"Yea okay! I know I'm sorry it's just I have a deadline and if...look I promise...please Ted just this once...I'll work double at the weekend...Ted? Seriously did you just hang up on me? Ugh!"
The ancient receiver hits the pay phone with such force that it clanks loudly making the passers-by on the college mall stop and gawp for a moment too long. I scowl furiously at them determined to muster my best 'piss right off,' look but still they continue to stare or giggle. I feel the heat of shame and anger rise up my neck and into my cheeks, so I do what I know best, I storm off. Only it does go as smoothly or as dramatically as I would have liked, instead the strap of my satchel gets caught on something, god knows what? And my folder full of clippings and sketches tumbles out of my arms and all over the ground. If I did not have the attention of the entire hallway before I most certainly did now!
The early pink flush on my cheeks intensifies until I am pretty sure it is a delightful beetroot colour. I am aware that there are audible laughs in every direction and as I scurry to pick up my mess I chance a peek and sigh when others duck to avoid eye contact with me. Honestly to be invisible would be perfect, people who complain about being invisible are lucky at least then they do not have to be the butt of everyone's jokes! I am not invisible, at six foot tall with bright blonde hair, usually with a streak of colour, it is hard to miss me. Don't get me wrong I don't want to be invisible but sometimes I wish I was less noticeable for my awkwardness and more visible for my positive traits, which at the present moment none come to mind. Once gathered together I shrug my long forest green cardigan tighter around me and cling to my belongings, like they are all I have in the world, and dash for the safety of the studio.
It's not far from here, the art department; it is usually a rather empty place. Ireland is not exactly renowned for being the hustle and bustle of the arts world but it has a certain charm. I throw open the doors and scuttle to the back of the large 'creative,' space, as the tutors like to refer to it as.
My canvas is still there untouched and beckoning me to pour all my free time into it, as I have to this point. It's my baby, my first love, everything that I love in this one painting. It's a woodland, but not the usual kind, it is full of wonder and life, like it could belong to the realm's outside of this world. Something from a fantasy where anything is possible. I've added bits and pieces to this world, things that I love hidden in the dense overgrowth, mystical beings, elves maybe, or fairies? Right here in front of this picture it is all possible for them to exist and I lap it up for my reality is hardly as fascinating.
I frown at my childish ridiculousness and grip a fine paintbrush to begin working on the glinting stars in the navy sky above the enchanted forest. I want them to appear ethereal and captivating to look at, like silver gems pinned to dark velvet. For a few hours at least I can pretend I am not a lonely twenty something, with no friends her own age and lack of a family; here I can live in my head and create any story I like where I am the lead, the warrior queen, capable of ruling her own fate and not having her life dictated to her.
My reality is something different, something blander and less interesting. Born Clara Josephine Riley, I was more affectionately named Josie after some well to do great aunt who was long dead before I ever came to be. I did not know my mother, she took off long before I could count to three, fell for some American banker who offered her much more than my Da ever could. As the tale goes she apparently never wanted me and felt pressured into mortherhood and married life, so she seen her chance and got out. Da could not cope with the responsibility of raising a kid on his own and off loaded me onto his sister, Tricia, setting him free to return to the single life with gusto.
It was not a bad life by no means Aunt Tricia and Uncle Rob were kind enough but they had four of their own to rear. I wasn't up on their priority for attention. Regardless, Tricia felt a sense of duty and responsibility for the quiet and quirky kid that her flaky younger brother had cumbered her with.
I grew up in a nice home, an old farmhouse in the pretty rolling hills of a sleepy Irish town with my beautiful and completely perfect cousins; Ted, Mary, and the twins Izzy and Frey. If the truth be told they were devils, every one of them, Ted the most idiotic and biggest asshat you could ever meet, how I ended up working in his bloody club and restaurant I shall never know!
