And Then There Was Fiction

[MaskedNicci]

Introduction: In which the author(ess) details why in the world she wishes to entertain you with her ramblings.)

I can't imagine what it would be like, to take some of the world's most intricate and problematic characters in modern and classical literature, and place them in a room together. I'm seriously insane, aren't I? But people love me for it. I'm sick and tired of falling in love with fictional characters. Not love, love. But to truly know these people, as though I've always known them. I'm weary of falling in love with them, and seeking a place to talk about these stories I'm enamored with. Because, inevitably, I find 'Those-Who-Cannot-Be-Named'. Why cannot they be named? Because as soon as I publish this, they will be down my throat, barking in their raspy screams, declaring themselves to be the exact opposite as what I see them as. These people(who I will not name) love these characters as much as I do. Or, I think they do. Can you love something you maim and maul to such an extent?

For instance, the Phantom of the Opera, a book by Gaston Leroux. French. A beautiful story, full of intriguing people, problems, and courage. Unrequited love, a masked musical genius. What more could a hopeless romantic want? It's got power, mass, strength, sensitivity. Despite being written by a man whose daily customs would come across as stiff and indifferent in today's expressive society, the very core of the story is brimming with love, and murder, mystery, and tenderness.

Then come Those-Who-Cannot-Be-Named. They seem to adore the story as much as I, and thousands of others. But they love the idea of the Phantom, Erik. They don't love him for who he is; a murderous, ghastly deformed man, who would never notice them, much less 'marry' them, as thousands of fans have claimed. Seriously, this man has never been kissed in half a century, but once he dies, he is suddenly married to over a thousand assorted women? Strange, no? The tainted diamond of the story, is the tragedy. Romeo and Juliet wouldn't be so memorable if they lived happily ever after, now would it? We know he was never truly, honestly, happy. That's what makes it so surreal, so awe-striking.

Oh, I'm rambling again, aren't I? I tend to do that. My apologies. I will digress. By now you understand my exasperation at the actions of certain 'phans'. They don't see the ugly, beautiful core of the character of Erik, blinded by the superficial working of their current world. That is why I so strongly insist upon being so open-minded about things. I am known in my household to scream out “Culture, people! It's culture!” With ample reason, of course. After all, who, in their right mind, would call Bach 'boring'?

Being blinded by their confusing world surrounding them, these pitiful folk insist upon twisting the characters in fiction, just as they themselves have been twisted by peer pressure, money stress, and stereotypes. Pulling the very basics of a fictional being's persona is a very dangerous, very popular business, indeed.

As I began with saying, the goal of this story is to show my slightly egotistical views on some of my favorite characters, and I promise to try ignoring some of the more popular twisting of their characters in wide-spread fanfiction, etc. Without subjecting you, my readers, to biting sarcasm. I will try.


For the moment, I will include TWO characters from each of my favorite stories. This is not limited merely to books, as not everyone is as avid a reader as I am. (Though I know there are quite a few. Do not fear. I will not forget you. I just need to include everybody.)

If I am to make this story work, I may need some people to cameo in the story. 'Squee-rs' are welcome. If you see somebody listed in the story whom you “OMG! Always wanted to meet!”, then you may contact me through private messaging. Please do not be insulted if I do not include you. I am not required to give a reason, and I don't want to feel obligated to. I just will not need to use you. Perhaps, if you are patient, and nice to me, I will attempt to find a place for you in the latter parts of the story. But as I have not clue if I will ever finish this dang thing, I cannot promise such.

Any ideas for characters can be suggested, but not necessarily used. Particularly if I do not read/watch that story. I must keep them in-character, after all.

Onward to Fiction-Land!

[Link's Righthand Man]

wow...wow...wow. thats pretty much all i can say. never read the phantom but sounds good. thats one of the most in depth descriptions of MY feelings ive ever heard

[MaskedNicci]

It was a chillingly bright morning...

The large mansion stood upon the hill, glaring ominously at the rest of the desolate moor, as though challenging it to swallow the mansion as it had time. Time... it always sweeps us off our feet, and as we struggle to stand again, we are surprised to realize just how much of it has escaped us. Time will never be harnessed, being as a wild stallion upon the plain, trotting gaily through the brooks, whinnying with free delight. I do not wish to harness time. Only its occupants, its servants. Those enslaved to the winding flight of the passing moments, unable to release the hold on reality that is essential to controlling what meager time we do have in life.

