Disclaimer: I do not own the Elf and I do not own the Ranger.

Teitho Prompt: Disguises

Summary: Trade negotiations have been dragging on for days. There is much restlessness in the halls of the Elven-king. And then a young human rides into the Wood-elves' realm with an urgent message. Characters: Thranduil, Legolas, Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir, with a cameo by Halbarad.

This is unchanged from the Teitho version except for a couple of typos taken out.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass, for advice, suggestions, and patience with questions.

Rating: PG

Knife and Sword

"Elladan!" Aragorn shouted. "Do you see anything? How far behind are we now?"

"Too far for my liking," Elladan muttered, though he was not heard by the Elf and the Men behind him.

"Elladan!" This time it was Elrohir who was shouting. "We're almost through the High Pass! If we go any further will find ourselves in Mirkwood!"

Elladan turned his horse abruptly. "They seem to have gone straight east – but I cannot be certain. They may have reinforcements. We risk being ambushed if we follow them any further."

Ignoring Halbarad's mutter about Elven equivocation, Aragorn said, "We cannot risk letting them escape. We found them too close to Imladris – they might return in greater numbers, beyond even Ada's power."

Legolas hated trade negotiation meetings, but with his right arm still in a sling from the last spider attack, he had had no excuse to get out of this one. He was sitting at his father's right, trying to smile politely at the man opposite of him.

It was small consolation that his father was equally bored. Thranduil did not show it, but Legolas knew him well enough to notice the irritable drumming of his fingers on the tabletop as one of the men droned endlessly on about the skill of his town's craftsmen.

"Lasto," Thranduil hissed under his breath, and Legolas gave a guilty start and tried to take in what the man was saying.

Fortunately, at that moment the man bowed and sat down. Thranduil nodded to Istuion, his seneschal, who was sitting across the table. The Elf got to his feet. "My King, might I suggest that we stop for luncheon now? Our visitors must be weary."

Thranduil nodded. "Of course. Perhaps our guests would like some time to rest afterwards?" He looked at the leader of the men, who nodded gratefully. Thranduil pushed back his chair and got to his feet. Everyone else rose at once to follow the Elven-king out of the room.

Legolas waited for the others to leave and then sank back into his chair. He could not remember being so utterly bored in his entire life. Perhaps his father would let him off attending any further meetings if he pretended that his arm was giving him trouble – but, no, then Thranduil would have him banned from the archery fields for even longer.

He got up, went to the door, and opened it carefully, hoping that all the men would have gone to their quarters or to the dining halls. Instead, he saw two of them standing outside engaged in conversation with Istuion.

Istuion glanced apologetically at the prince. "Are you all right, Legolas? Perhaps you should go and get some rest... Barancrist tells me your arm will need a few more days to heal."

"We were sorry to learn of your injury, Prince Legolas," one of the men said.

"Although we were glad that it gave us the opportunity to meet you at last," the other added. "We had been told, of course, of your resemblance to your father, but none of us realized how strong it was until we saw you."

"I am only sorry that my duties as a warrior give me so little time to get to know people of other realms. It is a pleasure to meet you," Legolas said untruthfully.

Four Days Later

Aragorn staggered to his feet. "How bad is it?"

"Four dead," Halbarad said grimly, helping him up. "And many injured."

"This has been a hard victory," Elrohir said quietly from Aragorn's other side. He glanced at Halbarad. "How grave are the injuries? Is there anyone close to death?"

"A few." Halbarad shook his head. "We will not be able to leave this place until we have seen to the wounded. We have lost some of the horses, and many of the men are not fit to ride in any case."

"I don't like this," Elladan said. "We are too exposed here... We do not know the land, there is no cover, and we are far too close to the Hithaeglir. Orcs could attack us at any time. Or spiders. Or goblins. And there are, what, six of us still capable of fighting? We'll be slaughtered."

"That's my brother, always looking at the bright side," Elrohir said cheerfully.

"He has a point, though," Aragorn said.

Elrohir shrugged. "Perhaps, but what can we do about it? Let's start setting up camp and see how serious the injuries are. If it's not too bad we may at least be able to get to a defensible position tomorrow."

Halbarad nodded. "The wounded are being gathered to the north, Lord Elrohir, while those who are able are burning the orc corpses and burying our dead. Once that is done we will set a guard, but there are too few for it to be of any practical use."

The Elves followed the humans to where a makeshift tent was being erected to keep the worst of the sun off the injured Rangers. As soon as they saw the extent of the damage, they knew that there was no way they would be able to move for a few days, at least, given the reduced healing capacities of humans, even Dúnedain.

