." He sighed, and pulled out his sword (which Adhara had given back a few moments ago) and started hacking at the first thing he could find. Another knob. This knob fell off too. Now, ice cold water was pulsating out of a lower pipe and filling what resembled a tub at an alarming rate. And to make matters worse, there was nothing else to hack at! Except . . . he turned around. Perfect. There was a small tub with two knobs and a nozzle. Adhara had called it a sink. Whatever that was. Well, might as well hack that apart too . . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sirius awoke to the sound of hacking. More precisely, the sound of metal against metal. He half bounded out of his blankets and was on his feet in a flash, screaming, "Don�t burn down the bus again!"
But instead of the hobbits glaring back at him, Sirius was staring to the startled eyes of Legolas who had a his elven blade across his knees and was hacking at something on the ground beside him. For a brief moment, the two companions were silent. Legolas gave Sirius a dirty look along the lines how dare you disturb me and Sirius returned the look with what the heck are you doing this late at night? And besides, they could have been in Rivendell by then, but a certain elf (ooh, must be Boromir!) had suggested that they stop for a night as he needed to catch up on his beauty sleep. And instead of doing that, he was hacking something apart. Must be firewood. Wait. It wasn�t.
Sirius peered closer at the thing. It was round, about the size of a large medallion, and looked quite sturdy and even blacker than the night. Hmm. Must be an Elven Fighting Cookie. Legolas, too, studied the thing. The sharp elven blade had not even made a dent in it. The little thing was as perfect as the day it was made. Not much could resist an elven blade. Much less one of an elven prince. Must be mithril.
"Um . . ." Sirius pointed and Legolas stared, "What is that?"
"What do you think it is?" The elf snobbishly replied, snatching the thing away and stuffed it quickly into his bag, as though to hide it.
"Elven cosmetics?" He tried, and Legolas snorted, "Okay, um, Bow Wax."
"Wax? Wax where?" With a loud yawn, Boromir peered over at the duo with an angry look (well, he was sleeping) and tugged at his blankets, "I thought we were going to get a good night�s sleep."
"As if that is possible with our great friend Legolas here playing with Elven Fighting Cookies!" Sirius gave the elf a dirty look, but turned to Boromir, "Do you have any idea what that thing is?" And before Legolas could move (and elves had fast reflexes), Sirius dove for the spot where he had seen the little cake disappear and made to grab for it.
Unfortunately, Legolas was not that slow, and wrestled Sirius into a headlock before anything could really happen, aside from the fact that Sirius already managed to get his fist around his the little black thing and tossed it to Boromir. With a free hand, he threw a random punch at the elf and as the two fought it out, the third turned the little black thing over and over in his hands, clearly having no idea what it was.
"What the heck?" Boromir asked, and tapped it against the Horn of Gondor. The Horn shattered. "Aww, crap!" He swore and looked at the pieces, "Now how am I supposed to sing with the tugboats now?"
Looking up, he saw that the two were still fighting, although it was quite difficult to see through the cloud of dust and grime who was winning. Every now and again, an arm or a leg surfaced and seemingly, they were quite evenly matched. Hmm. Anyhow, lacking a better course of action, Boromir threw the black thing back into the fight and turned his attention to his horn. Breathing a sigh of relief for the horn had just broke in half, he grabbed a tube of super glue and began sticking the Horn of Gondor back together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Why is there so much water seeping out under the door?" Adhara�s sharp voice hit Aragorn�s ears, "That usually doesn�t happen when I bathe!"
"Just because you�re not as . . ." He called back, looking around the soaking room desperately for some passable explanation to why he had hacked everything apart, "As manly!"
"Oh." Her answer was a bit quieter, and before her suspicions could be raised again, Aragorn took a large towel and quickly plugged up the little crack under the door. There. The future king of Gondor had to be innovative in times like this. Wait. The King of Gondor shouldn�t be in times like these. Even though he had promised Gandalf, this wouldn�t do. Aragorn, son of Arathorn was not going to get dunked in a bath tub like some . . . he shuttered . . . elf . . .!
