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Legolas and the Balrog	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6325 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Legolas and the Balrog
A Little Legolas story

By erobey, robey61@yahoo.com
Beta'd by Sarah AK
www.feud.shadowess.com

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: The settings and most characters were created by JRR Tolkien. Only the words and other characters surrounding them here belong to erobey.

IV. Amid the Greenwood We Shall Stay

The gloaming was upon them, hovering about in the evening air as light and shadow briefly blended, blurring edges and skewing distance, muting hues and sharpening sounds.

Overhead the branches parted as the road approached the span and the sky was revealed in lavender and gold, painted pale with the remnants of Anor's lingering lumens. The colour dimmed away to smoky grey but it was yet too early to see the brilliant glimmer of Thôr (Vega) soaring high above or the shape of Nahar (Pegasus) galloping through menel's starry meadow. Erestor glanced up nonetheless, eager to view anything other than brown branches and autumn foliage.

The hunters converged upon the bridge amid the hollow hammer of the horses' hooves ringing out on the wooden planks. With gaited grace they drummed a pace in regimented military tattoo, a stirring cadence of strength and power as the chargers all fell into step. How elegantly curved the equines' necks, so fluidly flounced the silken manes, and each jaunty thud made a fine counterpoint to the warriors' lyrical song.

Behind the stallions the archers marched, proud precision in the subtle thump of their light-footed tread, the noiseless compression underscoring the thrumming percussion that governed their advance. Just as soundlessly padding across the causeway, the canines flanked each steed in pairs, save for three horses. Two proceeding under the banner of the Hawk had no chasers and one representing the House of the Blue Dragon was chaperoned by a single dog. The conspicuous mounds of cloaked remains draped across their whithers marked the families served by the fallen hounds.

Behind Thranduil and his Queen, the Noldor's war-horses needed no instructions to join in the tempo and match strides with their woodland contemporaries. The Imladrians upon their backs could not help but feel their spines straighten to attention and their heads uplift, wishing more than anything they had carried with them the Swan's Wing standard of Eärendil and were properly garbed as befit representatives of that noble House.

Suddenly a great shuddering whoosh of hot wind raced through the stagnant air and a dazzling flare of white and yellow light flamed up beyond the gates on the opposite shore. Erestor, Cugu and Toloth gasped in wonder; several immense torches had ignited upon the stone face of the mountain fortress, illuminating the grounds below and the mighty stronghold's impenetrable walls. In amazement the visitors stared upon a vision the like of which they had never beheld, for into the rock were carved monumental effigies, a trio of such vast scale that they had to crane their necks back to take all of it in.

There were three arched niches worked into the dark dioritic stone with the central one being the largest. The two on either side held artistically crafted and highly detailed relief images of the Valar: Oromë to the right and Yavanna to the left. Within the centre niche was depicted no representation of the Powers. Rather, the alcove held a tremendous rendition of an incense cedar, sixty feet high at least and appearing to be almost completely detached from the wall, so fine was the sculpture.

While this was clearly the tree on the white standard carried by the silvan Queen, the Noldo had no idea what the representation signified. Its importance was indisputable, however, not only from its prominent location and size but also by the composition of its rendering. The huge cedar's bark was created by the inset of hundreds upon hundreds of garnet, amber and topaz gems, giving exactly the right tint of ruddy brown seen on such a living redwood's rough skin. The leaves were comprised of individual jewels of green emerald, jade, and epidote; there must have been thousands of them! Never had so simple a design been so richly worked.

Even the torches were something unexpected, for they were in actuality a series of six huge lamps set at even intervals in the spaces dividing the statues. These were not open-flamed brands on pikes of wood or steel, but rather were as flickering fire trapped within transparent globes.