Mary is a doctor and engaged to a doctor and plans to have lots of intelligent children who will all be doctors too. Izzy or Isobel as she now goes by is on an all-expenses paid gap year in Australia, and her twin Frey or 'Freya' which she does not go by, is actually doing an art degree at the same college as me, but is only in her first year of her bachelors being only a sweet eighteen. That said she would rather pretend I did not exist than admit to that, she is by self-declaration a complete 'dosser,' who is only doing art because "Daddy wants me to go to college but I just want to marry Aidan and move to New York City." Frey is an air head and Aidan is a prat who thinks he is going to be a world famous rockstar. I've heard his stuff, he most certainly is not the next Bono...maybe a janitor...but not a musician.
Me on the other hand, I have scrimped and saved and took out every loan going to do this course. I had to defer my offer of acceptance for three years until I had saved enough to move into student accommodation, and out from under my Aunt and Uncles feet. They'll mew and say I was no trouble, but I know when I over stayed my welcome. They paid for basic things and got me set up, all things I am thankful for, my excuse of a Father would rather hold out his hand to claim money off me than put it in his own pocket for his only child.
So here I am living the dream, well not that much of a dream. When I'm not in the studio I am working to pay for the bills, and my gracious cousin Ted has me working every spare shift and then some. If not there I am passed out sleeping in my teensy, tiny, dorm room or volunteering at a local youth club for disabled kids, but honestly it will be worth it in the end. I've already received my acceptance letter onto a fast-track teaching course, because that is what I want; I want to teach art to disabled kids. It has been a long road but I think I am nearing the end of the tunnel. I may be crippled with debt, lonely, and lack any kind of social life, but when I get there it will be because of me and my hard work...and not because Mum and Dad paid for it.
I smile triumphantly and nod at my own small achievements, because by nature I am fiercely independent and guarded. There is a lot in my past that sucks, I was a quiet, strange, kid that was too tall and spent too much time away in her imagination, because of this I was bullied relentlessly. I stopped trying to make friends, pushed people out and was disbelieving and suspicious of any one who tried to get close.
There was one though, Trent, a cocky misguided bad-boy who captured my heart with his imagination and easy going nature. I loved him with all my young heart, gave him everything and believed he would take me away from the monotony of my dull life. He promised me security, love, and a family, everything I did not have and for awhile I thought it was truly happening. But disaster struck when a raven haired beauty slinked into our lives and promised him something much more exotic. Lisa was incredibly seductive and so much more mature than I was, she took me in too pretended to be the best friend I always wanted, and before I could blink she took everything and left with Trent. So left without even my pride I threw myself back into my work, more determined than ever to succeed and prove every asshole that had ever doubted me wrong!
So many memories, too many memories, I feel glum just watching them replay in my mind! Absently I stretch over the counter top and knock the volume up on the radio, aptly Katy Perry's Part of Me is blasting from the speakers, I cannot refuse a good pop song filled with girl power! So using my paintbrush come mic I begin to sing, loudly and probably not in key, but who cares its late and I'm the only loser here. It does not take long for the catchy beat to distract me and soon I'm dancing around the room preforming to my adoring fans...because if I wasn't weird enough I also fancy myself a popstar. The floor is decidedly not the best stage and I hop onto a chair and then jump on the long table taking up the length of the back wall. From here I bust out my best dance moves and work on my inner diva. The leaping about is hot work and I rip off my cardigan flinging it out to my screaming fans, whilst the song reaches its crescendo I do my best fist pumping finale and land on my knees on the tabletop breathless, but pretty delighted with myself...that was fun!
It is at this point I realise that my imaginary crowd ain't so make believe, and in actual fact I am being watched by Frey and a dumbfounded Aidan, plus some other hipster chick who looks to cool to be gracing the art room of the local college.
"OH MY GOD Josie this is a public place! Ground swallow me up I could just die! Aidan, Sky, erase this from your memory this freak of nature is not related to me!" Frey roars her honey coloured curls springing about her shoulders as she shakes her head vigorously.
