A Rivendell Regatta, Mirkwood Style

Disclaimer: All recognizable people, places, events, and concepts are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien Estate.

Author's Notes: Here is something a bit more lighthearted, since my recent writings on little Legolas have not been the happiest. You needn't read my other stories to enjoy this one, though they may help you to get to know the characters better.

In this story, Legolas is about the Elvish equivalent of six or seven.

For those reading "Holding His Own", this takes place a summer later.

Comments and questions are more than welcome, and reviews will be replied to.

--Aranel (aranels@hotmail.com)

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Chapter 1~*~Plans

King Thranduil of Mirkwood was perplexed.

It was a feeling that he did not particularly enjoy, being more familiar with the ability to come up with swift comebacks and serving solutions without much difficultly. He sat at the head of the table his court had chosen to confer at, staring down at the calendar in front of him. The spaces allowed for a certain three weeks were covered in circles of dark green ink, bold cancellations, and scribbled notes in several different hands, along with a number of indentations caused by the repeatedly jabbing nib of the King's dry quill.

"There has to be something," Mirkwood's ruler scrutinized the notes before glancing up at the members of his court.

"Everything is already being done," one of the advisors sighed, regretting the statement when his king gave him an obviously irritated look. The Elf drew in a long breath, pointing to several spots on his own hastily sketched copy of the calendar, "The summer festivities run through this entire week here, and if things go as they normally do, they will be extended through, um, the fifteenth. And Lord Elrond plans to arrive, oh, around the nineteeth. I do not think everyone will be ready to feast and dance again so soon."

Thranduil ran his tongue over his teeth, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Why couldn't Elrond arrive during the summer celebrations? It would make entertaining the Lord of Imladris much simpler. There really was nothing left to do after the festivities:  contests of weapons skills, picnics on the greens, feasting and dancing during the day and at night—everything would be already done by the time Elrond and his family reached the Wood.

"We should have pies," the king's older son broke the silence in the room. Prince Aldandil sat in his chair, his fingers laced together as he waited for a response.

"Pies?" Thranduil turned to look at his silver-haired heir, surprised at the proposition, "Why do you suggest pies, Aldandil?"

The young Elf had the grace to blush slightly, explaining himself soon enough, "I was told that they have wonderful pie baking contests in Imladris, and I thought that perhaps Lord Elrond might enjoy an activity from his own realm." Aldandil looked around the table, "And Meril—Lady Meril—makes a delectable peach pie."

"So I've been told," Thranduil commented under his breath, unsurprised to hear his son commenting yet again on the young maiden who has managed to steal his heart—and seemingly, at this moment, much of his sense—away. A plan quickly knit itself in the king's head, however, and he turned his full attention to his heir, "What other activities do they have in Imladris?" He had, of course, been there several times himself, but he did not really remember any of the special events.

"I'll find out," Aldandil nodded, secretly hoping that his father would approve of pies being worked into the schedule at some point. Meril—Lady Meril—really did make a very good peach pie.

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"…and I can remember raising a rabbit as a child. I think we had a rabbit contest that year…"

Legolas listened only partly, most of his attention fixed on the drawings he was making in the dirt. He had approached the Noldo healer for suggestions on what to play, and was now hearing stories of Nimaron's precious bunnies. Didn't they play anything exciting in Imladris? He had been hoping for games involving spies or hunters or…well, anything but bunnies.

"…and there are boat races!" Nimaron exclaimed, smiling at some happy memory. His time in Mirkwood had been enjoyable for the most part, but there were some things that only Imladris offered, "Every year there is a regatta on the river."

"A regatta?" Legolas looked up at the unfamiliar word.

"Oh, yes," the healer nodded, "There are boats with rowers—sort of like paddlers, you know, and they have a race. It is quite the event, Legolas. Everyone comes to watch and cheer, and there are picnics and sweets." Nimaron paused a moment, "It would be coming up soon, I think…the water level would be about right." Yes, late summer was about the right time for good boating.