The light of the lamps spilled out from the hollow spheres, washing the entire scene in dancing glimmering gleam almost as if the day was not done. The vibrant beams twinkled and sparkled amid the gems of the life-sized tree and showed up the Valar in stark contrasts of bright sheen on glossy black. The whole of the mountain's facade seemed almost to be an altar and the atmosphere this display engendered was that of a holy place. Erestor felt he was about to enter into the sacred halls of a magnificent temple instead of an impregnable fortress. He turned to share his stunned appreciation with his comrades behind him.

Neither one noticed him; they were gawking open-mouthed at the artistry above them. In truth, Cugu and Toloth were attempting to decipher the inscriptions winding over the arched alcoves, incised in flowing Sindarin script. Each Power's name was written at their feet, Yavanna and Oromë, while below the tree's roots was written the word 'Tawar'. Around the goddess' head was a prayer for her protection and thanks for her making of the forest while surrounding the Hunter scrolled a plea for aid and strength. Above the towering cedar was chiselled a solemn vow.

"Oh Mistress of all that grows and breathes, we offer gratitude for the gifts of the forest. Watch over our Greenwood and ever let it flourish!" read Cugu aloud.

"Oromë, ever let your horn ring through the trees, lending courage to our hearts and vigour to our arms. Bless our bows that they may never break and our swords that they remain ever sharp," intoned Toloth with an approving nod. "That is a good prayer for any warrior," he added.

"We have come into a green world and here shall we abide until the end of days. Tawar serves us and we serve Tawar," murmured Erestor in perplexed reverence.

Somehow, the oath seemed composed of entirely distinct elements from different Ages that had been glued together only recently. One was very ancient, specific and simple, calling forth thoughts that had found voice long before the coming of Anor and Ithil while the other had about it the sound of a journey completed after long hardship and great sorrow. He could imagine that the opening sentence contained Oropher's words as he entered the Greenwood for the first time after the harrowing migration from the destruction of Beleriand. Elrond's seneschal could not begin to fathom what elf might have initially pronounced the second statement.

The contingent of mounted cavalry, hunting hounds, and foot soldiers halted upon the bridge, for barring the way were two monstrous wrought iron gates of intricate, almost delicate design that belied their unbreakable composition. The filigreed metal bars were fifty feet tall and filled the width of the bridge from side to side completely. The doors, set between high battlements built of granitic masonry, were fashioned after the same image found on the beech trees at the city's entrance, and though the barricade must be mobile the guests could not detect any break within the elaborate scrollwork to suggest where the gates were joined.

Upon the wide wall's flat-topped surface were fixed tall lamps of the same type as those illuminating the mountainside. These revealed twelve archers in uniform befitting the royal guard of a woodland King's House, standing the watch. They manned their posts upon this rampart in calm attention and awaited their Liege Lord's command before granting entry into the palace beyond.

Or so the Noldor imagined.

Yet, into the expectant silence flowed not the deep tones of the Sinda Lord but the lilting soprano of the silver Queen's melodious voice. Her words filled the forest as she sang out the simple vow:

"Buia Tawar men; buiam Tawar." (Tawar serves us; we serve Tawar.)

No sooner had the final syllable sounded than the iron was cast in an ethereal glitter as if starlight and moonlight were adhering to the metal. Then, without aid of hands or the clanking grind of machinery, the gates parted in the centre and swung outward upon the bridge making not so much as a whisper of sound. As the parted halves came to parallel the length of the span, the glowing subsided to a faint shimmer of adamantine on the onyx bars and a faint hum could be felt more than heard issuing from the enchanted metal.

Erestor could but stare, heedless of the open space between his lips and the tremendous amount of cornea his amazed countenance revealed. Talk there was of magic and mystery surrounding the silvan elves, but this demonstration superceded anything the quidnuncs had conjured up. There was nothing like this in Imladris and no such potent manipulation of nature among the Galadhrim. Perhaps Celeborn was not so foolish to recommend alliance with these fey folk. Erestor returned from his musing, a glance at his comrades revealing the slack-jawed gaping expression his own features no doubt displayed. He realised the royal couple had stopped at the perfect spot to allow the barrier to freely turn upon its hinges without need to cause anyone to reverse even one pace.

