A/N: IMPORTANT!!! PLEASE READ!!
I wanted to apologies for how long my update took. My computer continues
to hate me and I can't always write. Thank you all so much for your
reviews, but I think I might have to clear something up. Not all of these
stories are intended to be funny. Everyone was all excited for a funny
Legolas story, and I just didn't write one. Gimli's wasn't a failed
attempt to be funny, either. It just wasn't funny. However, if I'm not
sick to death of this story by the end, I'll write a little *bonus chapter*
so that you can have your funny Legolas story.
All the Elvish names are elvish words or combinations of elvish words. See if you can figure it out. (On second thought, don't).
Katz Omnipotent King: read to the end. There's a sentence inspired by your review.
This is the longest story, and will likely remain so. I wrote an entire fic before this that wasn't as long as this one chapter.
OK, so Legolas is 320, which is like 12.
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The heavy footsteps broke the silence atop the hill in Hollin, and eight travelers, all tired and hungry, glanced in their direction. The ranger stepped out of the woods, his expression one of disappointment, his hands empty.
"Well?" asked Pippin.
Aragorn shook his head. "I am sorry, Pippin, but it seems as if there is no bird nor beast in all of Hollin for me to hunt. We will have to make do with our supplies."
Sam began rummaging threw his pack. "Well, we've got plenty of supplies, that's for sure. I'm just not sure it would be wise to use up so much this early on. There * are * nine of us, and the food does go quick."
Aragorn nodded. "Very smart, Sam." The hobbit blushed. "Listen here," Aragorn called out to the camp. "We don't want to use up our food supplies too fast, so everyone tighten your belts and only take what you need. That includes you, Pippin."
Pippin sighed. "I should have just stayed in Tuckbourgh where I can steal all the mushrooms I want when I get hungry."
"Merry?"
"What Pip?"
"I'm hungry."
Merry shook his head, annoyed. "I know Pip, we all are, but there's nothing we can do about it, so just think of something else."
"Like what?"
Sighing loudly, he said, "I don't know. Think about that time I took you in a boat on the Brandywine." The older hobbit leaned back against the rock and continued to smoke his pipe for the first time in a week. He was nearly out of pipe-weed, but if he was to be denied food tonight, he at least wanted a little smoke to make up for it.
"Merry?"
"What!?" Merry barked back.
"It's not working."
Merry glared at Pippin, irritated. "And what, Pippin Took, do you propose I do, exactly? Go hunting?"
Pippin shook his head. "I don't think that will work, Merry. Strider already tried it." When Merry didn't answer, Pippin continued. "If you want, you could tell me a story. Just to take my mind off it, I mean."
A cloud of smoke rose from Merry's mouth and drifted off into the darkness. "That reminds me," the hobbit said after a moment. "Gandalf!" he called. "You owe us a story about Legolas. Remember?"
Across the camp, the old, gray wizard, who had been lost in his thoughts looked over toward Merry. Even though he shared the same hunger and weariness as the others, he couldn't help but smile at the halflings. "I suppose you are right, Merry. I did promise to tell you a story about the Prince of Mirkwood in his youth. Leave it to a hobbit to suggest a story to solve all problems." Gandalf turned to the camp. "Everyone! Gather around! Master Merry requests a tale."
Happy for the distraction from their hunger, most of the fellowship all made their way to the fire where Gandalf sat. Some, of course, required more motivation than others.
"Boromir!" the wizard called. "Get over here!"
Scowling, the Captain of Gondor responded. "I am an adult and can manage my own time, which I would rather not spend on such childish endeavors as story telling."
"What's wrong, Boromir?" Pippin asked. "Don't they tell stories in Gondor?"
"Of course they do," the wizard broke in. "In fact, there are quite a few stories about the next-in-line for Stewardship known throughout the castle."
"Gandalf---" Boromir warned, marching up to the fire.
"Of course," Gandalf continued, "those stories are not for tonight. I promised a story about Legolas." He glanced up at the fuming soldier next to him. "But as long as you're over here, Boromir, why don't you sit down and listen? It is far more pleasant by the fire than it is in the dark."
Clearly irritated, Boromir found a seat.
"Now," he continued, " I will have to think for a moment, for Legolas' childhood took place over two thousand years ago. Hmmm----- ah yes, I remember. When Legolas was a prince child of about 320 years old---- "
"Three hundred and twenty!" exclaimed Sam.
"Why yes, Master Samwise. Elves do not come of age until their 570 birthday, you see." Gandalf returned to his story. "When Legolas was a young prince of 320, Mirkwood was not as it is today, filled with evil creatures and overbearing trees that did not let in the sun. In fact, save for its size and height, the forest was not much different from the woods around Tuckbourgh."
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"Does * no one * have any ideas about what we could do today?"
