This concept of fan fiction was created by SkyleafAlchemist1, whom has given their permission for me to use.

I do not own Lord of the Rings, or the concept of this particular fan fiction.

The darkness had gathered around relatively early that night, and Legolas found himself perched in a tall oak tree, green leaves shifting softly in the breeze above him. His back was pressed against the trunk, his bag on his lap and bow in his hands. The moon hung low in the sky, stars beginning to appear, a grey-white fog rolling in along the ground. There was a dampness in the air that spoke of foul weather. He ran his fingers along the engravings on his bow. Most he himself had made, but there were two that he hadn't. Gimli had carved a pair of axes along the inside of the bow, and Aragorn had fashioned a leaf inside a crown. He had not noticed until after the battle at Helm's Deep.

He looked up at the sky, head resting against the tree. Tomorrow he would arrive in Mirkwood, his home. Tomorrow, he would once again be expected to fallow the confing traditions and social customs of his people; he would have to set the standard and not disappoint his father or dishonor his family's name. He would be watched, his every move analyzed and very possibly criticized. Tomorrow began the rest of his life as the Crowned Prince.

He let his head hang, feeling the comfort the tree tried to provide. He silently thanked it, and returned the pressure of his own aura to show his gratitude. He hated court life, the confusing twists and turns of politics and traditions. There were times he wished he had paid better attention growing up, like his brothers had. How he, the youngest, had been chosen as Crowned Prince, was beyond him. Surely one of his elder brothers would be better fitted for such a responsibility. His father, though, never elaborated as to why he had been chosen. He looked down at his hands once more, turning the bow over. On his wrist was a birth mark, something nearly unheard of in the elf world. It was that of a small leaf, looking as though it were being blown in the wind.

A light mist began.

The tree shifted its limbs more closely together above his head, sheltering him from the worst of it. He pulled his hood up, rearranging the cloak about him to cover himself better. The rain might not make him cold, but it did pose the risk of becoming ill.

He settled, allowing himself to relax. At least, thanks to this madness his father was insistent upon, he'd see his friends, and his brother of heart, Aragorn. He would never admit to his missing of Gimli's biting remarks or sly comments, nor of his wants for the pranks of Merry and Pippin. He could say, easily enough, that he missed Froto's questions and Sam's quiet observations about elvish palace life. He would also openly admit that he missed his best friend, Aragorn. They were brothers of the heart, of the very soul. Gandalf was even said to make an appearance.

Perhaps he'll show off with those fireworks of his, Legolas thought with a sarcastic inner voice. He wasn't the type for magic, or very often its users. But there was something about the old man that he liked, even if he was too smart for his own good.

The darkness and lack of animal-made noise lulled him to a light sleep, the trees whispering about the refreshing water and promises of watching for danger. He could pretend that he wasn't about to sign away the rest of his immortal life away by having it publically announced of his being the Crowned Prince.

-XX-

The next day, the air was moist and tasted like the blade of a sword. The sky was an angry, dark grey with a sharp, bitter wind that tore its fingers through his long hair. He hitched his bag higher onto his shoulder, walking along a near-invisible path. Tall, strong trees creaked in the wind with eerie ominous, though they could not tell him what was amiss. No orcs, they reassured him. No one meaning him harm.

He eyed the sky wearily. He had awoken that morning soaked clean through, as he knew he would. He was lucky to have had a single change of clothes that had survived the rain with but the slightest of wet spots. A sudden light caught the edge of his eye, and forced him to pick up his pace; lightening was never a good sign with so many trees about.

He came to the crest of the hill, pausing at the sight of his home. It sat above him on yet another hill, its castel walls so high, one might believe that they reach the stars if standing at the bottom. After the orc armies had dispersed, his father made it his priority that his people and children be safer more than ever, especially after the near-death of his elder brother at the hands of an orc general. Guards were posted at the front of entrance doors and along the tops of the walls.

He hitched his bag once more, feet aching and feeling suddenly very tired. He started down the hill and heard the commotion of a guard being told to run off and tell the others of his arrival. With such good eye-sight and hearing, he had known the other elves would have recognized him easily. The area was alive with muted browns and greens, animals scurrying behind the wood line. He picked up his pace once again, heading up the next hill. A loud rumble of thunder shook the wet ground as he met up with the guard on duty.

