It was just another day in the Great Cavern of
Mirkwood.
Galion carried a
breakfast tray balanced on one arm and a tray holding
a pot of tea, a
cup and saucer, cream, and a small honeypot on the
other as he
entered the bedchamber of the son of King Thranduil,
Legolas.
Legolas was
sprawled out on his bed, arms and legs akimbo, his hair
mussed and spread
every which way across the deep ruby-colored satin
comforter, his
mouth hanging open with a thin line of drool snaking
toward his chin.
Every other breath produced a grating snore and
caused a small
bubble to pop out under one nostril. His cornflower
blue eyes were
open but unfocussed with tiny bits of caked sleep dust
gathered in their
corners, staring into space as he dozed in reverie.
Not exactly a
pretty picture.
Not that Galion
noticed since Legolas was also naked, and the sight of
his heavy elfhood
resting against his milky white thigh was enough to
distract anyone
from what was going on above his waist.
The butler lay the
heavy trays down on a table, then turned toward the
sleeping Prince,
grinning and rubbing his hands together. This was
the part of the
day that Galion most loved...waking Legolas up. The
Prince tended to
fall so deeply into reverie that there was only one
sure-fire way to
wake him, and Galion, ever the faithful elfservant,
made it his
business to be the one to do the waking. As if on cue,
Galion's household
staff popped straight up, standing hard and at full
attention,
awaiting orders.
"Oh, Legolas..."
the butler called in a soft, sing-song voice, "time
to get up..."
Within moments
Galion's talented hands had Legolas, or at least a
*part* of Legolas
up and raring to go.
*Meanwhile, in
another part of the Cavern*
The kitchen of the
Great Cavern had seen its fair share of
catastrophes in
its time, from floods to fires, yet none as
spectacularly
visual as the catastrophe that was taking place on the
immense wooden
table that dominated the room at that particular moment
in time.
King Thranduil,
who always thought himself quite an artist regardless
of the fact that
he could barely draw stick figures, stood naked and
covered in
splashes of color. In one hand he held a brush and in the
other a palette,
and he was staring with what he supposed looked like
a practiced eye at
the butt cheeks of a serving wench. She was bent
over the table
with her skirts flung up over her head, daubs of color
covering her, at
one time, pearly white cheeks.
"Galathil!"
Thranduil called to the visiting brother of Lord Celeborn,
"Come here...I
need your opinion."
Galathil
reluctantly pulled himself out of the clenching behind of
Thranduil's chief
chef, and strolled over to where Thranduil stood
slapping another
swatch of color on the elleth's rounded bottom.
"Really, Thranduil...you
pick the MOST inopportune moments to ask for
an opinion!" he
growled, finishing himself off as he walked.
"Ooh...that added
just the right amount of white highlights that this
piece needed!"
Thranduil exclaimed happily, inspecting
Galathil's...er...handiwork
where it had sprayed across the serving
wench's rear.
"What do you think, Galathil? I shall call it,
"The Great
Masturbater" in your honor!"
"Lovely," Galathil
replied, cocking his head and looking at the
surrealistic mess
that was splattered across the serving wench's
shapely ass. "Is
that me?" he asked, pointing to what appeared to be
a pair of legs and
a particularly large erection.
"No...that's my
nose," Thranduil sniffed. "Really,
Galathil...everyone's
a critic. Do you think that it needs more of
this color?"
"What color is
that, Thranduil? I've never seen it before," Galathil
answered, peering
at the purplish-blue paint on he tip of the brush
Thranduil held.
"I call it
"Lavender Blue Dilly Dilly," Thranduil replied.
"I understand the
lavender and the blue," Galathil said, "but what is
the "dilly dilly"
for?"
"Oh," Thranduil
laughed, "because when I'm finished using it, I get to
dilly dilly to my
heart's content!" He tossed the brush away over his
shoulder, where it
hit an unfulfilled and grumpy chief chef in the
noggin leaving a
purplish-blue spot on the back of his head, and
proceeded to dilly
himself silly with the serving wench.
*Meanwhile, back
in Legolas' room*
"Galion," Legolas
said as the butler, wearing an extremely satisfied
smile, poured his
tea. "there MUST be something wrong with the bed!"
"Now, Your
Highness, we've been over this many, many times before.
Your bed has been
checked and re-checked, and the mattress replaced
more times than I
can count. There is nothing wrong with it!" Galion
answered, adding
cream and honey to Legolas' cup.
"But there MUST
be! Every morning when I wake up, my butt is killing
me..." Legolas
moaned, shifting slightly in his seat.
"There is nothing
wrong with the bed," Galion repeated firmly,
suppressing the
urge to giggle. "It simply must be the way you
slept...or woke
up," he added, losing the battle and giggling like a
madelf, much to
Legolas' consternation.
After all, it was
just another day in the Great Cavern of Mirkwood.