In a clearing amidst the great forest of Mirkwood, five elven boys stood in a semi-circle and discussed the day's plans. The oldest of these boys was Otaril, and he towered over the others with a kind of warrior stance that demands attention. His friends gave him this insisted authority and respect out of fear only, however, for although he possessed great strength, he paid for it dearly. Otaril almost completely lacked all of the elven qualities that boys his age often have. He was neither quick nor nimble, and his hunting skills were poor, as he could never seem to move quietly through the underbrush; instead he crashed though with heavy footsteps, announcing his presence to all who were within a mile. It was occasionally remarked that, had he been born human, he would have made an exceptional soldier of Gondor or Rohan, but as an elf----- well, he seemed more than a little lacking.
"Well? Surely there must be * something * to do," Otaril said as he paced in front of the other boys, much like a general preparing his troops before battle.
The boys were silent for a moment before Raime broke in with, "Well, I suppose we could go hunting." He had gotten a new bow for his birthday last week and was eager to try it out.
Otaril shook his head. "No, I don't like hunting. Someone think of something else."
"We could go fishing," Nioril said. Nioril was the only one of the elves who was Otaril's friend because he wanted to be; perhaps because he lacked in intelligence even more than what Otaril lacked in elven ability.
Otaril nodded. "Yes, fishing sounds good. Come everyone, let's go fish." He began to march loudly through the forest, the others following after him in single file.
"Hey! Wait! Can I come?"
Startled, the elven boys all turned to look behind them, searching for the owner of the voice.
"Hey! Up here!"
All five boys glanced up into the trees. There amongst the leaves, standing on a branch, was another elf boy, about their age. He leaped from his perch and landed in front of the group with hardly a sound. "Hello. Can I go fishing with you?"
"Hello, Prince Legolas," said Raime, greeting him with a bow, as was customary. Legolas flushed a bit at this unwanted draw of attention to his title. Otaril flushed as well, but with different cause.
"So can I go fishing with you?" Legolas asked again.
"No!" Otaril exclaimed before anyone else could answer.
Legolas furrowed his brow. "Well, why not?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"Because I don't want you to go," Otaril said coldly. "Don't you have more important things to do, * little prince-ling*. Why don't you go play with your entourage."
"My------my what?"
"What are you, stupid?" Otaril laughed. Nioril snickered as well, mostly to hide the fact that he didn't know the meaning of the word any more than Legolas did. "Your entourage. Your household servants."
"Oh," Legolas said, embarrassed. "I'm not allowed to play with the servants."
Otaril's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you're too good to play with servants? Because my father works in the palace, so if you're too good for him, maybe you shouldn't play with me either." With that, Otaril turned back to the others. "Come. Let's go fishing and leave this prince brat to order his kingdom around." He marched with heavy footsteps into the underbrush and, after a quick glance back, the others followed.
"Wait!" Legolas called softly. "Wait, that wasn't what I meant. I'm just not allowed to play with the servants while they're on duty!" If anyone heard his call, they didn't turn back. Sighing, he sat down on a rock at the edge of the clearing. No one wanted to play with him, and just because he was a prince. It wasn't fair, he didn't ask to be born into royalty and he didn't much like it anyway. There was always more lessons, more classes, more he had to learn because he would one day rule. Considering how much time he spent learning, Legolas would have thought it impossible for him to feel as lonely as he did, but he often walked around the forest with nothing to do and wishing for friends. Well, sitting here feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to help things he thought. After all, it was a public river. They couldn't very well keep him away from it. Smiling, he hopped down from the rock. I'll just go down there and talk to some of them. One of them is bound to be friendly. Armed with a plan, Legolas started off through the underbrush, toward the river.
The river that ran through the eastern side of Mirkwood shone brightly in the midday sun, the quiet surface shimmering. It was called the Sirevilya, or the river sky, because on a clear day the water reflected a perfect image of the sky above, never more beautiful when the sun hung directly overhead. This inspired the well-known myth that the Sirevilya was jealous of the sky and would attempt to steal the sun from her each day, although after a few hours the river was always forced to give the sun back, lest the heat dry him up to nothing. Though all of this was simply lore, few could deny that the river almost held a sort of mystic serenity in its waters, and even the trees seemed reluctant to drop their leaves to its surface.
Today, however, all its elven serenity was lost the moment Otaril splashed his feet into the river and dropped his hook under the cool water. The other boys followed his lead and let the currant run over their feet as they baited their hooks. Otaril smiled as a breeze skimmed the glass- like surface of the Sirevilya, creating little ripples. He was glad he'd made all his friends come here today. This river was a favorite place of his, and besides that, fishing was one of the few things at which he excelled.
A sudden soft rustle in the bushes caused him to turn his head in surprise. He watched as Legolas emerged from the forest into the clearing by the banks of the Sirevilya. His brow furrowed. What was * he * doing here?
