Disclaimer: All characters in this story, save my own, do not belong to me. They are property of J.R.R. Tolkien, and whoever else owns the copyright. I write this tale for entertainment purposes alone, and I am neither seeking nor receiving any profit from it whatsoever, lest it be in the form of confidence-building reviews, and extra practice in writing. I would thank you for not suing me - I need all the money I can get for my school fees.
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Melui: (my beta reader) Hi, thanks for reviewing! When can I expect your next chapters?farflung: Wow. You are my first real reviewer ever. You put my story on your favourites list?! Thank you so much, you've no idea how much that means to me! Also, thank you for the encouragement regarding my academic pursuits - I definitely need it!
HPLadyBelle: Yeah, I thought the Smaug thing was cute - I couldn't resist mentioning him, as I loved The Hobbit so much. Thank you so much for putting my story on your favourites list! This really does mean a lot to me because, in my opinion, it's not the quantity of reviews you get, but the quality, and this, for me, is high.
Sirnonenath: Thank you! Well, Legolas did get into quite a bit of trouble, and it'll only get worse! I'm trying to keep as close to the old style of the novels as possible, and it's due, in part, to this that the story is taking a while to write - it's easy to start in that language, but hard to keep it! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and that I didn't slip up!
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Chapter Two: An Evening's Preparations.
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The air was crisp and cool, and fresh blossoms and budding leaves dappled the trees as birds sung joyously in the first throws of spring. Little black squirrels, bounding excitedly through the highest boughs of the tallest trees, chattered gaily whilst golden shafts of sunlight peeked shyly through the closely-knit branches, illuminating the ground beneath where tiny insects buzzed happily in the warmth. It was a fine day to be alive, and, for one golden-haired little elfling, a fine day for adventure.
Legolas Thranduilion, youngest prince of Mirkwood, had woken early that morning in high spirits. Though he was known most undoubtedly as a morning elfling and, therefore, wonted to rise in such cheery dispositions, today was different; for as he rose from his bed and dressed hurriedly into his favourite green tunic and brown leggings, he felt a certain pull at the back of his stomach - an exhilaration of sorts; a longing for wondrous things yet to come. Perhaps it was due to the infectious air of delight that seemed to waft about on the soft spring breezes just outside his window, or to the fact that today was the day he and his friends had been planning for a month. Mayhap, he thought, as he made his way clumsily across the room with the effort of pulling on his shoes, it was both.
He reached the door to his chamber, eager to start the day, and put out his hand to grasp the handle. Today was the day, he thought as a smile crept on to his face. At last their plan could be set into motion. It was the day of The Party.
His friend, a young she-elfling named Lothwen, was celebrating her twenty-fifth begetting day tomorrow, but since she was to be with her family, Legolas had opted to throw her a surprise party the day before. A laugh rose in his throat at the thought of how thrilled she would be. There was going to be sweet tea, cakes, berries, decorations, games, and gifts - it was going to be the best party in all of Arda. And it was his job to get the decorations.
He paused in mid pull and frowned. Dropping his arm to his side, he stepped back and sighed, disappointment shadowing his fair features. It had been a week ago today that It had happened, and still he was confined within the palace walls with naught to do but pour over thick tomes of ancient elvish lore. It was but a simple prank! Surely his father was over reacting; Galion's hair was no longer a violent shade of purple (it was now a most becoming lilac), his limp had all but vanished, and the healers said that his eye should stop twitching any day now. And, truly, when one thought about it, Legolas was not entirely at fault. How was he to know that wild berries, lembas, baby squirrels, and his father's most potent wine should not be mixed?
It was a simple mistake that anyone could have made, and it just so happened that he had been the first. In fact, as his friend Roccondil had said, he should be thanked, for if it were not for him, none would have known the disastrous results of such a mixture and would have remained forever ignorant. If the worth of knowledge rivalled that of mithril, then, truly, he had enriched the lives of the Elves of Middle-earth with his discovery
Yes. He was most certainly not at fault. Then, why should he remain in captivity – a prisoner of his own home, fated to waste away until all the world was bare and worn and his very sanity had fled? 'No,' he thought, 'that is no fate for a strong and brave warrior such as myself!' The conclusion of this wearisome punishment was long past due – it was time he got back out into the world. And he would. His customary grin back in place, Legolas opened the door with renewed gusto and stepped out into the hall.
Creeping stealthily down the corridor, he made a list of what he would need to make the decorations for Lothwen's party. Since it was to be held outdoors in a small, circular clearing by the forest river, he would need such decorations as could be hung from the trees and, perhaps, float in the water. Garlands of flowers were his best bet, as the young Lady had a special fondness for the delicate flora, and was often seen lacing them into her hair and placing them about the homes of her relatives and friends. He would also need tablecloths, something in which to wrap his gift for her, and some candles - the party would start at noon, and hopefully continue until past dark.
