The Fellowship and the Elf Next Door - Chapter 2.

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*Previously*, While Legolas and Haldir were zombies in front of changing rooms and the rest of the fellowship were at their various activities, Merry and Pippin were at Irish dancing lessons.

Both hobbits laced up their shoes and stood in a line amongst an army of 8- year-old girls and waited for their teacher to show up. When she finally did Pippin could not help but break out in hysterics. Merry gasped when he saw the teacher.

"A DWARF!?" Merry cried. The woman (well, Merry wasn't exactly sure) scowled and stomped over to the hobbit.

"Is there a problem shortie?" she asked the terrified Merry, her beard quivvering in annoyance.

Merry shook his head hastily. "No sir," he said, immediately earning himself a furious glare. "Ma'am" Merry corrected himself, wishing that he had stayed home today.

"Good," she snapped. "Ok Girls, line up over there and get ready for you warm up!" she said, emphasizing the word 'girls'. Stomping over to the CD player in a very irked state (one which reminded Merry of Legolas that day when Frodo had stolen his skipping rope.) the teacher pressed a button and the music began.

Pippin gulped when he saw the girls begin their warm up, a very fast jig like dance. To a normal person it would have been very simple but do not forget Pippin was not the brightest light bulb in the box. And not very co- ordinated either. If this was a warm up, Pippin dreaded the rest of the lesson.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR??!!" Barked the teacher. Pippin jumped and tried to copy what the other students were doing. Unfortunately for the hobbit the only thing he managed to do was end up on the floor with a very bruised behind and very sore feet.

"Thankyou girls, excellent warm up. Now we can move onto more serious things." The teacher said, her tone more kindly towards her other students.

"More serious things?" Merry squeaked and turned to Pippin. "Pippin?" Merry said to his friend only to discover the other hobbit was out cold on the studio floor.

Why me? Merry thought to himself as he was forced to line up behind the other students for another dance.

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The phone rang. And rang. and rang. and rang. ...

"Damn phone," muttered Frodo as he was dragged from his lovely soft bed with pink sheets to answer the bloody phone.

Trudging out into the kitchen to answer the phone, which no doubt was Aragorn calling because he had parked his car (fluro green with butterflies on the side) in a no parking zone so now it had been towed and he needed a ride home. Every Sunday this happened. You'd think Aragorn might have learnt by now not to park his car in the middle of the local football ground, but to Frodo it appeared so otherwise.

"Frodo, phone," yelled Legolas from the living room, the elf still glued to the lounge eating his carrots, now absent mindedley changing TV channels.

"Stupid elf," muttered the hobbit, stiffling a sleepy yawn.

"I heard that!" yelled Legolas in reply.

"That was the idea," replied Frodo as he picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Frodo? It's Aragorn."

"Oh," Frodo replied lamely, until an idea struck him.
"Sorry, we don't have any Frodos at this number, nor do we know any Aragorns, wrong number" he said and threw the receiver back on the hook.

Frodo was actually quite pleased with his efforts until the phone rung again. Rolling his eyes the hobbit trudged back to bed, letting Legolas answer the phone this time. It continued to ring and the elf showed no signs of moving from the pink and white striped couch to answer it.

"Legolas, phone for you," Frodo said and went back to bed, bumping into Sam on the way. The other hobbit was pushing a doll's stroller with about 10 Barbies seated quite obscurely in it and waved quite cheerily at Frodo.

"Hello Mr Frodo," Sam said cheerfully, "hows about some breakfast?" he asked.

"No thanks Sam." Frodo said and pushed his way past his friend, beginning to wonder how people could be so cheerful so early in the morning.

Sam, a little perplexed, shrugged and ran to answer the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Is there a Legolas Greenleaf at this number?" a high pitched female voice asked.

"Uh, yeah." Sam replied. "Who is calling?" he asked.

"His mother." came the reply, accompanied by a snicker. "And if you don't mind, I'd like a word with him concerning ballet shoes and a tutu."

Sam remained completley oblivious to the laughing on the other end of the phone. "Legolas, phone for you." He yelled out to the elf, who had just began fighting Haldir for the tv remote. Legolas had wrestled Haldir to the floor and was hitting the other elf with the cornflakes box.

"Who is it?" Legolas asked, dealing Haldir repedative blows to the head with the box, cornflakes spilling all over the carpet.

"Your mother," Sam replied.

Legolas gulped, before he flinched when Haldir elbowed him in the stomach. He snarled at the other elf, before kneeing Haldir in a spot where no male should ever be hit. "coming..." called the Mirkwood elf, clambouring up off the floor, leaving Haldir to roll around in pain on the living room floor. Picking up the phone hesitantly the elf spoke.

"Hello?"

"Leggie darling, it's mummy,"

"Oh, hi." Legolas replied somewhat unethisiasticaly. Legolas heard his mother snicker, but dismissed it.

"Now Legolas Greenleaf," began his mother. "I have heard you're not doing much with yourself these days so I enrolled you in ballet lessons..." Legolas didn't hear any more of that conversation, dropping the receiver and screaming with horror.

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"Knit one, pearl one, knit one, pearl one." Gimli muttered to himself. The dwarf had decided to take up a new hobby... knitting. It really was quite relaxing in his opinion. He was currently making his axe a beanie and a matching scarf in a ghastly salmon pink and was rather pleased with his efforts thus far.

There was suddenly a scream from the kitchen and Gimli abandoned his knitting to see what Haldir had done this time. Pulling on his canary yellow dressing gown and matching slippers Gimli hurried out into the kitchen. There was suddenly a loud clang and the screaming stopped.

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Aragorn scowled and hung up. He had been trying to reach the fellowship's house for ten minutes now but obviously someone was on the phone. (Perhaps Glorifindel ringing to borrow money or Arwen calling to find out where Aragorn was.)

Sighing in an exasperated sort of way Aragorn plonked down on the pavement and watched as his beloved car was towed. Why did it happen like this every week? Every Sunday Aragorn went to his weekly monopoly club meeting, where Elrond was president, and his car was towed from one end of town to the other. Every weekend he called and every weekend the fellowship refused to come and pick him up.

Sighing again Aragorn decided to get up and have some ice cream. Earning himself some odd looks from passers by Aragorn began to skip up the street towards the ice cream parlour.

TO BE CONTINUED.