"Hey!" Otaril called to the young prince. "I thought I told you you're not invited." The other boys' eyes all shot down to their poles; they didn't want to get in trouble with Otaril, but they had been taught since birth that they were to respect those in positions of power, and that certainly meant the prince.
"This isn't a private river, Otaril," Legolas said bravely. "You can't make me leave." To this, Otaril had no answer. He turned his attention back to fishing, but out of the corner of his eye he watched the elf leave the edge of the woods and settle down on a patch of grass next to Raime. He couldn't believe it. This boy was trying to take over his friends and no one was going to stop him----- and just because he was a prince.
Otaril fished a while longer, but his mind was no longer on catching the biggest fish. Instead he secretly stared out of the corner of his eye at Legolas and Raime as they talked to one another, waiting for Legolas to swoop in and steal his friend, watching for the elf's tactic. There it was. Raime was laughing at one of Legolas' jokes. He had to get rid of this prince-ling.
"You know what my father said yesterday?" he announced suddenly. "He said that Thranduil is the worst ruler that Mirkwood has seen in a long time."
Legolas paused in the middle of his conversation with Raime. "What?" he asked, making sure he'd heard correctly.
"You heard what I said."
Legolas stood up and slowly made his way over to Otaril. Even standing at his full height of four foot nine, he still came only to Otaril's chin, but it didn't matter. He couldn't simply let an insulting remark about his father slide. "Take it back," he said, trying to sound as threatening as possible. In actuality, his voice shook and he looked terrified.
"And why should I?" Otaril taunted. "My father's right. He says that Thranduil is such a coward that he makes deals with the dwarves to avoid war with them." He took a step closer to Legolas and looked down on the prince, his expression one of smug victory. "Your father knows he couldn't even win a war against the stupid, clumsy dwarves."
Legolas was shocked. No one had ever talked this way to him before, and he certainly never heard anyone say such things about his father. He had to do something, but he couldn't just * hit * Otaril, or he was done for. Either way, he at least had to insult this boy back.
"The stupid, clumsy dwarves, you say?" Legolas said, both angry and afraid. "Well, I suppose you would know a lot about them. From what I've seen of your hunting, you must be one of their close relatives."
Legolas watched as Otaril's face turned bright red, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits. There was little doubt in his mind what was coming; Otaril was not the kind of elf who lets * anyone * get away with an insult, whether they be prince or peasant.
Legolas saw the fist headed for his face just before it hit home, but he didn't have time to duck. It slammed into his nose and he felt a sharp burst of pain that left him dizzy for a moment. He could feel a thin ribbon of blood running out onto his shirt. Shaking away the pain, Legolas raised his fist and hit Otaril squarely on his left eye.
If he felt any pain, Otaril didn't show it. Instead, he yelled for back up. "Hey, everyone come help me! Come on, let's get him!" Nioril ran in and pushed Legolas down, but the other boys simply stood and watched, their mouths open with shock. Otaril was beating up the prince! No one had ever done such a thing, nor had it ever entered their minds that they might.
I have to get away though Legolas, who was now receiving a kick from Nioril as he lay on the ground. I cannot win this fight. Doing what he could to ignore the pain in his side and nose, Legolas quickly jumped to his feet and darted off into the forest. If they decided to follow him, neither Otaril nor Nioril had much chance of catching up to him, even when he was hurt.
The plants and underbrush rushed by Legolas as he continued to run through the trees. Finally, he felt as if he could run no more, and he slowed to a walk and continued to wander aimlessly amongst the woods. Tears were streaming down his face, and he let them fall because there was no one around to witness his babyish crying. It's not FAIR! he thought angrily. Otaril has lots of friends and I just wanted to have one. It's not fair
After some time, Legolas realized that he'd wandered far from the river and now had no idea where he was. This area of the forest was unfamiliar to him, the trees thicker and more overshadowing than the ones near the palace. He didn't wander this far from home. He didn't really care, though. He could wander these woods forever and no one would come looking for him. But that's not true Legolas thought to himself; he knew in his heart that if he ever went missing, his father would have half the forest searching for him. Even so, hadn't he earned a little self-pity? If he wanted to sit on that rock all day and cry because nobody liked him, wasn't that his right?
So caught up in his sorrow was Legolas, that he failed to notice a dim light shinning through the dark trees, approaching steadily. In fact, he was so oblivious that he did not see the rider of the great black stallion until the horse was nearly upon him.
"Hello, young Legolas," said a raspy voice, and the elf child looked up, startled to find that he was no longer alone.
"Mithrandir!" Legolas cried out.
The wizard smiled down from his place on the giant steed. "Yes, it's me. I'm here to discuss important matters with your father." His brow suddenly furrowed with concern. "What happened to your nose, child?"
Legolas looked confused for a moment before he remembered. He placed a finger just above his mouth and pulled it away to see that he was still bleeding some. "Oh, I got in a fight with another boy," he said, quickly wiping the faint tear tracks off of his cheeks, hoping that Mithrandir wouldn't notice.