There had to be some way to escape. And escape he must. Aragorn took a deep breath, and stood on the toilet. There was a way to escape. High up. Ventilation shafts. Hoping that the splashing water covered any sound, the sword made easy work of the decorative fancy plastic grate and with a simple little hoist, he was in. Maybe that wasn�t it. Maybe he needed to leave a message.
Jumping back down, Aragorn reached for the bottle of liquid soap and proceeded to print a nice little message on the mirror. Well, actually, he paused. He didn�t know how to spell in English. Elven, sure, but English? He only spoke it. It shouldn�t be that difficult . . . maybe just sound out the words . . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Ouch." Legolas whimpered, and adjusted the many slices of cucumbers he had laid across his face, "Men can sure pack a punch." Both he and Sirius were both lying quite prone on their backs, every muscle flaring with pain, and to their utmost embarrassment (the elf most of all), Boromir was trying to nurse them back to health before they had to meet Elrond. At this time, the son of the Steward of Gondor was trying to fix a few broken toes on the elf�s elegant foot, but Legolas moaned painfully, "Don�t waste your time there. No one can see them. My face! Worry about my face!"
And as Boromir moved to comply (currently Legolas� face was covered with a good dozen slices of cucumbers and plastered with mud from the Running River which was supposed to restore his �beauty�) Sirius stared into the brightening sky, humming a little tune. Frankly, most of his punches had accidentally (actually, quite intentionally) literally rearranged certain features on Legolas� face, and the elf was none too pleased about it. For the most part, Sirius� injuries were minimal and was quite glad no weapons were pulled. Still, it would be best if they met Elrond tomorrow and get those darn hobbits back . . .
"I don�t think you�re hurt, exactly," Boromir was fussing over the placement of a particular slice of cucumber, "You�ll be fine in a few days. They�re just bruises." The elf breathed a sigh of relief, but Boromir continued, "I think your nose might be broken though."
"NOOO!" Legolas shrieked, and jumped up with such speed, all the cucumber slices slid down his face and spattered across his front as he grabbed some toothpicks and jammed them up his nostrils (gushing blood followed). "Ouch!"
"What are you doing?" Boromir shrieked, "Legolas!"
"I�m putting in supports!" The elf snarled, "Haven�t you ever taken biology?!"
"But your nose, your pretty little nose is built of cartilage and not bone!" The man hollered, "And all you�ll do with those toothpicks is give yourself a nosebleed!"
"My nose! My nose!" Legolas crumpled to the ground, crying, "How will I ever face another elf?!" He paused. "Wait. Haldir had his nosie broken once. That�s why he�s so ugly."
"Your nose is broken." Sirius chose this moment to point out.
Legolas positively bawled as Boromir patted him on the shoulder, cooing, "It�ll be all right! Just put the cucumbers back on and everything will be fine!"
"But I don�t wanna look like . . ." He shuttered, "Haldir!"
"Don�t worry!" Boromir whispered and managed to get Legolas back onto his back and the cucumbers back into place, "Everything will be fine! Just trust me!"
"You?!" Legolas suddenly jumped up, cucumbers flying everywhere, "NEVER! I will never trust my face in the hands of a MAN!" And before either Boromir or Sirius could say anything, he tore away from them and ran away into the surrounding forest.
"Alrighty then!" Sirius sighed, "Talk about a major hissy-fit!"
"A hissy-fit?" Boromir repeated, questioning, "What is a hissy-fit?"
"What you just saw," Laughing, Sirius picked up a discarded cucumber slice, brushed a twig off it, and placed it over a swollen eye, "Are you sure these things work?"
"THIS WORKS!" Both Boromir and Sirius jumped as Legolas came running back (he looked rather surprising, with mud dripping off his face and a cucumber slice jammed up an ear) and the elf tossed what seemed to be a weed at Sirius, "Kingsfoil. You know what to do with it!"
