Humble Beginnings: A Reversed And Rather Disturbing Cinderella Tale Which Make Absolutely No Sense (But That’s Okay)

by rachelweizefan

Legolas the elf looked up. His naturally grey eyes caught the familiar sight of the white horse galloping gracefully through the iron-wrought gates. "Mama!" he shouted, dropping his nail kit and racing to her.

His mother dismounted, the white silk matching the horse’s fur exactly. Most horses smelled like dung and old rotting stablewood, but not Lilywhite. His mother kept her groomed and bathed her with jasmine soaps and sweet-smelling oils. Legolas fondly remembered her words the first day he had seen her washing Lilywhite.

"Always put a few dozen towels underneath the horsie when you wash them, laddie," crooned his mother. "It saves all the oils and soap getting onto the carpet." Legolas had never been in a stable without carpeting.

Blowing gently on his newly lacquered nails, Legolas yawned and said, "How was the committee?"

"It was okay. I’m in charge of putting together the decorations for the Rose Festival. Old Man Danus put up a huge fight because he wanted to sell beer, but I adamantly refused." She brushed the blonde hairs behind Legolas’s pointed ears. "Besides, who wants dreadful alchoholics when you can have club soda with some nice lemon wedges?"

"Alchohol leads to bad breath," recited Legolas obediantly. His mother had taught him this from Day One.

She ruffled his hair, ignoring his happy squeals. "That’s my boy!" She strode into the house. Her expression darkened. "How have Sidda and her two daughters been?"

Legolas’s light heart dissolved. His mother had been in charge of taking in a poor family, which were three dirty, disgusting Elves. There was a mother and two daughters. Legolas didn’t hate them because they were dirty. They were mean; they hid his nail file, they diluted his face cream with water, and they added dye to his conditioner, which left him bedridden with green hair because he was too ashamed to leave the house and have the other Elves laugh at him. Sidda was the mother. She had a long mane of twisted grey-black hair, a pointed nose, and scraggly features. She reminded Legolas of an underfed chickenhawk. The only time Legolas had ever seen a chickenhawk was on a field trip to a salt mine once. It pecked his wrist and he screamed and blacked out. She was always leaving dishes unwashed, casting simpering glances at Legolas’s mother, and picking at the highly nutritional and cholesterol-free food she was served.

Lobrylla was the eldest daughter, and a more poisonous being you could never find. She was constantly thinking up reasons to upset Legolas. She had been the center of much tenseness in the house lately, because she had been telling Legolas things that weren’t true to send him into one of his panics that took hours to calm down. For example, the very first one she pulled was one clear day in May. Legolas was eating watercress tea sandwiches with nonfat buttermilk on the veranda, when Lobrylla came along, toting her wretched puppy, Grik. (Grik was a scraggly, scrawny poodle with Mary-Kay pink fur that had been permed until there was practically none left).

Her eyes widened and she let out a ragged shriek. "Legolas, Legolas, there’s a SPIDER on your precious head!"

To this, Legolas had leapt off, screaming and beating himself in the head. "Get it off me, oh please Valar, get it off me RIGHT NOW!" Lobrylla wasn’t paying attention; she was rolling on the veranda’s rugged concrete, positively screaming in laughter. "Ohahahahaha, heehee teehee, hahahahaha..." She went off to laugh herself almost to death. In the end, when her laughter was reduced to hiccuping coughs, Legolas twitched (due to his panic reaction), glared furiously at her, and stalked out (taking care to kick some brambles in her face).

Rydda was the youngest and probably the most terrible of the three witches, and Legolas found he didn’t even despise the bags under his eyes in the morning as much as her. Nothing matched his hatred for the young, insolent-eyed maiden, not even when his hair tangled, not even when his eyelash curlers got covered in the black, crusty gunk, not even (heaven forbid!) when he had to go outside in the rain and his supposedly waterproof mascara started running ALL down his beautiful face. She always had an insult on hand, she was always in need of Grik to used as a punching bag, and she had the nasty habit of mixing dung into Legolas’s Maybelline face-cleansers. She would squeeze beetles with her bare hands and take the goo that remained and boil it into a paste, then dump it in Legolas’s pillowcase so instead of a soft pillow at night, he got an unpleasant squelch. She put oil into Legolas’s blue-colored contact lenses, she added salt to the nonfat cookie batter he bought for his mother, and she would take dog hairs off that wretched Grik and sprinkle them in between his bedsheets.

