Disclaimer: I don't own the Lord of the Rings trilogy, nor do I own any of Tolkien's works. Obviously, J.R.R. Tolkien owns them all. And what a fine job he did of his stories.
In the forest of Mirkwood where the branches grew thick and the Elf King Thranduíl made his home, it was not always possible to tell what time of day or night it was. The windows helped, but Legolas had decided just then to keep them shut. He refused to acknowledge to stars and moon hastening across the sky outside.
One day the prince would grow up to be a fine man, brave and good, loyal and understanding, and would go on the adventure of a lifetime. But today (or rather, tonight) he was still a child and still under his father's care. Thus, bedtime was still enforced. And thus the young prince's choice to blatantly ignore nighttime.
"Legolas?"
The elfling stilled his movements at once with a hammering heart, but it wasn't enough to keep him from being caught. His father opened the door just as he descended from his last bounce on his bedspread.
For all his stately manners and dignity and regal Elvish blood, at the end of the day Thranduíl was as much a father to his son as any man was. So if a stranger had happened to suddenly appear in that room, invisible to the eyes of the Elves, they would have seen that even the splendor of royalty could not hide the love that was in the king's eyes, nor the exasperation that every father must feel when teaching his son of rules that needed obeying.
With an expression that flitted between a patient sternness and quiet amusement, the king walked in. "Legolas, I told you to go to bed," he said gently, closing the door.
"...I'm not tired, ada," Legolas replied dolefully, staring up at him with big eyes as if this alone were enough to convince his father that sleep was impossible.
"You need your rest if you want to wake up tomorrow and not feel tired," Thranduíl continued, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"But I am big now," the young one insisted, causing the edges of the king's lips to tug upward. "You're big and you don't need rest!"
Eyes crinkled at the edges, Thranduíl smiled without the restraint of court holding him back. "Even the mightiest need rest. A person's size does not abolish need for it altogether."
Legolas let out a small, rather uncharacteristic whimper, and slumped his shoulder, almost glaring at his window. The king, unseen by his son, raised his eyebrows high and stifled the sudden urge to laugh. Usually his son was very good at obeying rules as well as understanding why they needed to be followed.
"...What was it you were doing before I came in?" the king asked at last.
"Jumping," said his son, wiggling his bare toes in the complacent air and expecting to be put to bed any minute.
The king hummed in thought, drumming his fingers silently on the bedspread. Then, out of the corner of Legolas' eye, there was movement.
He watched his father remove his right boot, then his left. And, to his amazement, the crown upon his father's head was removed and placed gently on the table nearby.
Thranduíl turned to his son and outstretched a hand. "Teach me? But quietly."
Face flushed with excitement over executing the forbidden as well as teaching his father — who was so wise and knew absolutely everything — something new, he pulled his father by one large hand with both his small ones. The latter party almost fell onto the bed because of this, but was soon standing like his son was.
"It's easy!" Legolas beamed, eyes alight with all the happiness in the world. "Just bend your legs aaaand…jump!"
All at once, like the fireworks that Mithrandir so love to make, the little one jumped and his limbs and hair flung out, little body exploding with energy and as he flew up, hovered, and then fell, making a soft whooshing sound as he hit his pillows with a few giggles.
The king, not feeling altogether dignified but unwilling to disappoint his son, bent his knees unsurely and hopped. He didn't get very far, as he was rather tall, but the ceiling and bed canopy were high enough so that he flew upward sufficiently enough to create space between himself and the Earth below.
His landing was on his feet, but a bit unsteady. So he held out his hand for his son again. "Can you help me keep my balance?"
With wide eyes the little one nodded vigorously, putting his hands into his father's without hesitation. His father needed help with something? He'd never tell anyone about it, but imagine that! He was good at something his father wasn't? The king saw all these thoughts passing through his son's eyes, but said nothing, only smiling secret before allowing his hands to be taken.
It was suggested that they should count to a number in unison so they could start together. Legolas could barely count on time for how excited he was, but as soon as both of them said "three", they were off. His father didn't go far, which was disappointing because he was sure ada would love to feel as though he could fly. But the thought was eclipsed because he himself was going much higher with his father's help.
All reminders to keep quiet were out of sight and out of mind. He shrieked with laughter as they jumped up and down on the bed. He kept his eyes on his father's face, which threw him into a fit of giggles when he saw how his ada's hair fell when he jumped up, became suspended in the air like the branches of a tree as they hovered mid-air, and then flew above his head in a mess each time they fell. They flung themselves to and fro on the bed without a care, sheets spilling over the edge and pillows flying everywhere, filling the silent night with sounds of their mirth.
Legolas was thoroughly enjoying this breaking of the rules and his father's laughter, but they were soon interrupted. The door opened again, this time to reveal Legolas' mother. As soon as they both saw her they fell to the bed again, nearly sprawled out completely across its expanse, grappling for words and excuses. His father had almost fallen off completely upon landing, falling flat on his stomach. Legolas did his best not to laugh at how his father's hair was draped over his face this way and that.
And evidently his mother was also doing her best not to laugh, because in an instant a hand flew over her mouth and she shut the door quickly, muffled laughter escaping from the other side.
Legolas slapped his hands over his mouth to keep from laughing too loud. Thranduíl covered his face, which was no longer pink merely from exertion, and set to tidying the room.
The young elf rested well that night, his waking dreams filled with the fun he'd had. With a blissful smile he lay content, letting the rest of the night slip away undisturbed. And down the hall resting soundly by his wife, Thranduíl dreamt the same.
A/N: In case it wasn't obvious, Legolas is a child in this, thus this was set waaaaay before the events of The Hobbit. I also took liberties with adding his mother because the books never mention whether he had one or not.
I think that even after all this time and after other characters coming and going through my heart, Legolas will always be a favorite of mine. I finished reading the Lord of the Rings trilogy not too long ago, and was therefor reeducated in all the wonders that were Middle-Earth and its characters, Leggy included. Movie portrayal is wonderful, but book portrayal is best in my opinion because of the humor.
You could say that this is to spite the idea that Elves remain serious all the time. Plus I liked the idea of Legolas doing silly things, thus the self-gratuitous story before you!
I'm off to bed now. I hope you enjoy this~.