Title: "The Games We Play"

Summary: Mirkwood's War Games tests its newest Captain, Legolas Greenleaf. Legolas on the other hand, tests everyone else.

Author's Note: Hi guys! Thanks to everyone who read, followed, favorited, and especially those who reviewed and PM'd me about my most recent work in "The Halls of My Home." I always think I'm out of ideas, but a kind word here and there is very inspiring indeed. Thank you for your generosity of time and good vibes :)

This new fic, "The Games We Play" is a simple 3-part story that was supposed to be a one-shot for "The Halls of My Home" until it became a bigger beast that eventually demanded its own space. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Until then, the first part:

1

There were fifteen captains in King Thranduil's army and it was believed by many that his son Legolas, the prince himself, was quickly rising to be the best among them.

The King tried to remind himself of this, as he stared down the line of disheveled soldiers standing at stiff attention on his right side. There was eleven of them - Legolas front and center standing on his own and behind him, two disciplined rows of five elves each.

Discipline, Thranduil thought, almost dispassionately. How tall and straight they stood before their King was just about the only indication left of any discipline they had, however.

Inexplicably, they were wildly unkempt. Legolas' hair was mud-caked, and seemingly by design. There were barely any strands of gold visible on his head. His face was slightly less obscured, but certainly deliberately smeared as well.

The female Silvan lieutenant behind him, Golwenil, was wearing pale gold hay over her naturally dark locks. She was not at all muddied, but her tunic and armor were half-drenched in a rich, red dye that covered her from the length of her navel to her neck. The rest of the soldiers around them looked only marginally better, each wearing what could only be described as a carpet of forest leaves. Some of them were barefoot, including the company's standard-bearer, who held aloft a simple deep green banner embroidered with thin, gently arching, pale gold vines and leaves.

Another elf captain and his own ten soldiers stood across from Legolas' bedraggled group. They were separated by naught but a slim column of space, but the difference between them was night and day. This group, led by another captain of some renown, Melchanar, stood on Thranduil's left. In high contrast, they were almost immaculately kept – uniforms relatively clean, and none of them the worse for wear save for the occasional splatter of red dye here and there.

The King examined the two sets of soldiers before him. In all the years he'd been present for the closing ceremonies of the Yen War Games and declared the winner in a ceremony such as this, today's results were the most perplexing. He glanced at his War Minister and friend of long-standing, Brenion, who was standing slightly away from him. Thranduil motioned Brenion closer with a small wave of his long, graceful hand.

"Aran-nin?"

In the lowest voice he could muster, Thranduil asked – "You are certain of these results?"

Thranduil saw the mischievous smile in Brenion's eyes, even if the rest of his face remained impassive. "Absolutely, my king. The victors are unequivocally, Legolas and his troop."

Thranduil nodded and dismissed the legendary elven warrior. He turned back to his rapt audience. It was so quiet one could hear a pin drop. Even the trees of the forest were still, as if they too awaited the King's announcement.

"Captain - present your gift to your King," Brenion said to Legolas in a loud, commanding voice.

As instructed, Legolas stepped forward and as he did so, slowly drew out a folded, deep yellow banner from the folds of his tunic. In perfect contrast to his filthy appearance, the cloth was pristine. This was, after all, a present for the King. He fell to a knee before Thranduil and raised the present over his head, by two hands, as an offering.

"Aran-nin," he said, in keeping with a warrior's tradition, "Our company presents to you - the standard of the felled enemy. As our swords and bows and our blood and bodies belong to you – so does our victory."

Thranduil lowered his head reverently as he accepted the offering. It was tradition too, that the King should favor the champion of the Yen War Games with a rare bow. But the one he gave his son was especially immaculate and careful. It was the first time Legolas participated in the Games as a Captain, and though Thranduil always expected his son to win in anything, the amount of pleasure it gave him now and how his heart warmed and swelled was something he never could have imagined.

"I commend your victory and accept your offering, Captain," Thranduil declared, and the branches of the trees around them shook as if in applause, pleased at the victory of this child of the forest. Thranduil took the banner from Legolas and handed it to a waiting attendant. "Rise," he commanded his son.

Legolas did so, and stood at attention before his father. His blue eyes were dancing with pride, and Thranduil almost smiled. At a signal from the King, another set of attendants came forward, this time bearing a large, thick, mithril-studded and metal-bound book, as well as a silver tray holding a bejeweled knife and a pot of ink. On another tray, resting on a bed of blinding white satin, was a brooch of brushed white gold bursting outward from a thumbnail-sized, deep, brilliant green diamond.

