Legolas woke, feeling like shit. He had drawn the worst watch the night before, the one at the height of the moon. It was impossible to sleep restfully either before or after the shift. Now he had a dull headache and his throat was feeling as if it'd been slashed on the inside by glass.
The fact that it had been the boisterous sounds of the hobbits chatting cheerfully over breakfast hadn't improved his mood one bit.
Muttering under his breath, Legolas decided that he might as well get up, seeing as there was no way he could get back to sleep.
It seemed the rest of the Fellowship were already having breakfast.
"G'morning, sunshine!" Pippin said brightly, looking at the Elf's tousled hair and bleary eyes, and trying not to laugh aloud.
For his efforts, the hobbit was rewarded by an Elven death stare, perfected over millennia. It was quite impressive, and Pippin backed off hastily.
Legolas grabbed a plate from one of the saddlebags, wiping a dried bit of food off first. Did none of the Fellowship possess the wondrous skills necessary to wash the dishes properly?
He stated that opinion aloud, to the shocked silence of the rest of the group.
"Well…uh," stammered Merry, who had caught Legolas's death-stare at Pippin, and now was justifiably afraid. "We haven't done those dishes yet. Breakfast is over." He gulped, visibly wilting under Legolas' icy glare. "We thought you didn't want any, as you refused to wake up when we called."
Legolas advanced forward menacingly, and the hobbit gave a small shriek and leapt out of his way.
"Where is Aragorn?" he asked, trying but not succeeding very well to keep the irritation from his voice. He had not seen his lover since his watch.
"Out," replied Gimli, as helpfully as ever.
"Said he'd be back later today," added Boromir.
Legolas ground his teeth, marvelling at his own patience and sweet temper. Anyone less composed than himself would have left the campsite a bloody mess of heads and bodies by now.
Really, he quite amazed himself sometimes.
He went to comb out his tangled hair, and re-braid it for the day's journey.
His comb seemed to have gone missing.
And his hairbands.
He patiently searched his bag a second time.
And impatiently searched it a third.
"Where," he snarled at the Fellowship, who were looking curiously at him over his shoulder, "are my hair things?"
"Well…." began Merry, then darted behind Boromir's back. "We were running short of supplies, and at the last town we needed something to barter for food, so….Don't hurt me!" he squealed, using the amused Boromir for shelter.
Of course, none of the others had anything remotely resembling hair bands, or even a comb. Legolas could tell that just by looking at them, but he decided to ask them, anyway. There was always a hope….
His intuition was right, unfortunately.
The Prince of Mirkwood was forced to start the day's journey with his long hair unbraided, and still in snarls from the day before.
It was going to be one of those days, he decided.