Disclaimer: Mine, my own… my precious… No, not really, no… sighs They're Tolkien's… For now laughs evilly

AN: Yes I know, why aren't I working on Mists of Memory, but my muse bit me and swore I wouldn't get a wink of sleep until I did her bidding… I'm not sure how long this will be, any suggestions will highly appreciated.

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"So, you do realize in order to be good guests, it means no practical jokes?" Elrond glared at his sons, who looked innocently back at him.

The elf lord glanced suspiciously into the forests of Mirkwood, which had grown disturbingly quiet. They were quite close to the palace, yet no one was around. He shook off the uneasy feeling and turned his attention back to the twins.

"I mean it. I will not have you dishonor Rivendell with your… unruliness. No. Pranks." Elrond felt a slight tug around his ankle, and the next instant, he was blinking against a stream of honey. He turned his mystified gaze onto Elladan and Elrohir, who were in a similar predicament.

Several seconds passed, father and sons staring in confusion. A branch above them trembled, and an elfling dropped from a tree, landing nimbly.

"Ha! I told you! See Glorfindel, I told you I'd get you—" The elfling trailed off, staring hard at Elrond. "Back?" he finished weakly. He quickly adopted a formal pose, although he was obviously uncomfortable.

"L-lord Elrond!" The youngster began, shifting from foot to foot, a blush creeping up his neck. "A-and company! You--you're early! My-my apologies of course. Um, I—you can bring your, uh horses up to the gate." The elfling was quickly losing any dignity he had mustered. "The gate is—uh, over that way, my—the king… well, he's there right now if you hurry you can catch him."

An awkward silence followed, the Imladris elves still totally dumbstruck. The elfling scratched the back of his leg with a foot, coughed slightly and blurted out, "Well—uh—busy—late—Ada will—bye." He turned and fled.

Elladan watched the mysterious elfling disappear into the forest, his green tunic melting into the trees. Half of him was mildly annoyed, but the other half was hoping to meet the young one again.

Slowly, the family moved forward, the end of their journey in sight. They broke through the trees and the twins gasped in surprise. It was their first visit to Mirkwood, and the palace took then by surprise.

The structure was beautiful, carved into the mountain itself. Many of the rooms were actually underground, yet even the Wood Elves did not have it in them to dwell wholly underground, there were also many open rooms under the sky. Trees grew in courtyards and spilled along the foothills. A long stone fence encircled the whole complex, and the travelers made for the open gate.

Elladan shared an amazed glance with Elrohir as they neared the gates. Both of them knew that their father would have been giving them one last lecture, but seeing as some other mischievous elf had just dumped a barrel of honey over them, well, it just would be right.

As the ground leveled upward, elves began to appear. Curious stares and muffled snickers followed them up to the gates, and soon a crowd had gathered. Elladan felt his face grow hot under all the honey. He was used to being laughed at at home, but these elves were strangers.

Upon the gate, a tall figure waited. "That's Thranduil." Elrond said in a low voice. "Remember what I told you about him, he's stern but enjoys a laugh. He's fair in his decisions, warm hearted, and likes some level of respect. And a lovely hot temper. He has one son about your age, and he adores the child, who reminds him of his wife."

The twins straightened and winced; the honey had begun to dry and crack uncomfortably. "I'm going to hunt that elfling down, stick him in a vat of dye and parade him through the palace." Elrohir swore. "We'll see how he looks in a nice purple."

Thranduil came forward a step, and surveyed his visitors with a raised eye. "Elrond! Wonderful to see you again, twenty five years really is too long!"

Elrond nodded in return. "Mae govannen. These are my sons, Elladan and Elrohir." The twins bowed in turn, uncomfortably aware of their sweet coat cracking.

The Mirkwood king shook their hands warmly. "Mae govannen as well! Now, what happened to you? Or is it a new Imladris custom to coat yourselves with honey?"

They were saved from admitting they had walked directly into a trap by a young elf skidding (literally) onto the scene. "I'm sorry! Late!"

Thranduil laughed. "As usual. Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, this is my son, Legolas Greenleaf." The prince bowed and looked directly at the visitors for the first time. His fair face paled slightly.

The travelers stared right back. For this was the elfling who, not more than 15 minutes ago, had met them in the forest!

"Well—met." Elrond managed.