"May you never know defeat," Thranduil said, "and may your people and your land, always know and treasure your name. Come forward and mark your way into our histories."

The thick book was opened to a blank page, and one by one, each of Legolas' ten soldiers stepped forward and wrote their name. Legolas was last, and along with inking in his name, he took the knife from the tray and also cut into his palm and marked their company's page with drops of his blood. A waiting attendant handed him clean, white cloths to wipe and bind the small wound with.

"To your Captain I also present," Thranduil continued, "a gift harvested from our Earth and crafted by our hands." The King then preceded to pin the brooch on the collar of Legolas' muddied tunic.

The distinct brooch was something awarded to the Captain of the victorious team during the Yen War Games. They were worn proudly during formal occasions and ceremonies as a mark of merit. Thranduil had an exact one on at that moment, as did Brenion. But it was known that the former Captains owned a number of them from multiple victories.

Thranduil turned away from Legolas and faced the defeated Captain Melchanar and his company. An attendant came up beside the King with the folded yellow standard of the losing team that Legolas handed him earlier, while another servant laid to the ground a large, wide, metal bowl and built a fire upon it. Thranduil tossed the yellow cloth in, and everyone watched as it burned.

"If defeat should ever be known," Thranduil said into the silence, "Do not ever forget it. Breathe it, taste it. Let it seep into your bones. Let it scar. Let it teach you. Know it intimately, so that you may always always be able to say – 'Never again' and 'Not on my watch.'"

The banner turned to ash, and the elves let it be kicked up by the winds of autumn and fading.

"Today is the Alaglach," Thranduil said, "The Feast of 'Rushing Flame.' Once every 144 years on a fine moonless night, the skies will burst with the light of thousands of shooting stars. Tonight, it also marks the end of autumn and fading, and ushers in the winter. The furious light of the Alaglach gives us strength and warmth for the coming shade and cold. It reminds us that the brightest stars shine most brilliantly in the dark – in the heavens above, and within our own people on the Earth.

"As our War Games this yen comes to an end," he continued, "and a new set of victorious names make a home of our books, let us celebrate that light in each of our soldiers. May they always shine bright, even in the darkest night."

The soldiers bowed to their King as he concluded his remarks. Thranduil nodded to them in acknowledgement, before yielding the floor to Brenion.

"You all did well," Brenion told the soldiers, "You may now return to the King's Halls. If you leave promptly, you should be able to get back with time to spare before tonight's merrymaking. Congratulations."

The group waited for Thranduil to turn his back on them before they dispersed. As the elves around them left, Legolas stepped forward and stood beside his father.

"How are the preparations for Alaglach progressing?" he asked. Thranduil had arrived at the northeastern outpost but moments ago, just in time for the Yen War Games' closing ceremonies.

"Galion has everything well in order as is usual," Thranduil replied. There was a topic that interested him far more. "Congratulations on your victory, ion-nin. From the looks of you, it must be some tale to tell."

"I apologize for my appearance."

"I find it makes me more curious than displeased," Thranduil confessed. "Have you time to regale an old soldier of this tale?" he asked in sham gravity.

"Old, you? I'd never believe it." Legolas laughed. "The better question is – if aran-nin has time to hear it."

Thranduil frowned. It was true, he was pressed for time. He was running a kingdom and keeping darkness at bay. He was involved in diplomatic relations and internal affairs. Specifically for this day, he had come from his Halls to close the Yen War Games here at the northeastern outpost, but was expected back in a few hours for the Alaglach feast. But his son had just won a coveted contest, and he wanted to hear about it.

"There is time," Thranduil said evenly.

Legolas grinned. "Then come with me, ada."

The Yen War Games were held once every 144 years. It was a contest among Mirkwood's Captains of stealing each other's banners. First, the fifteen captains picked the best ten soldiers of his company. He along with his selected soldiers, would thereafter participate in stepladder matches of standard-stealing, up until there were only two teams left.

This yen, those two teams were headed by Melchanar, a seasoned captain; and Legolas, a promising but freshly-minted one. Dor-winion was probably exchanging hands aplenty now, thought Thranduil, as word reached the stronghold and its surrounding outposts that the smart money – on Melchanar and his experience – did not follow through. Legolas was good but raw, the naysayers had said. The King himself stood to make a killing though, having made an anonymous bet on his son through his attendant, Galion.

