"Did you have a good day, my darling little ones?"

The eldest smirked at me as she nudged her brother into the room. "Some of us did, nana," she agreed, pushing him into a sitting position on the floor as she again took the bed, half sitting, half laying upon it.

"What happened?" I asked, as if I had not already heard from several sources. How else am I to gain stories to tell their children when they have them? I cannot be everywhere at once.

"I lost three arrows," he admitted, depressed.

"And nearly shot Mother's horse. With Mother on it."

"Father caught the arrow," he protested at once.

"And if he hadn't been walking beside her? She could have been thrown and hurt!"

"Not here, child." I cut in sharply, not willing to let that thought go unchanged in his mind for more than an instant. "No one dies in these lands. These are the undying lands, or have you forgotten your history? I can see in any case I need to add in a story I had skipped over." I settled back in my chair, watching the stars and the fire fight to bathe them in silver or copper light. "Back in the days when Legolas and Salan were learning to defend themselves—"

"Nana, couldn't you just continue with the story where you were and tell us that later?"

I frowned at her, crossing my arms in annoyance. "Perhaps I shall tell you no stories at all."

"No, nana! Please, tell us of when they were learning," he asked, his eyes wide as he overrode what his sister had asked.

I smiled at him. "It was a short story anyway. Let us just say he nearly shot his own toe off, and Salan had to run away before she exploded into laughter and thereby incurred his wrath. All right, where were we?"

"I cannot for certain say. Legolas was at least twenty-five hundred years old, but then you said her words stayed with him."

"So I did," I agreed. "Yes, her words stayed with him for a long time, but…"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

But Legolas still had his father to deal with, and his father still wished him to get married. It was a plague to Legolas, a blight on the years he could spend in Middle-Earth, for he knew they were limited. No arguments he could make would convince his father otherwise, so after a long while of fighting, he gave in.

To a degree, anyway. His associations with the Ladies had been pleasant and without bad feelings since he had been forced into his room for three weeks, so he found one he liked above the others, and spent time with her when he had it to spare. With two younger siblings, a best friend, and archery to work in along with his duties as the eldest prince of Mirkwood, there was very little of it for her, but she lapped it up, reveling in his attention, not seeing it was given begrudgingly at best.

Salan did her best to help bring them together, for she knew it was a last ditch effort on Legolas's part before he gave up completely—either to a loveless marriage or a life devoted to staying single she wasn't sure. Neither was a good option, so she tried however she could.

Hardly ever did the prince see the lady, though, so falling in love was hardly an option since the love at first sight idea had never been one of the ones he believed in, though he knew several now married elves who swore by it. Over the next few hundred years things stayed much the same, but with another person taking some of his time for herself.

It got to the point that he was glad to take messages for his father, or go out on patrols. Sometimes Harlyn would go with him, and Salan usually made sure he had plenty of way bread, whether he mentioned he was going or not. It never ceased to make him smile, finding a leaf covered piece of way bread in his quiver when he stopped to rest.

He returned from one such message trip to find a hush spread over the hall. Intruders had been found, and captured. Thirteen dwarves, in fact, not a one of them telling where they were headed, how they wound up in Mirkwood, or why they had attacked the feast that had been held in the forest. No doubt you have heard the story before, from Gandalf, I'd wager, but now hear it from Salan's view, since I doubt you shall suffer yourselves to hear her story after this.

Salan was not at the fateful feast in the forest, but in the palace. She was there when the first dwarf was brought in, and what a queer being she thought him! She had never seen a dwarf before, nor in fact had she seen a man, for she had never been beyond Mirkwood. The other companions were no less odd to her mind, and she never did become used to them, no matter how often she volunteered to give them their food so she could see them.

Though she had never seen them before, she had seen shadows move, and when shadows moved there was a cause for it. Soft, tiny footsteps followed, sometimes her, sometimes someone else, up and down the corridors and stairs. Finally she closed her eyes and grabbed a large bag, attacking the thing she heard.