Legolas turned to his father and said quickly, "Oh! Ada, I almost—uh, forgot! I must go to the stables! Have to feed Mordax!"

"Ah, yes." Thranduil mused. "That yrch-born demon of yours. Very well. I wouldn't want one of the elves in the stable to get their heads kicked in."

Legolas gave his father a half reproachful, half relieved glance, bowed once more, and raced off. Seconds later, a loud thud sounded. The prince's voice floated up, "It's a little bit slippery down here."

The king rolled his eyes heavenward. "Valar help me. Clumsy in everything except fighting and rides a stallion that won't let a soul near it, save for him. We'll need your healings skills before you leave. Now, I assume you'd like to change, and then maybe you two would like to go exploring?"

The king caught Elrond's apprehensive expression. "It's all right. The spiders do not come so close, and the patrols have not sensed orcs for weeks."

Elrohir nodded eagerly. Elladan followed his brother's example, knowing that exploring would have to wait. Revenge comes first.

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Legolas darted into the stables, turned a sharp right and vaulted into a stall. The stallion inside reared in surprise, then bent it's great head and nuzzled the elfling.

"Mordax, I just did something extremely stupid." Legolas reached for a comb and ran it gently through the horse's black mane. "And Ada is saying you 're a demon horse again. What have you done now?"

Mordax reared slightly and gave off a very clear sense of satisfaction.

"Not again!" Legolas groaned. "Poor Nethidal. You've thrown him off what, 18 times now?" Mordax whickered. "Oh. Nineteen. You're not supposed to be proud about it you know." Mordax simply stamped the ground, not looking sorry at all. "All right, all right. We'll go for a run to the archery fields. But behave!"

An elf poked his head over the stall door. "Hey—" Mordax snorted in rage and rushed at the intruder, teeth snapping, hooves nearly trampling the prince as he rushed to get out of the way. The elf yelled and pulled back, narrowly avoiding losing an ear. One of the flying hooves clipped the prince on the shoulder, sending him back into a wall.

"Son of an orc!" he roared, climbing to his feet. Sending a prayer to the Valar, he vaulted onto the horse's broad back. He dug in his heels and entwined his slim fingers into the mane.

Mordax leaped—directly over the stall door. He thundered down the stables, snapping left and right. Elves and horses alike scrambled to get out of his way. Satisfied that no one would get hurt, (this time) Legolas let out a wild war cry.

They burst out of the stables at a dead run. Legolas relaxed and let the stallion have a free reign. "That wasn't exactly behaving." He said, trying to sound like his father when he was angry (and failing miserably). "You nearly took my head off!" Mordax snorted and slowed down to a saucy canter.

The prince sighed and asked, "Why are you so difficult?" he may as well have asked a tree and gotten better results. He had asked a tree and gotten better results.

Before long, a small but wide field opened up before them. Legolas slid off Mordax and reached for his bow. The stallion shied nervously and Legolas scowled at him. "Hey what are you worried about? I missed, didn't I?" The young elf slipped a soft rope around the horse's neck and tied the other end to a tree.

Turning he drew an arrow, wincing at the pain it caused in his left shoulder. Dratted horse. A target at the far edge of the field caught his eye, and he turned slowly, aiming directly at the center.

A far off cry sounded just as he let go of the arrow, causing him to jerk upward. "Legolas!" He watched in dismay as the shaft disappeared into the forest.

"Hmmm. Maybe I should have taken down the ice water over Ada's door."

Undaunted, he continued to empty his quiver, ignoring the steadily growing pain in his shoulder. Fifteen minutes later, targets all over the field boasted arrows, always somewhere within the bull's-eye. Starting forward, Legolas began to retrieve his arrows for another go.

Pausing when he got to the first target he aimed at, the prince glanced back around the field. Mordax was calmly nibbling on some clover, and the sun was till high in the sky. He sighed and started into the wood. The more arrows he had, the longer he could stay out. And away from his wrathful father.

Trees closed over his head, and Legolas sighed. Finding the arrow, with its green and silver quarrels (AN: did I get that right?) would be next to impossible. And something, he wasn't quite sure what, was out there, flitting through the trees.

Spinning suddenly, trying to catch the shadow at the edge of his eye, he spotted his arrow, embedded firmly in a tree trunk. Grabbing the end and pulling had absolutely no results. He pulled again, harder. The arrow remained stubbornly burrowed into the trunk.