The wizard raised an eyebrow at him. "Now Legolas, you know better than to get into fights. As a prince, you should have conducted yourself in a more civil manner."
A bright anger flashed in the young prince's eyes, and he hopped down from his place on the rock and began to yell at Mithrandir in a way that few before him had dared. "Well, I'm * sick * of being a prince!" he hollered. "Why should I have to act any different from all the other boys? None of them want to play with me because I'm a * Prince *! They don't like me! No one does!"
Mithrandir shook his head, still a little taken aback at the force of Legolas' words. "You * know * that's not true. Many people like you. * I * like you, and I still would even if you weren't a prince."
"No one my own age likes me," Legolas said bitterly.
"Well," the wizard answered. "Perhaps we might be able to remedy that. But first," he said reaching down a hand and pulling the elf onto his horse, "You are quite a ways from home, young one." He leaned over and spoke softly into the horse's ear and the great stallion began his trek through the forest once again.
Legolas was lost in the middle of a daydream- mostly involving pounding Otaril into the ground- when the horse beneath him suddenly halted, shaking him from his thoughts. He looked around- they were nowhere near home.
"Mithrandir, why are we---"
"Shhhh. Look."
Legolas' eyes followed Mithrandir pointing hand to a fallen log, some forty feet away. On this log sat an elf boy, bent over and staring at the ground as if in great concentration.
"Why don't you go introduce yourself?" the old wizard said.
Legolas eyed the wizard questioningly. "He's a bit younger that me, don't you think?"
"Oh, not that much I imagine," Mithrandir said. "Go ask him. What do you have to loose?" To that, Legolas had no reply. Slowly he climbed down from the horse and approached the boy.
"Hello," he said softly. "I'm----"
"Shhhh!" the boy broke in, still sitting still as a statue.
Legolas was confused. He was trying to be friendly and this boy had already rejected his friendship before he'd had the chance to say more than two words. And what was he staring at? Legolas followed his gaze to the bush just beyond the dirt clearing. Even with his elven eyes he nearly missed it, it was so still. A small thrush stood perched on a twig, its eyes darting about in constant search of predators.
"There. Finished," the boy said to himself. "Now what were you saying---" He glanced up at the stranger behind him only to find that it wasn't really a stranger at all. "Oh! You're Prince Legolas." The boy stood and bowed.
Legolas blushed. "Really, you don't have to---"
"I'm sorry I hushed you earlier. I was just watching that bird so that I could draw it and I thought you might scare it away. My name is Forostar. Pleased to meet you."
"Pleased to meet you as well," Legolas replied before glancing down at the ground to see what Forostar had been doing. "This is beautiful," he said. The boy had been using a stick to draw pictures in the dirt and the small grooves in the ground formed the image of a bird so lifelike that Legolas thought if he were to touch it, it might fly away.
"Thank you," Forostar said, a modest blush to his cheeks.
"And this one," Legolas added, finding another picture, this one of an archer prepared to fire. "You are very talented."
"Thank you," the elf boy repeated, not quite sure what to say. He'd never imagine that the prince might critique his work. "I've been practicing---"
Legolas came to a drawing of the front of the palace, his home. Everything was perfect, down to the smallest detail. Forostar had drawn the stairs leading up to the door, the stone carving to the left side of the window, even the ivy that crept high to the roof on the wall near his room. "This--- this must have taken you * hours *."
"Well, yes," he answered. "I didn't work on it all today, of course. That would have been far too much work, especially since I had to keep running back to see the palace. You know, make sure I had everything in the right place." He smiled a bit at the thought. "It's beautiful--- the palace I mean. You're so lucky to get to live there."
"Well--- if you want, I could take you to go see it."
Forostar's eyes lit up. "Really? That would be great!"
"Sure. Just let me go tell Mithrandir." Legolas gazed around through the trees, but it seemed that the wizard had already left for the palace.
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"Wait a minute!" Gimli interrupted. "That shouldn't count. I thought you were going to tell an embarrassing story about him, like you did me."
Gandalf blinked at him. "I never said that."
"Yes you did! You said you had a foolish tale to tell about Legolas. I was looking forward to laughing at him!" the dwarf sulked.
Gandalf shook his head. "I said I had a story to tell about Legolas. I never said it would be foolish, he simply assumed that it would be. I'm afraid, Gimli, that you will have to find something else over which you might tease him. If it is so important to you, that is."
"*Are* there any foolish tales of Legolas' youth?" Pippin asked. He couldn't imagine the wise elf caught up in any of the various activities that had gotten him into trouble so long ago. Well, not actually that long ago. More like last week.
"Certainly there are," Gandalf answered him. "I believe he one time fell out of a tree. Most unusual for a wood elf, or any elf for that matter. And of course there was the incident with the flying squirrel and the open bedroom window---"
"But we will not speak of that tonight," Legolas broke in nervously.