Legolas was so miserable, all thoughts of ever courting Anawiel, the princess and heir to the throne of Lothlorien, went out of his head. He loved the dark-haired princess and her green eyes, and how she laughed so clearly; she had great beauty and was loved by all the residents of Lothlorien. The days went by sluggishly. The Rose Festival was growing closer. Legolas’s mother had fixed the date for June 27th. Legolas was in misery living with Sidda and her evil daughters, Lobrylla and Rydda.

I wish I was a million miles from here, he thought glumly, plucking his eyebrows. He had dropped his interest in the way he looked, something so horrible that he had thought to himself, promised himself, it would never happen. But Sidda and Rydda and Lobrylla had made it come true. It was a nightmare. The few breaks in his misery was when he was allowed to spend time alone. He would go for long walks, wearing his new white-leather boots which never got muddy and were perfect for grass. Sometimes he found himself staring at the delicate balcony that looked into Anawiel’s bedroom.

Finally the Rose Festival arrived. Legolas found himself looking forward to it, as Sidda and her daughters were driving him out of his mind. A large community party such as the Rose Festival would allow him to lose them and find Anawiel, and hopefully charm her into enjoying his company.

Legolas sat down on one of the iron-wrought chairs with delicate rosepetal cushions, still daydreaming about the salvation the Festival offered him. And he heard an unpleasant squelch not unlike beetle innards on the top of the cushion.

"Rydda!" he screamed, turning a violent shade of scarlet. He jumped out of the chair and let out a shriek, staring at the gloopy brownish-grey things on the cushion and the backside of his tunic.

Rydda popped up from underneath the counter, positively screaming with laughter. "You fell for it, you great ugly beast, you, ohahaha, I can’t believe it, teehee-"

Legolas lunged for the horrible Elven-child, thoughts as bad as murder coursing through his furious mind. And things would have gone very nasty for Rydda if Grik hadn’t chosen that moment to lift his leg and send an arc of urine directly in Legolas’s face.

"Legolas!" his mother trilled. "Our horsedrawn carriage is waiting!" "Yes, mother," said Legolas. His dignity was shattered into a thousand pieces. He’d scrubbed himself over and over again with jade-flowered soap until the scent and sight of urine was gone. He promised himself he would slip arsenic into Rydda’s clam chowder before the night was over.

Legolas slipped into the carriage and gasped at the beauty of it. Rose and lily petals were scattered over the gleaming white silk upholstery. A single rose lay between his mother’s graceful fingers. "It’s beautiful, Mama!" he whispered, in awe.

"Let’s go on, dear. Sidda and her horrible daughters can walk for all we care," his mother whispered back, a conspirical smile on her face. Legolas smiled back in agreement. He knew his mother felt the same way about those witches living in their home.

He was enthralled by the beauty of the Rose Festival when he arrived. He thought he saw Sidda exchanging urgent words with Old Man Danus, who had a keg of beer hidden behind the steakhouse for personal use. Probably the only person willing to talk to her, Legolas thought, before diving into a whirlwind of chrysanthemum tea, good entertainment, and the ever-lingering smell of fresh roses.

He searched for Anawiel and couldn’t find her. The music and dancing continued. Seats for the rulers of Lothlorien were set up in velvet Top Boxes, where they were given an endless supply of rose petals to toss down by the handfuls to the dancers below. Legolas thought it was lovely until he got a rose petal in the mouth along with his nonfat chicken salad, and found it didn’t taste very good.

And suddenly Anawiel was next to him, her face flushed and happy. "Like, hi, Legolas!" she giggled.

Legolas set down his cup of tea with a start, nervous. "Um....hi Anawiel." He felt dizzy, faint, and sweaty.

Anawiel giggled again. The hyperactive teenage princess giggled a lot. "Like, do you want to, like dance with me when, like, the band players, like, decide to play a slow, like, song?"