The tree rustled uncomfortably, he was hurting it. "Sorry mellon nin." Wrapping both hands around the shaft, Legolas pulled with all his strength. He stifled a yelp as the arrow abruptly came free, jerking his shoulder back roughly. The tree's branches rubbed together, creating a low moaning sound.

The prince froze. The tree was warning him. There was danger, to the west, and more importantly, right behind him. He stayed completely still, waiting for a tell-tale sound… there!

With a smooth, cat-like movement, the bow was off his shoulder an arrow fitted to the string, and he spun. The tip of the arrow came to rest against the throat of an elf.

An elf? Legolas looked again. It was hard to recognize him with out all the honey, but this was one of Elrond's sons, El-something-or-other. He lowered the arrow to the ground and slowly released his grip. His shoulder throbbed steadily, but he gave no sign of pain.

"Don't do that!" He snapped, sounding more petulant than angry.

A voice from behind sounded, and the other twin raced into view. "Wow! You sure can move fast!" Legolas blew out his breath and dropped his bow altogether.

"Not funny! I almost shot you! What would I have told Elrond? 'Oh oops, clumsy me, I shot—uh… which one are you?"

"Elrohir."

"Ah." Legolas looked them up and down, desperately searching for some sort of difference before they—moved. Drats. He continued, ignoring the unsettling way they copied each other. "You are so lucky you weren't up against a higher warrior."

The twins shared a confused look, and one of them asked, "You're a warrior?" Legolas leaned against the tree and sighed. The tree whispered in his mind and he smiled.

"Yes Elladan, don't act so surprised." The young prince opened his eyes and laughed at the dark haired elfling, whose mouth dropped open in shock.

"But you're so young! And your father lets you? What about—"

Legolas raised his hands in self defense, and hid a wince of pain. Noting the sharp eyes that watched him suspiciously, he hurried to his explanation. "Well, for one thing, I'm not as young as I look. I'm five hundred and two. I know I don't look it, but don't rub it in." He narrowed his eyes, but they twinkled, giving him away.

"Also, no, Ada isn't happy about it, but there's not really anything he can do about it is there?"

Elrohir smiled and nodded approvingly. "So we're four hundred and forty nine, but we turn 450 this June. That's when we begin our weapon training. Which are your preferred weapons?"

Legolas hefted his bow in his right hand. "I love my bow, but I'm not bad at blades either."

The twins continued to ask questions, and Legolas answered patiently, asked some of his own, and in the course of several hours, the three had become good friends.

Elrohir and Elladan were laughing, and Legolas was animatedly explaining the details of a wonderful food fight he had instigated on his last begetting day. "And then Ada walks in, and I'm covered in mashed potatoes and dumping sauce all over Herild, and he's throwing peas in my face. I can't see anything, so I throw a glob of frosting in his general direction, he ducks—and my Ada gets it full in the face!"

Legolas shifted uncomfortably, he had been vividly illustrating the events with his arms and jostled his shoulder the wrong way.

Elrohir spoke first, after he managed to stop laughing at the thought of frosting covered Thranduil. "You've been hiding something, so you might as well show us. Or we could do it forcibly."

The elf groaned and pulled the shoulder of his tunic down; there was no way he could hide it anymore, and it was really starting to bug him. Elrohir gasped and reached out, gently prodding the swollen, bruised joint.

The whole shoulder was a mass of purple-blue bruises, and was an angry red wherever normal skin color showed through. "What happened?"

Legolas sighed. "Mordax." Seeing the twins amazed and suspicious glances, he quickly added, "But it's not that bad. He didn't mean it. Quesya was dumb enough to intrude on his territory. He was just defending it."

"Like you are him?" Elrohir asked wryly, still feeling the joint to see if any real damage had been done. "In the twenty minutes we were in the palace, I heard enough stories about that horse… If half of them are true, he's trouble."

Legolas stood, out of reach. "It's all right. It's not too bad. Mordax is just fine, if you want I'll show him to you. He wouldn't hurt you if I'm right there." I hope. Truth be told, Mordax was dangerously close to being either set free far, far to the north. Or, if he came close to killing another elf again, killed himself. Legolas would not let that happen.

Maybe if he could convince the stallion that the twins were friends, his Ada would reconsider. He stuck out a hand and leaned on a tree, contemplating the difficult task ahead of him.

