Chapter Three

Biology for Slash Writers 101</p>

 Original Fic;   ‘Forbidden Love’

Author;            ‘Celebrian’

Source;           The Library of Moria

Pairing;           Legolas/Elrohir

Rating;            on the original fic; NC-17; graphic and painful slash.

                        on this PPC fic; PG-13; language, violence, allusions to the graphic

            and painful slash.

 

Disclaimer: We do not own the PPC; that’s the property of the (sadly now retired) Agents Jay Thorntree and Acacia Bird, and is under the management of Miss Cam. This fic has been made with her permission.

We do not own Middle Earth either; that’s Tolkien’s. And ‘Forbidden Love’ is the property of ‘Celebrian’, who should really know better. She knows the names of the twins! She knows they go out orc-hunting! She’s obviously read the books, even the Appendices, so why? Why this horror?

If you read this, Celebrian, please take our advice to heart. And remember; the tagline is your friend.

 

NB: Parts of the original fic are in italics.

 

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'When I was an alien

Cultures weren't opinions . . .'

 

Air guitar was being perpetrated. The strains of Nirvana played at maximum volume filtered the grey corridors of the PPC. Trojie was leaping around her response centre like an idiot. Grunge can do terrible things to an otherwise reasonably sane person. It is at times like these that narrative comedy just has too many choices . . .

 

A knock came at the door, and at the same time the console 'bip!'-ed.

 

Grudgingly Trojie turned the music down and opened the door. A familiar figure stood on the other side -- a familiar figure with long, wavy jet-black hair and red eyes, wearing a PPC Bad Slash Dept uniform carefully, if somewhat . . . creatively . . . adjusted to allow for the small bat-wings which protruded from her back.

 

'Soulshadow?' Trojie adjusted her own PPC uniform, conscious of the fact that it was probably overdue a dry cleaning, and that her knees were ripped from grovelling under the console in search of lost guitar picks. Realising that while she was dallying over her clothing her friend was standing out in the corridor, she yanked the demoness into the response centre and hugged her. ‘What are you doing here?’

 

Soul disentangled herself with dignity. 'Upstairs said you needed a partner.'

 

'I didn't know you'd been recruited!'

 

'Yes, two or three months back. So far I have been working alone and it has not been fun. Upstairs got tired of my complaining -- especially after I almost barbequed Queen Anne's Lace -- so they said I could work with you.'

 

'Barbequed . . . ?' Trojie wondered if it might be better not to ask. 'You *barbequed* the Queen. Our Head of Department. Soul, do you have a death wish?'

 

'Yes, barbequed. Almost barbequed.' Soul smiled, displaying short, sharp fangs. 'I got annoyed with her, and at the same time found out about her aversion to fire. In all honesty I think she would have liked to dismiss me from the PPC there and then, but she couldn't -- I suppose you've heard how awfully short-staffed we are?'

 

'Oh, believe me, I know about it,' Trojie sighed. 'They're so many down in the LOTR department that I've been put on both musician-fic and LOTR bad slash duty, thanks to the Sunflower Official. Whose jurisdiction I am so not under.'

 

'How wonderful for you.' Soul's voice had a low, cold and slightly oily quality that had made Trojie a little nervous before she'd got to know her. However, Soul had never attacked anything that didn't deserve it (such as spamwraiths and Mary-Sues -- and apparently now Queen Anne's Lace as well, but she probably deserved it too), as far as Trojie knew, so she put her worries to the back of her mind and concentrated on how much better life was going to be with a partner. What's more, she realized, she had a partner she liked and knew she could get along with. Better not let Upstairs know about that one, she thought with an internal grin. Outwardly though, she grimaced in reply to Soul's flippant comment.

 

'Oh, yes, wonderful. Now I have to deal with the usual run of rapist orcs and angst-ridden hobbits AS WELL as the members of Zep shagging vast numbers of roadies backstage before playing Madison Square Gardens; and that's no errand for the faint hearted, I can tell you. Did you bring your gear?' This was a not-so-crafty attempt to find out if Soul had brought her bow; ostentatiously named 'The Nemesis', and a weapon of mass destruction in it's own right. If the Nemesis had tagged along, then the only safe place to be was directly behind Soul. The words 'trigger happy' come to mind.

