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Chapter 11: I Eat Crow

The day after the tournament, I awoke to a splitting headache. Now some people mistakenly believe that elves do not get headaches, or feel pain or sickness of any kind. I would tell them with firsthand knowledge, this myth is patently untrue.

Trust me, when an elf returns to his room and finishes off an entire bottle of wine...or two...or three...on his own, he will definitely feel it the next morning. Sometimes I am more like my father than I cared to admit.

So I was slightly hungover and more than a little miserable when I rolled over in bed this morning. My tongue was fused to the roof of my mouth. My eyes felt gummy and swollen.

And my hair…

Well, let's just say it was less than the degree of silken perfection I prefer.

I felt horrid.

I pressed my eyes shut-why did the light have to stream in so brightly through the eastern windows-and groped for a pillow to cover my head, all the while wishing the horrible pounding in my head would cease. It was like Gimli had set up his own forge in the back of my skull and was hammering away.

But closing my eyes and covering my face with the pillow did not help. I briefly considered smothering myself. Still that pounding, though.

"Prince Legolas? Are you there?"

I nudged the pillow off my head and cracked open one eye toward the door.

I slithered out of bed with a groan and threw on the crumpled robe on the floor next to the bed.

"My lord? Prince Legolas?" The incessant knocking resumed.

I briefly considered not answering, but my better judgment and sense of propriety won out. I pulled my robe shut and fiddled with the belt as I cracked open the door.

The maiden politely averted her eyes. "Our Lady sends you this with her compliments." She held a small basket out, and I widened the door enough to make room for it to pass through.

"Lady Galadriel is too kind," I said, my voice harsh to my own ears. I cleared my throat and continued. "Please assure her of my gratitude."

She curtseyed and left, and I pushed the door shut. The basket contained some bread, fruit, a little pot of jam, and a glass bottle of some sort of juice. My fingers lingered on the glass bottle, labeled in a thin curling style: "Elder juice-for headaches and hangovers."

I opened it at once, throwing down the contents without a second thought and flopped back down on the bed. I would have happily tried anything at that point. My head throbbed, and even though I might make pretend to be above such maladies to the hobbits, Gimli, or even Aragorn, in the privacy of my own chamber, I allowed myself to wallow in my feelings of misery.

Sometimes the Lady of the woods was too perceptive. Damn nosy, is what my father would call it, but that seemed uncharitable somehow. Of course, he had known her for much longer than I. They had both been in Doriath before it had been sacked.

My father. He had not wanted me to go. We had more than a few heated discussions about my plans for Ithilien.

"You are my son," Thranduil had raged, "and it is your position, no—duty, to stay and serve the Woodland Realm."

I knew to be adamant. "My brother had already taken over most of your duties, Ada. I am not needed in court, as my absence has well proved. Our kingdom still stands, does it not?"

"I do not understand why you would openly embrace leadership in Gondor when such things are so tiresome to you here," my father argued.

The vein in the king's forehead started to throb. I lowered my voice. "I do not wish do dwell in Oromer's shadow, Ada."

"Nor have you since the War, my son. You have won great fame for yourself among men and the Eldar," he said proudly.

"I do not wish to settle for second place, my father. I cannot. I will not." I was firm.

"So this is my beloved Legolas' future? To live among men?" Thranduil mused sadly, "and leave his family behind?"

What my father could not accomplish with one of his rages he could easily make up for in layers of guilt. "Please understand, my father. I beg leave, not because of less love for my family, but I desire to build a new life…"

Thranduil interrupted, "Was your old one so horrible to you, son?"

"No…but I have grown too complacent in these woods, easy in my position, letting Middle Earth roll by…" I paused and remembered the day I had left Rivendell with the Fellowship.

"When Lord Elrond chose me for the Fellowship, I felt needed, depended on—and not just for my title. I saw more of the world than I ever had before… I will not stay in the and be an object for the people here, doing nothing, changing nothing, helping no one—I want so much more." I took a deep breath. Never had I been so candid or persistent with my father.