Thranduil wondered if his old friend Brenion, a long-standing champion of his son, had made good too. The War Minister was currently following close behind them, both as protection for the King but mostly out of his own curiosity on how Legolas managed his victory against the formidable Melchanar. The decorated captain had won the Yen Games before.

Legolas led them before a thick tree holding a flat platform of sturdy wood. This talan was one of two in the northeastern outpost put up for use in the Games.

All around them, eager soldiers were packing their things and getting ready to set out for the King's Halls a few hours' ride away. The small band of soldiers who had to remain for duties at the border were the only ones moving leisurely, for they had no Alaglach feast to rush home to. Thranduil was so cheered by his son's victory that he made a mental note to send these soldiers some of his winnings in consolation. He would tell Galion. Galion would take care of it.

"Just as in the previous years," Legolas said, "we had two day and one night to try and take each other's standards, which were planted on the center of our respective telain. Also just as before, we could use any strategy we felt necessary, as long as we did not destroy the surrounding environs, or cause serious harm to our fellow-soldiers. Dulled weapons only, including arrowheads that have bags of red dye that burst on contact. Based on the positioning of the dye on the body, the War Games officials judged if a member of the team was eliminated due to 'death' or 'disability.'"

"How many soldiers did your group lose?" Thranduil asked, remembering the female lieutenant all but swimming in 'blood.'

"Only one," Legolas replied proudly.

"How many did Captain Melchanar lose?"

"All of them."

Thranduil was shocked. "But they barely had specks of red upon them to mark any fatal hits."

"They removed their helmets to stand before you for the ceremony," Legolas explained. "All had taken and been eliminated by head shots, adar."

Brenion was beaming. "No wonder Melchanar looks enraged."

"So you shot at them from a distance," Thranduil asked, "and just about walked in to take your prize?"

"I wish it were so easy," Legolas said with a smile. As they neared the base of the tree with the stairs leading up to Legolas' talan, their steps made uncharacteristically loud, crunching sounds beneath their light elven feet. Thranduil looked down on the ground, and realized it was strewn thickly with twigs and dried leaves. This carpet of noise was massed on the immediate area around the tree.

"Melchanar's played and won this game before," Legolas explained. "Tales of his feats at the Yen Games are the stuff of envy for us younger elves coming up the ranks. That was his main disadvantage – that he had very specific techniques which were known to us. He, for example, is known to spend a disproportionate amount of time targeting the other team's captain. Cut off the head, and the others are likely to scramble. He takes advantage of even the slightest distraction when the leader is felled, and then he comes in full force for the kill and the win."

"Golwenil," Brenion said in realization, referring to Legolas' lieutenant, the female Silvan whose tunic was drenched in red dye.

Legolas grinned. "She was pretending to be me while I muddied my hair and pretended to be someone else."

Thranduil scoffed. "A headful of bad hay is no substitute for your golden head, ion. Melchanar could not have been so easily fooled."

"Of course not," Legolas conceded. "But that is just the barest of what we did. Melchanar does not attack right away, adar, everyone knows that. He is very restrained. He thinks things through first."

"You could use some of that," Brenion teased.

Legolas was so relaxed in the company of his father and their old friend, and so suffused with his decisive victory over a soldier he considered admirable, that he rolled his eyes and laughed. Thranduil thought he looked childlike again. He didn't see unguarded expressions on his son's face as much as he used to.

"So we took advantage of his reserve and made the first move," Legolas regaled. "Something ambiguous, something distracting that would give him pause. I had one of my best warriors with me – Renior. Great hands, bad cook. Almost cursed, actually. Give him a pot and a flame and he can singe and somehow foul water, mark my word. I had him create a smoke screen."

"Elven eyes are too sharp for such obstructions," Brenion pointed out.

"You overestimate our eyes," Legolas said good-naturedly, "and underestimate Renior's singular awfulness at cooking. We may see great distances, my lord Brenion, but our gazes can hardly penetrate through solid matter. Renior's smoke was thick and heavy. Not enough to blind, but enough to completely obscure, just enough to mislead.

