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Five Minute The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, Kira
The Scruff Factor, JastaElf

Aragorn: Well, we can't stop because... um....

Legolas: Because we have to rescue Merry and Pippin.

Aragorn: Right. Who were....

Legolas: Taken by Orcs! Honestly, if you didn't spend so much time trying to make yourself look rugged and manly, maybe you'd remember these things.

Aragorn: Hey, I'm not the one who insisted on packing his skin and hair-care products before we left Amon Hen.

Wormtongue: Lies! Deceit! Traitor!

Eomer: Do you do anything around here besides slink around and shout "Traitor"?

Wormtongue: As a matter of fact, I don't. And just for that, you're banished.

Eomer: Aw.

Aragorn: Gandalf!

Gimli: You're alive!

Legolas: You've discovered soap!

Aragorn: Yeah, who knew he actually had white hair under all that grime?

Gandalf: That's not important. I have come back to tell you that you must go to Edoras, home of King Theoden of Rohan.

Aragorn: Oh, geez. I hate that guy. He's always strutting around, rubbing his good looks in my face.

Gandalf: I promise you'll be pleasantly surprised.

Theoden/Saruman: Hahaha! I laugh at your puny wizard powers.

Gandalf: (removing his cloak) Alakazam!

Theoden/Saruman: AAAAARRRGH!

Aragorn: You did that just by saying "Alakazam"?

Gandalf: No, I did that by getting my whites so sparkly bright. Saying "Alakazam" was just for fun.

Gandalf: Well, how do you feel?

Theoden: Young and ruggedly handsome!

Aragorn: Oh, crap. Here we go....

Aragorn: But --

Theoden: Say, is that a crown on your head? No, wait, that's me looking in the mirror. Ha! Stupid Aragorn!

Aragorn: Look, that wasn't funny the first five times you tried it.

Arwen: Sorry, father, but I just can't respect you ever since you borrowed my headband.

Faramir: I think I need a flashback to show how my tragic character makes it okay for me to be such a jerk.

Boromir: All right. (ahem) Alas, my poor younger brother, that our father is sending you on a quest upon which the fate of Gondor rests. It will be difficult, and you may be killed by a massive army of OH WAIT, THAT WAS ME!

Faramir: You're not helping.

Aragorn: I'm back!

Gimli: I can't believe you survived that fall.

Legolas: I'm more impressed that he landed in a river and still managed to not get clean.

Theoden: Well, Aragorn my friend, it looks as though this may be our end.

Aragorn: At least we're going out in a blaze of glory.

Theoden: Unless, of course, Gandalf and Eomer show up at the last possible second.

(The battle rages on)

Aragorn: Try it a little louder.

Theoden: UNLESS, OF COURSE, GANDALF AND EOMER SHOW UP AT THE LAST POSSIBLE SECOND!

Gandalf, Eomer, and Six Thousand Rohirrim Soldiers: CHARGE!

Aragorn and Theoden: Phew.

Gandalf: A wizard is never late, Aragorn son of Arathorn. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.

Aragorn: You just wanted to make an entrance.

"Five Minute The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers" - Kira

The Scruff Factor, JastaElf

"Well, speaking of Dwarves, Bilbo apparently had the Ring with him when he and those Dwarves visited your father’s dungeons..."

"Cellars," Legolas said with perilous emphasis, as if this were something of a sore point with him. The Twins affected bland looks of interest, though their eyes glittered.

"Come again?" Elrohir asked, innocent as the day is long in summer. Legolas did not buy it for even half a second, and narrowed those lovely blue eyes of his.

"We haven’t any dungeons. They are cellars."

"Whatever. Cellars with bloody big thick doors on them, and padlocks as big as Orc fists."

He paused for dramatic effect; Legolas gave him his "Thranduil Look," which on he for whom it was named generally forecast hell and damnation, while on Legolas it just made one think of kittens with their backs up in the face of very large and unruly badgers. Elladan snickered.

"Glóin. One of the Mirkwood Dungeon Dwarves."

"Cellar Dwarves, brother," Elrohir said, with wicked innocence. Elladan snapped his fingers as if he had forgotten--which of course he had not--and leaned forward very close to Legolas' face, to grin at the scowl on that fair visage.

"And how does Estel look? Well? He seemed tired, when I saw him last some weeks ago."

"Scruffy."

Legolas cocked one eyebrow. "Come again?"

"He looked scruffy, and smelled worse." Elladan gave a self-righteous sniff. "I mean really, has the Man no room in his pack for shaving soap? He keeps his daggers sharp enough to not need a razor, and sponges are malleable, so it isn’t as if they take up a lot of space. And a comb. Anyone has room for a comb!"

They could undergo precisely the same conditions, and yet arrive at their destination as diametric opposites: Legolas with every hair neatly in place, smelling as fresh as daisies, immaculately clean down to his toenails; Aragorn with a face full of stubble beneath a ragged mop of wild hair, with more pong to his person than a wet wolfhound in high summer humidity. It was their favorite thing about which to tease one another, Aragorn convinced Elves stayed tidy by unfair use of magic, and Legolas absolutely certain Men attracted sweat and dirt through some mystical genetic fault.

"Is Estel going to--you know, dress up--for the Council?" Legolas asked, taking a sip before reaching for the pot of soap and a washcloth. "Or will we be treated to another round of ‘Rugged, Mysterious Dunedán’ so he can be all rebellious and manly in black?"

Aragorn had clearly chosen to opt for the Rugged, Manly Ranger look this evening, but at least it was a much-neatened "Rugged, Manly Ranger Goes to a Posh Dinner" sort of ensemble.

"Humble? In that get-up?" Aragorn retorted, gesturing at the prince's regal attire. Legolas struck a pose; there was a sound from within the hall that could possibly have been breaking crockery. They all turned and looked--to find a flustered pair of servants, one male, one female, staring in admiration at the Mirkwood vision before them. At their feet were a broken platter and an utterly smashed pitcher, both of which appeared to have been mercifully empty.

"Ooops," Legolas apologised, blushing faintly. Elrohir just barely caught himself before falling backward off the railing.

Legolas displayed a sudden, rather intense interest in the architecture somewhere along the roofline of the dining hall, affecting an expression that spoke of deep Elven amazement that he could possibly have reached so great an age as he had without ever realizing how rivetingly fascinating that roofline was--after all the many times he had been here, too, and missed noticing it every time, can you imagine that!

Legolas contrived to look hurt, but spoiled it by grinning. "And you claim to be my friend," he sighed. "I'm either stuck with the Twins, or I must go back into the Hall of Fire and sit with Cellar Dwarves all night."

"Cellar Dwarves?"

"Long story."

"Do Balrogs relieve themselves in the deep-delved places of Ennor?" Elladan asked puckishly, before suiting suggestion to action and heading off in Legolas's wake. Elrohir's brow creased in disgusted amusement.

"I certainly hope they do it there," he remarked as he hurried after his brother. "Forests do have a tendency to burn, after all, and such a thing could quickly kill many a good old tree!"

His twin's words floated back to him in tones of fond exasperation: "Your task, should you choose to accept it, is to go to Adar's library and look up rhetorical in a good dictionary!"

The Scruff Factor, JastaElf

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