Aragorn looked around and set his lips in determination. "Come on," he said, turning to his foster brothers. "I could use some help here."

"Estel, a moment," Elladan said, beckoning. Puzzled, Aragorn followed the twins out.

"We need to send for aid," Elrohir said softly, as soon as they were out of earshot of anybody inside the tent. "Now that we have seen – we might have to wait here for a week before everyone is fit to travel. We cannot hope to defend ourselves here for that long."

"Aid? But we are too far – it would take weeks for someone to cross the mountains and fetch help."

Elladan rolled his eyes. "I thought Rangers were supposed to have a good sense of direction. Look around, Estel. Have you no idea where we are?"

Aragorn groaned. "Look, I know Elven tracking skills are infinitely superior to any human's. Can we take that as given? Where are we?"

"Slightly more than a day's ride from Thranduil's stronghold," Elrohir said. "Less, for someone who knows lay of the woods."

Aragorn blinked. "I didn't –"

"We know you didn't," Elladan said calmly. "That's why we told you."

"So if one of you will go –"

"Not one of us," Elrohir said. "Whoever we send will reach the stronghold early tomorrow morning if he rides through the night... And even if they muster some archers and ride out immediately, it will take them at least tomorrow night to get to us. You need us here, on the off-chance that orcs attack between now and then."

"On the off-chance that orcs attack before help arrives, we will all be dead."

"Be sensible, Estel! Any rider sent to Thranduil will take exactly the same amount of time, and you need us here. Send someone who's incapable of fighting but can still ride."

Thranduil entered his son's room without knocking, to find Legolas carefully stretching his right arm.

"Did Barancrist tell you that you could do that?"

Legolas grinned. "Barancrist was busy, but Calathiel did."

"Hmmm..." Thranduil droned. "You do realize that you are still expected to attend the meetings this afternoon?"

"Yes, Ada," Legolas said in a resigned voice.

Thranduil laughed and patted his son's shoulder. "Cheer up, tithen pen. It should be over today, they will leave tomorrow morning, and you can go back to the archery fields – if the healers permit it."

"Do you understand?" Elrohir asked.

"No," Sadron said nervously.

"Do you understand how to reach the stronghold of King Thranduil?" Aragorn asked.

"Yes, Lord Aragorn."

"All right, then... Forget everything Elrohir just told you. The only thing you have to remember is that while the Elves of Greenwood – Greenwood, not Mirkwood – are not hostile towards humans, they do not entirely trust them. You will probably encounter a patrol long before you have reached the stronghold. Tell them you bear a message for their prince. Once you get to the stronghold, have somebody take you to Legolas immediately and tell him everything. Do not try to explain to anybody else."

"You know what Legolas looks like, don't you?" Elladan said. "There is a painting of the three of us in the gallery at Imladris."

"I have seen it, Lord Elrohir –"

"Elladan."

"Forgive me, Lord Elladan. I have seen it, but I do not know if I remember it well enough to recognize him."

Aragorn shrugged. "It does not matter. Tell any Elf you see there that we have given you a message for Legolas, and they will take you to him. And while he is getting his Elves together ask to see the healers. They'll check your shoulder and re-dress it if needed."

"Yes, Lord Aragorn."

Aragorn, Elrohir, and Elladan stood looking after him as he galloped away in the direction of Eryn Galen.

It was close to midnight, and Sadron was deep in the forest, when he heard a voice cry in Sindarin, "Halt! Declare yourself!"

He stopped short – he had heard enough about the Mirkwood archers to know that if he did not comply he might find himself receiving a fatal injury, even in the pitch blackness of the moonless night.

"I am one of the Dúnedain," he called loudly in the same tongue. "I bear a message for Prince Legolas from my chieftain Aragorn son of Arathorn."

For a moment, he heard nothing but the soft whisper of the wind in the trees, and then, without warning, there was an Elf standing on either side of him. Both Elves wore dark green cloaks that let them melt into the background of the forest at night.

"Come with us."

The Elves started walking away through the trees. Sadron dismounted and began to follow them, but one of them turned and said, "Ride, Man of the West. Never fear; your horse will not be too fleet for our feet."

"I am delighted that our negotiations concluded so successfully, Your Majesty. My chieftain will be honoured that our trade with the Elves of Greenwood is to continue."

Thranduil inclined his head. "It has been a pleasure to meet you."

