DISCLAIMER:

See chapter one.

Series:

None.

Spoilers:

See chapter one

A/N: All righty. Time for another chapter in the saga of the Ring. BTW, I will make these chapters as long as possible, and thanks for letting me know what you guys think, I always read the reviews—but remember, it is my duty as a writer to make my readers come back—which means some cliff hangers! :-) I hope you don't mind too much. 

Legolas' She-Elf: I will try not to kill Legolas, I promise, because I like him too. :D Okay, that's an understatement…but I don't have complete control over my stories. My muses, Malsîr and Elrond, have control, too.

ELROND MUSE: Die! Die! He must die!

MALSÎR: Don't be so damn blood-thirsty. I say, live!

So I have to let them argue it out a bit more before I find out. :D

Also, I know I was a bad author and took forever to update, but you will have to explain to my teachers that I have better things to do than algebra. They don't listen to me anymore. :-)

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Three Rings for the Elven-Kings

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Chapter Five

A Welcome Respite

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            Everything was dim and distant, enjoyably so. He felt warm and pleasantly drowsy, but a hint of an ache touched his left shoulder, as though something excruciatingly painful had happened that lay just beyond his memory. He rested, his eyes slowly un-glazing and focusing on the ceiling above him. He blinked once or twice, long, dark lashes giving him a slightly childish expression. Licking his lips his gaze wandered across the room. Too sunny to be his father's halls…couldn't be some human town, it was much to fancy for that…Lothlórien? No, they'd been across the mountain paths already, and besides, Lothlórien didn't have—

            "Lord Elrond?" Legolas gasped in surprise, sitting up sharply and instantly regretting it. He winced and sucked his breath in pain. Elrond, who had been grinding something in a bowl, looked up and instantly moved to the princes' side, pushing him gently back against the soft covers.

            "Well, my young prince," Elrond said, his voice low and calming, a twinkle of amusement and concern darkening his sea-gray eyes, "you have given us all quite a scare."

            Sudden memories flooded him—Glorfindel, Endara, the Black Riders, and the Ring, always the Ring—

            Panic gripped him and he fought for control as he reached up to his throat. The chain, weighed by the Ring, was still there, and relieved he leaned his head back against the pillows. Elrond furrowed his brow, concerned that the Ring already had a hold on Legolas.

            Silently the older elf laid a hand on the princes' good shoulder, and Legolas relaxed further, growing weary again.

            "What has happened?" Legolas asked, stifling a yawn. "I remember very little."

            "That is a good thing," Elrond answered, moving back to the table and continuing to grind. "I cannot tell you how concerned we have been; I was not sure you would wake, even after removing the shard."

            "Shard?"

            "A piece of the knife broke off and was lodged in the wound. Do not worry," he added, seeing Legolas' revulsion. "It is gone now, melted down."

            Legolas watched sleepily as Elrond continued to grind whatever was in the shallow bowl for several more minutes. "Where is Endara?" he asked at last.

            "Sleeping. I had to drug him."

            Legolas laughed suddenly, his voice clear and bell-like, lighter and freer, more like the way an elf's voice should sound. Elrond smiled, pleased at his improvement.

            "Did you now? Somehow I am not surprised."

            Elrond stopped grinding briefly, dripped a few drops of water into the bowl and then continued to press down. "How long have I been here?" Legolas asked, shifting slightly.

            "A week."

            Legolas sat bolt upright, albeit more carefully. "A week? Are you sure?" He immediately felt foolish for asking such a silly question. Of course Lord Elrond would be sure—he'd treated Legolas, for heavens sake!

            "Six nights, and today is the seventh day."

            Legolas continued watching the Lord work, and finally realized something strange was going on. "My lord, what are you doing?"

            Elrond's lips curved in a smile; his dove-gray robe was cut at the forearms to allow freedom of movement without hindering sleeves. "I am preparing paints."        

            "Paints? For what?"

            "For the local savages." Elrond's voice rang clear with amusement, and his eyes danced with silent laughter. Legolas blushed. "For my palette. I need some blue to add to the clouds."

            "I did not know you were a painter, my lord."

            "I am not. I merely ruin them." This drew another laugh from the bed-ridden elven prince. "I will be frank, young one. I am bored. There are only so much governing Rivendell needs—I am more of a figurehead than anything else. Elves do not need or appreciate much governing. So I am taking up a hobby. Painting sounded like it would take up a lot of time…which is what I am looking for." Another laugh. "Glorfindel has promised to teach me."

