(no subject)
Over at GAFF, someone brought this gemturkey: Boromir has kidnapped Arwen cuz he’s in love with her. It’s been well-sporked at http://godawful.net/forums/viewtopic.php?t=9067 but it given birth to it’s own weird plot bunny; what would really have happened.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the Professor, except for bleepka, which belongs to the PPC.
Warning: Un-betaed, and may not make sense to anybody but me. Read at your own risk.
I present: The (Extremely Short-Lived) Abduction of Arwen
The knock on her door interrupted Arwen as she was getting ready for bed. She grabbed a light robe, and went to answer it. To her surprise, Boromir was standing there. To her even greater surprise, he grabbed her and pressed a knife to her throat.
“What is this?” she demanded, more irritated than truly afraid.
“I cannot live without you,” Boromir intoned, in a wooden tone that she’d become irritatingly familiar with in the past few centuries.
Oh, Eru, not again! She squeezed her eyes shut against the headache she felt building.
“Come on,” Boromir commanded in what she supposed was supposed to be a threatening tone. It would have been more effective had it not been for the look in his eyes…the look of an animal caught in a trap. “We’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?” Arwen asked, stalling for time.
“Home. To Minas Tirith. Where I will make you my Queen.”
She felt a sudden jolt of sorrow, but she could not allow herself to be distracted from the matter at hand. She could overpower him if she had to, but that carried the chance of injuring him. Instead, she closed her eyes and called out with her mind.
“Ada! We have a problem!”
“What is it?”
“Lord Boromir. He has fallen under a dark influence.”
“The One Ring?”
“No.” She looked up at Boromir, and beyond the menace on his face she saw the horror in his eyes…the horror that could be the result of only one thing. “He has been possessed by a Fangirl.”
“Fangirl.” She heard the disgust in her father’s voice. “I will be right there. Keep him occupied.”
That wouldn’t be a problem. She had his full attention.
He led her down the hallway. As they made the second turn, though, Elrond, Aragorn, and Legolas were waiting. Arwen felt Boromir’s arm tighten on her arm. Before he could do anything either of them would regret, she twisted out of his grasp.
Boromir reached for his sword, but before he could do anything, Elrond raised Vilya. He used the power of the ring to knock the Man back into the wall, hard enough to daze him. “Hold him,” he commanded.
Aragorn grabbed one arm, and Legolas the other. With Vilya still upraised, Elrond advanced on the Man. “Begone, interloper,” he commanded. “Trouble this Man no more!”
Boromir’s body arched, as the Fangirl possessing him fought to retain control. Elrond’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Leave this place, Fangirl!”
Boromir gave one final jerk, and as Arwen watched, a pale, stringy-haired shade was pulled out of his body. Elrond made a pushing gesture with his hand, and flung it away. His mouth was twisted into a humorless smile, and Arwen knew that somewhere, the Fangirl was waking with the worst headache of her life.
Maybe next time she wanted to possess someone, remembering that would make her think twice.
Now freed from the Fangirl’s spell, Boromir slumped against the wall. If it hadn’t been for Aragorn and Legolas holding him up, Arwen suspected he would have collapsed. But gradually, color returned to his face and awareness to his eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath, and straightened.
Then he caught sight of Arwen, and his face drained of color once again. He crossed the passageway and knelt before him.
“Lady, I know there can be no pardon for what I have done, but you have my deepest apologies.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Lord Boromir,” Arwen said. “Your actions were not your own.”
“I tried to abduct you.”
“It was not you. You were possessed by a Fangirl -- a creature of diabolical power.”
“I have not heard of such thing,” Boromir said. “But then, I have never been one for legends.”
“It was no legend that made you put your knife to Arwen’s throat,” Legolas snapped. Aragorn shot the Elf a look, and he fell silent.
Boromir looked down at his hand, the one that had held the blade. Arwen bent down and took that hand, drawing him to his feet. “I know what you felt.”
“How can you?” Boromir asked.
“Because I have felt it too. The horror of not being able to control your own actions. Your body not your own…” She shook herself, shaking off the remembered horror.
“This has happened to you?”
She nodded. “I have found myself brushing the hair of Mary-Sues. And I have found myself saying things to those I love…hurtful things, cruel things. But everyone here understands. It has happened to all of us.”
“All of you?” He looked over his shoulder to Aragorn, Legolas…and Elrond.