He nudged Legolas, who hastily said, "It has been a pleasure."

The men bowed, mounted their horses, and galloped out with an escort of Elven archers, who would see them safely to the borders of Greenwood. As soon as the great gates had shut behind them, Thranduil turned to his son.

"Before you go to the archery fields, go to the healing wards and ask Barancrist, Feredir or Calathiel if you can resume your normal activities now. I will discuss this with them later, penneth, so do not try anything foolish." Thranduil looked sternly at his son.

"Yes, Ada," Legolas mumbled, turning and going back inside the palace.

Thranduil shot Istuion an uncharacteristic grin. "I suppose we'd better warn the archers that Legolas will be out on the practice fields soon, clamouring to do things he has been ordered to avoid."

"They can handle him," Istuion said calmly.

Sadron was barely awake. He hoped they would be reaching the stronghold soon... The Elves had said it was near, but who knew what they considered near? Then one of the Elves – now that it was brighter, Sadron could tell that it was a female – turned.

"Be of good cheer, Man of the West! We will be home in minutes."

Sure enough, in less than half an hour Sadron saw the gates of the Elven stronghold looming ahead of them. As they approached, a voice cried, "Daro! Declare yourself!"

"Rochendilwen and Eredhion," the elleth replied. "And a Man of the West with a message for Legolas from Aragorn."

The gates opened and a slender, dark-haired Elf emerged. He was dressed much like Sadron's companions, except that his cloak was grey.

"Dúnadan," he said, and while his voice was not unfriendly, it was not welcoming either. "Do you have proof that you come from Aragorn?"

"He said if anybody asked, I was to say that he knows where Legolas really was on Mid-Year's Day ten years ago and he will tell you if you let me in to see him."

The Elf chuckled. "Welcome to Greenwood, Dúnadan. Come with me... You may stable your horse, and then I will have you taken to Legolas."

Sadron, who loved horses, smiled at the sight of all the Elf-trained steeds in the stables of the woodland king. They looked as though they could understand the speech of humans; feeling almost foolish, he muttered, "Mae govannen." One of the horses responded with a cheerful whinny.

Sadron smiled again and went outside. He saw his new guide talking to a noble-looking Elf who, in addition to tunic and leggings and grey cloak was wearing a crown of woodland flowers on his golden hair. Sadron recognized him at once, although in the portrait in the galleries of Imladris he looked far younger, even for an Elf. He ran outside.

"My Lord!"

The Elves turned at the sight of him.

"Dúnadan!" his guide said. "Are you satisfied that your horse will not pine your brief absence?"

Sadron flushed. "Aye, my Lord –"

The Elf nodded and cut in. "But you seemed to be in haste." He glanced at his companion. "Mellon nîn, allow me to present –"

Sadron bounded forward, unable to contain himself. "Please, Your Highness, I have an urgent message for you!"

"For me?"

"But I thought –"

Normally Sadron would never have dreamed of interrupting an Elf, but there was no time for politeness now. "Please – Aragorn sent me to ask your aid. Our company has had a battle with orcs, about a day's journey to the west. Many are injured and we are in dire need of your assistance. He – Prince Legolas, I am here to ask your aid."

"Prince –" the dark-haired Elf began, but the other one cut him off with a raised hand.

"We can talk in my study," he said abruptly. "Come."

Fifteen minutes later, Thranduil marched into the healing wards, where Legolas was engaged in a heated argument with one of the healers.

"Is my son bothering you, Feredir?"

The healer grinned. "Most terribly, my King. Would you consider locking him in the dungeons for a week?"

"If you think that's best. Tell Arbellason; he'll deal with it."

"Ada! "

Thranduil laughed and ruffled his son's blond hair. "Sit down, Legolas. I have a plan. I am going to lead the archers out today."

Legolas looked at his father blankly. "Lead the archers out? But –"

"Listen. A message has just come from Estel – he and the sons of Elrond and a group of Dúnedain have been battling with orcs not far from here, and now they are tending their wounded and desperately need a couple of healers to help them and some Greenwood bowmen to defend them while they recover. You are not yet fit to ride, but I will."

"You will lead the archers?"

"Of course not. You will lead the archers."

"But..." Legolas looked into his father's twinkling eyes, and his own eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Ada! You – you're not really going to do it?"

"Of course I am."

"Do what?" Feredir asked.

"He's going to lead the Colhador to – to wherever that infernal human has got himself stranded – pretending to be me!"

Feredir stared at his king, who only smiled at him calmly. "My King?"