Gandalf laughed. "No, I suppose not. It's getting late. Those are stories best left for another day."
"Or best left untold altogether," said Legolas.
Gandalf grinned. "We'll see."
All the Elvish names are elvish words or combinations of elvish words. See if you can figure it out. (On second thought, don't).
Katz Omnipotent King: read to the end. There's a sentence inspired by your review.
This is the longest story, and will likely remain so. I wrote an entire fic before this that wasn't as long as this one chapter.
OK, so Legolas is 320, which is like 12.
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The heavy footsteps broke the silence atop the hill in Hollin, and eight travelers, all tired and hungry, glanced in their direction. The ranger stepped out of the woods, his expression one of disappointment, his hands empty.
"Well?" asked Pippin.
Aragorn shook his head. "I am sorry, Pippin, but it seems as if there is no bird nor beast in all of Hollin for me to hunt. We will have to make do with our supplies."
Sam began rummaging threw his pack. "Well, we've got plenty of supplies, that's for sure. I'm just not sure it would be wise to use up so much this early on. There * are * nine of us, and the food does go quick."
Aragorn nodded. "Very smart, Sam." The hobbit blushed. "Listen here," Aragorn called out to the camp. "We don't want to use up our food supplies too fast, so everyone tighten your belts and only take what you need. That includes you, Pippin."
Pippin sighed. "I should have just stayed in Tuckbourgh where I can steal all the mushrooms I want when I get hungry."
"Merry?"
"What Pip?"
"I'm hungry."
Merry shook his head, annoyed. "I know Pip, we all are, but there's nothing we can do about it, so just think of something else."
"Like what?"
Sighing loudly, he said, "I don't know. Think about that time I took you in a boat on the Brandywine." The older hobbit leaned back against the rock and continued to smoke his pipe for the first time in a week. He was nearly out of pipe-weed, but if he was to be denied food tonight, he at least wanted a little smoke to make up for it.
"Merry?"
"What!?" Merry barked back.
"It's not working."
Merry glared at Pippin, irritated. "And what, Pippin Took, do you propose I do, exactly? Go hunting?"
Pippin shook his head. "I don't think that will work, Merry. Strider already tried it." When Merry didn't answer, Pippin continued. "If you want, you could tell me a story. Just to take my mind off it, I mean."
A cloud of smoke rose from Merry's mouth and drifted off into the darkness. "That reminds me," the hobbit said after a moment. "Gandalf!" he called. "You owe us a story about Legolas. Remember?"
Across the camp, the old, gray wizard, who had been lost in his thoughts looked over toward Merry. Even though he shared the same hunger and weariness as the others, he couldn't help but smile at the halflings. "I suppose you are right, Merry. I did promise to tell you a story about the Prince of Mirkwood in his youth. Leave it to a hobbit to suggest a story to solve all problems." Gandalf turned to the camp. "Everyone! Gather around! Master Merry requests a tale."
Happy for the distraction from their hunger, most of the fellowship all made their way to the fire where Gandalf sat. Some, of course, required more motivation than others.
"Boromir!" the wizard called. "Get over here!"
Scowling, the Captain of Gondor responded. "I am an adult and can manage my own time, which I would rather not spend on such childish endeavors as story telling."
"What's wrong, Boromir?" Pippin asked. "Don't they tell stories in Gondor?"
"Of course they do," the wizard broke in. "In fact, there are quite a few stories about the next-in-line for Stewardship known throughout the castle."
"Gandalf---" Boromir warned, marching up to the fire.
"Of course," Gandalf continued, "those stories are not for tonight. I promised a story about Legolas." He glanced up at the fuming soldier next to him. "But as long as you're over here, Boromir, why don't you sit down and listen? It is far more pleasant by the fire than it is in the dark."
Clearly irritated, Boromir found a seat.
"Now," he continued, " I will have to think for a moment, for Legolas' childhood took place over two thousand years ago. Hmmm----- ah yes, I remember. When Legolas was a prince child of about 320 years old---- "
"Three hundred and twenty!" exclaimed Sam.
"Why yes, Master Samwise. Elves do not come of age until their 570 birthday, you see." Gandalf returned to his story. "When Legolas was a young prince of 320, Mirkwood was not as it is today, filled with evil creatures and overbearing trees that did not let in the sun. In fact, save for its size and height, the forest was not much different from the woods around Tuckbourgh."
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"Does * no one * have any ideas about what we could do today?"
In a clearing amidst the great forest of Mirkwood, five elven boys stood in a semi-circle and discussed the day's plans. The oldest of these boys was Otaril, and he towered over the others with a kind of warrior stance that demands attention. His friends gave him this insisted authority and respect out of fear only, however, for although he possessed great strength, he paid for it dearly. Otaril almost completely lacked all of the elven qualities that boys his age often have. He was neither quick nor nimble, and his hunting skills were poor, as he could never seem to move quietly through the underbrush; instead he crashed though with heavy footsteps, announcing his presence to all who were within a mile. It was occasionally remarked that, had he been born human, he would have made an exceptional soldier of Gondor or Rohan, but as an elf----- well, he seemed more than a little lacking.