"You have changed, Legolas. The war has changed you. Made you stronger, more sure of yourself." My father rose from his throne. "When you are lord over Ithilien, kindly remember that your Ada loves you very much."

All I could do was stand there, stunned by the words of my father, the king.

So much had come to pass since that fateful day. I peered thoughtfully through my window to the golden mallorn leaves fluttering in the breeze. In a few days' time I would see my king...my father once more. We were to meet on the edge of Eryn Lasgalen before I departed for Ithilien. Saying goodbye would not prove easy, especially with my younger sisters, Celeril and Idrian. They were twins, each prone to mischief and both infuriatingly adorable-it was impossible to stay angry with either of them when they would look up at me with their big blue eyes. Idrian has ever been Oromer's favorite, just as Celeril was mine.

When Celeril was an elfling, she looked to me to make everything right. She confided in me, and I, in her. If our father was too strict (a frequent occurrence), Oromer too bossy (when was he not?), or she had fought with Idrian, she knew I would understand. When she had her first kiss, I was the first she told, and when dark dreams plagued my nights after my return, she alone knew and brought me comfort.

I would miss her dearly, but perhaps it was for the best.

She was still very young. My time with the Fellowship had forced me to face reality, and I knew that I could no longer join her in silly pranks or wild escapades. Still, saying goodbye would not come easy.

I can only imagine what Celeril would have to say about my behavior with Limaer last night. She would probably laugh her head off and then scold me in the same breath.

I had acted horribly. Disgraceful, even.

I peeled myself off the bed, picked up the discarded bottle, and made myself splash cold water on my face, change clothes, tidy my hair. I gave myself a once over in the mirror by the vanity and grimaced at the circles under my eyes.

I looked hungover. It was not my best look.

A half hour later, I had searched no less than five different locations for Lady Limaer. And every time my eyes felt like they might squeeze out of my too-small skull, I reminded myself that I deserved to feel wretched. This was my penance, I told myself. The sooner I found Limaer and apologized, the sooner I could return to my room.

I eventually did find her. I'm not half-convinced she didn't lead me on some sort of wild goose chase all over Caras Galadhon, and then staged her final location to make herself seem as sweet and lovely as possible.

When I finally found Limaer, she was framed by a fragrant arbor of pink roses, which perfectly matched the color of her gown. In her lap, she lovingly stroked a small kitten. She pretended not to notice my arrival.

I had to clear my throat three times and finally say her name before she looked up.

"Oh, Prince Legolas! I did not see you," she said, her voice all innocence.

Right. "Lady Limaer, I have come to offer you my sincerest apologies," I told her. "My actions were inexcusable last night."

She looked up at me through long silken eyelashes and blinked. "I am not sure what you are referring to, Prince Legolas."

"Last night," I repeated. "In my room?"

She blushed prettily. "Prince Legolas, I am sure I do not know of what you speak!" Limaer daintily shook her head.

"Last night, Lady Limaer, when you were in my room-"

Her eyes widened and she cut me off, quite loudly I might add. "Prince Legolas, a young lady would not visit any elf's room without a chaperone."

I glanced behind me to see if perhaps we were not alone, but we were. Limaer, however, seemed set on pretending the whole uncomfortable scene the night before had never happened.

I pursed my lips and then gave her a quick bow. "My apologies then, my lady, for interrupting your time."

She gave me a long look through those cool blue eyes of hers and smiled prettily, her teeth white against her pink, full lips. "Any time, Prince Legolas."

I turned then to leave, only too happy to flee, and as I rounded the corner, I clearly heard her say in a low whisper, "Any time."

It was almost enough to drive me back to my room to drink some more.

Author's note: Well… what is that Limaer up to? Did any of you expect Legolas' gallant apology to turn out like that?

Well, I know it's been a while since the last update on this one, and for that I apologize. Kingsfoil has been pretty front and center in terms of taking up my writing time, and I'm trying desperately to finish it off.

If there are any readers feeling especially impatient about this tale, please remember that the finished original version of Building Ithilien is available Right Now to read in its entirety. :)

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