Legolas felt so hollow, he ate three loaves of honey cake straight out of the freezer. He didn't even wait for it to thaw.

He had exactly two voice messages. The first was from Special Agent Elrohir, informing him of the official seizure of the contraband found that day. It was also frequently peppered with the word Douche. The second managed to be even more depressing.

"This is the office of the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm, He Who Sits Upon the Throne at Amon Lanc. He wishes you to enjoy your celebrations on this day, the anniversary of your birth; and reminds you that should you ever desire a more useful occupation, he is willing to make the necessary arrangements."

"Thank you, message." Legolas groaned at the phone in his hand, "Thank you for reminding me that every corner of my life is awful."

He went into the bedroom, which was completely undecorated, and took off his shirt and his socks, then collapsed face-forward onto the mattress. He was starting to get cramps from the frozen cake expanding in his stomach, and he stayed lying in this way for the better part of an hour, wondering often if he was actually going to start crying. Before he could, his cell phone pinged. It was the alert he'd set up to let him know when news stories were posted about his department. He'd done it to keep track of the coverage in Bree, and never bothered to turn it off.

Legolas grabbed the phone and rolled over onto his back.

There was a photograph of a very elegant woman and a headline reading: Director of EBI Major Crimes Transfers to BAU Gondor.

"What?" He mumbled, scrolling through the article that explained his current superior's imminent departure. "What, what, what?"

She was apparently transferring to the ridiculously small Minas Tirith office, which was almost exclusively devoted to trying to figure out what crazy people might do. It looked like a step down, but apparently it was because she was getting married. Then he got to the good part.

No replacement has been announced for the position of Director of EBI Major Crimes for Lórien/Rivendell.

Legolas sat up like a lightning bolt.

If he were in charge, no subordinate could make derogatory remarks. He would not have to bow to the whims of specialists in the field. He would be making a name for himself. And why shouldn't he be the top of the list? He had never led an unsuccessful raid, his paperwork was immaculate, and his record was extremely impressive. Besides, she couldn't give the job to Elrohir, everyone would think that was nepotism and nobody would respect his authority. It was perfect. His stars were finally aligning.

"Oh, I really should not have eaten that cake." He groaned, trying to stand up.

The next morning, as he walked through the gleaming lobby of the Justice Building, it was almost impossible to tell that he'd spent seven hours of the previous night vomiting. He was wearing his steel grey suit with the silver tie and his only dress shirt that wasn't a shade of green. It was blue, and he had bought specifically for the purpose of blending in with the Rivendell Elves when a promotion was on the table. He took a deep breath before tapping on the glass office door.

Inside the woman from the photo was typing away at some report. Her desk was well-organized, with a vase of white flowers and a long brass nameplate that read Director Evenstar, The Lady Arwen.

"What can I do for you, Agent Greenleaf?" She asked, without looking up from her work.

"I just wanted to quickly talk to you about one of my fellow agents. I don't want to name any names, but he insists on calling me Little Leaf when we're in the field and I—"

"Is it Elrohir? It's Elrohir." She sighed, closed her laptop and pushed it to one side, "I honestly can't do anything about that. He once spent an entire Solstice Feast calling our father Fat-Ass, and nobody could stop him. It was the second most awkward dinner I've ever been to in my life."

"But…" Legolas shook his head, "Lord Elrond is known for being slender."

"It's my understanding that it was because Father had taken too many yams before the dish had a chance to go around the entire table. I have no idea what goes on in my brother's head, and I can't stop him once he's got his heart set on a derogatory nickname that isn't racist. Just try to ignore him."

"Oh. Well. Okay." Legolas nodded, then stood there. Pointedly not leaving.

Arwen waited for exactly ten seconds of silence before she said:

"Is this about the promotion?"

"What? Hmm?" Legolas tried to look surprised, "Is there some kind of promotion? I hadn't heard."

Arwen sighed and sat back in her chair. "Shut the door and have a seat."

Legolas did as he was told, but he was getting the distinct impression that this was not going to go the way he wanted it to.

"Agent Greenleaf, I know it's tough," she said, "When I started, there were quite a few people who questioned my ability to do this job. I can't imagine what it's like to have everyone questioning your entire perspective. I respect your tenacity. Now, I haven't made any official decisions yet, but just between you and me… it's probably not going to be you."

"Why not?" Legolas asked, "I close the most cases, don't I?"

"Yes. You are definitely a closer, Greenleaf. And that's good. But nobody likes you. Socially or professionally."

"I don't think that's—who says this, exactly?"

"Everyone." Arwen nodded, "Look, you go around stating the obvious like you invented it. When you know something that other people don't, you smile that smug little princely smile that makes everyone want to punch you in the groin, even me and I'm known for my wisdom and gentle temperament. It's one thing if you can't get along with Men or Dwarves, but you're always irritating the other Elves. They think you have too high an opinion of yourself. I don't want to dig it out, but I have an official complaint from a Hobbit you met in Bree who said that you made him feel like he wasn't being taken seriously, and this is a person who signs his name Fatty Bolger."

"Alright," Legolas said very slowly, as though he didn't quite understand but had decided to figure it out later, "But who would you give the position instead of me. Certainly not Elrohir."

"Certainly not. He's needed where he is," she said. "I'm considering asking Glorfindel."

Legolas shook his head.

"I thought he was retiring."

"A desk job is retiring, as far as he's concerned."

"You know, there're quite a few people who say that you're as lovely as Galadriel, but I like to tell them that you're far lovelier."

"That's not going to work."

Legolas sat in the small office chair, knitting his brow and trying to puzzle the whole thing out. Finally he just gave up. "Is there anything I can do to improve my chances?"

Arwen sighed. She wondered if perhaps she was too warm-hearted, but she couldn't bring herself to take the kid down at the knees. There was, in fact, one thing he could do.

"Alright," she pulled a file folder out of her desk, "We caught this one because of a jurisdictional hiccup. A drug lord calling himself the Necromancer, causing all kinds of problems. Extortion, murder, and now it sounds like he's putting out a purposefully lethal product. Don't know what it is, but we've been asked to go into Dale."

The EBI presence in the Greenwood was non-existent, the Bureau itself didn't improve that by calling that entire region "East Lórien" instead of Rhovanion, and so they had no offices in that part of the world. The only way they could go into a local case was if they were invited, and if they were invited they were duty-bound to investigate. It didn't happen often, since it was mostly Dwarf country.

"DALE?!" Legolas shouted without realizing he was shouting, "YOU WANT ME TO GO INTO DALE?!"

"It's not an easy one. I was going to give it to Lindir, and I still will if you don't want it. But if you do well with this, we can have a serious discussion about your opportunities."

Legolas took a steadying breath.

"When do I leave?"

"As soon as you're done packing your bag."