"Well, it was Estel's messenger who gave me the idea. I suppose they described you and sent him here. At any rate, he mistook me for you and delivered his message to me... And I have spent the past eight days cooped up indoors listening to those men!"

"But... Ada... you cannot be serious..."

"Trust me, I am. Estel and the twins have caused me enough grief in their time that I am more than delighted to have an excuse to... to avenge myself, shall we say?"

"They'll know it's you!"

"We'll see how long I can keep them from finding out."

"But what if orcs really do come?"

"Legolas, it may surprise you to know this, but I have fought orcs in my time. I was not always such a noble king with legions fighting at my command."

Legolas eyed his father. "You've decided to do it anyway, haven't you?"

"Yes, but you must come too."

Legolas stared. "Ada , I know humans can be foolish, but even they can count."

"You must come as me."

"What! "

"Arbellason tells me there has been increased orc activity over the past few months. Aragorn asks for two dozen archers, but it would seem prudent to have more. Therefore, I, in your name, will leave now with twenty Elves – Aeroniel is assembling them – and you will follow in three or four hours – make it four – with another thirty."

"Why me?"

"Because it will make things more interesting. And because, all said and done, I do not usually lead the archers in battle, so if orcs do attack I want you in the vicinity!"

"But –"

"Look at it this way, Legolas... Do you remember the last time you spent Yule in Imladris, when Elladan and Elrohir snuck into your room at midnight and –"

"I'll do it."

"I thought you would."

"Ada , how long has it been since you used knives instead of a sword?" Legolas demanded, tossing one of his cloaks to his father.

"Impertinent Elfling! I can certainly use knives well enough to fool some ragged Men."

Eredhion, lounging on Legolas' bed and watching the proceedings, grinned. "Quite so. You look just right, my King. You're a little taller than Legolas, but..."

"If Estel or the sons of Elrond get close enough to me to judge my height, they will be more than close enough to know I am not my son," Thranduil said wryly, strapping on a quiver.

"Thranduil, you do realize this will be difficult?" Istuion asked. "The Dúnadan had never seen either of you before. It will be a different matter to deceive Legolas' closest friends."

"Incidentally, my King," Eredhion said, "do Voronwë and I go with you, or stay with Legolas?"

"Voronwë will come with me. You have just returned from patrol and I am sure you want to get some rest. You will come with Legolas."

"You have it all thought out," Istuion commented.

"Of course. That's why I'm King."

It was nearing dusk. Elrohir was standing at the edge of the camp, looking around anxiously. He started when he heard a footstep behind him.

"Anything?" Aragorn asked.

The Elf shook his head. "No... But I do not know how long we will be this fortunate. I hope they get here soon."

"They will," Aragorn said confidently. "They are probably nearly here already. Come, we are needed to tend to the wounded. The guards will warn us if something approaches."

Thranduil barely held back a gleeful laugh as the wind whipped his hair away from his face. There were many advantages to being King of the Wood-elves... It would be difficult to run off disguised as your own son if you were ruling a group of stodgy Noldor, no matter how badly you needed a break after endless days of boring trade meetings.

He could sense amusement from the other Elves – and anticipation. None of them believed he could keep up the deception once he came face-to-face with Aragorn and the sons of Elrond.

"My – er – Legolas," Voronwë said suddenly from his left, and Thranduil heard one of the Elves behind them choke back a laugh. "There are two Men ahead."

"Are they of your company?" Thranduil asked Sadron.

"I cannot see them yet, Prince Legolas, but they may be. We are nearly at the battle site." They rode on in silence for about ten minutes, and then Sadron said, "They are Rangers, Prince Legolas."

The Men had been watching them warily, but when they recognized Sadron, their faces broke into grins of relief. "Mae govannen. We have been waiting for you," one of them said. "We are in dire need of your aid."

Aragorn, Elladan, and Elrohir exchanged glances when they heard the commotion outside. Without a word, Aragorn went to the tent flap and looked out. At the far end of the camp, some of the Rangers were gathered around a group of riders who had clearly just arrived. They were Elves in the colours of Mirkwood. The human let out a sigh of relief.

"They're here!" The leader of the Elves, a slender, golden-haired ellon wearing a silvery-grey cloak, turned in Aragorn's direction and raised his hand in greeting. Aragorn returned the gesture, his grin nearly splitting his face. "And Legolas is with them!"

Thranduil called his healers as soon as he dismounted.

