"I had a dream..."
Legolas sat, perched delicately on the end of his chair, fidgeting uncharacteristically with the hem of his tunic. Galadriel sat opposite him, wearing her best "Open Your Soul To Me" expression. The Fellowship had arrived in Lothlorien, already with burdens weighing heavy. She had decided upon viewing them to allow each private council to try and ease their woes.
"I want to suck them."
Galadriel snapped out of her private moment of recollection and raised an eyebrow of polite interest at Legolas' admission.
"Suck what, may I ask?" she inquired.
Legolas looked at her as though she could not have been more blind to the obvious.
"His feet!" he exclaimed, almost jumping from his chair in restlessness. "Their feet!"
Galadriel let herself ponder this one.
"Frodo. The Hobbits," she tried.
"Of course," replied Legolas, settling back against the wood behind him, his eyes staring into the distance. "Frodo is the worst. Though Merry and Pippin flaunt theirs too. Sam causes me less frustration as he can barely be sighted, always trailing behind his beloved Frodo."
Galadriel hesitated a guess.
"You have developed a...fetish."
Legolas blushed lightly, embarrassment tinting his cheeks.
"I expect better of myself. Hobbit feet! At my age!"
Galadriel reached across and patted him gently on the knee in comfort.
"It is far from strange. We, being immortal creatures, tend to grow weary of the standard after barely a few centuries, looking instead for increasingly different levels of excitement to spice our lives."
Legolas sighed.
"You are wise, fair Galadriel. Yet while I see your logic I do not see how to control my lust for them. The dream I had..."
"Tell me what you saw."
"I dreamed of Frodo," Legolas began, his eyes glazing over in memory. "He was lying on a mattress of leaves and naked as the day of his birth. I walked towards him, placing myself at his...feet. They were lying there, as though on offer to me. So large...so hairy. So wonderfully inviting!" His pupils dilated as his memories swept by. "I reached down and lifted one into my hands. It was willing in my grasp. The toes...they even wiggled... I stroked my hand along the underside first, teasing myself with what I knew I wanted. The skin was so tough, so callused from use that I felt more courageous, as though it was not virgin territory I was breaching."
Galadriel nodded for Legolas to continue, noting the deepening of lust within his voice.
"I couldn't hold back, then," he continued. "I wanted so badly to stroke the soft hair upon the upperside. Run my fingers through the wild locks. I did so, but it was not enough. I could hear moans echoing through the woods, my own or those of the Hobbit, I did not know. It was too late then, for I lost my control as plunged the largest of the toes deep within my mouth, relishing the feel...the texture...the taste..."
"The taste?" whispered Galadriel, squinting her nose ever so slightly.
Legolas twisted his mouth into a shamed smile.
"Yes, indeed the taste. Sweat and dirt..." He breathed softly, the memory strong in his mind. "I became a wild creature then, licking and sucking my way through each toe, each expanse of skin I could reach, around the curve of the heel... It was incredible, like nothing I had experienced before. The pull of desire was equal to that of the one ring. Yet were I to choose between the ring and the foot, I surely know which one I would succumb to first."
Galadriel's brow furrowed. "The foot, you would take first, before the ring?"
Legolas looked up at her with surprise. "Of course!"
Galadriel sighed.
"That fact along might indeed save your life. For that reason alone do I recommend that this fetish is not a habit I suggest you dispose of. Feel the pull of the feet, not of the ring. It will protect you from the darkness ahead."
Legolas nodded at the words of wisdom.
"What should I do about containing myself around the Hobbits?" he asked.
Galadriel gave herself a moment before answering.
"I suggest you focus your attentions upon your own feet for the time being, lacking in size and coat though they might be in comparison. During this time, gauge the feelings of Frodo and also of his Hobbit companions to see the likelihood of them offering their feet to you at some stage during your journey. It would be wise to share this burden with another in this way, for is not two stronger that one?"
Legolas nodded, his mind set and clearer than it had been since the journey began.
"I will do as you say, wise Galadriel," he replied, rising from his chair. "I must depart your presence now and test the ability of my own two feet to match the potential of those larger than mine."
He eyed the ends of his legs with growing lust.
"They will substitute suitably, I feel," he mumbled, walking delicately if not somewhat awkwardly from the meeting place. "Yes, I feel them beckoning me anon..."
Galadriel stared after him, her eyes dancing with mirth as the strange ways of youth. She had known upon sighting the clan of nine strong, brave males approaching her home, that they would have stories in their souls of interest to her. Encouraging notes of affection within the hearts of men had developed into a strong past-time over her long life. The stranger the note, the better, she had always felt. Fetishes were her specialty and she was determined not to lose her one-thousand-year-strong tally with Celeborn just because nine youngsters chose to deny their lust for one another.
The End.