"S-s-sure." Legolas stuttered, feeling ashamed for his lack of grace around the beauty.

While he ate, Anawiel sat next to him, babbling as the band played on. "And so then he was like, ‘Oh my god I can’t believe you like that disgusting creep at ALL!’ and then she was like, ‘No way, he’s like so sweet,’ but then he was like ‘He picks his nose in third period, I’ve like, seen him.’ so then she was like totally ‘Ewww!’ and hasn’t paid attention to him since."

"Wow," said Legolas dully. He tried to wipe the sweat lining his brow and stopped himself quickly, realizing his makeup would come off if he did. "So then he like totally took her out for a horseback ride and she like TOTALLY fell for him. Oh, Legolas, they’re slowdancing now!" She grabbed his hand, winced as his carefully cut nails gouged into her skin, and pulled him to the grass, rosepetal-strewn dancing ground.

Legolas felt like he’d died and gone to heaven. A surge of confidence swept over him as Anawiel put her hands around his neck, and then his stomack plummeted with a long, vying sickness as he realized Anawiel was a foot taller than him. He had to get away. He would become a laughingstock. Why, oh why, did girls have their puberty growth spurt long before the boys?

Anawiel seemed indifferent to Legolas’s lack of height and continued babbling in a softer tone as the music went on.

As the last note floated out peacefully into the calm night air, she leaned down and kissed Legolas’s cheek. Smiling deviously, she winked at him and disappeared into the crowds.

Legolas remained rigidly and comically upright, his eyes wide, staring in surprise out at the place where Anawiel had left him. Then he collapsed, stiff as a board, underneath a table. Had he been in his right mind he would have been disgusted at the filth underneath there. But his head was buzzing and he blacked out.

When he awoke he was in his bed and a dark figure loomed above him.

"Legooooooolaaaaaas........wake up, princey......"

Princey? Only one person called him that. His subconcious mind released two familiar feelings since Sidda and her daughters had taken residence in his house: dismay and disgust.

He coughed and blinked his eyes, the weariness wearing off. Lobrylla cackled and danced in front of him. "Princey, how did you manage to fall asleep at the Rose Festival? Something happened to your mother."

Legolas sat bolt upright. "What? What happened?"

"She died," said Rydda cheerfully, appearing at Lobrylla’s elbow. "Apparently she caught Old Man Danus chugging his beer which had been forbidden at the Festival, and she tried to bind him and take him to the police. But he threw the keg on top of her."

"An empty keg couldn’t kill my mother!" cried Legolas.

"It wasn’t empty, dunderhead," said Sidda, appearing just as Rydda had. "Even a nice fellow like Danus can’t chug beer that quickly." "Nice fellow," sneered Lobrylla. "Dirty drunken blundering oaf, more like it." Sidda poked Lobrylla in the ribs with a broomstick harshly. "Shut up. Don’t talk that way. Oh, and Rydda, tell dear Princey what happens to him now that his mother has passed on."

Rydda laughed, a deep cackling, gleefully evil sound. "The house belongs to us now! It’s ours, all ours!"

Legolas let out a scream mingled with his sobs. "What? NO!"

"Oh yes. Oh, and Legolas, once you’re up and about, there’s a floor downstairs that needs to be washed."

This began Legolas’s own personal hell.

Rydda and Lobrylla had him up all hours, day or night, to fetch them the finest of food and clean up their hideous messes. They made him cook, and clean, and iron, and wash the floors twice a day, then wax them once a week. Legolas became filthy and unrecognizable. He cried his heart out every night because he was dirty and disgusting and his mother was gone.

Lobrylla and Rydda were demons, but they were ruled over by Lucifer, also known as Sidda. She worked Legolas like a slave driver. All day and night she ran him until he was exhausted and weak. And she gave him two crusts of bread and a piece of unidentifiable meat every day-some meat which had probably been rotting in the cellars for weeks.

Legolas never got tea or buttermilk or even allowed to own makeup, which was even worse than he had imagined. Sidda had him spend two full days digging a hole six feet deep and eight feet across, then line it with tattered and moth-eaten horseblankets, which smelled comfortably and disgustingly of horse at the same time.