"Estel and the sons of Elrond are in the tent, presumably where they have the injured," he said, speaking with the strongest Silvan accent he could manage, in case any of the Rangers was listening. "Go there and keep them occupied for as long as you can."

"Welcome, Legolas," one of the men said, coming up to him as the healers left. "Do you want to see Aragorn now?"

Thranduil hesitated. Clearly, Legolas knew this man, although their acquaintance was not strong enough for him to realize that he was addressing the father and not the son. But did Legolas know him well enough to address him simply as "Ranger", as he frequently did Aragorn, or would Thranduil have to find out his name somehow?

He was saved from having to say anything by Aeroniel, who leapt off her horse and said, "I don't think we should disturb him now, Lord Halbarad. Let the healers attend to their duties while we attend to ours."

Halbarad nodded. "I fear that even with your aid we shall be greatly outnumbered if orcs attack."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Thranduil said, grinning. "I came ahead with such numbers as could be mustered at short notice, but my father will be here in a few hours with at least as many more."

"Calathiel is signalling," Aeroniel hissed. "I think they cannot keep Estel and the twins busy any longer."

"Oh, Valar," Thranduil sighed. "What –"

"Your hood!" she said urgently. "Pull up your hood! It will shadow your face and perhaps muffle your voice."

"But why would Legolas pull up his hood in the middle of a camp full of Elves and Rangers?"

"With all due respect, my King," Aeroniel said, "you should have thought of that before we left the stronghold. We will have to improvise an explanation. If they see you then they will know you at once."

"We will hope it is just one of them who is escaping," Thranduil muttered, tugging up the hood. "Preferably Estel. Ai, this is hot!"

"Your prayers are answered," Aeroniel murmured, glancing in the direction of the tent. "It is just Estel. But I don't know if you will find him as easy to deceive as you imagine."

Thranduil shrugged and turned to face the approaching human. "Mae govannen, Estel."

"Legolas!" Aragorn leapt forward and flung his arms around the unsuspecting Elf. Thranduil staggered a step or two back. "Gwador nîn, it is wonderful to see you again!"

"I am happy to see you too, but let me breathe," Thranduil said, laughing.

Aragorn laughed as well, and took a step back. "Why are you wearing your hood? We are not in that inn, you know, Elfling. Nobody will attack you here."

Thranduil desperately wanted to ask which inn the human was talking about and what had happened there, but he managed to say instead, "Yes, I know... I was just a little... cold... And it's windy... So I –"

"Cold?" Aragorn asked incredulously. "Cold? Even I am not cold! Are you well? Have you injured yourself or –" He seized Thranduil's wrist and checked his pulse. "You seem all right. Have you been in any battles recently? Perhaps some orc poison –"

"Estel, I am fine. It's just the wind. And it's much warmer in the forest. This place is too... rocky. Yes, that must be it. The rocks."

"Ignore him, Estel," Aeroniel said. "He took a cut to his arm a few days ago, and Feredir suspected a mild infection – it has done him no lasting damage, but he may be more... susceptible... to the elements for a few days."

"More susceptible than a Man?" Aragorn asked in bewilderment.

"We are hoping it will wear off soon."

Aragorn looked closely at the Elf, and Thranduil fidgeted uncomfortably, glad for the darkness of the night and wishing he could pull the hood even further over his face.

"Maybe you should get some rest, tithen pen," Aragorn said doubtfully. "Come – I'm sure Dan and Ro will want to see you."

Legolas held up a hand to stop the Elves behind him and laid his other hand on the trunk of the nearest tree.

Are you awake?

Elfling! Of course we are awake. We were told to guide you when you passed this way. Go straight east until the trees thin out and then veer slightly south... You should find them without difficulty.

Thank you. How far is it?

Perhaps an hour.

Legolas nodded and pulled his hand away. "What are the odds my father has been discovered by now?"

The Elves closest to him laughed, and one of them said, "You will not catch me betting against your father, Elfling. I would not put it past him to convince the Rangers that he is Lord Elrond." He cocked his head to study Legolas closely. "You have to wear the circlet, Legolas. You look too much like yourself without it."

Legolas scowled but complied, pulling from his pack the simple silver circlet that his father wore when he rode out to battle. "Satisfied now, Saeldur?"

"This is better," Saeldur said, "but still..."

"It's the cloak," Eredhion put in. It's draping the wrong way... You always pull it tight so that it doesn't interfere with your quiver, but your father wears his looser." He bent forward and adjusted the cloak, and then fumbled at Legolas' sword-belt.