"While Melchanar and his party pondered that," Legolas continued, "we went about our own plans under cover. We'd more or less taken their eyes for a while, so we set upon taking away their stealth. The twigs beneath your feet we had collected from the environs, all too generous with dried, noisy things this season at the end of autumn. Any who stepped here would be heard by us easily, and the sound would be suggestive of their location. When Melchanar's group had two elves scout ahead at what the smoke was about, we couldn't see them but we picked them off that way. Our archers followed the sound of their steps. The loss of two soldiers made Melchanar more cautious, and we bought ourselves even more time."

"Time for what?" Thranduil asked.

Legolas shrugged. "I was hoping to have picked out more of them in the smoke to be honest, but two was not so bad. Still, we had to think of other ways. We've already taken away their stealth from the ground so next we assumed they might use the trees. We settled there, camouflaging ourselves in leaves. We used spider webbing as adhesive – there are always some to be found in this forest of ours. And then, as the smoke started to clear, Golwenil made her move.

"You see," Legolas explained, "the smoke unavoidably took away our eyes too. But there was a small space in time, between obscured sight and suddenly seeing better as the smoke dissipated. She intentionally gave away her position, and in the blink of an eye, her golden head – such as it is – drew the aim of our enemies. The source of their arrows, on the other hand, gave away their own positions. We picked off five of them thus."

"But there was four left," Brenion said in rapt attention.

"Yes," Legolas agreed, "and I must admit I was running out of ideas. But Melchanar thought that with Golwenil's fall, they've achieved his plan of targeting the Captain. So they gambled with an open attack, to take advantage of the disarray that usually follows a commander's loss. He had to give everything he had, because that window was fleeting. So they all took to open ground, and we shot at them from the trees."

He grinned at his father and the War Minister. "Oh, ada. We hopped from the branches and really did just walk up to their talan to take the standard. It was glorious. They watched us miserably. I think I might have a growing, unhealthy passion for winning."

Brenion laughed. "I know well from whom that comes. You are truly your father's son."

Thranduil was smiling, but his eyes had inexplicably clouded. Legolas was quick to sense it, though he did not know what it was for. Thranduil masked the expression quickly - spotting the questions rising in Legolas' eyes - before his son could open his mouth and ask.

"This is good work, Legolas," he proclaimed. "Unconventional, but a fine account of your skills and knowledge."

"Indeed," Brenion agreed heartily. "Typically as you know, these things are won by attrition. It becomes either siege-like, if one side preferred to hold a defensive stance and the other an offensive one; or sometimes, both sides just took to fighting openly on the ground between the telain. 'Casualties' are often much higher all around. In other Games, time runs out without a victor so it ends in a draw. This is an unprecedented win, Captain, something to really consider from this point forward. As it happens, you also have another distinction that might delight you, hir-nin." He glanced at Thranduil, "though not so much perhaps you, aran-nin."

"What would that be?" Legolas asked.

"This is Legolas' first time to play in the Yen Games as a Captain," Brenion said. "and he has already won it. He is therefore, I believe, the first, first-time Captain to emerge as victor."

Thranduil looked at his son wryly. "Oh, I think he knows that."

Legolas laughed. He did know it, but he was waiting for someone to say it.

"I did admit to an unhealthy desire to win," he said. He was happy enough that he could let his father's previously troubled expression go, at least for now. Thranduil was a busy king with a lot on his mind, it really could have been anything.

The three elves made their way back to the main camp to prepare for their own departures. What met them when they returned was atypical of an elven encampment. There was a commotion strongly resembling a brawl.

"What madness has befallen everyone here?" Thranduil demanded.

The King's distinct voice and particular, commanding tone stopped everyone in their tracks, but not immediately for the elves at the center of the melee. They were caught up in each other, Legolas' she-elf lieutenant Golwenil and Melchanar's towering loyal second, Nethor.

"You know as well as I that children's games and parlor tricks have no place in a real war!" Nethor was insisting.

"No one likes a sore loser, mellon-nin," Golwenil seethed. "You have no right to sully our victory by your own small-mindedness!"

"You will perish in moments out there, when the fighting is real!"

"You forget yourself!" she snapped. "We have been out there, every day, just like you. It is your conceit that got you eliminated in this contest, and it is conceit that will bring you to ruin if-"

"Golwenil," Legolas said quietly, and she hushed promptly. The Prince had realized, just as his father and Brenion did, that the victory he'd been so proud of but seconds ago was not well-received. Golwenil's face flushed and she bowed to her commander and her King in shame.

"I could not let the slander stand, hir-nin," she said. "But I will accept punishment for my own shameful actions."