"This is your room, where you will stay," she said darkly, as if Legolas didn’t know what a room was. "My daughters’ exuberance and boundless energy is too great to confine them to the same room."

Boundless energy! Rydda and Lobrylla were as lazy as the frog somebody had been stupid enough to give Legolas for his ninetieth birthday. All day and night he had to clean their clothes and rooms and fetch their food in the morning and listen to their endless complaining. He felt like pushing Sidda down in the dirt for saying it.

"What about when it rains?" he said lightly.

"You can build some way to keep it out in your free time. Now get inside. The windows are filthy."

Free time? The words seemed ancient to Legolas’s ears. It had been what seemed like eons and eons of time since he had had his own free time. Not once in a thousand years would he have five minutes’ time to even think up a way to build something to keep the rain off without breaking his fingernails. But he did. One lazy, hot afternoon when Sidda and her daughters were sleeping, he found a crate of tan canvas in the cellar. After searching out more thoroughly he found seven stout ash poles, each five feet tall. After discovering those he found a large knife in the kitchen and his mind went to work.

He cut off a piece of canvas ten feet by eight feet and then a narrow, long piece five feet and four inches. Cutting holes, he speared the canvas on them and then he had shade and a rain protecter over his hole. And using some thick needles and yarn he managed to sew the narrow piece on the small opening he’d left, as a makeshift door.

And now that he had forgotten life before Sidda, he began to adjust to the work and pain and his smelly little hole.

"Mother! Mother!" screeched Rydda, flying in through the doorway with a paper in her hand. "An invitation to a ball!"

"A ball?" asked her mother incredulously. "For what?"

"Oh, the most charming lad gets to marry Anawiel the Princess, but look! Free food! A whole buffet! Let’s go!" screamed Rydda hysterically.

Legolas, dutifully scrubbing out saucepans, smiled to himself. Anawiel. What a nice name. Where had he heard it before?

He would think that he would never have forgotten Anawiel, her endless blather, and the kiss she had given him. But the months passed and Legolas didn’t care about keeping track of the days, months, and years he had been slaving.

Apparently neither did Sidda, Rydda, and Lobrylla; they had just begun a series of lovely, still, warm nights that signaled the beginning of summer. And the awful Elves still had Christmas decorations up. They’d been up for so long that Grik had even tired of peeing all over them; the winter had been long and hard and had kept Elves of all manner locked up in their houses for days at a time.

Legolas had reluctantly been allowed to live inside the house during this time, but before moving in he carefully lined his most precious possession with canvas, eventually draping it up over the whole hole. There was no time in this house now except for the four seasons; Legolas felt they were the only things he could rely on. "I’ll have Legolas take our orders to the local tailor," smirked Sidda.

Legolas had been allowed outside for a whole day, a humiliation that was beside itself in his mind. He was so embarrassed to leave the house and peek out at the world. He knew his once-perfect complexion was ruined completely. Tiny red circles dotted his face like red grains; the things his mother had warned him to avoid all his life had eaten him hollow.

His mother. This thought brought out a small leaking of tears. Over time he had erased his mother bit by bit, hoping to be rid of the pain forever, but it had done anything but work. The wound got all festered up again whenever he thought of her.

"Never get them, Legolas," his mother would say darkly, bouncing him on her lap. "They’ll eat you alive and you’ll never be pretty again. Them....the-the....."

"Yes, Mum?" he had asked politely.

His mother regained her composure and shuddered. "The correct Latin term is.....haec pimplose. Pimples, Legolas. You must never get pimples."

He had failed his mother.

Legolas collapsed in the road.

Legolas had returned three hours later, silent as usual, his eyes red-rimmed from crying until he felt exhausted. All for three silk dressed measured perfectly to Sidda, Rydda, and Lobrylla’s bodies.

Sidda floated down the stairs first, positively glowing. She was clad in a dark indigo silken dress trimmed with the softest of laces. Her hair had been brushed until it shone, faithfully by Legolas, who had gazed out the window all the while, staring at some funny-looking bird perched on a tree limb.

