The prince of Mirkwood stood in front of his ornate mirror, admiring his beauty as usual. He was obviously the best-looking person in all of Middle-Earth, and possibly even the Undying Lands. So, where had his Elfmaids gone? He hadn't seen a single Elf of the female persuasion in weeks (though it was often hard to tell the ladies from the men when it came to Elves), and he was about to go insane from the lack of fawning over him.
"My lord?" a household servant timidly poked his head into Legolas's room. "A letter has arrived for you from Imladris."
Legolas took the parchment and unrolled it. The beautiful elven script filled half the page; the flowing letters were written in a neat, precise style that hinted it might be from Lord Elrond himself. Legolas proudly squinted his gorgeous blue eyes at the page, his soft lips moving soundlessly as he struggled through the words. He stopped short, reaching a word he didn't understand. "What in Eru's name is an imbekle?" he asked.
"I believe the word is 'imbecile', my lord," the servant shyly offered, afraid of invoking the moody princeling's wrath.
"An imbecile?" Legolas asked, still not understanding.
"It means handsome, clever, and brave, my lord," the servant lied. Legolas smiled; obviously he was the 'imbecile' mentioned in the letter.
"Fetch Ada for me," Legolas demanded, rolling up the parchment. "I would like to tell him some rather disturbing news."
"I am afraid King Thranduil is not to be interrupted," the servant said.
Legolas's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "What could be more important than the fate of his son?" he said angrily.
"Er, facial reconstruction, Prince Legolas."
"Facial what!"
"Reconstruction, my prince," the servant tried to hide a smile. "You father is getting a facelift and a nose job."