"Can you draw from there?" he asked.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Are you sure you're all right, Elfling?" Elrohir asked. "You're behaving a little..."

"Differently," Elladan said. "What kind of poison was it? Perhaps a stronger antidote..."

"There was no poison!" said Thranduil, feeling, for the first time, a stab of sympathy for his son. "The poison was a figment of Feredir's imagination. I have never been poisoned in my life! I am perfectly fine."

"I suppose I should check you for fever, just in case," Aragorn said.

"I do not have fever!"

"Legolas, you are clearly not yourself. If you will just be sensible and let us see what is wrong with you –"

As Aragorn stretched out his hand, Thranduil took a few hasty steps away and fumbled at his waist before remembering that he was not wearing his sword-belt. Before the other three could notice the action he reached to the quiver for the first weapon that came to hand – which was fortunately one of the knives – drew it and pointed it at Aragorn. "Not one step further, Ranger," he gasped.

Aragorn chuckled. "Now you sound like yourself, Elfling. Could it be that you were just pining for our company?"

"Legolas?"

Thranduil looked around to see Voronwë poking his head cautiously into the tent. "Yes?" he asked, sheathing the knife with all the dignity he could muster, uncomfortably aware that Voronwë, at least, knew precisely who he was.

"Your... that is... the King is here... With another thirty archers."

"I'd better talk to him," Thranduil said, slipping past Aragorn and Elrohir and practically running through the camp to greet the new arrivals as they rode in. As he left the tent he heard Elladan say, "Do you think we should take him back to Ada? He's been very odd."

Thranduil got to Legolas before any of the Rangers did, noting with satisfaction that his son had carried out his instructions to the letter and now looked every inch the Elven-king. He caught Legolas' horse by its bridle. "Don't get down," he said, leading the horse a few paces away from the camp. "Your friends are watching and if they see us standing together they will realize –"

"But –"

"Do you know what we are going to do?"

"Get behind that rock over there and come back looking like ourselves and stop this before we get found out?" Legolas asked hopefully.

"Do you have no enterprise at all? Of course we're not going to stop now. You have to come up with some way to convince them that I am you and you are me."

"But Ada –"

"Not addressing me as Ada would be a good way to start."

"They'll know as soon as they see me."

"Then we'll have to make sure they don't see you. You stay here and... Do something."

"Do what?"

"Think of something! I arranged for you to have an education worthy of my heir; now give me a reason to believe it was gold well spent."

"Passing myself off as my father was not one of the subjects I was taught!" Legolas glanced in the direction of the camp. "Estel is coming! This is not going to work, he'll know as soon as he sees me –"

"Turn away!" Thranduil hissed. "Pretend you're looking for something. Or bend and tighten your sword-belt. Do anything you like, but do not let him see your face and do not get off that horse."

Legolas groaned in despair and nudged his horse with his heels. It turned around and he tried to peer searchingly into the night, something he could have done perfectly naturally under any other circumstances.

"Mae govannen, aran nîn," Aragorn said as he neared them.

"Mae govannen, Estel," Legolas mumbled, not turning around. "Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo."

"My King, is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," Legolas said, still not turning. "I just thought I heard something... Perhaps I imagined it."

"I can send out some scouts –"

"No, I –"

Legolas stopped gratefully as Aeroniel ran up to them. "Legolas, Halbarad is looking for you. The last time you met him you agreed to show him the Elven way of shooting in darkness, do you remember?"

"I did?" Thranduil asked in alarm.

"You can go and show him, then," Legolas said firmly. "I will – er – I will investigate the noise and then follow."

"Shall I send someone with you?" Thranduil enquired as the younger Elf rode away.

"No!"

"Help me!" Thranduil whispered to Voronwë. His son's friend only smiled at him mischievously.

"But, Legolas, you have led hundreds – thousands – of night-time patrols. You know better than anybody how to shoot by sound."

"The sword has always been my weapon, as you know perfectly well, Nendirion. It is enough that I can shoot by daylight; I have absolutely no desire to learn how to shoot in darkness. More to the point, it is impossible for me to learn within the next ten minutes. Now think of something!"

"Go after Legolas and change roles," Voronwë advised.

"I will not give up!"

"Then Elbereth help you, my King," Voronwë said, grinning. "For I cannot."

"No, the arm!" Thranduil said, letting out a relieved breath. "Aeroniel told Halbarad of the latest spider incident. I can claim to be injured still."

"Legolas claiming to be unable to use his bow because of an injury? My King, do you want to get caught?"