Next came Lobrylla, wearing a violently purple silk evening gown. It was trimmed not in lace, but in lavendar ribbons. Legolas thought she looked like an oversized grape that had rotted and rolled off the sprig.

Last came Rydda, as red-faced as the scarlet dress she was wearing. Weaved into her curled hair were crimson ribbons which drooped off to the sides in a pathetic sort of way. She had run around the house, shrieking, after Grik, overexcited at the prospect of a wonderful buffet of lovely free food.

"We will be back when the ball is over," said Sidda loftily. "Have our baths and beds ready for us." As if Legolas knew, or could find out, what time the ball would be over.

"Have it ready, Legolas," chanted Rydda annoyingly, as she pulled the oak wood door closed. "Or else."

Minutes after they had left, Legolas moped around the house by himself, as he had predicted he would. Mice ran around in the cellar-he could hear their scurrying little paws treading on the wet stone-and Grik the hideous dog refrained from peeing on Legolas’s pillow and instead quietly poisoned the rosebushes.

The clock struck ten o’clock. Winds blew. Legolas raced around the house, worriedly closing all the windows. He had never felt a wind that fierce. Down in the living room, he sprawled exhausted on a silk upholstered couch. The room was dark and still and he found himself nodding off.

With a roar, a fire ignited in the fireplace by itself.

Legolas jumped to his feet and screamed. "What’s going on here?" he said shrilly to himself, beginning to get frightened.

A voice came on the wind, high and soft.

Legolas..........

"Who are you?" he nearly screamed. "What do you want?"

Leeeeeegolasssssss.......

And then he saw something that frightened him out of his wits.

Out of the fire and ash and wood, came the silvery ghost of his mother. And with her came silvery winds that strained the fire but did not blow it out.

Legolas.

Legolas was frozen, his eyes riveted on his mother’s ghost. A cold sweat broke out on his brow. His fingers trembled.

"W-what?"

"Why do you sit and grieve, Legolas?" his mother asked, swaying a little. "There is a ball to attend and a heart to win." Her voice seemed faint and far-off and seemed to increase in volume with every blast of wind.

"I c-can’t go home. I have ch-chores to do. Or else R-R-Rydda will-"

"She’ll what?" his mother asked faintly. "Sic that puny little Grik on you? Dress up and go, Legolas. Go, my son."

"In what?" Legolas spread his arms wide as if to feel his miserable situation. "Sidda took away all my possessions and sold them. I don’t have anything to call my own."

His mother snapped her pale fingers. Legolas’s dirty, torn work clothes were replaced by a soft green tunic, elegant to say in the least.

Legolas stared at the new clothes, joy blooming on his face. "Mother...how can I thank you! This is wonderful!" It struck him just how stupid he sounded as the words flew from his mouth.

His mother’s ghost swayed once more and said, "One more thing." She floated towards him, and he visibly flinched.

Legolas’s mother planted a kiss on his forehead, and his acne vanished completely. He looked as handsome as a young Elf could be.

"Be home by midnight," she said, her ghostly voice echoing through the room. "Everything will become what it was. Bide your time, my son."

A strong wind burst open the carefully shuttered windows. It blew through the room, blowing the ghost of Legolas’s mother into a disoriented silverly orb. And then she blew out the windows and they slammed and she was gone. But not entirely. Two final words of her still blew on the north winds.

Goodbye, Legolas.....

"Daddy, this is boring," Anawiel the Princess whined.

Her father, irritated and restless by her complaints, fidgeted in his chair like a bored child in school.

Anawiel continued, "Anyway, I don’t know why you got all of Lothlorien in such a hullaballoo over my hundredth birthday party. I’m not required to marry until one hundred and ten, you know."

"I know," mumbled her father, having buried his face in his hands. "I know, I know, I know. For God’s sake, I know."

"These guys are so boring. All they do are dance with me and twirl me around. They don’t even talk to me. I do all of the talking. I’d marry the first guy to say ‘Hello, how are you doing?’ but they’re all as dumb as bunnies, they are."

And then the double doors flew open.