"Well? Surely there must be * something * to do," Otaril said as he paced in front of the other boys, much like a general preparing his troops before battle.
The boys were silent for a moment before Raime broke in with, "Well, I suppose we could go hunting." He had gotten a new bow for his birthday last week and was eager to try it out.
Otaril shook his head. "No, I don't like hunting. Someone think of something else."
"We could go fishing," Nioril said. Nioril was the only one of the elves who was Otaril's friend because he wanted to be; perhaps because he lacked in intelligence even more than what Otaril lacked in elven ability.
Otaril nodded. "Yes, fishing sounds good. Come everyone, let's go fish." He began to march loudly through the forest, the others following after him in single file.
"Hey! Wait! Can I come?"
Startled, the elven boys all turned to look behind them, searching for the owner of the voice.
"Hey! Up here!"
All five boys glanced up into the trees. There amongst the leaves, standing on a branch, was another elf boy, about their age. He leaped from his perch and landed in front of the group with hardly a sound. "Hello. Can I go fishing with you?"
"Hello, Prince Legolas," said Raime, greeting him with a bow, as was customary. Legolas flushed a bit at this unwanted draw of attention to his title. Otaril flushed as well, but with different cause.
"So can I go fishing with you?" Legolas asked again.
"No!" Otaril exclaimed before anyone else could answer.
Legolas furrowed his brow. "Well, why not?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
"Because I don't want you to go," Otaril said coldly. "Don't you have more important things to do, * little prince-ling*. Why don't you go play with your entourage."
"My------my what?"
"What are you, stupid?" Otaril laughed. Nioril snickered as well, mostly to hide the fact that he didn't know the meaning of the word any more than Legolas did. "Your entourage. Your household servants."
"Oh," Legolas said, embarrassed. "I'm not allowed to play with the servants."
Otaril's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you're too good to play with servants? Because my father works in the palace, so if you're too good for him, maybe you shouldn't play with me either." With that, Otaril turned back to the others. "Come. Let's go fishing and leave this prince brat to order his kingdom around." He marched with heavy footsteps into the underbrush and, after a quick glance back, the others followed.
"Wait!" Legolas called softly. "Wait, that wasn't what I meant. I'm just not allowed to play with the servants while they're on duty!" If anyone heard his call, they didn't turn back. Sighing, he sat down on a rock at the edge of the clearing. No one wanted to play with him, and just because he was a prince. It wasn't fair, he didn't ask to be born into royalty and he didn't much like it anyway. There was always more lessons, more classes, more he had to learn because he would one day rule. Considering how much time he spent learning, Legolas would have thought it impossible for him to feel as lonely as he did, but he often walked around the forest with nothing to do and wishing for friends. Well, sitting here feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to help things he thought. After all, it was a public river. They couldn't very well keep him away from it. Smiling, he hopped down from the rock. I'll just go down there and talk to some of them. One of them is bound to be friendly. Armed with a plan, Legolas started off through the underbrush, toward the river.
The river that ran through the eastern side of Mirkwood shone brightly in the midday sun, the quiet surface shimmering. It was called the Sirevilya, or the river sky, because on a clear day the water reflected a perfect image of the sky above, never more beautiful when the sun hung directly overhead. This inspired the well-known myth that the Sirevilya was jealous of the sky and would attempt to steal the sun from her each day, although after a few hours the river was always forced to give the sun back, lest the heat dry him up to nothing. Though all of this was simply lore, few could deny that the river almost held a sort of mystic serenity in its waters, and even the trees seemed reluctant to drop their leaves to its surface.
Today, however, all its elven serenity was lost the moment Otaril splashed his feet into the river and dropped his hook under the cool water. The other boys followed his lead and let the currant run over their feet as they baited their hooks. Otaril smiled as a breeze skimmed the glass- like surface of the Sirevilya, creating little ripples. He was glad he'd made all his friends come here today. This river was a favorite place of his, and besides that, fishing was one of the few things at which he excelled.
A sudden soft rustle in the bushes caused him to turn his head in surprise. He watched as Legolas emerged from the forest into the clearing by the banks of the Sirevilya. His brow furrowed. What was * he * doing here?
"Hey!" Otaril called to the young prince. "I thought I told you you're not invited." The other boys' eyes all shot down to their poles; they didn't want to get in trouble with Otaril, but they had been taught since birth that they were to respect those in positions of power, and that certainly meant the prince.
