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The Pure, blonde, crystal-blue eyed Elf, Legolas, woke up in darkness. It smelled awful,
the walls were covered in muck. He was chained to a wall, tortured, and yelled, “help, they’re being mean to me - rescue me Aragorn! Hurry up! Where is that lazy Ranger, anyway? Probably sitting outside the castle by the moat relaxing and having a smoke.”
“Uh, what was I here for again?” Aragorn asked himself as he took another puff on his pipe. “Oh, yeah, to save that lazy, no good Elf. Well, I suppose I should get off my butt and go get him.” So Aragorn busted down the door with his mighty sword, ran around in the dungeons, heard Legolas screaming, told him to shut up, and then rescued him; but he made Legolas carry all their gear because Aragorn had lost the horses.
“You lazy tree-hugger,” he said to Legolas, “hurry up. Don’t keep me waiting all day.”
“But I’m injured Aragorn. I can barely even walk much less carry anything!”
“You are such a whiner, Legolas, deal with it! And I am not carrying you or that stuff. So forget that. Whenever we get to where we are going wherever that is…I’ll take the gear. Oh, and don’t bleed all over my stuff.”
“But aren’t you going to take care of my injuries and heal me and offer me comfort?”
"What? I don’t think so. I get tired of looking after you and I don’t feel like it right now. Maybe when we get wherever, I’ll let you look after your own injuries, yourself.”
“O.K., Aragorn, you’re my hero!”
The End
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