How cursed are these occupants of time, unfortunately doomed never to be forgotten! At least, their names will live on, in the hearts and minds of those who loved them so. To be eternally changed, permanently placed in time, as though made of stone among the fleeting wildlife. The mansion stood, rebuking the wind that tore at his open windows, chilling the very bones of those inside.

Only three figures stood within the brick walls of the turn-of-the-century home, built sometime in the 1920's. None of them wished to be there. They had been hired to merely do their job, wait until their employer's guests came and left(at their leisure), and then they were free to leave. All were dressed in black, and stood around the small, useless fire at the hearth, clasping their hands with bowed heads, the picture of solemnity. Two were male, one was female. The eldest man looked to be about in his mid-fifties, his weathered brown face looking as though it would slip away if the wicked wind were to blow through too harshly. His black cap sat limply upon a wrinkled head, not working to conceal the receding hairline.

The more youthful man nearby stood quite elegantly next to the ancient, slightly huddled figure beside him. A playful glint was in his blue eyes, although dimmed by the depressing prospects of the afternoon. He watched the woman beside him, almost eagerly awaiting a reaction from her.

The only female in the room had a glassy expression in her hooded brown eyes, watching the fire with almost ethereal intensity. Wearing black seemed to escalate the contrast of her pale skin against her raven hair, and the dramatically painted lips resembled fresh blood upon the thin line of flesh. The fingernails were also painted, but this time with a charcoal black, the thin fingers twitching sporadically as she watched the licks of heat in the old-fashioned fireplace. The young man kept his eye on her nervously as he kicked at a fallen brick, chipped and black with soot. Both the man watching her, and the woman herself, seemed to be in their late twenties. Perhaps their very early thirties.

After a long time standing silently, the woman turned, her brown eyes boring through the blue-eyed male. “Why on earth would somebody live in a place like this?” she demanded, with a cool air. The elderly gentleman flickered his eyes in their direction, seemingly occupied with the window overlooking the moor out front.

The young man brightened up immediately, as though the comment fueled him to the very core. “I know! I mean, it's cold, and dark, and...well...old.” He didn't look in the direction of the older man, who didn't seem to be listening.

Raising a tentative eyebrow, the woman thrust out a white hand, shivering slightly in the cold. “Melantha Tolbert.”

Smiling, the blue eyes danced in a light of anticipation. “Colin Frisk, at your service.” Melantha rolled her eyes.

Colin shrugged, then turned to the gentleman now standing at the window, transfixed. “And what's your name, pal?”

The man said nothing for a time, slowly and surely turning toward the two. The squinting, wrinkled eyes held their gaze with an otherworldly understanding and calm, sending a chill down Melantha's back. “In the war,” he said with ceremonial delay, “They called me Shannon, Laurence.”

Colin struggled to hold back a snort, trying to compose himself around the old man. “Isn't...er...isn't Shannon a girl name?”

The elder just watched him, gazing into the boyish blue eyes. “Shannon is my last name. You may call me Mr. Shannon, or Laurence, if you wish. Though I would much prefer you calling me Sir.” The man slowly flexed his worn, wrinkled right hand, then straightened the depressing black jacket, striding toward the door. Quietly, he stated, “The guests are arriving, now. Girl, go check the fires in the living room, the parlor, and all the bedrooms. Boy, come with me.”

The command was cool and collected, as though practice thoroughly many times before. The two younger shared a look of stilled rebuke, wondering where this man had received authority over them. Sighing, Melantha started up the large, decorative staircase, while Colin strode toward the main hall after the man.

Out on the cobblestone walk, a man stood, erect with the posture that suggested all the formality of a gentleman of old times. He wore a black trench-coat that flapped around him in the dangerously violent winds of the moor. The man wore a wide-brimmed hat, which was pulled forward, concealing his face. Leaving his sleek black Rolls-Royce, he walked up to the front door with a brisk and impatient step, his shadowed eyes locked on the ground in front of him, his mind occupied on other matters. Raising a gloved hand to make good, firm use of the iron knocker, he was slightly surprised to have it open before him, and an old, leathery man stood smiling.