 

Soul nodded curtly and ducked out of the response centre. Trojie heard her yelling something that sounded oddly like, 'Hurry up, you useless metal cretins!' but decided it was probably better not to comment, once again. A moment or two later her questions were answered anyway, when two small metal robots, each one about the size of a football and sporting a long crocodile clip-like arrangement on the end of a rotating arm that protruded from the centre of its metal hemisphere. One was dragging a small suitcase on wheels; the other had been entrusted to the care of the hard case the Nemesis was kept in when she wasn't needed. Trojie couldn't help herself. 'What the hell are they?

 

'Skutters.' Soul's grin could be quite scary, thanks to the fangs, but the beam she flashed to Trojie now was nothing less than agreeable. 'I scowled at Makes-Things until he let me borrow them. They come from the Red Dwarf universe . . . useful little things; it's a pity I have to send them back. Right!' she added sharply to the two skutters, who had carefully put down their loads and were now circling one another in some kind of crazy square-dance. 'Be gone, foul shades. Otherwise known as useless metal cretins, underdeveloped microwaves, and everything else I've yelled at you between my old office and here. Go on, shoo, Makes-Things'll think I've kidnapped you.'

 

The skutters whizzed away down the corridor, looking quite grateful to be released from obligations. Insofar as they could actually look anything, that is.

 

'Ah, shall we go for it with the latest, then?' Trojie indicated the console, which was still 'bip'-ing relentlessly. 'It'll only get more insistent if we don't go and see to it.'

 

As if to prove the point, the console emitted a more piercing 'beep'. Soul scowled at it.

'All right. What've we got?'

 

Trojie scanned the readout. 'Legolas and Elrohir engaging in incredibly painful sex while side-stepping massive plotholes and too many random implausibilities to even begin to consider. Oh, and Elrond is Not Very Nice.'

 

'What?' Soul growled. Anyone who messed with Elrond (or a handful of others) on her watch was likely to get maimed. 'Right. Let us go forth and exorcise. Do we need disguises?'

 

'Err . . . I don't always bother, but these are so OOC it's probably a good idea, just in case they can see us. Elves do?'

 

Soul peered over Trojie's shoulder at the readout. 'Yes, we seem to be mostly in Imladris, though they do go to Lórien for a bit . . . Elves it is.'

 

Trojie set the disguises quickly while Soul made sure they had the essentials to hand in a bag. 'Aren't you a shapechanger anyway?' Trojie asked conversationally as she did her best to figure out the best place to portal in. She knew Soul from one of their mutual haunts, the Tolkien_Silliness list, and as far as she could understand, the demoness was one of those annoying types who could change her appearance to fit.

 

'Yes, but the disguises hide us from canons' eyes . . . It doesn't matter who or what I am; I still need to be out of phase and the disguises do that. Besides, I'm not brilliant at hiding the wings: they tend to show no matter what. Do you have the disguises set up yet?'

 

'Yep.' Trojie nodded her understanding of Soul's explanation and pressed the button to open the portal. 'After you, dear partner.'

 

'Why, thank you,' Soul said dryly, stepping through into . . . Rivendell forest, apparently. Trojie picked up the bag with the remote activator, Canon Analysis Device, notebook, bell, candles and hardback Lord of the Rings trilogy in and followed suit. After quickly eyeing each other to ensure the disguises were all right (Soul was rather impressed with her new pointed ears), they took a look around. It didn't take them long to find Legolas, standing perfectly still with his head on one side, studying a 'very old' tree with a detached, thoughtful expression. 'He looks somewhat . . . mindless,' Soul noted.

 

'Yep. Dumb as a post. It's the backlash from the movie 'Captain Obvious' Legolas incarnation,' the dark haired 'elf' snorted and hefted the bag onto her shoulder. Things jangled inside it. Trojie took a quick look at the Words and took the opportunity to add to her previous statement. 'Actually, he's wondering.'

 

'What about?'

 

'Your guess is as good as mine. According to the Words, he's wondering through Rivendell forest.'

 

'That explains precisely nothing.'

 

'I thought so, too. And that first paragraph was one sentence. ONE SENTENCE. Arrgh, some people should just not be allowed word processors.'

 

"It was a present" came an as-yet-disembodied voice from not far away.