I smirk at my frazzled cousin, because frankly I am a lot embarrassed but the edge is taken off by the fact Frey is more freaked out than I am. And who the hell calls there kids 'Sky,' in Ireland?
"Hey Frey!" I salute her and hop from the table, "I presume this is not a social visit?"
"Actually!" she defends and pouts her perfectly rosebud lips, "Aidan and I thought you would like to come to his gig tonight."
"Aidan and you?" I raise a disbelieving eyebrow and shoot the sandy haired, lanky, high as a kite kid a questioning look, he shrugs and offers me a goofy smile. Whoa remind me never to indulge in recreational drugs to the extreme I think he has fried all of his five brain cells - gawd Uncle Rob must hate his guts.
"Well thing is I actually want to complete my degree Frey and I have a deadline looming, so rain check sweetness?" My reply is dripping with attitude and I wink for added patronizing effect.
"Yea you looked really busy babes," Frey smirks back, "Say aren't you meant to be pulling the late shift at Teddy's club? Where Aidan's gig is? Maybe I will have to tell my dearest brother what you're really up to?"
So that was her game! Typical demon spawn siblings. Ted has called Frey and asked her to check I was actually working in the studio instead of skiving on him. Seriously? The guy is a paranoid twit or just the devil in disguise! I narrow my eyes at the petite minx that is my little cousin, in her fish nets and wrap dress, looking like something you'd pick up on a street corner and sigh;
"Tell him what you want Frey I don't play games!" I mutter and return to my canvas.
"Oh I will!" She promises threateningly and waits for a few minutes expecting me to bite, but I don't I just focus on my work, dissatisfied she continues her taunting. "Your painting sucks by the way, your style is so ancient and childish! What is it something from Middle earth? Grow up Josie your twenty five, fairy-tales are for kiddies!"
The hipster chick stifles a giggle and decides her opinion is needed; "Oh my god like do people still like that stuff, nerds are so weird."
"Like oh my god Sky! Did I like totally ask for your opinion?" I snap back in my best impression of her, really a bratty hipster kid is gonna try and bad mouth me? What in the hell is this world coming too? Sky tuts and flicks her blue hair, yes electric blue hair, over her shoulder dismissively.
"The energy in here is so tense," Aidan decides to interject and backs towards the door, "this is totally stifling my creative energy, I can't have this before a gig!"
I just about manage to stop myself choking with laughter as he lops out the door...and I'm the freak? However Frey is glaring at me with a thunderous look and motions for Sky to follow Aidan to check on him;
"Seriously Josie? Look what you did! He has a gig!" She spits and stamps her leather boot clad foot.
"Frey honey, I swear the tense energy will not affect his performance in any way!" I reassure and stifle a chuckle.
"It better not! We were only trying to be nice and invite you out but I see your intent on being a recluse!" Frey crosses her arms defiantly about her chest and stares me down, and has not the faintest notion that I was actually insulting her boyfriend and not actually reassuring her. Clearly intelligence skipped right over her in that family.
"Frey sweetness you are a couple of eighteen year olds, as much as I appreciate the thought," I am such a bad liar, "I think I might cramp your style."
"Yeah your probably right babes, I mean you're really not that into normal things," She replies with actual sympathy in her eyes, oh dear god she actually thinks she is the mature one. I feel my temper flare, truthfully I've never had much patience for Izzy and Frey, and I work hard to suppress the urge to strangle her with my bare hands.
"No I guess I'm not," I manage to say through gritted teeth and robotically wave her off, as she skips off after her cronies like she owns the world. In a way she does, she and her siblings all have trust funds and have their futures secured, they never have to worry too much about what will happen if they fail because Mum and Dad will be there to fix the damages.
I wait until I believe she is long gone before grabbing my keys and purse, I will be damned if Ted thinks he can spy on me! On a whim I scurry along the empty corridors of the college and out into the vast car park; it's cold and I've left my cardigan back in the studio but I don't care I need to clear my head. In nothing but my long grey vest top, black leggings and suede boots I race along the footpath leading to my rusted bean tin of a car.