"Eat it in a salad?" Sirius tried, and patted his rumbling stomach, "I�m hungry."
"NO!" The elf hollered, "I need you to heal me! NOW!"
"If I wanted to heal you," Patiently, Sirius explained, "I wouldn�t have beaten you up."
"You did not beat me up!" Legolas yelled pathetically, and spat out some mud, "I actually need to look like an elf before meeting Elrond!"
"Well, you do look like an elf!" Boromir piped in, "See, the pointy ears? Well, there is mud dripping off you, and your hair is a mess, but aside from that . . ."
"What?" Legolas shrieked and quickly grabbed his pocket mirror, "Let�s see what I look like . . ." The sight must have been too terrible to imagine. For a moment, the elf (for once) was speechless, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. And then, only the littlest of squeaks.
"What�s wrong?" Boromir asked, concerned, "You look okay to me. Just take the cucumber slice out of your ear!"
"I . . ." Legolas gasped, finally able to speak in words, "I . . . look . . . look . . . . like . . . a . . . a . . . a. . . ."
"A what?" Sirius snapped impatiently, "See the pointy ears? Elf!"
"Pointy . . . pointy . . ." The elf gasped, wide-eyed at the reflection, "Ears . . . look . . . like . . . a . . . a . . . an . . . an . . ." Angrily, he slammed the mirror onto the ground and it shattered into a million little fragments, "An orc!"
"An orc?!" Boromir frowned (he reckoned Legolas looked more like an Uri-khai) and walked over to Legolas sniffing, "Funny, you don�t smell like one."
"Of course. I use REE lavender soap." The elf replied tartly, and was still in shock, "But I look like an orc!"
"Then you must be a very pretty orc." Sirius rolled his eyes, "All the other orcs will be swarming over you." He paused, "The female orcs."
"Female orcs?" Boromir asked, "Are there such things?"
"Probably not," Sirius agreed, and they both watched as Legolas sank to the ground and buried his face in his hands, weeping loudly, "I hate elves." But in his heart, he felt sorry for the vain elf and thought that he would feel the same way if some arrow had scratched his favorite motorbike (check that, his only motorbike).
"Please!" Legolas suddenly squeaked, "Please Aragorn! Fix my face!"
"Err . . ." Sirius decided it was not exactly the time nor the place to point out that he was not Aragorn, son of Arathorn, but sighed instead, picking up the plant which had been tossed at him, "I�ll see what I can do."
Even Boromir grinned widely, and laughed, "Alright, alright, I suppose we should keep the peace between us three . . ."
"I�ll do anything!" Legolas gasped, "Fix my face!"
"Alrighty!" Sirius snapped, and seeing he couldn�t do anything with the plant (kingsfoil or whatever it was), he wrapped it about his wand (slight of hand, you know), and murmured a few spells he had picked up from dear Madame Promfrey over the years, and hoped that would suffice.
"I feel better already," The elf sighed and Boromir watched, highly amused, as Sirius continued to mutter spells under his breath, "I am going to be the prettiest elf there ever was!" He paused. "Well, I already am the prettiest elf there ever was!"
"Oh for pity�s sake . . ." Boromir sighed rolling his eyes as Sirius finally finished, "Now can we head into Rivendell?"
"I must check on my image, though." Legolas brushed at the mud and dislodged the cucumber from his ear, but quickly turned to Sirius, "Not that I don�t trust you or anything . . ."
"Alright, go gawk in your mirror." Sirius groaned, and looked around their clearing, "I�ll go see what Donkey is up to." As he strode away from them, Boromir looked down at the million fragments of mirror, and wondered how that elf was going to gawk at that little sliver of glass.
"Um, do you know where there is a stream?" Legolas suddenly asked, and Boromir pointed in a random direction, "Thanks." The elf reached into his bags and began hoisting out a large bottle of spring fresh bubble bath, a large frilly pink shower cap, and a few more things Boromir wasn�t quite sure what they were.