Beckoning him in, he was led to the parlor, where he was told to make himself comfortable. After being seated, the man seemed anxious, and restless, asking for a small glass of Burgundy while he awaited his companions. He refused to allow his coat to be removed, or his hat, which Colin found rude, but his older, wiser companion seemed untouched, looking as gaily at the guest as he had since his arrival.

After exciting the hall, Laurence turned to Colin. “Greet the next guest, and make it snappy! They're arriving soon!”

Next to arrive was a group of three or four people. It was hard to tell, they were all pressed tightly together on the doorstep, the one in front using the knocker with impatience. When Colin opened the door, all of them toppled inside, shoving the others in a hurried attempt to find shelter from the infernal wind.

“Woah, Susan! Look at that old man! He looks ancient!” A young boy, no older than thirteen, certainly, was pointing a rather rude finger at Laurence, who frowned at the child.

“Who might you be, lad?” He asked, bending down to meet the eyes of the fair-faced boy.

“M'name's Edmund. Edmund Pevensie.” The boy said stubbornly, crossing his arms in a defiant gesture. A flicker of a smile crossed Laurence's features, and he turned to the slightly older girl behind Edmund, gripping his arm.

“Then you must be his elder sister, Susan, am I not right?” He asked. The brown-haired teen nodded her head, and pressed her brother onward into the parlor, along with the first guest.

A man stood in the doorway, wearing ridiculous attire. By the looks of his over-large T-shirt, and moth-eaten jeans, along with the grimy hands and face, this man had rummaged in a garbage can for his attire. Wrinkling his nose slightly, Colin greeted him, trying to smile. The effort came out looking like a smirk, which the newcomer genuinely reciprocated.

“Jack.” Said the man, grinning broadly, and shaking Colin's hand with his dirty fingers. “Jack Sparrow. Would you be so kind as to tell me, whether or not there are any...erm...pretty ladies about the area?” He peered into the hall suspiciously, looking left and right as though afraid of somebody being there. With a look of disappointment and gloom, he stepped inside. “I thought not. Oh well!” Throwing his arms up in the air, he might have been skipping into the parlor, and it would not have been stranger. Colin mentally made a note not to tangle with this one. Or let him have too many drinks.

The next to step inside the door was another eccentric gentleman; this time, a man who seemed around seventy, with a long white beard and purple cloak that fluttered about him like feathers on a bird. With a large smile, he took Colin's hand, his eyes sparkling. “Very nice to meet you, indeed, Very nice indeed! I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. But you may call me Dumbledore.” He said his entire name in one long-winded breath, and without skipping a beat, went on to exclaim about how the house was exactly how he had remembered it on his last visit, and how pretty the windows looked. Colin made another mental note, before turning back to look outside, waiting for the next guest.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*I had to 'crop off' part of the chapter to...ahem...get under the character limit. Hope no one minds the double-post.

[MaskedNicci]

“Surely, you jest, foul beast of the earth! Surely!” Rang out a velvety voice, almost consumed by the tearing wind around the mansion. Another voice, much gruffer, and which reminded one of unpolished stone, replied, “Have I ever given you reason to doubt me, tree-dweller?”

An odd pair came up the walk this time; a small, round little man, more wide than he was tall, and with a long beard that was braided all the way down his chest. He wore attire all in browns and reds, with a large silver watch on his right hand, wrapped around his fat wrist. His companion was, in all ways, the opposite of the short man. Tall and slender, pale and fair-haired, the handsome figure wore clothes that looked tailored to his very frame, and walked with an air of grace and tranquility. His tone, albeit soothing and lyrical, was nonetheless full of bursting humor restrained. “No, you have not, Gimli. But I do wonder, sometimes, about how reliable your memory is of late. You do tend to have difficulty remembering these days, old friend.”

The two paused on the road halfway to the house, watching each other with a solemn sadness. The shorter companion coughed, “Aye, Legolas. We did have some good times.”

His colleague nodded, clapping him comradely on the shoulder. The pair continued, and Colin felt the rise of an unnamed emotion rise in his chest. The two friends seemed so...important, and sophisticated. No, those weren't the correct words. But Colin knew there was something entirely special between them, and he would find out what before they left.