“Even my father has not been safe from their predations.”
“Is it always like this?” Boromir asked.
“Like what?”
“I remember everything.”
“Perhaps,” Elrond said, “there is something I can do about that.” He gestured toward his study. Boromir went in, and the rest of them followed. Elrond went over to a locked cabinet, and opened it. Inside were two containers; one a delicately carved decanter of miruvor, the other a crude flask.
It was this latter that Elrond took out. He unscrewed the cap and used it as a cup, filling it to the rim and handing it to Boromir. The Man sipped it, made a face, and knocked the rest back in one gulp. He choked, turning red. “What is that?”
“It is called ‘bleepka’,” Elrond said. “It not only intoxicates, but induces forgetfulness.”
Boromir nodded, and held the cup out for more. Elrond refilled it, and Boromir downed this dose just as quickly.
“You should be careful,” Aragorn cautioned. “Remember Thurandil…”
“He didn’t,” Legolas said, accompanying this cryptic remark with a wry smile.
It was not so cryptic to either her father or her betrothed, apparently; both of them grimaced as he spoke.
“You should not speak so harshly of your father,” Elrond said. “He was quite traumatized.”
“He was traumatized?” Legolas asked. “I was the one who died in childbirth!”
Died in childbirth? Arwen decided that she was going to corner Aragorn as soon as she could to learn the full story.
But there was one member of party who was not yet inured to the effects of the Fangirls. Boromir whimpered, holding out the empty cup in one trembling hand.
Elrond frowned, then relented, and poured the Boromir another drink. He downed this one just as quickly, and took a deep breath.
“Better?” Elrond asked.
“Much,” Boromir said. “I -- ”
But whatever he would have said was lost; at that moment, the three slugs of bleepka caught up with him. His knees buckled, and he dropped in a heap. Elrond caught him before he could hit his head.
“Estel, perhaps you could take our guest to his room and…tuck him in?”
“Of course,” Aragorn said.
There was no time like the present, Arwen decided, to buttonhole Aragorn on what had happened to Legolas. “Let me help,” she said. “If you take his head, I’ll get his legs.”
She might end up regretting this…might end up needing to resort to her father’s supply of bleepka, herself…but her curiosity would not let her rest until she knew.
Together, they carried the unconscious Man from the room.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the Professor, except for bleepka, which belongs to the PPC.
Warning: Un-betaed, and may not make sense to anybody but me. Read at your own risk.
I present: The (Extremely Short-Lived) Abduction of Arwen
The knock on her door interrupted Arwen as she was getting ready for bed. She grabbed a light robe, and went to answer it. To her surprise, Boromir was standing there. To her even greater surprise, he grabbed her and pressed a knife to her throat.
“What is this?” she demanded, more irritated than truly afraid.
“I cannot live without you,” Boromir intoned, in a wooden tone that she’d become irritatingly familiar with in the past few centuries.
Oh, Eru, not again! She squeezed her eyes shut against the headache she felt building.
“Come on,” Boromir commanded in what she supposed was supposed to be a threatening tone. It would have been more effective had it not been for the look in his eyes…the look of an animal caught in a trap. “We’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?” Arwen asked, stalling for time.
“Home. To Minas Tirith. Where I will make you my Queen.”
She felt a sudden jolt of sorrow, but she could not allow herself to be distracted from the matter at hand. She could overpower him if she had to, but that carried the chance of injuring him. Instead, she closed her eyes and called out with her mind.
“Ada! We have a problem!”
“What is it?”
“Lord Boromir. He has fallen under a dark influence.”
“The One Ring?”
“No.” She looked up at Boromir, and beyond the menace on his face she saw the horror in his eyes…the horror that could be the result of only one thing. “He has been possessed by a Fangirl.”
“Fangirl.” She heard the disgust in her father’s voice. “I will be right there. Keep him occupied.”
That wouldn’t be a problem. She had his full attention.
He led her down the hallway. As they made the second turn, though, Elrond, Aragorn, and Legolas were waiting. Arwen felt Boromir’s arm tighten on her arm. Before he could do anything either of them would regret, she twisted out of his grasp.
Boromir reached for his sword, but before he could do anything, Elrond raised Vilya. He used the power of the ring to knock the Man back into the wall, hard enough to daze him. “Hold him,” he commanded.
