I should probably have said this at the beginning of the story, but I hope that you figured it out anyway:

* Indicates an unspoken thought

" As in all other stories: dialogue

[* Indicates writing.

This chapter is dedicated to those of you who read and enjoyed my previous story: The First Centuries.

If you are worried about Duty, don't fear, for it shall be updated. Unfortunately this will only happen somewhere in the future, for it is going to be sort of a sequel to this story.

Oh yes, I made a mistake. The leader of the Northmen is not a King, but a chieftain, but I am not going to change it, unless it REALLY bothers someone.

The Lost Heir

Chapter 3: An Autobiography

25 Years later...

[*My earliest memories faded into a vague feeling of happiness.

I ruled my little Kingdom with an iron fist, and spared none from my constant call for attention. There was never a shortage of subjects, for my parents took pity on all that crossed their path. Beggars were given a large plate of food, and a warm bed next to the stables, while noblemen occupied the rooms in the towers. They all gave in to my every whim, and no request that I made was too small, or large to be granted.

The years passed, and as I became more aware of my surroundings, and how different I was from those around me, I moved out of that ignorant bliss that I had spend many years in. I was content, and there was much happiness to be found in my contentment.

But I was frightened of the future.

I once cornered my father in a rare moment when there ware no visitors in our home, and asked him the question that had been bothering me for a while: "Father, how old are you?"

My father looked at me in a mixture of surprise and shock: "Very old, but why do you ask, Little One?"

"Are you as old as the Oak tree that stands in the middle of our yard?"

"No, Little One"

We sat awhile in silence. My father was not a patient man, but he always allowed me to clear my head before forcing me to speak.

"Will I ever be as old as that tree?"

"Yes, you will grow up to be far older than that."

"And where will you be?"

I could almost see the resignation in my Father's eyes. He had always known that he couldn't keep the truth from me forever, but I think that he had hoped that he could keep it from me a while longer.

"I will be the ground in which your roots grow."

"So it is true then."

"Peace, Little One. I am not gone yet. We still have some time together. Speaking of time, should you not go to your lessons?"

"Yes father."

I left him then, feeling totally miserable. But he had to be alone with his own thoughts, while I went to fight my own daemons. *]

The writer thoughtfully chewed the end of his quill. Writing an autobiography was more difficult than he had originally thought. How could he explain the mixed feelings of joy and despair that had graced his early life? How did he put into words his need to be accepted to those that could never understand and didn't care?

And it did not help that this had to be completed in a weeks time *Why do I always have to do things at the last minute?* He wondered. The next day was the beginning of the Festival of Éothéod, which meant feasting for an entire day. He sighed again, crumpled the parchment and threw it to join the multitude of others that was already lying on the floor.

The new parchment seemed to glare at him. *This is useless.* He thought. *I am never going to be able to complete this in time.* He sighed again, feeling very sorry for himself. Down filled his mouth and his quill continued to veer to the right. An idee struck him. He stood up, dropped the quill, grabbed his bow and quiver, which stood next to his bed, and ran downstairs.

A voice stopped him. "Legolas, where are you going? Are you not going to great my guest?"

Legolas skidded to a halt. He bowed hastily. "Father, Lord Rodib." Before they could reply, he was gone, not heeding the voice that called after him.

"Boys." Said Frumgar apologetically. "He has his bow with him, so I assume that he has gone to the archery range. He should return soon, if you are willing to wait. Otherwise I shall sent one of my men to him."

"Do not trouble yourself, Your Highness." Said Rodib with a tight smile. "I have not come to see him. There is something that I need to bring to your attention."

Frumgar frowned. "Could this matter not be discussed in court?" He asked.

It was not unusual for his subjects to speak to him outside court, but he did not like, or trust Rodib. He respected him because he had been a good warrior in his prime, and was now the schoolmaster, but he still remembered that it had been Rodib who had suggested that they take Legolas to the forest and leave him to die.

"Nay, Your Highness. It is a personal matter that concern only you." Replied Rodib.

Frumgar's from deepened. "What concerns me concerns Éothéod. But speak, I shall listen."

Rodib bowed. "Your Highness is very kind and understanding. I come to you about Legolas."

"Legolas?" Frumgar exclaimed. "What has he done wrong this time?"

"He has done nothing wrong."

"Then I consider this audience to be over." Said Frumgar, feeling very irritated with Rodib for wasting his time.

"Hear me out, Your Highness. Legolas did nothing wrong, but I do have some grievances about him. He always leaves his work until the last minute. Sometimes he only finishes the work that I have given him in class. And…" His voice faltered.

"Pray, do speak Rodib. I am a busy man, and cannot sit here and listen to you forever!"

"The other students don't like him." He managed to stammer.

"Why?" Frumgar suspected that it was not the other students, but Rodib who did not like his son.

"He is just so… so perfect. It's infuriating."

"Would you expect anything less from the son of the King?" Grinned Frumgar. "What do you suggest I do. Request him to develop some faults?"

"Nay, Your Highness. I urge you strongly to reconsider your ruling that all boys should be educated, and to remove Legolas from my class."

Frumgar looked down at the man who lay at his feet. He could not remember hitting him, but his hand throbbed and a blind fury seemed to overwhelm him. It took all his will power not to kill the man.

"Get out of my home! Now!" He cried.

Rodib scampered to his feet. He bowed quickly, and fled from the presence of the King.

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Thanks to all my reviewers. I must say that I did not except support, but thought that I was going to be flamed as no one has been flamed before ;)

Nikki: Sorry, this chapter was posted without a thanks to your review, bcs it wasn't there by the time I uploaded. Don't worry, I will continue with the story until it's finished. (I hope). Thank you very much for your support.

Arwen Tinuviel: Thanks for your constant support. I don't think you can imagine how much it is appreciated. I am writing this story for the enjoyment of writing, but it is nice to know that there are people who reads it, and enjoys it. And no, I didn't do a lot of research (not as much as could be done), but I do hope that I did enough.

The Rewiever: Thanks. I really hope that I do this story justice. I must admit that I am a bit afraid bcs it fell apart the first time I wrote it. But I'll do my best. Yes, I must agree, Orlando Bloom was Hot in LoTR. Hope they show more of him in the third movie.

Ophelia: Don't worry. Legolas must be reunited with the Elves. I am not, and never will be as good a writer as Tolkien, and I'm not trying to take away anything from the genius of his work, so it would be nothing short of a sin if I change his story.

Final note: I must admit that I am a bit afraid of this story. I'm scared that I'll mess it up like I did the previous one, and that it is going to fall apart. Any advice will be very much appreciated.