Presently, the soft sound of bubbling water drifted up the high tree in which the hall had been built. 'I must be almost at he gardens,' he thought to himself. 'I should look for the flowers first.' The young elfling smiled and chose a path that would lead him to the ground below, heading for the palace gardens.
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Galion groaned as his left eye gave a spasmodic twitch, and rubbed it with the heel of his hand. Although his condition was most definitely improving – the tics had diminished from being almost constant to three or four an hour – it was still greatly annoying. And to make matters worse, he feared that he was beginning to suffer from paranoia; snapping twigs in the forest, sudden noises, quiet laughter drifting on the breeze...all would have him starting and whipping around, a wild look in his frantically twitching eyes. 'What has become of me?' He thought miserably, 'I have been reduced to a paranoid, insane butler with a spastic eye, a limp, and light purple hair! And it is all because of one elfling; nay, a demon - a demon in the guise of an angel.'He sighed and pulled a bottle of wine from the kitchen cupboard; it was not that he disliked Legolas. In fact, he found that the young prince could be quite endearing...when asleep. Galion knew that the young elf would never be purposely cruel, or harm anything save the servants of darkness, but he was beginning to think that there was perhaps something wrong with the child's mind. Truly, anyone who played so many tricks and was punished so frequently would grow tired of such games. Not Legolas. It seemed that the greater the punishment he received, the greater, more elaborate would be his next prank. It was a never-ending cycle; Thranduil would yell himself hoarse, and young Legolas would hang his head, contrite, and then depart for his chambers, seemingly having learned his lesson. Then, in the weeks (and, in some cases, months) that followed, he would perform the duties of his punishment until he was released. And it was then that he began his troublesome ways anew.
Truth be told, everyone in the palace was at their wits end – none knew what to do with the young prince. They certainly could not send him to spend time in Imladris with the wise Lord Elrond, nor could they send him to the Lady of Lórien; for though it was assured that he would be welcomed into their realms, the elves of Mirkwood were quite fond of the golden- haired pest, and did not truly wish to part with him. He was kind, polite, considerate, and gentle, and, when he was behaving, a joy to be around. If only he would learn to control himself, to see that he need not cease his fun altogether, but merely tone it down.
They knew that they could expect no more of him than that, as Legolas had always been an adventuresome elfling, basking in the thrill of the chase, the elated feeling borne of a successful, well-thought out plan. But what troubled them was how he had changed: In the past, he knew when to stop, what was too much, and what truly was funny and harmless. What had once been a well-defined line between a prank and a serious offence had become smudged and hazy.
'Valar, what are we to do with this child?' Galion pleaded to the ceiling. 'This simply cannot continue - it will drive all of Mirkwood mad!' He placed the bottle on a sturdy oak table and set five water skins down beside it. Eye twitching once more, he filled up the vessels, replaced their lids, and set them back on the table. They were for Thavron, the apprentice of Mirkwood's chief carpenter, who was departing that night on a trip to Imladris with his comrades in the hopes of acquiring some new skills. Galion had, of course, questioned him on the safety of making merry whilst on such a journey, but the elf had assured him that the wine was to be used sparingly, and only in celebration of a fellow traveler's begetting day. Appeased, Galion had agreed to fulfill their wish.
"Galion?"
He started wildly and spun around, heart racing, eyes frantic and twitching. The elf in front of him stepped back, looking at him as though he were mad and had sprouted an extra limb from his left ear.
"Dínendír!" Galion screeched, his voice unnaturally high. "You accursed fool! Are you trying to send me to my grave?!" 'Curse him and his silent steps!'
"Nay," Dínendír's expression relaxed and became inscrutable. "I assure you I would do no such thing. I am merely here at the request from my young friend. He would that you prepare some sweet tea for a celebration."
"Oh?" Galion said, his eyebrow rising in suspicion. He crossed his arms, greatly annoyed at the elf for the intrusion and at himself for having acted in such an embarrassing manner. "And what celebration is this? I have not heard of it," he snapped rudely.
"He would not say, for it is of a most secret nature." The elf continued, unfazed, "I know only that he wishes for five bottles, and that he will fetch them later, when time permits."
"Well," Galion replied indignantly, "if you two insist on keeping me in the dark, then I'm afraid that you will have to make do with water skins - I refuse to risk the King's bottles for some foolish game. They will be waiting for your young friend on the table should he deign to fetch them."
"Thank you, Galion," Dínendír said with a bow, then turned and left the kitchen.
Galion stared after him for a while, glaring hot daggers at the retreating back. 'I am the servant of the King and royal family,' he thought, taking a glass and pouring himself some wine. 'It is not my duty to cater to every whim of the entire populace!' He gulped it, his nerves calming, and, feeling a slight pang of guilt at behaving so rudely, began to prepare the tea.
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That's it for now, I'm sorry it's so short - I was going to write more, but I'm too tired and I'm having trouble registering for my courses. I will post the next chapter soon, though, as it's already planned out in my head for the most part. Please review!
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Ethelewen