I shove my key in the lock and yank open the door, vowing someday I shall own a car with a central locking system and power steering. Once inside I start the ignition and fire up the heating, throwing the car into reverse I hastily exit the college and hit the road.
Apart from painting, driving is my second most favourite thing to do to calm me down and help me relax. I wind my way through the roads heading into the hills, which are never that faraway in Ireland, heading for my favourite spot. It is dark out and I am probably insane for doing this but I am occasionally a bit reckless, but I need the space and the woods will give me inspiration.
After thirty minutes of country road driving, and several attempts at tuning the radio I reach my desired location. A simple wooded area favoured by the dog walkers and over fifties power walkers. Slamming the door behind me I stalk along a well-trodden path to a lookout point, with its rickety old bench.
I quietly settle myself on the bench and shiver against the cool April night, the air feels damp and I eye the sky with suspicion. The overhanging clouds are heavy with rain, nothing new for the emerald isles, but I have a little while before it begins. I sigh and breathe deeply, enjoying the stillness of nature...here at least things are simple. I come here a lot when I need creative inspiration, or if I just want to sit by a tree and talk. Well if it was good enough for Tolkien's elves it is good enough for me!
I must sit in this place for at least an hour when I suddenly realise my fingers and toes have went numb from the cold, and great drops of rain water begin pounding off the ground around me. Begrudgingly I leave my sanctuary and make for the car, reaching it just in time when a loud crack of thunder startles me. I slip into the driver's side and numbly work the heading dial, my fingers protesting against the cold. I shiver uncontrollably as I just about manage to get the key into the ignition and turn the car onto the road.
The heavens open and the rain falls like a waterfall, making it hard to see or do anything other than grip the wheel of my steering wheel and crawl along the road. I squint through the watery haze and curse my ancient car as the windscreen fogs up. I rummage through the glove box and find a sponge, leaning across the dash I quickly try to clear the screen. I know I should just pull over, my instincts are telling me not to drive in this and just pull over, but I am bloody determined and pig headed when I want to be. If I had of known this little stunt would have spelt disaster I might have reconsidered my impromptu trip, but fore sight is a wonderful thing.
A blinding light and the sound of a horn wails through the atmosphere, reaching my ears a little too late. I gasp and swerve, but I misjudge the timing, I misjudge my whereabouts, I misjudge everything. Before I can do anything, before I can even form a scream of terror, I see the barrier that warns a driver of the sheer drop below them. I know the car is going to crash through the barrier, I know it because I can see it happening I can feel the impact, I know I am going to die and in that moment I despair because everything I could have been flashes before my eyes. All that was and all that was supposed to come, everything laid bare in one incredibly long moment and I realise it was a pathetic attempt at living. I wasted a life and now its over with no one to miss me and no one to care.
I absently wonder how long it will be before someone realise I'm gone, and if they will even mourn? I close my eyes and savour the last beats of my heart ready to accept oblivion.
"Are you sleeping?"
I hear a high soprano voice somewhere in the distance, its light and feathery like an echo, it asks the question again and I ascertain that it is a child's voice.
I feel pain, oh god I feel pain!
Everything is on fire, I want scream but my face hurts too much to cry out. The child shouts again only I'm too lost in the pain to care. I can feel the conscious part of my mind begin to wake up just in time to brutally remind me of the agony raging through my skull. It feels like it has been smashed to pieces.
I am not dead, how am I not dead? Please I want to be dead, I can't survive this pain its too much, my chest it hurts to breathe...I am suffocating!
I hear another voice, an adult voice and feet and hands. I focus on that, anything to distract myself from the pain.
"Aiya! Little one run and fetch the guards, and quickly! Tell them to bring a stretcher and alert the healers."
I like this voice it is kind but strange, foreign even? Light footsteps scurry off and I feel a warm hand on my forehead...so my skull is not smashed in?
"Can you hear me mellon nin? Come now you must wake up?"