When she opened her eyes the bag was wriggling dreadfully, so she pulled the dagger from her boot, for she was wearing her leggings that day, having been riding, and she held it to the bag, warning it to keep still and quiet or she would have blood pouring from it, whether she could see it or not.

She took it to her room, and tied it up carefully, finding the head and cutting the bag away from it when she was sure it was secure. When she could still see nothing, she looked around, her eyes falling on some of her powdered herbs. She threw them on the thing in the bag, and could suddenly make out a small face.

"What are you?" she asked, even as the dust was absorbed into the invisibility that cloaked the thing.

"Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire," it squeaked amidst sneezes.

"What are you doing here, and what dark magic shields you from our eyes?"

"It is not dark magic at all!" he protested, becoming visible once again. "But my friends are in the dungeons, unfairly imprisoned."

"Unfairly?" she asked, lifting a brow. "That is not what I heard." Still, she had been around Thranduil on his good days—those that didn't involve a lesson for one of his children or had anything at all to do with dwarves—and she had a bit of wisdom herself, though she always thought Legolas was mostly teasing her about that. "Tell me your tale," she instructed. The terrified little being did just that, his eyes darting to her knife and the sword at her waist.

When he had finished, she knelt in front of the bag, looking into his eyes for a long moment. She saw he was frightened, but also defiant, as if daring her not to believe him. She smiled slightly. "I see," she murmured. "Tell me, what is a hobbit, and where is the Shire? I have not been outside of Mirkwood, but I have studied maps, and I have heard little of the Shire, save from Gandalf. He loves to speak of the half-lings that dwell there. Have you seen them?"

"I am one!" He insisted, studying her intently. "You know Gandalf?"

"Of course. Lovely fireworks. He set some off for my two thousandth birthday." She smiled at Bilbo and at the memory, and suddenly Bilbo was reminded of his stay in Rivendell and the elves there. He was reassured, but his friends were still in the dungeons.

He followed Salan everywhere after that, and she showed him not only where his friends were, but the way he eventually used to escape. He knew what she was doing, and stopped on the day he made their escape just before lifting the guard's keys. "Won't this get you in trouble?"

"Only if it is ever found out," she murmured, looking him straight in the invisible eyes.

He nodded his head. "True," and at that moment sent her silent thanks for what she had done, including finding food for him often through the day, and he promised himself he would never tell of her help, for her sake. "Good bye, milady," he murmured, bowing from the waist, forgetting she couldn't see him.

"Namarie, Bilbo Baggins," she returned, a bit on the glad side she would no longer need to use the common tongue with which she was not very familiar with. Of course, she and Legolas had both been taught it, along with a few other languages, just as a matter of course.

The thirteen dwarves escaped that day, escaped even as the elves welcomed Legolas back into the mountain. When he heard about the dwarves, he wished to see them, but the cells were empty when he arrived.

Confused and annoyed, he went to the archery field for a while, then decided to find Salan since the Lady Lemarha was thankfully busy until after dinner. He found her in her room, gathering up a bit of cloth that looked like it had been laid upon the floor as bedding. He frowned at her as she hummed a tune he had never heard before as she moved, not having heard him approach.

"What do you know of the dwarves?" he asked suddenly, making her turn quickly around to face him, a touch of guilt coloring her features and clouding her eyes. "You know more than any other, I see." After so many years, he had come to be a great reader of faces and eyes, especially those of his family and hers.

"And if I do?"

"I wish to know."

After watching him for a long moment, she sighed and motioned for him to get comfortable, and then told him Bilbo's story. She tried to decide from Legolas's eyes how he felt about her assistance of the little hobbit, but for the longest moment there was nothing. Then amusement sparkled in his eyes as laughter bubbled in his throat.

"I knew it was unwise to leave you unattended for so long," he teased. He smiled at her expression of annoyance, before sobering quickly. "But I believe you did right. Though I would have preferred it be a party of hobbits than dwarves."

She shrugged. "I as well, but I have not known any dwarves to truly judge them. Bilbo spoke in awe of the elves, despite his associations with the dwarves." She laughed suddenly. "Or perhaps because of it. He seemed to enjoy his time in Rivendell." Her eyes turned to him, her head tilting.