"This isn't a private river, Otaril," Legolas said bravely. "You can't make me leave." To this, Otaril had no answer. He turned his attention back to fishing, but out of the corner of his eye he watched the elf leave the edge of the woods and settle down on a patch of grass next to Raime. He couldn't believe it. This boy was trying to take over his friends and no one was going to stop him----- and just because he was a prince.
Otaril fished a while longer, but his mind was no longer on catching the biggest fish. Instead he secretly stared out of the corner of his eye at Legolas and Raime as they talked to one another, waiting for Legolas to swoop in and steal his friend, watching for the elf's tactic. There it was. Raime was laughing at one of Legolas' jokes. He had to get rid of this prince-ling.
"You know what my father said yesterday?" he announced suddenly. "He said that Thranduil is the worst ruler that Mirkwood has seen in a long time."
Legolas paused in the middle of his conversation with Raime. "What?" he asked, making sure he'd heard correctly.
"You heard what I said."
Legolas stood up and slowly made his way over to Otaril. Even standing at his full height of four foot nine, he still came only to Otaril's chin, but it didn't matter. He couldn't simply let an insulting remark about his father slide. "Take it back," he said, trying to sound as threatening as possible. In actuality, his voice shook and he looked terrified.
"And why should I?" Otaril taunted. "My father's right. He says that Thranduil is such a coward that he makes deals with the dwarves to avoid war with them." He took a step closer to Legolas and looked down on the prince, his expression one of smug victory. "Your father knows he couldn't even win a war against the stupid, clumsy dwarves."
Legolas was shocked. No one had ever talked this way to him before, and he certainly never heard anyone say such things about his father. He had to do something, but he couldn't just * hit * Otaril, or he was done for. Either way, he at least had to insult this boy back.
"The stupid, clumsy dwarves, you say?" Legolas said, both angry and afraid. "Well, I suppose you would know a lot about them. From what I've seen of your hunting, you must be one of their close relatives."
Legolas watched as Otaril's face turned bright red, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits. There was little doubt in his mind what was coming; Otaril was not the kind of elf who lets * anyone * get away with an insult, whether they be prince or peasant.
Legolas saw the fist headed for his face just before it hit home, but he didn't have time to duck. It slammed into his nose and he felt a sharp burst of pain that left him dizzy for a moment. He could feel a thin ribbon of blood running out onto his shirt. Shaking away the pain, Legolas raised his fist and hit Otaril squarely on his left eye.
If he felt any pain, Otaril didn't show it. Instead, he yelled for back up. "Hey, everyone come help me! Come on, let's get him!" Nioril ran in and pushed Legolas down, but the other boys simply stood and watched, their mouths open with shock. Otaril was beating up the prince! No one had ever done such a thing, nor had it ever entered their minds that they might.
I have to get away though Legolas, who was now receiving a kick from Nioril as he lay on the ground. I cannot win this fight. Doing what he could to ignore the pain in his side and nose, Legolas quickly jumped to his feet and darted off into the forest. If they decided to follow him, neither Otaril nor Nioril had much chance of catching up to him, even when he was hurt.
The plants and underbrush rushed by Legolas as he continued to run through the trees. Finally, he felt as if he could run no more, and he slowed to a walk and continued to wander aimlessly amongst the woods. Tears were streaming down his face, and he let them fall because there was no one around to witness his babyish crying. It's not FAIR! he thought angrily. Otaril has lots of friends and I just wanted to have one. It's not fair
After some time, Legolas realized that he'd wandered far from the river and now had no idea where he was. This area of the forest was unfamiliar to him, the trees thicker and more overshadowing than the ones near the palace. He didn't wander this far from home. He didn't really care, though. He could wander these woods forever and no one would come looking for him. But that's not true Legolas thought to himself; he knew in his heart that if he ever went missing, his father would have half the forest searching for him. Even so, hadn't he earned a little self-pity? If he wanted to sit on that rock all day and cry because nobody liked him, wasn't that his right?
So caught up in his sorrow was Legolas, that he failed to notice a dim light shinning through the dark trees, approaching steadily. In fact, he was so oblivious that he did not see the rider of the great black stallion until the horse was nearly upon him.
"Hello, young Legolas," said a raspy voice, and the elf child looked up, startled to find that he was no longer alone.
"Mithrandir!" Legolas cried out.
The wizard smiled down from his place on the giant steed. "Yes, it's me. I'm here to discuss important matters with your father." His brow suddenly furrowed with concern. "What happened to your nose, child?"
Legolas looked confused for a moment before he remembered. He placed a finger just above his mouth and pulled it away to see that he was still bleeding some. "Oh, I got in a fight with another boy," he said, quickly wiping the faint tear tracks off of his cheeks, hoping that Mithrandir wouldn't notice.
The wizard raised an eyebrow at him. "Now Legolas, you know better than to get into fights. As a prince, you should have conducted yourself in a more civil manner."