I try to answer the voice and to my surprise I feel my eyelids flutter, the searing brightness is too painful to comprehend and I moan loudly.
"That's it nice and slow, focus on my voice, you are going to be alright my dear you are safe now."
I strain against the disorientating colours until a face comes into focus, I feel my lips part and a tiny gasp escape my lips. The face is not human it cannot be, it is an angel it has to be? I must be in heaven but why is heaven so damn painful?
The man before me has gleaming silver hair and light blue eyes, which look like a summer day. His face is so fair it is captivating to look at and he almost instantly steals my pain away. He smiles kindly and his voice is like silk;
"What is your name fair one?"
"Ummnugh," I gurgle in response and taste the metallic flavour of blood on my tongue, he asks me again and I force myself to answer...he deserves an answer;
"Clara," I grunt out, I feel my voice falter and I groan loudly again. I don't know why I say Clara, I have never used Clara as my given name but I just don't want to say Josie. It feels like a forgotten name, something I should leave behind.
"Clara it seems you have been attacked do you remember what happened?" The kind man asks again, I just want to reach out and touch his long silvery hair to see if it really feels like silk, but instead I shake my head.
"Grandpa! Grandpa!" The high soprano voice startles me again and my head involuntarily jerks painfully toward the sound. "The healers are coming!"
The child stops and regards me shyly, he is the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on. So innocent, so perfect; with his shoulder length fair hair and sparkling blue eyes, his skin is like fine ivory he looks like something from a story book, some sort of fae child. I vowed anyone that set eyes on him would fall in love instantly; I reckoned they would happily lay their life down for him.
"Excellent work my boy now come here and take Clara's hand, she is frightened and in need of comfort," The kindly man responds to the child and I feel my brows furrow. The boy had called him Grandpa but this man could be no more than thirty-five, if that?
The child gracefully kneels at my side and I stare in complete wonderment, how can a child be that elegant and composed? He smiles an angelic smile and takes my hand, I find myself smiling back like a complete idiot, but the kid is captivating beyond words. I would never call myself maternal but this boy pulls on my very heartstrings.
"Do not be frightened Lady Clara," he tells me, his voice so full of confidence, his perfect articulation baffles me he looks no more than four or five. "The healers are coming and they will make you better, you will be home very soon."
"Home?" I hear myself question in that rasping voice, "Where am I?"
The beautiful little boy glances at the man he called Grandpa with a perplexed look, it is so adorable.
"Greenwood my dear, have you no memory?" A flash of concern enters the angelic man's features and it looks wrong, someone like he should not frown. I can do nothing but stare at him and watch his expression grow ever more worrisome. I know the name Greenwood but from where I can't be sure, my mind does not feel like my own. In the distance I hear more footsteps and more voices, the healers have come.
"Your Majesty," one utters to the angelic man who nods his head and steps away from me. I want to protest, I want him to stay, if he doesn't stay the darkness will come again and I have decided I am quite happy not to die.
I feel myself be gently lifted and placed on something, more hands, more voices and soft singing, someone is singing? It is a beautiful sound and I get lost in the melodious notes until I drift into some kind of dream like haze, it is nice here, I could stay here and that is what I decide to do.
Something ticklish wakes me, something pleasantly ticklish to my cheek and my eyes begin to open. I have no clue how long I've been out but it feels like years. The first thing I notice is the absence of pain, there is most defiantly no pain! This is about all I can fathom for several long minutes before my ears pick up a musical sound that sounds like a giggle and again the sensation of something ticklish brushes my cheek. I turn my head slowly to the feeling and am met with a familiar set of sparkling eyes and silky blonde hair.
"Hello?" the beautiful little boy from before smiles broadly at me. I blink mechanically and he giggles again. I smile at the sound for it's a wonderful note.
"Hi?" I squeak back, my voice sounds off, well not off just softer not my usual roughness. The boy shyly ducks his head into my crisp clean blankets and then peeks up at me with an impish grin. "What is your name?" I manage to say inbetween an airy giggle - he is so painfully cute.