 

'Period!' hissed Soul. Trojie raised an eyebrow, which on an Elf is a most impressive expression. 'I'm sorry, but punctuation errors REALLY annoy me.'

 

'Me too. But get used to them. This fic is rife with the buggers. Spelling errors too.'

 

The disembodied voice soon attached itself to an owner: Elrohir, who was introduced in the next badly structured, run-on sentence.

 

Both Legolas and Elrohir looked up at the tree in perfect sync. 'What the . . . ?' Soul began.

 

Trojie sighed. 'Bloody stage directions. I don't think she uses a single explanatory sentence from here on in. And her taglines are few and far between, as well.'

 

'What?' Soul frowned, confused, and scanned the Words. 'Oh,' she said softly as realisation dawned. 'Oh, Elbereth. So the canon's trying to allow for every eventuality? They're both going to do everything?'

 

Trojie, who was quite a lot further on in the Words than Soul, grimaced. 'I really hope not.'

 

'Ah. Is it that . . . terrible?'

 

'Yep. Graphic, badly spelled, implausible, and . . . dear Lord! No! Nonononononononono!' Trojie shut her eyes, stuffed her fingers in her ears and began to sing under her breath. 'Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true . . .'

 

'Troj?'

 

'Wanted a woman, never bargained for you . . .'

 

'Trojie?'

 

'Lots of people talkin'--'

 

'TROJANHORSE!'

 

Trojie took her fingers out of her ears and opened her eyes.

 

'What?'

 

'Come on. We have a fic to fix.' Soul hesitated. 'Is it really that bad?'

 

'Yes.' Trojie took a deep breath and whispered 'No lubricant.'

 

Soul winced, but her only comment was, 'Disturbing,' which Trojie privately thought had to rank pretty high in this century's list of greatest understatements. 'Well . . . as disturbing as that is, we ought to be listening in to Elrohir . . . or whoever he is . . .'

 

'Whatever,' Trojie corrected darkly.

 

"I used to hide in it's branches when my father was angry at me...I felt safe up there."

 

Soul blinked. 'Angry at me'? Is this the correct way of phrasing the sentiment according to the Elven syntax?'

 

Trojie shook her head in despair. 'I'm pretty sure it's not the correct way of phrasing the sentiment in any syntax. Except possibly American slang. 'Angry with me' I could accept . . .' She sighed deeply. 'It gets worse.'

 

"Is your father upset at you?" asked Legolas looking at him.

 

Smiling  "No...Thanks Elbereth. No..." looked at him.

 

'You're welcome, dear!' A voice like tinkly silver bells manifested itself in everyone's head.

 

Soul turned to Trojie, a small suspicious frown wrinkling her forehead. 'Did you say that?'

 

'Nope. I thought it was you.'

 

'Sorry to disappoint. Wait a moment, I'll check the Words.' Quickly, Soul did so, and after a moment's thought had a theory. 'Elbereth must be a very polite deity to say 'you're welcome' when someone thanks her personally . . .'

 

Trojie grinned. 'Or else she doesn't get a lot of gratitude.'

 

'Could be.' Soul shrugged. 'You think the canons heard that?'

 

'I hope not. We don't want them going around starting a new religion or something, based on words from one of their gods . . .'

 

'From what I have read of the Words and the information you have just imparted to me,' Soul said darkly, 'they're too busy angsting and fornicating to worry about new religions.'

 

Trojie suppressed a shudder, memories of what she'd read in the Words still burnt onto her brain. Soul patted her shoulder in an uncharacteristically sympathetic gesture. 'It can't get any worse than this, Trojie, now can it?'

 

'No lubricant,' Trojie said in a pained voice.

 

'True . . .' Soul bit her lower lip thoughtfully. 'We-ell . . . It can't get any worse than that, can it?'

 

'I don't even want to imagine it if it can.'

 

'Nor do I,' Soul said vehemently. 'Believe me, my friend, nor do I. Damn,' she added petulantly, 'we missed some of their dialogue. Elrohir's been called away by . . . err, someone . . . and is wandering off now.'

 

'Damn,' Trojie echoed. 'Well, never mind, I doubt we missed anything earth-shattering. Shall we portal?' she enquired over Elrohir's supremely intelligent parting shot and abrupt disappearance.