"Estellra," he nodded as he passed. There was small garden to greet guests in, the small flowers all closed due to the weather. He paused, drinking in the familiar sight. He loved this world of his, with fantastic friends and terrifying adventures and battles. He hated having to give it up, for a Crowned Prince does not go about on his own. He does not put himself at risk for whatever the reason. He was the heir, next in line for the throne should something happen.

The guard gave a bow at the waist, hand over his heart. "Prince Legolas. How was your patrol?"

"Uneventful." The guard gave an apologetic smile as he brushed past, "Have they arrived?"

"Yes sir. They are in the gardens, last I saw."

"Thank you." With their destination in mind, he skirted past the area without stopping to see if they were truly there. He needed a hot bath before he went to them. He hadn't eaten that morning, but did not feel hungry. Just sore and tired from sleeping up in the trees and moving at a brutal pace from Mirkwood, to its border and back in just four day's time, when it normally took eight on horseback.

He found himself in the halls of the palace, elegant paintings and statues dotting along the walls. The floor seemed to have been freshly polished, again, and it was relatively quiet. Servants were rushing about, getting various things into place and re-cleaning. Tonight, every important person in his father's kingdom were to arrive and pledge their loyalty to their Crowned Prince. The ceremony would take hours and the clothing would be excruciatingly heavy, with glittering jewels and markings. Just the though of the ceremonial robe made him grimace. And, worst yet, he wouldn't be allowed to slip away from the party at all - not even to change out of the robes.

At the sound of voices, Legolas paused. He knew the gruffness that was Gimli and the high-pitched babble of Pippin and Merry. Legolas pulled a face; surely they were not planning another prank on the poor dwarf. He shook his head. When would Gimli ever learn? He went to the study, a few door to his left and slipped inside. He had gathered a few herbs for Elron which were native to the surrounding woods but not in Rivendale. He placed them on the table, with a small note explaining to his father who it was for.

He was about to leave, satisfied, when something round wrapped in a blue cloth caught his eye. It was new to the study, and sitting on one of the shelves just at eye level. Curious, he grabbed it and opened it, revealing a small golden box. It was shockingly heavy and burned with cold in his hand; something told him to put it back but he didn't listen. There were various marking on each side, and had parts that twisted and moved. He recognized one of the markings from his brother's book on magic.

He decided it was a puzzle. Something that his father hadn't figured out yet. He ran his fingers along it, taking it out into the hall. He carefully moved the pieces around, grinning as they clicked into place.

"Legolas!" Merry chirped and he saw all of his friends at the hall's end. So it wasn't just Meryy, Pippin and Gimli; Aragorn, Froto and Sam were also with them.

He mumbled a greeting in returnm so caught up in the puzzle box, that it was barely autible and nothing more than an automatic mumble, without much emotion. There was a nagging dsence of urgency, his fingers flying along the golden engravings, twisting knobs and pressing buttons and switching levers, as though he knew exactly what he were doing-and it appeared as though he did. During this, hecould feel the awe and curisity from the hobbits, could sence the strange looks from Gimli and Aragorn. They watched wide-eyed and mute, in awe fasination.

With every click, every twist, he felt that he was getting closer to solving it. And he felt triumph as the last move neared, a smile spreading across his face. The excited chatter of Merry and Pippin was strangly distnat, though they stood a mere few feet in front of him. Then, there was a sound behind him. Momentarily startled and quiet dazed, Legolas felt himself being dragged away from the object in his hands. He fingered the last lever.

His head snapped up and he twisted slightly to look, seeing his father and a few of his Lord friends walking down twoards them. They had been laughing, seemingly amused by what Lord Elron, whose face was darkened slighly by a flush, had said or done. But then, the elevnking's face changed, having spotted what his son held, almost protectivly in his hands. Shock and horror shifted across Thranduil's features as he dashed down the corridor, hand flung outwards and formal robes billowing out behind him becuase of the sudden movement, "Legolas, don't-"

Click.