Everybody in the hall gasped! In was striding the most handsome Elf they had ever seen! Although some of the other contestants grumbled that he looked like a sissy, ninny-boy, the other women in the hall swooned for him.

"You!" Anawiel screamed, throwing herself on top of Legolas. "You’re cute! I want to marry you!" As she giggled madly, Legolas realized just how dangerous a bored princess could be.

"But-my lady-don’t you want me to dance the night away with you? And then we fall in love?" said Legolas, struggling to free himself of the princess’s grasp.

"No way!" she said gleefully. "Get over here, hot stuff. I gotta introduce you to my daddy."

Legolas went white.

Getting to the palace had taken its sweet time. If it was even ten minutes to twelve, he had to make a run for it. "Um, what time is it?"

Anawiel glanced at the digital watch she had made herself. "Eleven forty. Why?"

Legolas sighed in relief. "I have to leave at eleven fifty."

"Why?" Anawiel asked curiously.

"Um...." Wonderful, Greenleaf. The girl falls for you in less than five minutes and she’ll probably leave you if you can’t explain yourself. "I live in a boardinghouse and the doors lock at twelve. I don’t have keys."

"Ooooh. I see."

Legolas trudged upwards, his legs still aching from the run he’d made to be at the palace. "God, how long did he make these stairs?"

"Daddy likes a high throne. It makes him feel more powerful."

"Ooooh. I see." Anawiel tickled his stomach as they made their way to the King.

"Yeek! Stop it!"

"What’s the matter, honey?" giggled Anawiel. "Ticklish?"

"Yes, I am-never mind, shh, be still-um, Your Majesty! Hello!"

"What is your name, youngling?" The king’s voice fairly boomed out in the marble room.

Sidda, Rydda, and Lobrylla let out screams of rage and surprise when he answered stolidly, "Legolas Greenleaf, Your Majesty!"

The three hideous Elves crawled over to the King, pulling on Legolas’s tunic to get him out and away.

"He was supposed to stay home, your Majesty, excuse his foolishness."

"He should never have come. He’s just a common servant."

"He’s a liar, also, he’s not Legolas Greenleaf, his name is Orodreth Bomblecks."

"I know this Legolas Greenleaf; I was the one who found him at the Rose Festival all those years ago when his mother passed away, remember? He speaks truth. His ever-young face is the same as it was then." The king raised a condemning finger. "I will have you dragged off to the dungeons for pain and darkness!"

Fresh moaning arose from the three wretched Elves. "No, no, your Majesty, please no-"

"Get out of my sight!" bellowed the king.

The three Elves crawled out of the hallway, mumbling sullenly, "Yes, yes, your Majesty."

Legolas smiled. Things were going right again. A ray of hope had come into his life, brought upon by a mother’s kiss.

"When can you marry my daughter, Legolas?"

"Whenever is ready for her, Your Majesty."

Bong.

The first toll of the huge bronze bell in the bell tower made Legolas start. It was twelve o’clock. Time had flown; he never would understand how twenty minutes could fly by so quickly.

Bong.

Pulling from Anawiel’s hand, he fled down the throne, calling, "Your Majesty, Your Majesty, come for me in the morning!"

Bong.

Across the hall and through the double doors he had entered with such gusto, he ran.

Bong.

Down the dirt path, through the imperial gardens, through the shining bronze gates.

Bong.

The pathway home was long and paved in gravel. Legolas stopped only for a breather, then ran on. He could not been seen in zits.

Bong.

Through the dark woods; stopping only to make sure there was not some horrible beast following him; then onwards, onwards, full speed ahead.

Bong.

Out of the woods in a great burst, and running through backyards of small Elf-children, their laughter echoing over the tops of the trees for an infinite amount of summers.

Bong.

Over the stream in one great leap; the stars reflecting over the still-moving water.

Bong.

Across the grassy plains, the tall grass rustling peacefully in the warm breeze, a full moon hung in a silvery orb in the dark navy sky.

Bong.

Through the kingly doors, up the marble steps, and into his bedroom, which was untouched and exactly as he had left it.

Bong.

Off with his shoes. In between the covers.

Bong.

Sleep.

(Different from the real Cinderella story. Very different. But who cares anyway.)