"Legolas," he replies and props himself up on his elbows staring right at me; "And you are Clara, I rescued you, do you know that?"
My mouth drops open and I think my brain just melts, or explodes, or decides to evaporate. He said Legolas, he is not Legolas, Legolas is a make believe character from a world that does not exist. Legolas is an elf, a warrior, for the love of the gods Legolas is Orlando Bloom! Legolas is not a five year old, incredibly cute boy, with fair hair and blue eyes and...OH MY GIDDY AUNT HE HAS POINTED EARS!
"Ears!" I gasp and the child looks at me like I am insane, in fact he looks like he is about to cry! Nice one you just scared a baby half to death!
Legolas touches his ears, frowns and indignantly asks, "What is wrong with my ears?"
"Nothing!" I answer shrilly and the boy takes another alarmed step away from me.
"They are no different from yours!" he accuses and points in the general vicinity of my ears.
I robotically lift my hand to my ears and let my fingers trace the shape of the ear, to my utter astonishment they are not rounded, they are pointed and-
"Argh!" I yelp and drop my hand, really freaking sensitive. I am not quite sure what to make of that pain?
"Do not do that!" Legolas shouts in alarm and gives me a scolding look, I drop my hands into my lap and nod once. "You will go blind," he confirms with a serious nod.
"Why will I go blind?" I ask in complete horror.
"I am not sure, that is what Ada tells me anyway," was his thoughtful reply. I do not want to think too much over that response. Somewhere in my wonderful nerdy mind I remember a discussion about the sensitivity of elves ears and well, ahem, what that sensitivity pertains too. Why am I thinking about this, why are my ears pointed, and why am I taking to an infant Legolas?
"Your Ada, who is your Ada?" I ask and almost dread the answer.
"My Ada is my Ada," was the kid's simple reply and again he looks at me like I have lost my mind, which I may well have.
"Yes I know, but what is his name?" I ask again, irritation creeping into my voice and I work hard to suppress it.
"Thranduil," Legolas replies and frowns at me, "everyone knows that."
I slump back onto the bed and let out a groan, clapping my hands to my face dramatically. I must be in a coma and this is some kind of messed up dream, why could I not have died like an ordinary person? My brain cells must be frying up and dying, and somehow I'm having visions of my favourite story! I sigh again, well I might as well enjoy it while I can I will soon be nothing,
"Legolas am I in the halls of the Elven King Thranduil, in Greenwood the Great, in middle earth?" The question sounds so ridiculous but it kind of thrills me. How often have I dreamed about this? Whatever powers exist out there it was very nice of them to allow me this one last hooray.
"You are in Greenwood in Arda," the boy answers his voice confused but almost amused, "But the King is Grandpa, his name is Oropher he helped save you. Why did you think Ada was King?"
"That was Oropher?" I ask in awe and prop myself up on the bed taking in my environment for the first time. It was a surprisingly light room for having no windows; a fire burned in the corner and the bed was massive, much bigger than my puny single bed in my dorm. Everything was either carven into the stone or made of grey oak, it was so opulent and rich. Tapestries hung on the walls depicting elven history, some things I recognised some things I didn't. Furs and woollen blankets covered my bed and I noticed a tray of food had been set at my bedside; sweet smiling bread, and tangy cheeses wafted invitingly towards me, making me salivate...this was an incredibly sensory dream.
Legolas had simply nodded to my question and with his quick mind ascertained my preoccupation with the food. He helpfully reached me the plate and cup of refreshing liquid. He watched curiously as I devoured the whole plate and gulped the drink down like some kind of half-starved animal. When I was finished he crawled up onto the bed beside me and observed me with those incredibly enchanting eyes.
"Where is your Ada and..um..mother?" I ask again, realising the boy had been here for quite some time and no-one had come looking for him. Legolas dropped his gaze and his little face filled with some kind of great sadness that no child should have to bear, but it was something I was familiar with and I sucked in a sharp breath.
