Twisting Traditions, Pairing: Legolas/Melpomaen, Rating: PG

Characters: Legolas/Melpomaen

Prompt: This chapter fulfils the 25fluffyfics prompt # 15. Birthday

Word Count: 1279

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Tolkein's. Not mine.

Summary: Legolas plays a game of his own.

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The noise in the hall was near-deafening. As one the gathered guests rose from their seats and began applauding, while the more rowdy of them stamped their feet and hammered the tabletops with their fists.

Amidst the shouted congratulations were murmured more personal ones. Saelbeth caught Melpomaen as the chair teetered and the stunned scribe began to topple, laughing when the little elf came out of his stunned stupor to find himself cradled in his friend's arms. The look on Melpomaen's face at that moment would entertain Legolas for years to come.

The prince had been waiting for this announcement ever since Councillor Erestor had first mentioned it during a meeting. Keeping it secret from Melpomaen had been extremely difficult, especially when the little elf had been so dejected about tonight's dinner, but now that secrecy had been rewarded.

He, and several others around him, laughed heartily when Melpomaen finally gathered his scattered wits and began to scold Saelbeth for catching him. Melpomaen did not like to be treated like an elfling.

The effect of this was rather diminished, however, considering that it was Saelbeth and Silinde that were currently defending him from the overly enthusiastic crowd. Several times they intercepted a well-meaning clap to the shoulder that, while merely a friendly gesture to some, would easily have sent the daintily-built Melpomaen staggering forward several steps.

Of course, Melpomaen saw nothing of this. He was too busy coming to terms with it all.

Legolas couldn't blame him for being shocked; promotions were hardly a common occurrence. The last he recalled in the Greenwood was the advancement of an apprentice potter to journeyman status, and that had been a good eighteen years ago. If Imladris was anything like the Greenwood, this party would go on all night!

Beside him, Erestor had to raise his voice to be heard over the crowd. "That seemed to have the desired effect, wouldn't you agree?"

"He looks a little overwhelmed," Legolas responded, smiling broadly.

He was pleased to have an opportunity to watch his little lover in a public setting like this. If his eyes were drawn to the petite and, in his opinion, exceptionally beautiful Melpomaen, then so were all others in the room. Melpomaen was laughing now, bright-eyed and blushing from all the attention. The little elf spared a quick glance to the head table and caught the prince's eye for the briefest of moments, long enough for Legolas to raise his glass to him, before the crowd swept away once more.

"That is to be expected," Erestor said, "Last year I gave him a bottle of wine. A very fine wine, if I say so myself, but somehow I think this is better."

"Last year?"

"Indeed! Today is Melpomaen's begetting day, or I would have offered him the role sooner. It was just too good a chance a miss!"

"His begetting day!" Legolas allowed himself a wolfish smirk. He already knew, of course. Unfortunately he was not supposed to know and he had, therefore, thoroughly intended on making sure someone let that titbit of information slip before the night was over. Erestor had made his task almost too easy. "Excuse me, Councillor, I must go and extend my felicitations."

"I'm sure he'll be delighted! Oh, but please don't scare the little lamb too much."

Legolas nearly snorted wine through his nose. Little lamb? Oh, sweet lady of mercy! Melpomaen would likely reach for the nearest sharp implement if he ever heard anyone call him that to his face!

It was with that sobering thought in mind that he made his way to the crowd gathered around his little scribe. Perhaps he should call him his little advisor now, though it made no difference. To Legolas he would always be the self-professed poet in the tumbleweed garden.

The crowd parted once they realised who it was that pushed his way through, and it was one of those rare occasions that Legolas was utterly unashamed to abuse his rank.

It took a few moments for his presence to be noted. Silinde, predictably, stiffened at the sight of him and elbowed Saelbeth in the gut to grab his attention. The clamour of voices faded away into nothingness.

Then Melpomaen turned, blinked at the broad chest in front of him, rose his line of sight to Legolas' face, and blinked again in surprise.

"Congratulations, Melpomaen," Legolas said softly, heartfelt.

Melpomaen, to his credit, suppressed the triumphant, excited, undoubtedly glorious and unquestionably captivating smile that had threatened to split his face at the sight of the woodland prince standing before him. Legolas did not need to see that particular smile on those lips to know it was there; he could see it in those eyes.

His little poet was incredibly happy. It made Legolas want to hug him!

"Thank you, Your Highness," Melpomaen answered, a slight tremor in his voice that Legolas knew to be humour even if everyone else thought it was nerves.

"I hear that today is your begetting day. Is that true?"

"Yes, Your Highness, it is."

Suddenly Silinde gasped in alarm and the smirk on Legolas' face grew to unhealthy proportions. He flashed Silinde a sharp look, a glance that clearly warned him not to interfere, and the advisor retreated into fretful compliance.

"In that case, please allow me to extend my personal well-wishes."

"Oh, of cou…!"

Legolas did not wait for Melpomaen to finish his sentence. One hand darted forward and caught the little poet by the back of the neck. Before Melpomaen could even gasp, however, the prince had leant forward and bestowed upon him a gentle kiss.

It was a miracle Legolas didn't collapse into hysterical laughter when he heard the commotion this single act wrought. From Silinde's whimper to Saelbeth's affronted choking, to the inarticulate cry of outrage that could only have come from Glorfindel, the entire room was in an uproar.

A firm grasp on his arm pulled him away. A shame; Legolas was fond of the taste of apples.

"My Prince!" Ambassador Galion hissed urgently, his hand still firmly clutching the prince's bicep, "That tradition is not practised in Imladris!"

Legolas, for all his internal smugness, feigned astonishment like a seasoned actor. "They don't?" he repeated, with just the right mixture of distress and bewilderment. "My sincerest apologies, Melpomaen, I was not aware…"

Melpomaen was staring at him incredulously, eyes wide with shock and his fingertips hovering over the recently claimed lips. It was all Legolas could do not to kiss him again. He was so tempting, standing there with his hair mussed and his lips… his lips…

Oh Valar, Legolas wanted those lips!

A hint of a giggle escaped the subject of his desire, and Melpomaen took a few deep breaths to steady himself. Saelbeth moved forward and placed a comforting arm around the slight frame, obviously thinking his little friend was distressed.

Nothing could be further from the truth. With great effort, Melpomaen quelled his mirth and forced an awed, wide-eyed expression onto his face.

"That… that's alright, Your Highness," he stammered in a barely audible whisper. "I'm flattered… really!"

Legolas grinned. "There, you see, Galion? Everything is fine!"

And everything was fine. Everything was better than fine, in fact.

Oh, so what if Glorfindel was ready to rip his head from his shoulders and Saelbeth looked like he was preparing to stab him while he slept? The look in Melpomaen's eyes was far more interesting. That look promised vengeance of a different sort. That look sent a thrill through his veins. That look spoke of sleepless nights and the best sort of nightmares.

Legolas had to avert his gaze before he did something rash.

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