"Valar, " Legolas objected, his forehead wrinkled in a frown. "I hardly think that was fair."

Thranduil was smiling. "Why not? He was not watching, that is all. I merely took advantage of the situation and knocked him down."

Galion joined the two Elves, still brushing dirt and leaves from his clothes. "I cannot see why I am always the brunt of your tricks, my lord," he complained, but there was a tolerant sparkle in his eye that did not go unnoticed.

Legolas took his father's side. "Your instincts need honing, Galion. I would work on it."

The steward let out a snort. "Listen to that! Two thousand years old – a mere Elfling – and telling me what to do!"

Plotting revenge, with an elaborate bow he turned and left the King and his son. Once Galion was out of sight – and hopefully hearing range – Legolas turned again to Thranduil.

"I still don't understand," he said in a low voice. "How did you know his right arm is weaker than his left? He fights with his left, does he not?"

"It was fairly simple," Thranduil explained. "I worked his left till he had to switch to his right. Then all I had to do was flick my sword and his was on the ground."

Legolas laughed, storing away the trick for personal use. "I see now – but Galion never will."

Elrond winced at the yells issuing from the western gardens. Earlier that morning, Legolas had challenged Aragorn to a duel to repay a century-old insult to Mirkwood. The Elf said he believed (he could not remember exactly) it was all Arathorn's doing. Aragorn's loyal heart would not allow him to refuse a chance to clear his father's name. The two had gone off glaring playfully, with the twins grinning and slinking about them in the bushes, to the armoury.

The peace of Imladris was shattered as the swords met for the first time. Elrond grimaced again. Doubtless one or both of the duellists would need his healing skills later that day.

He leaned forward and rang the bell before him, then leaned back again and massaged his temples with his fingertips. Although he could not help but be proud of the warrior Legolas had become partly under his tutelage, he did wish that the Prince would sometimes restrain his patriotic nature. It had gotten him into trouble several times, meaning of course that he dragged himself injured and bleeding to Imladris, since those in need of physical aid seemed to instinctively gravitate towards Elrond.

There was a gentle knock on the door, and an Elven maiden appeared before him, her eyes flickering towards the window as an Elven curse echoed throughout the air.

"Fetch Erestor, I beg you," Elrond pleaded fervently, closing his eyes as his youngest son's voice uttered a Dwarven swear word he could have sworn none but the most pervert could have known. The elleth curtsied and left hastily.

A moment later the dark-haired advisor entered the room, his face kept carefully expressionless. "My lord Elrond?"

More yells broke out all of a sudden, and Erestor peered around the Elf-lord in an attempt to trace the noises.

"It is the Prince and my son," Elrond explained wearily, but despite his enlightening revelation, Erestor still looked confused. He sighed. "Around ninety years ago, Aragorn's father supposedly insulted the Greenwood in Legolas's presence. Legolas refuses to pass up the opportunity to defend his forest, so now they are duelling."

Erestor's midnight eyes widened. "But Legolas does not... he is not..."

"You are correct," Elrond said wryly. "Legolas's preferred weapon is not the sword. Yet he is fighting still, from the sounds of it." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "I believe it is all King Thranduil's fault. He must have specifically told Legolas to do this. And so the reason I called you is because we are going to need a lot of bandages. Legolas will be half-dead by the time Aragorn gets through with him."

Legolas grinned as Aragorn's blade flickered towards him, and he leaped out of the way swiftly before bringing his own sword down upon the Ranger's. Aragorn parried and thrust. It was all a pattern in a deadly game, one that the man certainly did not intend to lose.

"Elfling, are you sure you do not want to give this up?" Aragorn panted. "Someone could get hurt."

Legolas was still smiling, hardly winded at all. "Oh, if you're afraid that I will wound you..."

"I'm not afraid for myself." Aragorn glared before jumping at Legolas. "I am worried for you."

Legolas dodged and thrust. "Afraid for me? But why?"

"Because," Aragorn said patiently, "you're going to get hurt. I can't understand how you've lasted this long already."

Legolas only smirked, watching his opponent carefully. The time was nearly ripe.

A moment later, Aragorn let out a shocked yell as his sword went flying through the air, landing several feet away from him by a bush. Legolas sheathed his own blade, laughing at Aragorn's chagrined demeanour.

"Thranduilion, you have never beaten me at swordplay," Aragorn said dangerously, eyes narrowing. "You played some dirty trick, and I demand to know what it was."

Legolas laughed again at the shocked look on the Ranger's face. "Is not swordplay a trick in itself?"

Aragorn stepped a little closer, assuming a look of deadly intent. "Tell me. Or..."

"Or what?"

Aragorn fumbled for a moment, but quickly recovered himself. "Or I will convince Adar to sentence you and my brothers to a day of training with Glorfindel."

Legolas remained unperturbed. "You will have to find me to make me. Remember, I have not taught you all there is to know of tracking – I am still the master."

"Legolas! Tell me!"

Finally taking pity on his friend, Legolas threw an arm over his shoulders before leading him off towards the House. "It was like this. A century or so ago, I can't remember precisely, Adar and Galion were sparring..."

THE END