"What are those for?" He asked, and Legolas gave him a little hurt look as he was playing with the fuzzies on a fluffy pink towel, "Err . . . I mean . . . happy squeaky clean . . ."
"Mmm . . ." Legolas sighed contentedly and after shoving everything back into his bag, he sprang lightly (and quite quickly) to his feet and over the plains in the direction which Boromir had pointed earlier.
"At least I think the stream is that way!" Boromir screamed after him, and it was true. He wasn�t quite sure. Anyways, it did smell and sound like running water. But then again, they were quite close to Rivendell.
When Sirius finally returned with Donkey and their pair of horses, Boromir had finished repairing the Horn of Gondor and had polished it so finely, that only a slight little discoloring mark showed where it had snapped. There. Very beautiful. And you couldn�t even tell the difference unless you held it up to direct sunlight! Ah.
"You wouldn�t believe where Donkey was." Sirius rolled his eyes and plopped down beside Boromir, "He was off looking for blue flowers with red thorns. I mean, there aren�t any blue flowers with red thorns! Thinking about it, there aren�t red flowers with blue thorns either!"
"Oh." Boromir was still admiring his horn, "Maybe a little toot won�t do it any harm?"
"Isn�t that supposed to call all the armies of Gondor?" Sirius asked, skeptically, "Maybe you shouldn�t then."
"Why not? It is fun to watch them run up to you in a big hurry . . ." Boromir grinned, "When there really isn�t one."
"Have you ever heard of the fable?" Sirius groaned, "The Boy who Cried Wolf?"
"Well, that is folly if I had ever heard any!" The other snapped, "I am not a boy and I am not crying wolf. You see, I am Boromir and I am Blowing on the Horn of Gondor."
"Well, then, have you ever heard of the fable," Sirius paused, "The Boromir who Blew his Horn?"
"No." Boromir admitted, but set down his horn, "Is it interesting?"
"Of course!" Sirius beamed, "You�re the main character!"
"Ooh!" Eyes brightening, Boromir could hardly contain his excitement, "Really? Do I get to go rescue a princess and slay a dragon?"
"Well . . ." Sirius faltered, "No. Not exactly."
"Then I don�t want to hear it." Boromir muttered darkly.
"Okay, then," Sirius rolled his eyes, "Just don�t blow your horn."
"Why not?!" Boromir snorted, and before Sirius could reply, he had placed the Horn of Gondor to his lips and shattered the still silence of the morning with what seemed to be the cry of a ravaged tug boat.
"NOOOOOO!" Sirius screamed, "Save that for emergencies!"
"Why didn�t you say so earlier?!" Boromir screamed back, and suddenly, the ground started to rumble.
"Oh no." Sirius whimpered, "Oh no!"
"Oh no is right!" Boromir screamed, as the shaking intensified, "They don�t usually get here this early!"
"Usually?" Sirius replied, "Usually?"
"Look! Here they come!" Boromir clapped his hands excitedly, as from the trees erupted what seemed to be a gigantic army clad in armor, shining in the sunlight, "The Armies of Gondor!"
"Gondor?" Sirius repeated, and looked harder at the rapidly advancing row upon row of very orderly troops, "Are you sure?"
"Of course!" Boromir snapped, "It isn�t the Horn of Rivendell now is it?"
"But they�re . . . they�re . . ." Sirius gawked and noticed that the army was heading towards them, weapons drawn, and the archers looked a little dangerous (check that, quite dangerous), "Elves!"
"Elves!" Boromir stared daggers at his horn, "Aww man, it�s malfunctioning again!"
"No! They�re not answering to you! They�re chasing him!" Sirius gasped and pointed to a hurriedly running figure they had not noticed before. To make matters worse (they had seemed to be getting better), the figure was running towards them, screaming SAVE ME!
"NO!" Sirius screamed and was about to run, but both the army and the figure had caught up with him and he was swept away from Boromir in a quick brush of elvish blades, armor and well, elves themselves. Never had he seen so many, but fortunately, all of the warriors seemed to be ignoring him as though a rock in a stream, and every whisked past him before he had enough time to say AKK!