“Oi! Let me go, you confounded old fool! Let me go!” The young man turned around, to see three more figures come up the walk. One, a man in his mid-thirties, with his hand gripped around the arm of a much younger and handsomer soul. The young boy couldn't be past his early twenties, and he shared similar features as Legolas. Fair-hair, and boyish face, he wore jeans and a simple T-shirt, but held the air of a spoiled aristocrat. The man who held him met eyes with the boy, and the two shared a look of utter contempt. Leaning forward, the older man sneered, “My apologies, good sir. You looked like someone I knew. A young man, with all the airs and graces you possess.” He had an insane edge to his voice, and sounded as though he was about to burst into laughter. Bowing low respectfully, he crooned, “Barbossa, at yer service, kind sir.”

The younger man looked at him in disbelief for a moment, then rubbed his sore arm. Placing a generous smile on his features, he bowed his head to the older gent. “There is no apology needed, Monsieur Barbossa. I am Raoul de Chagny. I would be very pleased to make your acquaintance. If only we had met under less...unfortunate circumstances, as you mistaking me for someone else. I offer my services.”

They both nodded, but Colin could tell that both were merely giving a facade of politeness, and the glare they both bestowed one another made Colin sure a fist-fight was about to break out. Or at the very least, a verbal war. Greeting them both, and taking their hats and coats, he led these last guests into the parlor. Stepping up quickly beside the flabbergasted Colin, Laurence whispered, “That is enough for now. Thank you for you help, Colin. Go back to the kitchens now, and help that girl with the refreshments. And don't break the glasses.”

Laurence seemed skilled at giving orders, and even more skilled at not letting the company hear the strict demands, but Colin was grateful for the compliment. If only he hadn't been told to leave all the strange, exotic guests... It was definitely going to make for an interesting evening...

[Link's Righthand Man]

come on nicci keep going

[Link's Righthand Man]

nicci im just gonna keep posting raandom statements of encouragement until you start again. now POST have a nice day

[MaskedNicci]

Sorry for the long wait, I've been sick!

~

All around the parlor were seating colorful guests, in all varying attire. The first guest (who upon being pressed, only revealed his name to be 'Erik') was seemingly more at ease once the guests began to arrive, although he did not interact with any of them. Legolas and Gimli were gazing at the interesting paintings on the wall, while young Susan scolded her little brother. Jack Sparrow was no where to be found, although faint noises in the wine cellar could be heard.

Barbossa was seated in a large armchair, next to Erik, watching Raoul de Chagny closely. He did not seem to realize that Jack Sparrow had arrived at all, rather, he was more focused on the party who were not becoming rapidly drunk.

Albus Percival --well, Dumbledore-- was relating to Raoul de Chagny all the fine points of lemon drops, and how useful they were to keep certain creatures out of one's garden. Raoul de Chagny seemed distracted, before Dumbledore insisted he speak his mind. “A penny for your thoughts, young man!”

Raoul shrugged, “I was just thinking of my wife, Monsieur. She wished to come today, but she was ill.”

Anyone looking might have caught Erik, apparently consumed in a book, flinching at the mention of Raoul's wife. Barbossa, being of a very sharp sort, looked between the two for a moment, when a malicious grin crossed his features. He turned to Erik, and in his gruff voice, asked, “I wonder, kind sir, if you are acquainted with the de Chagnys?”

Erik looked directly into the eyes of Barbossa, leaped up and, shouting in a voice that sounded as smooth as honey, yet with a tone as harsh and cold as ice, “My acquaintances are none of your concern, sea rat!” All eyes fell on him. In his sudden rage, his wide-brimmed hat had fallen to the floor.

He had a normal face, though there was something distinctly odd about his features. They were stiff, and emotionless, though his bright yellow eyes shone with obvious anger, and every sort of emotion possible to be contained in such a man. After a few moments of silence, it finally dawned on the larger portion of the guests that although very ingeniously constructed, Erik wore a mask. A mask that resembled, in the dim light of the parlor room, a real face. But it was as immobile and expressionless as all his other masks previous. Which, of course, nobody in the room except Raoul knew about. The young man paled as he recognized the emanating power of the Phantom, and he took a step back, suddenly bumping into a table that he had not know was there before.