He knew what she was asking of him and settled himself more comfortably in his chair, telling her all about the places he had been, seen, and the elves he had spoken to while he was away. They were called to dinner just as he finished, so together they walked to the dining hall, where Lady Lemarha was waiting for him. She glared daggers at Salan, as if the poor elf had contrived to keep Legolas away from her instead of the precise opposite. Legolas, though, was greeting his niece, and never saw the look which tore into Salan. She knew if Legolas married Lemarha, her days of calling him friend and their plan of being there for the other's children were gone, never to be seen nor heard from again.

But as long as he was happy, she would content herself with 'having known him when', and so she said nothing about that look, not that she would have been inclined to in the first place. Her friend he may be, but the prince as well, and in such situations if the Lady denied it, it was more likely he would do his duty and at least pretend to believe the Lady if the accusations were made in the presence of others. Alone he would almost certainly assure her he believed her, but the public rebuke would have been hard to deal with if it came from him.

Time went by, quietly for only a very short while before trouble started up because of the dwarves. You know the story, and there is little to tell of it beyond that. Salan was forced to remain behind, not that she minded very much, the idea of dealing with men, dwarves and a dragon was all a bit much, in her opinion. Instead she stayed in Mirkwood, tending to the wounded when they returned.

Legolas opened his eyes after a day of unconsciousness to see Salan's eyes waiting for him. She smiled at him quickly before he slipped back into darkness from the poison of his wound. When he next awoke, it was Lemarha beside him, her face streaked with tears as she twisted her hands in her lap. With a soft noise, Salan entered the room, only to be ordered out by Lemarha.

"No," he protested weakly, getting a startled look and then a painful hug from the Lady who was sitting in the chair beside the bed. "Salan," he pleaded softly.

"Milady, you are on his wound," she murmured touching Lemarha's shoulder. The Lady snapped away from the injured prince, allowing Salan room to sit beside him on the bed. "I am going to change the dressing, milady. It would be best that you leave."

"I will not!" she declared haughtily, glaring scornfully at Salan.

"Very well," Salan murmured, her eyes hard but her voice quiet. She opened Legolas's shirt and pushed it from his shoulder, removing the bandages quickly until she came to the layers that were caked in blood. These she removed slowly, careful she didn't reopen the wound.

"How bad is it?"

"You're alive, aren't you?" she teased softly. She looked at it. "You've had worse."

Legolas frowned slightly and watched her concentration as she leaned over him. "You tended me before. I was your successes, wasn't I?" His voice was quiet with weakness and the revelation.

"Healing is in my blood, though not as strong in me as I could wish. For those I care about the gift is stronger, which is why you were able to help with Nalinalla, for though underused, you have the gift as well." She took the bowl and began bathing the wound, the soft herbs helping ease the tension in his muscles.

"So how many times have you saved my life, then?"

"Such healing is hard to be sure of. You have a great will to live, always have. Even the poison cannot overcome that. You never teetered as Nalinalla did. If you were too injured to return, you waited until your body had healed enough you could, but there was never a question once the poison was drawn." She was winding a bandage around his wound once more, securing it by tucking the end in. "You must remain still for a few days, Legolas. Otherwise the wound will reopen. If you have trouble with that, I know how to make a sleeping potion."

He smiled faintly and laid back. "How did we do?"

"The battle had a high number of casualties on all sides, as is the way with war. Your father and brother are well. We lost several of the guards and two complete patrols, but compared to the other armies, we were very light on casualties."

He nodded with a weary sigh. "I don't think I shall be protesting rest, my friend. Even now it threatens to take me away."

"Then let go. There is no fear, now that you have returned."

"Besides that of the growing shadow."

"Besides that," she agreed, mopping his brow clean of sweat. "Sleep," she insisted softly.

He smiled again and touched her cheek. "Thank you."

She smiled back and returned the soft touch, kissing his forehead as his eyes closed once more, allowing his mind rest along with his body. Ignoring the daggered look she was getting from Lemarha she left him sleeping peacefully, going to check on his family. For, though not injured as seriously, all of the males in the royal line had been injured.

