Author's Notes: Die-hard Legolas Fangirls, if you do read this, don't search out Moofin Queen and I as to have our heads for a trophy. Thank you.
o-o-o
"WHAT?"
Came the expected shout of Legolas. Like his father, he had such a bad temper. Once his aunt (twice removed on his father's side) had tried to send him to Lothlórien to cool his bad moods. That ended in disaster. As usual.
"His...procedure should be done in a few hours, my lord." said the servant calmly. When handling with unstable princelings, one had to remember to keep calm. Otherwise he could fire you, put you in a dungeon, and starve you if one lashed out at the said princeling. Or he could use you for target practice. (Which wouldn't be very nice, now would it?) "You may stay in the waiting room until he is finished, if you wish, Prince Legolas."
Legolas agreed with a nod of his perfectly braided blond head. Before exiting his elaborately decorated bedchambers, he snatched up the eloquent letter from Lord Elrond, as well as a pocket sized hand mirror (you never knew if those were split ends or your eyes were fooling you). One he had gathered the few things that might keep him occupied for a good three hours at least, the princeling followed the servant to the hospital wing of the underground halls.
Walking faster than the Elf who was leading him to the Mirkwood Medical Centre, he didn't notice the glass doors seperating the hospital from the hallway. Anyone could make that mistake. Right? Surely more than one Elf had run into those perfectly clean doors.
Or maybe it was Legolas alone.
If you haven't understood what has been said, the blond princeling walked straight into glass doorway.
The receptionest Elves looked at the door in silence as he stumbled backward, then burst out in uncontrolable laughter. Although once Legolas opened the door, the Elves imeaditly quieted down, but with smiles and silent chortles upon their faces. (None of them wished to become target practice.)
Legolas was quite upset. It wasn't nearly noon and he had already humiliated himself. No doubt the Elves would keep the marks on the glass and mock him as the day grew old. Well, perhaps looking at one's beautiful self would make one feel better. So that is what he did.
"Hello, handsome. Aren't we having a good hair day?" the princling said quietly into the mirror, as if it would speak back to him with a reply of, 'oh yes, my lord, you're too beautiful. I'm not worthy!', but we all know inanimate objects cannot speak. (If it could, it would probably say something sarcastic and cold. How would YOU like to look at the face of a self-centered prince for your whole mirrored life?)
Amidst Legolas's admiration of himself, and supposed worry for his dear old dad, two Mirkwood guards silently and swifty walked into the waiting room, with a couple of the LSP (Lothlórien Secret Police) trailing behind.
"Prince Legolas," one guard began. "These two would like to speak with you."
"Can't you see I'm busy?"
The two guards exchanged annoyed glances.
"My lord, they're here to arrest you. For the 'assassination' attempt on Lord Celeborn."
Legolas stood up immeaditly. "I had no idea he was deathly allergic to peanut shells! If so, I wouldn't have thrown them at him!"
That little incident happened when his twice removed aunt had escorted him down to Lothlorien. Low and behold, the tempting peanut shells get the better of all of us.
Secret Agent Haldir held out his Lothlórien police badge. "Prince Legolas, if you'll come with me..."
Oh no, that wouldn't do. "NO! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! ADA!"
"Please, Prince Legolas...don't make this difficult."
"Haldir, do we need the tranquilizers?"
"Probably...got a shock collar?"