Upon the glass coffee table lay a key, and a small scrap of paper, with flowing handwriting scrawled on its surface. Raoul looked around at the other guests, then bent down to pick it up. Erik, once again seated, pulled his hat back on to cover his face.

Everyone else excepting Erik, Barbossa, and of course, Jack Sparrow (who was still in the wine cellar) gathered around Raoul as he read the note.

Dear Guests,

You are all wondering by now, for what reason I have requested your attendance to what may seem to most of you to be a very dull, run-down old mansion. I assure you, this is most definitely not so, and while some may see my reasons as mad, you will just have to discover the validation of such an accusation for yourselves.

You all are to stay for the duration of the evening, and by the time of precisely 11 O'Clock, either you will decide to return to your distant homes, which you have traversed in great extent and to large sums paid, or to remain in my home. I fear that important matters keep me from greeting you to my household personally, but I am sure you will find that my hired help is most capable of making your stay as comfortable as possible.

Be assured, you will not be required to pay me, OR my hired help any sum of money for the entirety of your stay. This one is completely free of charge, and I would be hard put to it to request such a thing of you, when you have all traveled so far, and been curious so long.

Please, do look upon the table before you; there is a small key there. It goes to the cupboard behind the wine cellar, which holds the key to each of your rooms, should you decide to stay. If you do not, please return the key, and the slip of paper with your name and directions to your room.

Thank you all, and hopefully, I will be seeing you soon.

Your Good Friend,

M. Nicholas

All the guests looked at each other in curiosity, none speaking. Finally, Gimli son of Gloin gave a deep grunt. “Well, that sounds amiable of him! Leaving his company without a hello, nor a goodbye! Without an explanation!”

His best friend, Legolas, said nothing, merely standing in thoughtful silence, his otherworldly beauty darkened by the look of contemplation on his brow. All around the room was a feeling of silent suggestions, each in turn being refused by its maker. Ridiculous notions floated through the very air they breathed, and each looked at the others in turn, wondering who the mysterious owner of the mansion must be.

“Doesn't anybody know who the bloody bugger is?” Suddenly piped up Edmund Pevensie, the noisy boy from earlier. He was infamous for completely ignoring the age-old rule of 'Children should be seen, and not heard', and was quite happy to be the first to speak out amongst so many adults. His sister Susan shushed him, telling him to behave. Without speaking, anyone could tell that Susan was very afraid. Being the only female, not to mention one of the only children, she was vexed by the change of situation, and ignored by the rest of the party. Their parents would never have consented to the instructions on the mysterious note left on their doorstep two weeks earlier, but as they were now under the care of a certain eccentric old man while their parents were away, there was not much choice in the matter. After reading the note with a queer gleam in his eye, the professor then insisted Edmund and Susan leave the other siblings behind, and accept the invitation. After much protest, they had been sent on the next train out. Susan had never felt so much like an object before. It seemed like the professor had wanted them to leave!

“My dear boy, you have no idea with whom you are dealing with. And as this is his home, I am certain basic mannerisms require you to refrain from insults.” Erik's voice was sharp as steel, hissing through the air like a whip. Edmund was indignant, and puffed out his small chest with as much determination as a little boy could muster in the presence of such a demanding and frightening grown-up.”And do you have any idea with whom you are dealing with?” The boy demanded. Erik's eyes flickered with a fury barely contained. His eyes flitted about the room in a slightly mad fashion, and he took a deep breath, staring at the carpet of the parlor. Standing, he walked out of the room, shutting it behind him with a chilling click.

Dumbledore chose this time to rise, a happy twinkle in his blue eyes as he surveyed his fellows. “Well, now. Well now, indeed! I suppose we all have our theories on the mysterious person who has allowed us to remain in this quite beautiful house, despite not being able to entertain us personally!” He sat upon the coffee table, twiddling his thumbs with a beaming smile. “Do everyone tell the rest how they came to this very place in the world. It is quite a coincidence, you know. Quite a coincidence, indeed.”

Barbossa stood, walking over to the mantle to stare into the tiny flicker of flame on the hearth. It gave the room no warmth, but it was not as if Barbossa could feel its sensation anyway. Transfixed with the flame, he spoke in a monotone, and that slight insane edge to his voice was quite apparent as he told his tale.

