Chapter One: Appointment

Legolas strolled through the doors of ABC Radio, a smile on his face and a spring in his step. Behind him, he could hear the MC thanking the sponsors of the show for their support, and encouraging others to sponsor as well. A crowd of screaming girls had already gathered around the building, and cameras were flashing. The elven prince smiled, winked, and shoved his way through the throng, making his way to his father, who was waiting outside a shiny limousine.

"Well, Ada? How did I do?"

The Elvenking thoughtfully stroked his chin. "It was sufficient," he admitted. "Your speech had too much 'you' in it, though, and not enough 'me'."

"Sorry, Ada," smirked Legolas. "I wonder where I got the 'all-about-me" trait from."

Thranduil ignored Legolas' remark. "Where did they get that idea about Erestor being director and screenwriter?"

"I suggested it under a fake name on several prominent websites," explained Legolas. "His group has done quite well with experimental films. Their five-minute film on Galadriel was spectacular- it sent chills up my spine. I thought that this would be a good break for him- a chance to get into more mainstream films."

"How very kind of you," commented Thranduil dryly. "Don't you imagine, son, that perhaps I would prefer to make arrangements for my own movie?"

"Don't worry, Ada," smiled Legolas. "Just leave it to me. I have a vision for this film- a vision that I will not leave unrealized."

"Very comforting," said the Elvenking, elegantly stepping into the Royal Mirkwood Limousine. Legolas followed suit, settling himself comfortably on the leather seat. Reaching under the bench, he produced some pillows and blankets, which he arranged around himself. This task completed, Legolas pulled a notebook out of the built-in pocket on the driver's seat in front of him, and began to write therein.

"What's that?" asked Thranduil, simultaneously peering curiously at Legolas' scribbling hand and snatching a blanket away from his son.

"It's my 'idea notebook'," said Legolas, not bothering to look up at his father. "Once I've filled it, I'm going to give it to Erestor. Hopefully it will be of some use to him."

"Your grace, if I may," asked Galion, Thranduil's chauffeur, butler, and jack-of-all-trades, who was always reluctant to enter in a conversation that he had not been invited to join. "Where would you have me drive to?"

"Imladris." said the Elvenking without hesitation. "I might as well officially make Erestor my director and screenwriter, since my son seems so convinced of his ability." Thranduil pulled his cell phone out from an invisible pocket in his kingly robes. "I'll set up an appointment right now."

"Do you want me to do that, your maj?" asked Feren from the front passenger's seat. "It's really no trouble, old sprout. I am your secretary, after all."

"No thank you, good and faithful servant," said Thranduil, pressing 'call'. "Although I appreciate the sentiment, your phone calls on my behalf in the past have often proven disastrous."

Erestor was sitting in his newly remodelled study, writing. Elrond had insisted that he have a window built, and, though he had protested at the time, Erestor was now grateful for it. Fresh air and light were wonderful cures for a scholar afflicted with writers' block. Erestor's pen now moved freely across the paper, uninhibited by its master's former stress and dour moods. Yes, today promised to be a very productive day. Then, today broke its promise, frightened into betrayal by the sound of thunder-feet racing towards Erestor's study.

"Erestor!" cried Glorfindel. "Hey, Erestor. There's a pho-"

"Must you always barge into my study, Glorfindel?" asked Erestor, turning towards the Balrog-slayer, a taut expression on his face.

"I guess not always. What'cha doin'?" asked Glorfindel, leaning uncomfortably close over Erestor's shoulder, staring down at the scholar's paper.

Erestor shifted to the side. "It's my essay," he began, "about Doriath. The Elvenking of Mirkwood has decreed that whosoever shall write the best essay about his childhood shall become the director of his movie. I aim to be that director."

"Well, good luck!" smiled Glorfindel, punching Erestor's shoulder in a friendly manner, albeit with a little more force than necessary. "You might not even need to write it, though," he added. "The Elvenking called, and he wants to talk to you."

"To me!" exclaimed Erestor, snatching the phone out of Glorfindel's hand. "Why didn't you say so!"

"Hello, this is Erestor speaking," he said into the receiver, hands and voice shaking. "Yes. Your highness, I'd be glad to set up an appointment. Would you be so kind as to tell me what it might be about? Direct- why your majesty! I'd be happy to-" he broke off. "Your highness? Thranduil? Thranduil Elvenking! Answer me!"

Glorfindel stared at his friend, who was growing paler by the second. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Erestor dropped the phone. "I think there's been an accident," he said slowly. "Take Lindir and go investigate. They were driving here- they were somewhere between here and the Misty Mountains. I'll inform Lord Elrond."

Too stunned to resent being ordered around, Glorfindel ran down the hall, in search of Lindir. Erestor strode to Elrond's chambers. Not bothering to knock on the door, he simply opened the door and walked in.

Elrond jumped, apparently startled by the sudden appearance of his normally taciturn advisor. "Is there something I can do for you, Erestor?" he asked.

"My lord," began Erestor. "I believe that Legolas has injured himself again."