            "Glorfindel? Lord Glorfindel paints?"

            "You would be surprised what boredom drives an elf-lord to. Desperation. Sword drills. Painting." Legolas laughed lightly, his eyes clear and bright again. Seeing this, Elrond continued. "Erestor sings in his spare time, and Lindir criticizes him and gives him no end to grief. Glorfindel and I paint, your father does wood carvings, did you know? He sent me one for my eight-thousand five hundredth begetting day.* Arwen does archery drills. Elladan and Elrohir kill things. Galadriel makes rope and arrows. Celeborn weaves."

            "Lord Celeborn weaves?" Legolas' voice was incredulous. "My lord, surely you jest."

            "Surely I do not." Elrond's eyes positively glowed with pleasure. For a while Legolas fell silent, listening to the music of the waterfalls outside his balcony, and the sweet, soothing sound of elven music.

            "My lord?"

            "Yes?"

            "Does he really weave?"

            "He made Galadriel's wedding gown. And Celebrían's."

            "You jest!"

            "Ah, the young and doubtful," Elrond laughed. "He has an entire room dedicated to cloth weaving. The irony of it is he continues to tease Galadriel about her choice of always wearing white. He says she should be the Lady of Blue Cloth or something other than the Lady of Lórien."

            "My lord?"

            "Yes, Legolas?"

            "How do you know all of this?"

            "What, what my advisers choose to do in their spare time or the details about Celeborn's thriving weaving business?"

            "Both."

            "I went around asking everyone what I should do in my spare time—which was growing at an exponential rate—and as for Celeborn and Galadriel, they are my in-laws. I know too much about their lives for comfort."

            "From Lady Celebrían?"

            "Yes."

            There was another pause in which Legolas used to roll onto his good side. "My lord?"

            "Yes, Legolas?" Amusement at the younger elf's constant questions wafted in his voice.

            "What sort of things do the Lord Elladan and Elrohir kill?"

            Elrond broke out laughing; he put down the bowl and backed away from the table so that he wouldn't upset the paints. He came to Legolas' side and put his hand on the elf's brow. Legolas peered up at him through those dark, long lashes. Elrond pulled the dark strands of Legolas' hair away from his eyes. "At first they were so bored it was anything that moved," he said, chuckling, "until Elladan accidentally shot at Glorfindel. He missed, but a large tear where the arrow went through the cloak was blatantly obvious. Glorfindel was inconsolable. He loved that cloak—has had it for years. It was his lucky cloak, and he always wore it when he went outside of Rivendell. I have never seen him so mad. He told the twins if they wished to shoot, to shoot at something that bites back. So they began hunting the local mountain lion populous until they mistook Arwen's prized goat for a mountain lion."

            "They mistook a goat?"

            "It was a very big goat."

            "I see."

            "Arwen threw a fit and hurtled a few hard things at her brothers' head. She then took up archery, making her brothers' exceedingly nervous. She was still blistering mad, so they decided to take up the wild patrols again and shoot at orcs. They haven't hit anything important since."

            A twanging sound, followed by a loud crash, followed by a lot of cursing captured the elf-lord's attention.

            "Oh dear," sighed Elrond. "I suppose I jinxed my good luck. Sleep now, young one, and recover your strength. Tomorrow there will be a Council to decide what must be done with the Ring."

            Legolas' face grew troubled. "And what of Gandalf, have you heard from him?"

            "I have had no news of Mithrandir," Elrond answered gravely. "Sleep now." He passed his hand over Legolas' eyes, and the princes' silvery-blue orbs glazed over as he drifted into the dream state elves knew as sleep.

            "Though I doubt not he is entangled in this," Elrond muttered under his breath as he stood up. "Rest well young prince."

            As he stood to go, Endara stormed into the room. "You drugged me," he accused the elf-lord.

            Elrond smiled a demure smile. "I did, and would do so again. Keep an eye on your lord for a while. I must go see what my son's have destroyed now."

            Endara snorted and sat down to wait.

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*I am not making this up. Elves celebrated the day they were begot, not the day they were born. Information from Morgoth's Ring, by J.R.R. Tolkien.

I know this is short but I figured I'd get it up and get everyone's opinion…so…opinions make the writers write! What do you think?