"Ada is away to war," he mumbled and tugged at the sleeves of his silvery tunic, "He is always away to war, Grandpa says he must go to keep me safe, but I really miss him."
"But I am sure you still have your mother to keep you company, you have to be a brave boy for her," I say as soothingly as I can manage but I am practically on the verge of tears for the hurting youngster. Legolas turns to look at me with a baffled expression and I get the feeling there is no mother either;
"I do not think I have a Nana at least I have never met her?" he says in a very matter fact of tone, "It is just me, and Ada, and Grandpa."
I bite my lip and rub the tears from the corner of my eyes before he catches them;
"Well if it helps I don't think I have a Nana either," I reply and he looks curiously at me.
"Really?" he asks, eyes huge with questions.
"Yea I never met her so I have to assume she doesn't exist and I never seen my Ada very much either, so I guess he is not very nice either," I sigh aloud.
"Oh no my Ada is wonderful," Legolas responds with horror on his adorable features, "He is very nice and kind to me, I should like you to meet him when he returns, I think you will like him all the ellith like him."
I cannot help but giggle at this and even Legolas titters, I shake my head in mock disbelief;
"All the ladies, and how do they act? I ask and lean forward having just as much fun as him.
"Oh they smile and tell him jokes, really bad jokes, some are not even funny," Legolas jumps up on the bed and begins to act the adoring fans of his Father; "They bat their eyelashes like this, and they always want to hold his arm and sometimes if he dances with one of them, they look up into his eyes, like this...it is really stupid and Ada and I laugh about it later."
I am actually shaking with laughter now, this kid is amazing and if I didn't know any better I would say I successfully made a friend. A five year old figment of my imagination but a friend nonetheless.
"Clara?" Legolas asks as he flops down beside me and I nod in response, "If I introduce you to Ada do you promise not to do that!"
"I promise," I say although if memory serves me correctly elves are like super model Greek gods, and Lee Pace played Thranduil in the hobbit movie which is practically the next best thing. So there is a fair chance that if I did meet Thranduil I would act exactly the way the ladies Legolas so aptly described...though in fairness with my track record, I would probably just dribble and forget my name. But I will be long gone by then, dead and gone, pushing up the daisies! I wonder if I'll have a weird encounter with Ned the pie-maker next?
"Good because that would be really silly if my friend acted that way around my Ada," Legolas makes a shuddering motion to show his repulsion at the thought, and I laugh loudly at his animated features.
"Did you just call me your friend?" I ask and smile adoringly at the boy who has absolutely captured my heart and soul.
"Are you not?" he questions suddenly full of anxiety like he had never doubted the notion. I bob my head in agreement and grin widely. He throws himself at me and hugs me so tightly it's hard to breathe.
"Ah Legolas baby you are choking me!" I cough out and he lets go instantly, but continues to stare at me with those highly intelligent and inquisitive eyes.
"Can I stay here with you until I have to go to bed?" he asks shyly, "Grandpa is at a meeting and there is no one to play with."
"Sure thing kiddo," I reply breezily but point a warning finger at him, "but you have to promise me something?"
"What?" he questions back.
"You promise to tell me all about Greenwood, your Grandpa and your Ada?" I say and fold my arms about my chest.
"I can do that!" he replies brightly and then eyes me with suspicion. "Can you really remember nothing?"
"Not a thing!" I cry and drop my head into my hands dramatically, "Please you have to help me remember before your Ada comes back."
Legolas nods determinedly, accepting the challenge and plonks himself over my stomach, clearly his new found pillow. Good thing I ain't that skinny and have a little softness to work with there.
"Where shall I start?" he asks.
"The beginning," I chuckle and he rolls his eyes adorably before starting off at his earliest memory. Truth be told I don't want to go to sleep in case I never wake up again.
I concede that if the boy keeps talking then I will remain alive, and so I listen with rapt attention to everything he has to say, like my life depends on it.