Legolas, in the shelter of the nearest clump of trees, slipped off his horse and relaxed. Why had he ever agreed to this? He could have been in the camp now, relaxing with his friends, instead of trying to think of excuses to hide his face. He sank to the ground with his back to one of the trees.

Thranduilion!

Legolas' head jerked up.

Don't do that where one of the twins can hear you, he begged. My father would never let me hear the end of it.

The tree seemed amused. We never knew your father was as bad as you. I have a message for you, borne from the south by the trees and the birds.

Not orcs, Legolas said. Please. Not orcs.

Would you rather I said that the humans were returning to continue the trade meetings?

How did you know – never mind. I take back what I said. Orcs are just fine. I love fighting orcs. I can't think of anything I'd rather do than fight an orc.

In any case, Elfling, you need not worry – they are too few to cause you any concern. But we thought you should know.

Thank you! Legolas said, scrambling to his feet.

"He must be hurt," Elrohir said softly. "And he's not telling us."

Voronwë had produced from his saddlebags several small round bells that the archers used to practice; when thrown in the air they tinkled very faintly, almost too faintly for mortal ears but loudly enough for an Elf.

"He's shooting well enough," Elladan said. "He hasn't missed one yet."

"No, but he hasn't hit one either. He's just clipping the edges. I could shoot that well. Even Estel could probably shoot that well."

"Voronwë did say he'd hurt his arm."

"Still – Valar, what is it now?" Elrohir got to his feet and peered in the direction of the commotion that had just arisen. Thranduil had just returned; he was getting off his horse and calling hasty instructions to the Elves around him.

"What do you mean you will still lead the archers?"

"Not so loudly," Thranduil said. "They speak the Grey Tongue here."

Legolas rolled his eyes, but when he spoke again it was in the dialect of the Wood-elves, which even the sons of Elrond did not understand. "This is hardly the time to worry about whether your wonderful disguise will be penetrated –"

"Valar, Legolas, I thought you were my son. Don't start behaving like one of those stuffy Noldor. You said yourself there are not many orcs."

"I don't like using a sword," Legolas protested half-heartedly.

"There is always a first time."

"Never conduct trade negotiation meetings again. And if you do, do it when I am on patrol somewhere very far away."

Aragorn drew his sword. A few feet away from him, his brothers were doing the same. He turned and looked at the mounted archers, arrayed in a silent line in front of the camp. The night was cloudy and even the light of the stars was dim; though he peered, he could not quite make out their faces. Legolas was in the centre, bow strung and arrow held loosely in his hand; he looked as cheerful as he usually did, even before a battle.

Thranduil, beside Legolas, looked even grimmer than usual in contrast. His bow was heavier and shorter than his son's; he was not normally an archer, although he could shoot skillfully enough at need. What struck Aragorn most, though, was the way his body was held stiff as though in disapproval.

He wished he could see the Elven-king's face more clearly.

And then he had no time to wish further, because the orcs appeared on the horizon, and Legolas cried out his first command to the archers.

This was the easy part, Thranduil knew. He could order the archers well enough, and in the confusion of a skirmish nobody would note his skill. But when the time came for him to draw the knives...

The orcs were upon them; Legolas, suppressing a groan, slid the bow into its sheath beside the quiver and drew the sword from his belt as he leapt off his horse. He could think of a hundred ways in which this could go wrong.

For the first time he was glad that his father had insisted he learn to use a sword properly, even though he considered it too heavy and unwieldy a weapon; he was nowhere near as good with it as Thranduil or even Aragorn, but he could manage to keep the orcs, by and large, off him.

He noticed out of the corner of his eye that his father was in a similar predicament; the knives favoured by Greenwood's archers were very light, and while this made them good for swift one-handed cuts among the trees, someone used to a sword instead would have difficulty using them as weapons.

Elladan had taken a cut to his arm, but it was shallow and did not impede him much. He spared a glance for the Mirkwood Elves, who were now beginning to spread out, although still holding their line, as they engaged in face-to-face combat with the orcs.

He noticed Legolas and frowned. The young Elf was not, as he usually did, using his knives to thrust through the weak spots in the orcs' armour. He was using them as though they were a pair of broadswords, and Elladan was certain that in a matter of minutes he would either shatter one of the blades or be mortally wounded.

"Dan!" Aragorn's voice snapped behind him. "Stop gaping and fight!"