"How is he?" Harlyn asked as the queen fussed with Thranduil's bandage, which began coming loose since he hadn't been resting.

"He is with us, though Lemarha shall be asking for my head on a platter since she undoubtedly believes I overstepped myself by asking her to move aside when she threw herself over him."

Harlyn chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling. "I'm surprised he didn't throw her off himself."

"Harlyn!" Thranduil barked.

"Even if it had been Lolanya, I would have thrown her off if she landed on a wound." This was said with a smile, for Lolanya was a bewitching beauty who stunned all who saw her. Harlyn was still enraptured by her beauty, though their marriage had of course been built on deeper emotions.

Thranduil blinked and shrugged slightly, upsetting the queen as she was forced to start over. He turned questioningly to Salan.

She nodded slightly. "She was on the wound, causing him pain great enough he did not have the strength to fight it and her. If looks could kill, you would have her before you for murder, and I would be stretched out on the floor."

Harlyn chuckled once more, ignoring the pain as she worked on stitching the wound in his side. "And now?"

"He went completely back into unconsciousness, whether she likes it or not."

Harlyn grinned, for he still remembered Salan using him to help Legolas out on occasion. She always asked if he was willing, of course. "How long is he stuck in his room?"

"I told him a few days, but he'll probably be pushing by tomorrow."

Thranduil chuckled at that, but before he could speak a court messenger entered, saying Lemarha wished to speak with him on grave matters. Salan let out a resigned sigh. "I shall be either here or in the healing rooms, Thranduil," she murmured, finishing her stitches without looking up.

He nodded and pulled his tunic into place, moving quickly into the hall where the Lady was waiting. "Speak quickly, Lemarha. Both of my sons are wounded, and I wish to be with them."

"I want to speak with you about Legolas, my lord."

"What of him? He is going to be well."

"No thanks to the wood-elf who is forever following him around." Her nose crinkled in distaste.

"If you mean Salan—"

"Yes, sire, I do."

"If you mean Salan," he repeated sternly, his glare reminding her not to interrupt the king, "then your worries are very much misplaced. She has been his constant companion since he was three hundred, and they explored the forest together for many years. Their friendship has been strong longer than my second son has been alive, and no one could break it, should they be inclined to try. Salan is part and parcel when you deal with Legolas. Already they have agreed to be important in the lives of the other's children, as my wife did with Salan's mother years ago. If you object to Salan, you object to Legolas, for he will not place his friendship aside, willingly or otherwise." He glared at her for a moment longer, then began to turn away. "As for Salan, she has saved his life and his pride more times than either he or I can count, more so than we are probably aware of if we were inclined to try. Even if that assistance puts her in jeopardy."

"She loves him, then?"

"They are the greatest of friends," Thranduil agreed, watching a frown enter her eyes. "But that which you ask for has not occurred to them."

"Or to him. She may have thought of it."

At her bitter tone he turned sharply to her. "And if she has? What then? She knows he has not, if she has, and would do nothing to hurt him or drive him away. Time and duty has done that too much already." Thranduil frowned at the she-elf, wondering why his son had chosen to settle upon this one. The sick feeling in his stomach made him turn away as he realized it was probably because of his insistence. Recalling a similar time in his own past, he vowed to stop pressuring Legolas. At least for a few thousand years. He left Lemarha standing in the hall, confusion and speculation on her face.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A great noise interrupted, and sent the children to the window. "Look!"

With a slight smile I got up and stood behind them, watching the fireworks Gandalf was setting off. "Go watch from your balcony, we shall continue tomorrow night."

"What are they for, nana?"

"Your mother's birthday, I wouldn't wonder."

"But that's not until tomorrow."

"But tomorrow shall be cloudy and rainy. Your father probably convinced the wizard to do it tonight as a surprise."

They ran quickly from the room, all crowding onto their balcony where I could glimpse them from the corner of my eye as I watched the colors burst in the air for a while before going to bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: What can I possibly say? Don't you just want to smack Lemarha? Vindictive little thing, isn't she?

Reviews and ideas welcome!