Left in a choking cloud of dust, Sirius coughed loudly, and saw Boromir quite a distance away. Hmm. "Are you alright?" Sirius called and Boromir ran over to him, waving cheerfully, "I wonder what that was!"
"That was the Army of Rivendell." Boromir sniffled, "I think."
"What do you mean, you think?" Sirius gasped, "They were elves weren�t they?"
"Well, it is folly to believe that all elves live in the same area!" He cheerfully replied, and gestured towards the Horn of Gondor, "I called off my troops. Don�t worry."
"Oh." Sirius sneezed, "Now where is that old Donkey? And where is Legolas? We have to get to Rivendell now before we are trampled by some other army!"
"Look!" Boromir did not answer the question but pointed to the horizon again. The figure had returned. And it was running towards them again. Screaming. This time it wasn�t save me but SAVE MY PRETTY NOSE! And it didn�t take a rocket scientist to figure out who it was.
"Oh man! How did Legolas get the whole Army of Rivendell after him?" Sirius groaned, and before Boromir could reply, Legolas had reached them and was nearly strangling Sirius.
"Help! Help! Help!" The elf gasped, and pointed to the rapidly approaching army, "HELP!"
"What happened?" Sirius sputtered.
"I went and found a pretty stream and it was the one Boromir decided to tell me to go to," A dirty look for the afflicted party was provided, "And it turned out to be the private gold fish pond of Elrond and he sent his army all after me and it�s not far and he accused me of polluting his water and it wasn�t my fault that Arwen happened to be glancing out her window and she saw some nude elf in her daddy�s pool taking a very deserved bath and . . ."
Legolas did not have a chance to finish. He fled just as the army brushed past them again, and Sirius, having learned from previous experience, just stood as still as he could, and the whole elven army passed him again without any serious mishap. Aside from a small road rash on his arm which some elven armor brushing past at high speeds could cause.
"Why did you go tell him to bathe in someone�s gold fish pond?!" Sirius sputtered at Boromir, "They�re going to kill him!"
"No, elves can not be killed. They are immortal." Boromir replied snobbishly, "Well, they can die in battle or of grief, but I think that if they broke his �pretty little nose� he would die of grief."
"Mental note: Never Bathe in Elrond�s Goldfish Pond." Sirius muttered, "Now what are we going to do?"
"Go to Rivendell, of course." Boromir nodded, "And try to get this straightened out!"
"What are we going to say, Oh, I�m sorry Lord Elrond that my companion Legolas Greenleaf decided to go take a bath in your goldfish pond. It was purely an accident and you must not blame him?" Sirius yelled, skeptically, "I mean, even I would not fall for that! And how are we supposed to get there? I mean, you probably have to be an elf or something! Maybe pointy-ear inspections!"
"Well, I trust you know how to get home." Boromir replied dryly, "I�d imagine they wouldn�t chase you away."
"My home?" Sirius muttered, "Home?"
"Yes, you were brought up in Rivendell." Boromir frowned, "At least I thought you were."
Must be another one of those Aragorn things. "Right you are." Sirius muttered and pointed in the direction the Rivendell Army had come from, "It�s that way."
"Are you sure?" Boromir mounted his horse and Sirius hopped onto Legolas�, "You�d better be."
"Well, if Lord Elrond lives at Rivendell and his goldfish pond is that way, I have reason to believe that he lives that way too." Sirius groaned, "Okay, it�s been a long time."
"But it�s your own home!" Boromir gasped, "You were loved and reared here!"
"Err . . ." Sirius muttered, "I was sent to my room a lot."
"Oh." Boromir shrugged, "Alright, that way then."
"Yes, I�d suppose so." Sirius muttered, "Where is Legolas when you need him?"
A very silent, but yet, loud scream of Save my pretty little face was heard from somewhere to his right, but both Sirius and Boromir ignored it and rode towards what they �thought� was Rivendell.