Faster then a speeding arrow…faster then the spiders that lived in the forest…faster then anything in MiddleEarth…he hoped. Because if he couldn't run faster then anyone else, he was about to be in very, very deep trouble.

As he came barrelling out of the throne room, an elf stared at him in surprise. He hoped the elf would stay that way…but no, the elf lunged forward to stop him. This had happened far too many times for anyone to be too surprised. He ducked the elf, and kept going, just as a hoard of other elves—with his father in the lead—poured out of the throne room doors behind him. They were on the warpath, and they wanted HIM.

He dashed down the hallway, and made a break for the kitchen. Unfortunately, he arrived right in the full-scale preparation for a feast, which, by a coincidence, was exactly why he was running. Idiot! He told himself. You should have remembered! Narrowly avoiding a vat of soup, he skidded and turned left, but didn't miss the cake standing there.

He ran on, smeared in icing. Another hoard of angry elves ran after him. Great, he thought. Two angry mobs. What a day. He dodged left towards the stables.

Please let my horse be there, he prayed. But he knew it was impossible. The stable hands were much too perfect to leave a horse standing outside the stables for two minutes. But luck was with him. The advance guard for an elven lord had just ridden up, the leader's horse standing as he dismounted.

"What are you…!" the startled guard cried out as he grabbed the horse's rein from the guard's hand. "No! he's a spirited horse. He won't stop once you start him…wait! No! come back! Bring back my horse!"

Three angry mobs. And the last one had stable pitchforks AND they were on horses. Let's hope this horse is spirited. "Noro lim, Noro lim!"

He dashed into the forest, nearly running over another elf. Why must the elves be in such profusion today of all days? Because, of course, there was the feast. Which was why he was running from three angry mobs. Why oh why did he have to get in trouble today of all days?

He galloped along the forest path, completely ignoring his father's admonition never to do so. The angry mob was getting closer! He tried to turn the horse onto a small side path, but the horse just kept going. Oh great. We're on the overgrown path! Dumb horse. The elves were getting closer!

A branch swooped out of nowhere. He ducked, only to meet another branch swinging towards him. It hit him squarely in the head, knocking him right off the horse and onto the ground. The mob was getting closer! Dazedly, he got up and tried to run, but only smacked into another branch. Lying on the path, he looked up into the lead elf's eyes…and groaned. It was his father.

"Legolas! Get up off the ground!" Thranduil said. "I know you're faking it."

Legolas grudgingly got up, holding his head. "Yes, father?" Suddenly he noticed he was surrounded by elves, all looking rather harsh. He winced.

"It's time for your birthday feast." said Thranduil. As the elves started to move away, Thranduil put an arm around Legolas's shoulder. "Remember, my son. Now that you're thirteen, you should know; you don't tell a girl she's fat. Especially when they're actually not fat. Especially when that particular girl is Arwen, the lady of Imladris, who's come all this way for your birthday."

Legolas grinned… and licked the frosting off his face.