Thranduil knew he could not keep it up long. Every second he was being reminded more clearly exactly why he disliked knives. He liked to able to let forth his anger with furious, sweeping strokes that clove through the toughest armour... And here he was being forced to thrust pointlessly at weaknesses like an Elfling sparring with a master swordsman.

"Never again," he muttered, raising the knives to defend himself against a pair of orcs.

This time he was unlucky; the knives were too small to give him adequate defence, and one orc knocked them aside while the other thrust easily past Thranduil's guard before the Elf could react. He felt a burning pain in his shoulder, gasped, and fell to the ground.

He pushed himself hastily into a sitting position and reached for the knives he had dropped.

The orcs came towards him with a menacing growl –

But before they could take more than a step there was a flash of grey and Legolas was before them, Thranduil's sword held very firmly in his hands. Thranduil noted with more than a little concern that his son's right arm still seemed to be troubling him a little, which would make it even harder for him to fight with the unfamiliar weapon.

Legolas held out longer than his father expected, but in a very short time the sword was knocked from his hand and he took an uncertain step back as the orcs advanced on him.

"Here!" Thranduil called. "Take these!"

At the sound of his father's voice Legolas turned, and held out his hands to catch the knives the Elven-king tossed to him.

Elrohir was sure the entire line of Oropher had gone mad. First Legolas, and now Thranduil, who was one of the finest swordsmen Elrohir knew, had been disarmed by a pair of orcs.

The orcs were almost all dead now; the few that remained were clustered around the Elven archers. Elrohir reached for his bow, hoping to get a couple of arrows off if it looked like the Elven-king was in need of help. He felt Elladan and Aragorn doing the same thing beside him.

"This is ridiculous," Aragorn muttered.

Elladan laughed. "Look at it this way; if one of us has to shoot to save Legolas, he will never live it down."

Elrohir could not help grinning at that. He saw the orcs advancing on Thranduil, and raised his bow, taking careful aim... But they were too close together, and while he might have trusted his hand if he had been on one of the archery fields, this was too great a risk...

Then Legolas shouted something, and Thranduil turned and snatched out of the air the twin knives that were thrown in his direction. He whipped around to face the orcs again, a grim smile on his face, although Elrohir had no idea how he hoped to defend himself with knives when his sword had proved useless.

One of the orc blades came down –

And was met by a knife that knocked it aside and did not pause to defend, but thrust forward into the gap in the armour under the orc's arm.

"That can't be Thranduil," Elladan said in disbelief. "He hates knives."

"It isn't," Aragorn said, his eyes suddenly sparkling with amusement. "It's Legolas."

"My King?" Elrohir said softly, as he, Elladan and Thranduil watched Aragorn blindfold Legolas carefully.

"Yes?"

"Why did you do it?"

"I will tell you if you promise never to tell Elrond –"

"We won't," Elladan put in.

"Or Galadriel or Celeborn –"

"We won't," Elrohir said.

"Very well, then." Thranduil drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned to face the two younger Elves. "I had negotiated the price of wine and cloth and spice for eight days and I was bored."

"Bored?" Elladan asked, his voice quivering. "You mean – you did all this because –"

"Don't," Thranduil implored. "I have had one lecture from Legolas already. I cannot take another one, definitely not from the two of you."

Elrohir pretended to look hurt.

"So the Elfling who has seen the inside of a healing ward more often than any other Elf in all Arda –"

"Only because I had to keep visiting you there," came Legolas' clear voice.

"You concentrate on your shooting, Elfling," Elrohir called back. "My King, you think Legolas is fit to lecture you but we are not?"

There was a shout of, "Ready!" from Aragorn, then by a faint tinkle and the thunk of metal hitting metal, followed by scattered cries of appreciation from the watching men.

"Of course not," Thranduil said. "I think that Legolas needs the example of two sensible and well-behaved ellyn like yourselves so that he may learn to conduct himself in a manner more befitting my heir. Would any other Prince have ridden to battle disguised as his father?" At Elrohir's incredulous look, he said, "I am a King who rode to battle disguised as my son. That is entirely different."

The twins were laughing so helplessly that they failed to see Legolas pull off the blindfold and turn to face them, eyes gleaming with mischief as he took another arrow from his quiver.

Sindarin Translations

Ada – Dad/Daddy

Lasto – Listen

Tithen pen – Little one

Penneth – Young one

Daro! – Stop!

Mae govannen. – Well met.

Mellon nîn – My friend

Gwador nîn – My (sworn) brother

Aran nîn – My king

Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo. – A star shines on the hour of our meeting.

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