Hallo! As you see, I’ve finally gotten around to a sequel to Legolas Makes a Decision. So it will make much more sense if you read that first. I do not own Arda or any of its people, as should, I think, be obvious. And no offense is meant to any particular Mary-Sue, and indeed, I do not seek to enrage the authors of that genre, however contrary the evidence may seem.
Legolas Has An Appointment
Legolas was perched uncomfortably on the edge of his seat. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Gimli, who was settled down in another chair, rolled his eyes. “Yes. After all the trouble I’ve gone to getting you here, and finding a reputable psyciatrist, and getting an appointment, AND putting up with that dratted receptionist, I am not going to let you worm your way out. And you need to deal with this.”
“I know,” Legolas admitted. He stared at the potted plant that was across from him in the waiting room. It faintly resembled athelas. “I just don’t know if there’s actually anything to be done – “
“Arpart from annihilate every perfect gorgeous female elven warrior ever created?” Gimli finished. “That might be kindest.”
Legolas frowned. “It might. But they’re all perfectly trained. Somehow it seems that Aragorn taught a lot of them.”
A few minutes later, a rather stunned-looking hobbit wandered out of the office, and the receptionist called “Legolas Greenleaf? Doctor Halla-hwinde-olassie-nalda-kektele will see you now.”
“Oh. Right,” Legolas said, feeling very unnerved. He stood up, and being rather forcibly hauled by Gimli, made his way to the office.
“Wait!” The receptionist screeched as they were about to go in. “Only one of you has an appointment.”
“I’m his escort,” Gimli said. “I’m here for support.”
Doctor Halla-hwinde-olassie-nalda-kektele was wearing a very large blue hat.
“Ah. Mr. Greenleaf, I presume?” he said as Legolas nervously took a seat in front of his desk. There was only one chair, and Gimli stood next to him, now about the same height.
Legolas swallowed and nodded. “That’s right, Dr…er….”
“Call me Doc H.H.O.N.K ,” the hat said – it hid the good Doctor’s face completely. “How can I help you today? What is your problem, my dear Elf?”
“Well…it’s…I mean…there are all the fan fictions going, and…”
“What he means,” Gimli put in, “is that there are a vast number of stories about Legolas falling in love, and he can’t deal with it. No Elf can sustain that many girlfriends.”
“And they’re all perfect,” Legolas whispered, shuddering. “It scares me.”
“Besides the fact that they keep bunging up the Fellowship,” the Dwarf went on. “We have about 78 members now. And we were supposed to be the Nine Walkers! That’s 69 too many! AND that’s only one of the smaller sites – fanfiction.net will probably add about 7634!”
“Yes, yes,” Doc H.H.O.N.K. said soothingly. “But what is Mr. Greenleaf’s problem?”
“I…I can’t even sleep,” the Elf said. “They keep showing up and telling me that they’re my one true love. If I’m just walking through Mirkwood, minding my own business, one after another appears, trying to make me rescue them from….I don’t know. Anything. And my lines at the Council of Elrond keep getting stolen!“
“Hmmm. Hmmm. Indeed.” Doc H.H.O.N.K stroked the edge of his hat brim. “I see. That doesn’t sound good.”
“It gets worse,” Legolas continued, now getting more than a trifle worked up. “There are so many stories about my life that I can’t even remember what actually happened! I can’t keep track of all my siblings, if I even have any! Or if my mother is alive. Or if she left for Valinor. Or if her favorite hobby it sitting upside down a tree tatting purple lace!“
“There, there.” Doc H.H.O.N.K. patted Legolas’ shoulder paternally. “I’m sure she’s all right.”
“So,” Gimli said, “what can you do to help?”
“Well. Hmmm. Let me think.” Doc H.H.O.N.K considered for several minutes. “Perhaps you could sail to Valinor? They might not be able to reach you there.”
“No good,” Legolas said gloomily. “The mortal ones somehow manage to get Mandos wrapped around their perfect, adorable little fingers, and he lets them be reborn. As Elves. So that won’t work.”
“Well, you did actually come to see me to find out how you, personally, could deal with this. Emotionally, that is. Not how to evade them.”
“Wishy-washy professionals,” Gimli muttered. “Doesn’t it amount to the same thing?”
“No, it does not,” Doc H.H.O.N.K. said, somehow hearing him. “And I fail to see what washing has to do with any of this.”
Gimli rolled his eyes, but was silent. No one else said anything, either, so the silence stretched on for some time.
“Ah. Well,” Legolas said. “Is there anything you can do?”
“Hmmmm,” Doc H.H.O.N.K said. “Come back tomorrow.”
The following afternoon, Gimli and Legolas sat before Doc H.H.O.N.K’s desk once more.
“I HAVE THOUGHT OF SOMETHING,” he stated.
“And it is?” Gimli asked. Legolas just looked nervous.
“It is THIS,” the good doctor announced. “You should go to Harad, or, if that fails, far East, beyond Mordor. Because Tolkien never said much about these countries, the Mary-Sues have nothing to operate on, and they all seem to have far too little creativity to work something out for themselves (judging by the similarity of most of their plots.) So they might be scarce there, if existent at all.”
“Oh. My,” Legolas said, turning to Gimli with growing hope. “Do you think it will work?”
“Of COURSE it will work. Please,” Doc H.H.O.N.K. said. “I thought of it.”
Gimli nodded. “It’s worth a try, at least. Let’s go.”
“That will be twenty-three pounds of mithril,” Doc H.H.O.N.K. said. “These things don’t come easily, you know. It can be quite taxing.”
Gimli muttered something inaudible.