Legolas nodded, glancing towards the bridge that ran over the Forest River and into his father's palace. Many people—especially the ones Ada called 'reckless'—liked to boat on the river. He and his friends had watched from the high banks occasionally, seeing the Elves paddling through the frothy white water and swerving around large rocks. The small boats would ride fast currents, occasionally getting stuck between rocks or bouncing through large rapids. It was exciting to watch just one boat, but to just imagine several boats racing through such a thing! He stared up at the dark-haired Noldo, "Did you ever race?"

"Oh, yes," Nimaron nodded, memories of long boats being rowed by several Elves drifting through his head. The stretches of the Bruinen used for the races were wide and fairly calm, though the competition could be playfully fierce. He nearly laughed aloud, remembering a finish race and the purposely overturned boat of the winners, "I enjoyed it."

"Did you get wet?" Legolas asked, grinning. He had never seen Nimaron sopping wet, though he imagined it would be amusing. He could picture the healer's complex braids dripping around his face, his long robes heavy and darkened. 

Nimaron shook his head at the simple question, "Not usually. Sometimes water would leak into the boats, and then our feet would get wet, or we would get a little splashed. But no, I did not get very wet."

A new sort of admiration for the Noldo glimmered in Legolas' eyes as he pictured the healer in a boat, bouncing over wild, rushing water.  Nimaron had to be awfully good at boating if he didn't even get wet. Maybe he just paddled extra-fast. He would zoom through the water like a flash of lightning, the prow of his boat slicing straight through any torrent that dared to get in his way.

That would be something to see.

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Thranduil sat in the small dining hall, not really enjoying the meal he shared with his wife and two sons as much as he would have preferred. The problem of entertaining Elrond and his family was still eating away at his mind, which made eating the food placed before him rather difficult.

"You will think of something," the king's wife assured him, smiling as she placed a hand on his arm, "Besides, Elrond and Celebrían are not going to expect anything. The last time they came we did not do anything special." 

"The last time they visited they arrived as a complete surprise," Thranduil responded, picking up his knife in order to slice through a cut of venison, "I would like to have something happening here."

Legolas hurriedly swallowed a mouthful of vegetables, piping up from his place near his parents, "I know! We can race boats!" He looked at his mother and father's interested looks, then continued, "Nim said they race boats in Imladris this time of year."

"There!" Aldandil nodded happily, "It's perfect! It's something from Lord Elrond's own realm, and I'm sure everyone would love it. And we aren't already doing it during the summer festivities."

Queen Thilómë grinned, liking the idea, "Just think, Thranduil. There are enough experienced boaters, and the course could run under the bridge so that everyone could watch. The water is smoother there, and it would make for a lovely view."

"And there could be prizes!" Legolas put in, getting excited by the fact that his suggestion had been so readily expanded upon, "And something for Elflings! Ada, do you think we could race too?"

"No," Thranduil managed to get out the single word as his mind processed the eager suggestions of his family. The idea of small Elflings tumbling over rapids did not paint a very nice picture.

"They could race little boats though, Adar," Aldandil glanced at his younger brother, a plan emerging in his head, "Just simple toy ones. The children could drop them into the water after the race was over, and we could catch them…with a…a net, yes! A big net, by the bridge, where the water slows down. The children could mark them so that we could identify the winners."

Thranduil noted a vigorous nodding from Legolas, accompanied by a genuine look of interest from his wife. He turned his attention to his older son, tapping his knife against the side of his plate, "Do you propose anything else?"

"Well, there would have to be something to eat, of course…" Aldandil mused, and a grin soon flickered over his face, "Adar, I think we could still have a pie contest. Perhaps the winners of the boat race could judge." Thoughts of Meril's peach pie, its flaky pastry filled with spiced fruit and topped with melting dollops of whipped cream filled his head, and he had to stop himself from licking at his lips. Slices of Meril's pie usually left traces of cream on them, traces best removed by the baker herself.

"Oh, that would be good!" Legolas reached for his glass of milk, "Big boats and little boats and pies, Ada. Maybe Lord Elrond would like that."

Thranduil smiled at his younger son, again tapping his knife against the side of his plate in contemplation. Indeed, maybe Lord Elrond would like that.