 

"Excuse me .....I must go...." He left. Legolas eyes followed him until he was out of sight, caressing the trunk for the last time to continue his expedition.

 

‘Who can we talk to about sending this girl to OFUM?’ Trojie asked. ‘She calls herself Celebrian, so there’d be fun times to be had watching what Elrond does to her. And GrammarBootCamp . . . Miss Cam and Miss Dwimordene would have an absolute BALL with this girl.’ She sighed slightly, remembering that she’d been too late to sign up to OFUM for this year. ‘Well, shall we go on then?’ 

 

'Wait a moment,' Soul ordered. She and Trojie watched with morbid interest as Legolas' eyes neatly detached themselves from his optic nerves, jumped to the ground and trotted merrily after Elrohir, while his body -- apparently unaffected by being separated from its eyes -- caressed the tree trunk and wandered off. Soul raised an incredulous eyebrow and turned to Trojie. Her partner, however, wasn't looking at her, she was staring at the escapee eyeballs with amazement and joy. 'Soul? Can we keep them? They're kind of cute, in a weird way . . . We could store them in jars, ooh, we could use them to spy on people . . .'

 

'Trojie, they are a part of a canon. We cannot keep them any more than we can take an oliphaunt for a pet. Apart from which, the very concept of having live, ostensibly still seeing eyes kept in jars in our response centre is quite disturbing.'

 

'So says the girl with the fangs,' Trojie muttered. Soul smiled and shrugged.

 

'I'm not the one who put the poster of naked women on the wall,' she shot back

 

'That is SO not the point of the poster! It's the Pink Floyd back-catalogue! Album covers painted on models' backs! It's CLEVER!'

 

'I'm just pointing out that perhaps some of us have a strange idea of what constitutes 'normal'. And I do hate to break it to you, but keeping disembodied eyes in jars is not normal. Besides, he needs them back. At least, I hope he gets them back. Legolas with no eyes is a little disconcerting in itself.'

 

'They're still sort of cute.'

 

'If you say so.' Soul shook her head; she was certain she would never understand humans. They were, for the most part, nice enough; they were also just plain weird. 'Now shall we portal?' she suggested.

 

'Sure,' Trojie said, digging the remote activator out of the bottom of her bag. 'Where to?' For a moment, both scanned the Words thoughtfully. 'Ooh . . . let's get up to the Last Homely House,' Trojie said after a pause; 'and fast. There's an elaborated desk in there I'd kill to see.'

 

'Elaborated--?!' Soul had time to repeat before Trojie hit the button and they portalled to Lord Elrond's study.

 

**

 

" You call for us?....."entering the room the twins stood in front a big elaborated wooden desk; very neat but full of papers, books and old documents. Elrond stood up from his chair and walked to the window.

 

'Why would Elrond, lore-master and lover of books, keep said books in a desk?' asked Soul. Trojie, whose tastes in furniture were eclectic, to say the least, was admiring the elaborated desk.

 

'Look, Soul, it's got GARGOYLES! And seven legs--'

 

'I mean, think about it: there are probably some valuable documents there, very valuable, but they're just shoved haphazardly into the drawers and things--'

 

'--and buttresses, and a wine goblet holder--'

 

'I mean, documents in a desk is understandable, commendable even; but scrolls? They'll be destroyed! They'll get crushed beyond all recognition!'

 

Trojie grabbed Soul's elbow. 'He's gonna say something!'

 

"Yes....I wish for you two to stay at Imladris instead of going to perform your orc hunt of the season, and attend the council." "It is also one of your duties as princes of this land...."

 

Trojie emitted a sound half-way between a squeal and a gasp. 'What? How dare she? Rivendell isn't a kingdom, Elrond isn't a king, the twins can't be princes! They aren't bloody princes!' She realised that Soul was being worryingly quiet for someone who would simply not stand for any canon errors against Elrond. 'Err . . . Soul?'

 

'Yessss . . . ?' Soul's voice, fairly low at the best of times, had dropped another octave, and came out as a throaty hiss.

 

Trojie bit her lower lip. Soul's demoness persona was a reality in the PPC-verse and the fanfic continuums, and that carried with it some interesting occupational hazards for anyone hanging around her. 'Soul, I really don't like it when you hiss your 's's.'

 

'Sssorry. I am merely frustrated that this fool has attempted to imply that they are princesss...'