Nethor's jaws were set tight. He was embarrassed too, but did not know how to deal with it. Melchanar, as he was wont to, took responsibility for his subordinate's actions even if he looked as if he too had just arrived to find chaos.

"We have conducted ourselves poorly," he said with a bow to the King and a nod to Legolas. "I apologize to the King for this display of poor sportsmanship. And I apologize to my brother-Captain, that he had to hear what had been said."

"You do not have to apologize for anything, Melchanar!" protested the hot-headed Nethor. Melchanar was ice cold where Nethor was spitting fire. The reverse was true of Legolas and Golwenil; his even-tempered lieutenant was the eye to his storm, and that made today's display doubly surprising. Golwenil was not prone to theatrics, as a matter of fact she was Legolas' calming second. The words against their victory must have been harsh indeed for her to entangle herself in an argument over it.

But what Nethor missed, Legolas did not. Melchanar was not apologizing for what had been said; he was apologizing that Legolas had to hear it. Legolas knew then that his victory was ill-received by Melchanar, whom he adored, and almost undoubtedly by other like-minded elves. He wondered then if that was why his father had looked troubled earlier, and it made his heart ache. It also made him a little reckless.

"Yes," Legolas agreed, "You needn't apologize, Captain. But what you have to say perhaps you should say to me, not of me to your disgruntled soldiers, eh?"

The two elves seemed oblivious to it, but they started to drift closer to each other, until they were face to face and but an arm's length apart. Melchanar opened his mouth, but his eyes darted to Thranduil before he shut it promptly.

"Worry not of him," Legolas said darkly, "My father does not speak for me here."

Thranduil was certain Legolas was making a mistake and was about to put the confrontation to an end, but he held his tongue after what Legolas had just said. The conflict had embarrassed his son enough, without having to be contradicted by his adar in so public a fashion.

Melchanar was still cautious. "Your tactics, while keeping with the rules set are perhaps – ultimately, not in the spirit of things. These are War Games. The skills displayed and refined are geared for winning a real battle. We cannot survive by games and tricks." He glanced at Thranduil and lowered his head. "But that is merely one lowly soldier's opinion."

"And what would constitute a more decisive victory for you?" Legolas snapped. "Would meeting me by hand, knife, bow or sword merit your satisfaction, Captain?"

Melchanar was wise enough not to rise to the challenge. Whether it was by Legolas' royal rank, Thranduil's presence, or his own sense of propriety, he was eager to let the conflict end.

"Your victory was a decisive one, Legolas," Melchanar said with a small bow of concession. "I am satisfied, not that it should have been any bother to hir-nin." He looked at his soldiers pointedly. "We all are."

"No-" Legolas began to argue.

Brenion put a halt to things. "The gods help me this shameful display has me on the brink - on the very brink!- of sentencing all transgressors to station here and completely miss out on the feast at the King's Halls." But he wasn't going to do that – he knew it would only vilify Legolas more, even if unfairly. "You have embarrassed yourselves before the King and more importantly – you've shamed me. Now scatter before I change my mind!"

The elves were quick to do as they were ordered by the war minister. Melchanar lowered his head again at Legolas. He was not unkind, and really was sorry at what the Prince had heard. But whatever the reckless Nethor said had already been said, there was no taking it back now. With a quick bow at Thranduil, he excused himself and set off to prepare for travel back to the stronghold.

"Do not worry about what they think so much, Captain," Brenion said to Legolas. "You see things differently, you always have." Thranduil wished he had said that, because when Brenion left father and son alone together, he found he had nothing in him to bring comfort. It must hurt, to have an achievement so questioned.

"You won fairly, ion-nin," Thranduil assured him.

"I know."

Silence. Legolas usually filled these things up but he was not inclined to at that moment.

"Small minds will think small thoughts," Thranduil added.

"It is not what they think that most pains me," Legolas said. Thranduil looked at him in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Legolas shook his head. "Never mind. I believe you are needed prior to the ceremonies, aran-nin."

"Are you dismissing me?" Thranduil attempted to kid.

Legolas was in not the mood to indulge him. "I need to make myself presentable for the Alaglach. Excuse me, father. I will see you at the stronghold."

He turned his back on the king without being dismissed, and dashed off to do what he sometimes does; to brood. Thranduil knew to let him have room to breathe and gather himself. His son was so like a wounded animal whenever he was hurting, be it in body or heart. He always returned, once he'd sorted himself out.

TO BE CONTINUED...