A young elf ran through the forest, laughing wildly as his friend tripped and fell with a muffled snort into a pile of autumn leaves nestled in the roots of an ancient fig tree. He bounded over to his friend and poked her in the side with a stick.

"Mhnhmph." The other child commented, her auburn hair blending with the colours of the leaves. Legolas giggled from his vantage point, well away from the reach of his friend. The other elf buried herself in the leaves and peered out from a gap, her green eyes glowing with mirth.

Without warning, she lunged forward and grabbed Legolas by the ankle, trying to trip him into the leaves. But the other elf was too nimble, and regained his footing before bounding off, laughing. His friend jumped up and gave chase, the leaves that had tangled themselves in her long hair giving her the appearance of a dryad.

The delighted squeals of the laughter of the two children echoed through the forest that was then called Greenwood the Great.

As the young elves played, many things were being planned, on that day near two thousand, four hundred and twenty - five years before the Golden Hall of Rohan was built. One of the afore mentioned "things being planned" were those involving plans for the young Prince of Greenwood's 5th birthday feast. (The young Prince was not as yet wholly satisfied with feasts, and seemed to prefer playing in the trees, perfectly natural of course, but elves do love a good feast, and a birthday feast in honour of someone whom doesn't much care for them is as good a reason as any to have one…) Young Legolas, of course, would be showered of gifts, most of which held the most fun in the discovering what they were, and, as with all children, attention in itself was a gift highly prized.



…"So you see, Laurëfëa, we all benefit. Legolas is showered with gifts and attention, and there is a feast for all whom attend."

"You spoil the young one, Thranduil. He does not need so much attention. He, I think, would be perfectly happy to spend the morrow with that young friend of his."

"This may be so. But he is a prince, and will need to be used to attention. I will not force him to attend, if it is against his will utterly. I ask only that he attends for a little while. The feast is being held in his honour, after all."

Laurëfëa crossed her arms over her chest and gave Thranduil a knowing look. "Are you telling me," She murmered, "That you don't want to have a feast?"

Thranduil sighed. "No, definateley not. You have caught me out again, old friend." He smiled. "Are you saying that you don't wish to attend?"

"Thranduil,"

"Yes?"

"Stop being smug." With that, Laurëfëa turned and left, chuckling slightly to herself. As she heard Thranduil start to speak, she spun around to face him. "Don't think you can win, Thranduil. The lady always gets the last word."

***