“It was not three months ago, when I received the letter. Strange, how it came to me. Almost as though the one who sent it had powers beyond natural... I was standing upon the deck of my ship, watching the sea roll past, and wishing for the dawn to arrive. It was about the fourth hour of the new day, and the sun had not yet risen on the horizon. It shocked me, to be true. Usually the sun arises early on the sea, being as there is nothing in its way to arrive.

I could have sworn upon me own mother's grave that there was no letter at all, seeing as how it floated through the air, light as a feather, flittering down to land on the poop deck, at me feet. I bent down, picked it up, and found it was addressed to none other than me. Upon reading it, I decided a bit of something to drink, to calm me nerves, was in order. I promise ye, I left that letter in me jacket pocket, but when I searched to read it again, it was gone. The letter was very plain, hand-written with a strange, green color to the pen. It stated that I, Captain Hector Barbossa, am very much needed at the home of a certain M. Nicholas, and that it would be very much in my favor to leave me crew behind.” Barbossa turned to the rest of the group, decided against mention the leverage which had been included in the letter.

Also, my dearest Hector, I promise that as many apples as you wish will be provided. You will find them quite enjoyable; my household produces the finest.

[MaskedNicci]

<author's note: Snap! I am sorry to say I must double-post, it seems, to update my chapters! Here is the next part>


Some sort of trickery was behind all of this, he was certain. But not a word he spoke, the amount of trust with his companions not appearing with the ability to become established. Legolas chose this moment to speak up. Barbossa turned from the fireplace, to watch the beautiful young man as all the others did.

“Our letter arrived in much the same way. But in a more believable fashion. I was watching my knives being reforged, as a particularly difficult match had caused them to dent. As that is a disrespectable way to go on a hunt, I was especially eager for them to be finished by the end of the week. As the smith was placing the finishing touches, a scout elf came into the area, and came directly to me. A human, most likely an ambassador of his race, had come to discuss respectable trades with my father; and to request I come with him to his land, for I was much wanted. He gave me a letter, which I read with ample curiousity, and I placed it on my personage for utmost safety. When I searched for it later, it was missing.”

The rest agreed, their letters had arrived similarly. After a few minutes of silence, Colin entered the room, to announce that supper was being served in the dining room, and that he had been instructed to accompany them all there.

What was to happen in that room, with its old oak table, and velvet cushioned chairs, was only to be discovered upon the guests' entry.

[Link's Righthand Man]

see first sentence of first post made by me

[MaskedNicci]

Strange 'tis that you are the only one to comment, LRM, though your posts do make me fairly blush with pride. Thanks for commenting! Here is the next part! We are very nearly caught up!

I just read the Scarlet Pimpernel yesterday, and I loved it to pieces! *squee*

Chapter Four, it is.

The lush table settings greeted the hungry company; luscious, blood red napkins, set delicately beside twinkling wine glasses. Colin led the way to each of the table settings(each with an indicated name written on a folded paper, laying on the dark red plates). After being seated, two chairs seemed noticeably empty. Susan, who was seated next to one of the empty seats, leaned over to check. %u201CErik,%u201D she read, turning to her fellows.

%u201CHe's probably wandered off someplace.%u201D suggested Barbossa quietly, stroking his chin in a very thoughtful fashion. The company agreed mutually.

Legolas turned to the second empty chair, %u201CFor whom, may I ask, is the other setting?%u201D

Dumbledore, sitting at his own place setting with a broad grin on his face, gave Legolas a look of elation. %u201CIt simply must be Mr. Sparrow. He is the only one not present, correct?%u201D

A few people nodded, but one or two whispered, %u201CWho is Mr. Sparrow?%u201D After all, he had been hardly seen, going directly to the wine cellar immediately after arriving.

As though he knew he was being discussed, the aforementioned Mr. Sparrow stumbled into the room on tipsy feet, his formerly very distinguished-looking appearance disheveled; and he fell into the door frame, gripping it tightly. %u201CI'm sorry for being late.%u201D He slurred, his speech obviously dead-drunk. Susan gave Edmund a look to silence him, the boy looking completely elated at the prospect of the new visitor. Being the naughty sort of boy, he believed drunks to be the most fun to play pranks on. Susan would not allow this, knowing that a report of Edmund almost killing Mr. Sparrow would not be very pleasurable for a grown-up even such as the Professor.