Aragorn grabbed one arm, and Legolas the other. With Vilya still upraised, Elrond advanced on the Man. “Begone, interloper,” he commanded. “Trouble this Man no more!”
Boromir’s body arched, as the Fangirl possessing him fought to retain control. Elrond’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Leave this place, Fangirl!”
Boromir gave one final jerk, and as Arwen watched, a pale, stringy-haired shade was pulled out of his body. Elrond made a pushing gesture with his hand, and flung it away. His mouth was twisted into a humorless smile, and Arwen knew that somewhere, the Fangirl was waking with the worst headache of her life.
Maybe next time she wanted to possess someone, remembering that would make her think twice.
Now freed from the Fangirl’s spell, Boromir slumped against the wall. If it hadn’t been for Aragorn and Legolas holding him up, Arwen suspected he would have collapsed. But gradually, color returned to his face and awareness to his eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath, and straightened.
Then he caught sight of Arwen, and his face drained of color once again. He crossed the passageway and knelt before him.
“Lady, I know there can be no pardon for what I have done, but you have my deepest apologies.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Lord Boromir,” Arwen said. “Your actions were not your own.”
“I tried to abduct you.”
“It was not you. You were possessed by a Fangirl -- a creature of diabolical power.”
“I have not heard of such thing,” Boromir said. “But then, I have never been one for legends.”
“It was no legend that made you put your knife to Arwen’s throat,” Legolas snapped. Aragorn shot the Elf a look, and he fell silent.
Boromir looked down at his hand, the one that had held the blade. Arwen bent down and took that hand, drawing him to his feet. “I know what you felt.”
“How can you?” Boromir asked.
“Because I have felt it too. The horror of not being able to control your own actions. Your body not your own…” She shook herself, shaking off the remembered horror.
“This has happened to you?”
She nodded. “I have found myself brushing the hair of Mary-Sues. And I have found myself saying things to those I love…hurtful things, cruel things. But everyone here understands. It has happened to all of us.”
“All of you?” He looked over his shoulder to Aragorn, Legolas…and Elrond.
“Even my father has not been safe from their predations.”
“Is it always like this?” Boromir asked.
“Like what?”
“I remember everything.”
“Perhaps,” Elrond said, “there is something I can do about that.” He gestured toward his study. Boromir went in, and the rest of them followed. Elrond went over to a locked cabinet, and opened it. Inside were two containers; one a delicately carved decanter of miruvor, the other a crude flask.
It was this latter that Elrond took out. He unscrewed the cap and used it as a cup, filling it to the rim and handing it to Boromir. The Man sipped it, made a face, and knocked the rest back in one gulp. He choked, turning red. “What is that?”
“It is called ‘bleepka’,” Elrond said. “It not only intoxicates, but induces forgetfulness.”
Boromir nodded, and held the cup out for more. Elrond refilled it, and Boromir downed this dose just as quickly.
“You should be careful,” Aragorn cautioned. “Remember Thurandil…”
“He didn’t,” Legolas said, accompanying this cryptic remark with a wry smile.
It was not so cryptic to either her father or her betrothed, apparently; both of them grimaced as he spoke.
“You should not speak so harshly of your father,” Elrond said. “He was quite traumatized.”
“He was traumatized?” Legolas asked. “I was the one who died in childbirth!”
Died in childbirth? Arwen decided that she was going to corner Aragorn as soon as she could to learn the full story.
But there was one member of party who was not yet inured to the effects of the Fangirls. Boromir whimpered, holding out the empty cup in one trembling hand.
Elrond frowned, then relented, and poured the Boromir another drink. He downed this one just as quickly, and took a deep breath.
“Better?” Elrond asked.
“Much,” Boromir said. “I -- ”
But whatever he would have said was lost; at that moment, the three slugs of bleepka caught up with him. His knees buckled, and he dropped in a heap. Elrond caught him before he could hit his head.
“Estel, perhaps you could take our guest to his room and…tuck him in?”
“Of course,” Aragorn said.
There was no time like the present, Arwen decided, to buttonhole Aragorn on what had happened to Legolas. “Let me help,” she said. “If you take his head, I’ll get his legs.”
She might end up regretting this…might end up needing to resort to her father’s supply of bleepka, herself…but her curiosity would not let her rest until she knew.
Together, they carried the unconscious Man from the room.