A bright anger flashed in the young prince's eyes, and he hopped down from his place on the rock and began to yell at Mithrandir in a way that few before him had dared. "Well, I'm * sick * of being a prince!" he hollered. "Why should I have to act any different from all the other boys? None of them want to play with me because I'm a * Prince *! They don't like me! No one does!"
Mithrandir shook his head, still a little taken aback at the force of Legolas' words. "You * know * that's not true. Many people like you. * I * like you, and I still would even if you weren't a prince."
"No one my own age likes me," Legolas said bitterly.
"Well," the wizard answered. "Perhaps we might be able to remedy that. But first," he said reaching down a hand and pulling the elf onto his horse, "You are quite a ways from home, young one." He leaned over and spoke softly into the horse's ear and the great stallion began his trek through the forest once again.
Legolas was lost in the middle of a daydream- mostly involving pounding Otaril into the ground- when the horse beneath him suddenly halted, shaking him from his thoughts. He looked around- they were nowhere near home.
"Mithrandir, why are we---"
"Shhhh. Look."
Legolas' eyes followed Mithrandir pointing hand to a fallen log, some forty feet away. On this log sat an elf boy, bent over and staring at the ground as if in great concentration.
"Why don't you go introduce yourself?" the old wizard said.
Legolas eyed the wizard questioningly. "He's a bit younger that me, don't you think?"
"Oh, not that much I imagine," Mithrandir said. "Go ask him. What do you have to loose?" To that, Legolas had no reply. Slowly he climbed down from the horse and approached the boy.
"Hello," he said softly. "I'm----"
"Shhhh!" the boy broke in, still sitting still as a statue.
Legolas was confused. He was trying to be friendly and this boy had already rejected his friendship before he'd had the chance to say more than two words. And what was he staring at? Legolas followed his gaze to the bush just beyond the dirt clearing. Even with his elven eyes he nearly missed it, it was so still. A small thrush stood perched on a twig, its eyes darting about in constant search of predators.
"There. Finished," the boy said to himself. "Now what were you saying---" He glanced up at the stranger behind him only to find that it wasn't really a stranger at all. "Oh! You're Prince Legolas." The boy stood and bowed.
Legolas blushed. "Really, you don't have to---"
"I'm sorry I hushed you earlier. I was just watching that bird so that I could draw it and I thought you might scare it away. My name is Forostar. Pleased to meet you."
"Pleased to meet you as well," Legolas replied before glancing down at the ground to see what Forostar had been doing. "This is beautiful," he said. The boy had been using a stick to draw pictures in the dirt and the small grooves in the ground formed the image of a bird so lifelike that Legolas thought if he were to touch it, it might fly away.
"Thank you," Forostar said, a modest blush to his cheeks.
"And this one," Legolas added, finding another picture, this one of an archer prepared to fire. "You are very talented."
"Thank you," the elf boy repeated, not quite sure what to say. He'd never imagine that the prince might critique his work. "I've been practicing---"
Legolas came to a drawing of the front of the palace, his home. Everything was perfect, down to the smallest detail. Forostar had drawn the stairs leading up to the door, the stone carving to the left side of the window, even the ivy that crept high to the roof on the wall near his room. "This--- this must have taken you * hours *."
"Well, yes," he answered. "I didn't work on it all today, of course. That would have been far too much work, especially since I had to keep running back to see the palace. You know, make sure I had everything in the right place." He smiled a bit at the thought. "It's beautiful--- the palace I mean. You're so lucky to get to live there."
"Well--- if you want, I could take you to go see it."
Forostar's eyes lit up. "Really? That would be great!"
"Sure. Just let me go tell Mithrandir." Legolas gazed around through the trees, but it seemed that the wizard had already left for the palace.
************************************************************
"Wait a minute!" Gimli interrupted. "That shouldn't count. I thought you were going to tell an embarrassing story about him, like you did me."
Gandalf blinked at him. "I never said that."
"Yes you did! You said you had a foolish tale to tell about Legolas. I was looking forward to laughing at him!" the dwarf sulked.
Gandalf shook his head. "I said I had a story to tell about Legolas. I never said it would be foolish, he simply assumed that it would be. I'm afraid, Gimli, that you will have to find something else over which you might tease him. If it is so important to you, that is."
"*Are* there any foolish tales of Legolas' youth?" Pippin asked. He couldn't imagine the wise elf caught up in any of the various activities that had gotten him into trouble so long ago. Well, not actually that long ago. More like last week.
"Certainly there are," Gandalf answered him. "I believe he one time fell out of a tree. Most unusual for a wood elf, or any elf for that matter. And of course there was the incident with the flying squirrel and the open bedroom window---"
"But we will not speak of that tonight," Legolas broke in nervously.
Gandalf laughed. "No, I suppose not. It's getting late. Those are stories best left for another day."
"Or best left untold altogether," said Legolas.
Gandalf grinned. "We'll see."