Seating himself rather sloppily into a chair, Jack surveyed the room. %u201CWell?%u201D He said, %u201CAre we going to eat, or what?%u201D

With that, the group turned as the cook(namely, Laurence Shannon), came out with plates of food. Delectable dishes passed before the company, and they all began to take their fill, eating with amiable silence. Once in awhile, a member of the group would speak up to commence small talk with another. It was altogether a lot more enjoyable then the beginnings of the evening had promised.

Just as most were pushing their plates away, unable to eat another bite, the door from the main hall opened, and a young girl walked in. She was brimming of youth and curiosity, with short dark hair, that looked nearly black. Her bright eyes looked like a strange blend of dark blues and greens, with a pale gray tint to them. She looked all around the table for a minute, with the guests watching her expectantly. Smiling shyly, she met the eyes of Legolas. %u201CHi...%u201D she murmured. %u201CCan I join you?%u201D

Dumbledore gave her his bright beaming smile, his eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. %u201COf course you may, my dear! It just so happens, a friend of ours was unable to join, and there is a spare seat. I'm sure nobody would mind if you sit!%u201D He looked around at everyone else, holding his hands up in an elegant fashion.

There was a mutual nod, and she felt an increasing nervousness as they all watched her sit. It just so happened that Erik's chair had been set in between Susan Pevensie, and Legolas Greenleaf. When Legolas stood up and pulled out her chair for her, the girl turned a shade of brightest pink. %u201CThank you.%u201D She whispered, so lowly that if Legolas had not happened to be an elf, he would not have heard her.

%u201CMy pleasure, Miss.%u201D He said amiably, seating himself. Turning to the rest of the table, he spoke. %u201CI find the human food here has a distinct resemblance to my own, curiously. Have any of you noticed how filling each bite is, or how blissful each taste to the tongue?%u201D

Dumbledore nodded, and the newcomer seated next to Susan sighed contentedly, watching Legolas. She was given a look from each member of the company, and was quickly silenced. Dumbledore, positively grinning at her antics, sent a reluctant Edmund to retrieve a plate from the cook for the young lady.

Barbossa, turning to her, inquired, %u201CAnd what is your name, miss?%u201D

Hesitating in front of such a scrutinizing company, she had to be encouraged twice by Susan before she mumbled, %u201CMorgan...%u201D

%u201CMorgan what, my dear?%u201D Coaxed Dumbledore, looking her straight in the eyes, urging her to continue.%u201DIt is alright. We are just a bit nervous tonight.%u201D

This seemed to assure her at least a little, for Morgan raised her head a bit higher, and stated with semi-stability, %u201CMorgan Rhea, sir.%u201D She turned to smile up at Legolas, leaning toward him and softly whispering, %u201CI've always wanted to meet you.%u201D

Legolas raised a delicate eyebrow, and Morgan felt her heart flutter. He was so...sophisticated...

The man was in no way young in a mortal sense, neither was he mortal. Being as Elves are noticeably slow-maturing, they often live for centuries without appearing older than a day. Legolas was now becoming quite middle-aged, Elf-wise; he seemed to humans about his mid-twenties. With long, fair locks, and an equally flawless complexion, he might not have come across as strong and serious as he truly was. In today's society, one may even lay claim to his indifference as selfishness and perhaps even a confusion as to personal gender. This was definitely not the case, in any fashion. Elves are quite proud creatures, and interestingly perfect in appearance with their immortal powers. One with nature and its powers, Elves go about their lives determined to maintain a balance in the world. Legolas was no exception.

What might have sealed his fate with today's society, however, was the fact that this tall, beautiful, proud being was of royal blood. Legolas was the son to the King of Mirkwood, a forest seemingly untouched by the threads of time, its mysteries haunting all that pass the ominous trees. A prince, he was nonetheless confused by Morgan's attentions to his person. He asked himself if he had acted in any way to make her assume he returned the emotion.

The rest of the party watched on, in either indifference or a fleeting interest. Susan was in awe of Morgan's brashness, and decided she immediately liked the girl.