 

'That makes two of us, but, er, could you please not hiss about it?'

 

Soul blinked. 'My apologiesss . . . er, apologies.' She grinned nervously, and Trojie was suddenly rather glad that she was currently an Elf maiden and therefore didn't have fangs. 'Shall we go on?'

 

'I think we'd better. Princes! I'm going to torture her for that one!'

 

'The authoressss?'

 

'Err . . . if we ever get our hands on her . . .'

 

'Once your torture is complete, may I kill her?'

 

'Certainly.' Trojie shuddered. She didn't like killing things herself, but was more than willing to let Soul go at it if she was willing. If it provided an outlet for Soul's inner demon, well, all the better. Trojie was starting to get the feeling Soul's inner unreconstructed demon thingy kind of needed an outlet. She plotted to introduce the demoness to the music of the Clash. Punk might help.

 

Soul's eyes glazed over happily; she was already devising hellish demonic death-rites to perform on the authoress if they ever got to catch her. She barely even noticed when Trojie grabbed her arm again and dragged her through a temporal/spatial plothole; something that usually produced motion sickness, at the very least. They landed in the library, and from the lamps and the drawn curtains they surmised that it was evening.

 

Legolas and Elrohir were sitting opposite one another in armchairs before the fire, each cradling a goblet of miruvor, discussing their own and their father's attitudes to, well, life in general -- currently what it took to rule a kingdom -- with the typically bad grammar and sentence structure the PPC agents had by now come to expect of them. Legolas was saying something about Thranduil's views as Trojie and Soul slipped close enough to listen in.

 

"No...he believes that in order to become a good warrior and king, you only need to be aware of court business and dominate all war skill."

 

'And do what?' Trojie commented softly, then added thoughtfully, 'That's nasty.' Soul's jaw was set so hard Trojie thought she might break something, and she was actually starting to smoulder a little. Grey wisps of smoke were curling from her arms and back. 'Soul?' Trojie murmured worriedly. 'Er, you might want to stop smoking before you set the place on fire . . .'

 

Soul grimaced, ignoring Trojie's suggestion -- and indeed the fact that she had spoken at all -- completely. 'Thranduil is not a blind politically-minded over-testosteroned warrior fool!'

 

'I agree completely, but seriously, stop smouldering. We're in a library, Soul, you're going to set something on fire.'

 

Soul seemed to snap back to the moment. 'I'm smouldering? Damn. Sorry, Trojie.' With some effort, she managed to stop the smoke curls. 'Am I to assume you would prefer it if I curbed that habit, as well as the hissing?'

 

'Well, I'm sure Elrond wouldn't thank you for razing his library to the ground.'

 

'A fair point.' Soul looked thoughtful for a moment. 'Although to be honest, he's so far out of character in this . . . abomination . . . that I am honestly not certain he would either notice or care . . .'

 

'He would when we exorcised the authoress-shades and canon snapped back to normal,' Trojie pointed out. 'And then you'd have one very annoyed lore-master.'

 

Soul accepted this with a curt nod. 'Good point, well made. Still . . . can we add throwing Thranduil out of character to the charge list?'

 

'Already done,' Trojie grinned. Having a partner was fun.

 

Soul smiled slightly in return, one eyebrow raising slightly. 'Trojie -- is this scene going anywhere?'

 

Trojie consulted the Words and shook her head. 'No. And there's a very abrupt ending, too -- do you think we can get away with adding that to the charge list somehow?'

 

Soul cocked her head and fixed her gaze in the middle distance, also checking the Words. 'Hmm . . . perhaps if we call it an unreasonable lack of character development?'

 

'Sounds good to me,' Trojie agreed. Soul nodded curtly.

 

'Good. Can we portal out of this, then, or is there anything we need to see?'

 

'I think we can portal. Now let me see . . .' Trojie thought for a while, scanning the Words while Soul kept an eye on the two canons. 'There's a bit of shooting goes on -- presumably tomorrow, though there's little mention of the intervening time . . .'

 

'Shooting?' Soul visibly perked up. 'Archery?'

 

'Yep.'

 

Soul's eyes, even though they were murky green with her Elven disguise, were glowing with all the ferocity they could when her irises were scarlet. 'Portal to there.'

 

Continued in Part Two...