An electric kind of tingle spread through him, the tree crying out in desperation for someone to hear. Legolas froze, eyes staring into the forest, then ever so slowly, toward the west.

"What is it?" Elladan asked worriedly. The sudden change in his new friend startled him.

"Orcs move in the west. They are but a mile away, and moving fast." Legolas swung his bow onto his shoulders, and spoke quickly, knowing that there was no time to waste. Pointing in a vague direction, he ordered, "Go back to the palace and warn my father. This is but a scout party, only ten or so, but I fear there may be more." He turned and raced back towards the archery field; heading directly west.

The field came into view abruptly, the trees simply stopping as if poison festered in the soil. Mordax snorted and reared wildly, sensing the rank odor of the foul creatures. Legolas ran, nearly tripping over himself in his haste. Cursing his clumsiness, he fumbled with the knot in the rope, frantically yanking at his own deft knots.

Finally, in sheer frustration, he unsheathed one of his knives and cut the rope. The stallion reared, dragging the stubborn elf around face to face with frightened twin faces. "What are you doing here?"

"We don't know our way around here! There was no path…"

Legolas paused for a second, wondering if the Valar actually ever listened to his prayers. Reaching a quick decision, he wrapped his hands in the rope and firmly planted his feet. "Get on him."

Elladan's face transformed from fright to disbelief. "Are you crazy?"

"Look, which is better, an orcan blade or maybe falling off a horse? Get on, he won't buck. NOW!" He roared as Elladan hesitated.

The elfling gingerly laid a hand on the stallion's heaving flank and scrambled up. Mordax reared again, forcing the elder twin to entwine his fingers into the mane of the creature, much like the prince had hours earlier.

Legolas pulled down with all his strength, biting back a cry of pain as his shoulder was nearly ripped from its socket. "Stop it! You will not harm them! They are friends!" The stallion reared again, though more hesitantly this time. The urgency and commanding tone of his master's voice penetrated the skull of the beast, and he whickered uncertainly. But he did not buck again.

"That's it, my dold bennas. Now you."

Elrohir took his brother's hand and leaped up behind him. Mordax shifted nervously, not really comfortable with two strange elves upon him, but his master's firm hold stayed him.

Legolas rubbed the great beast's neck and peered around him. Orcs gathered in the darkness just beyond his sight, but he could hear their thumping feet. Quickly, he handed the rope to Elladan and slung his bow from his shoulder.

"Go. Mordax knows the way. It takes me only 5 minutes on foot, he should have no problem."

"But what about you? You cannot fight with your shoulder—"

The elven prince fitted an arrow to the string, pulled back and let fly. The scream of an orc rang out, along with cries of rage from it's fellows. "Like hell I can't. Go!" He slapped Mordax on the flank, and the stallion took off like a shot.

Legolas turned his attention to the pressing matter of the orcs. He loosed arrow after arrow, and as the creatures pressed forward, saw that the tree who had informed him of the danger was quite right. There were only 13 of the creatures, and his arrows had taken three more down.

But his aim was severely off, and he managed to kill only one more before he had to whip out his knives. He met the force with unmistakable fury, blades whirling in a dance that promised death.

The orcs surrounded him, even as three more of their number dropped to the ground, black blood staining the grass. Legolas found himself hard-pressed to keep his parries and thrusts under control.

A sword flashed in, nicking the elf's arm with its rough blade. Legolas' attention never wavered, solely focusing on the orc on his left. His arm worked in a blur, frantically parrying the large creature's swings and thrusts. Occasionally, he swung in his right arm to help deflect a particularly hard stroke, and eventually, this became his undoing.

An orc brought in his blade while the prince's right hand was on the left, scoring a long cut along the elf's side. As Legolas gasped and bent to the right, a club smashed into his left shoulder, dislocating the already weakened joint and sending the elf careening to the ground, knives flying from his grasp.

Legolas watched as his knives skittered away, knowing there was no way he could get back to his feet and to them in time. He twisted desperately to the side, in one last final attempt to escape the axe heading for his neck.

AN: yea! You wouldn't believe how long I had this floating around before I typed it up. As I said before, I'm still not sure whether or not to turn this into a long fic with a really involved plot, or keep it short. Let me know, please!

Oh, btw, if anyone's read Arguments and Attack of the Squirrels (shameless plug) I'm seriously thinking of writing a sequel. Should I?