The King and Queen set forth once more, crossing onto the shore and passing beyond the sturdy walls into the expansive courtyard beyond. Behind them followed the warriors and as each pair passed through the opening they dipped their standards down and bowed low before the carved figures. As if constructed from gossamer-light fabric instead of cold, fire-hardened iron, the gates closed without assistance and no clang of clasp or lock resounded when the two halves rejoined as seamlessly as before.

The Noldor guests stayed close to Thranduil and his silver-haired wife, for once within the stronghold the cavalry and archers disbanded, heading off in different directions. The atmosphere of reverent and ceremonial solemnity vanished amid a chaotic cacophony of chatter, barking, and neighing. Soon the courtyard was nearly empty, save for a small assembly of elves situated near a huge cavernous archway cut into the mountain at ground level.

Erestor, Toloth, and Cugu dismounted in imitation of their hosts. Immediately, attendants approached and led the animals away, taking also the royal standards, which they set into brackets on either side of the open vestibule, the Beech Leaf Flag on the right and the Cedar Tree to the left. These aids relieved the guests of their packs with promises to place them in their quarters for them. As soon as the Noldor turned from thanking the elves, they found themselves gazing upon the heathen horde that had encircled them on the path earlier in the morn. The wild Nandor were not alone.

They were arranged side by side in four sets and it was clear soon enough that there was a hierarchy of importance represented in the sequence. Before each group, except the one closest to the cavern doorway, a female elf stood, regally dressed in silks and satins, hair braided and coifed in elegant styles, necks and ears bejewelled, hands nearly encased in rings clasped quietly before them. To the right of each inu was a tall staff bearing the flag of their heritage, and two or more of the aboriginal elves, still garbed in their scandalously meagre clothes and decorated with paint and feathers, shells and bones. The silver Queen parted from Thranduil and went to the bunch closest to the cavern, taking her place in much the same way as the other females there.

Starting from the outermost group, Thranduil advanced with a stern countenance and frowning brows upon the fey silvans, pacing the length of the line like a captain inspecting his troops. When he reached the Queen he turned on his heel and proceeded back along the ranks, stopping once more to confront the furthest cluster and the petite inu with them.

This Nandorin elleth had coal black hair and skin so pale it was nearly translucent. Her lips were dark red and she wore violet robes; her eyes were the most vivid green any of the visitors had ever beheld. She gaily smiled back at the Sinda Lord as her standard, the Raven in flight upon a field of blue and white, rippled in the breeze above her head. Next to her and standing one pace back were the two skeletons, Raven Dancer and Orange Clout, and beside them a female elf; she had pasted a scatter of black-dyed feathers, meant to be crows' undoubtedly but more reminiscent of yard fowl, over her body. The trio did not look very happy as the King came near.

The Raven inu stepped up to meet him and the two kissed sweetly and embraced.

"Beloved, do not be overly harsh; they were misled by the Dragon and the Butterfly, as it always goes!" she cajoled with an endearing smile and a winning little dip of her graceful eyelashes.

A nondescript snort of irate disgust from one of those two accused Houses was ignored.

"Ah, Corchrîn (Crowned Crow), melethrilen, (my love) you know I must not go easy on them in such a case! Fêrlass (Beech Leaf) and Doronlass (Oak Leaf) must learn to think and act independently! And they have set a poor example for young Annûnfaen (Radiant Sunset)!"

This intimate exchange was observed with tolerant nonchalance by all except the Noldor guests, they having been under the impression that the silver-haired female was Thranduil's wife. The Imladrians exchanged confused looks and then returned attention to the group.

The two bone-faced black-haired elves, twin males, glanced first at one another in wordless communication and then at their younger sister, a brunette, and all three emitted heavy sighs as they stepped forward to face their King's ire.

"Forgive our reckless joking, Hîren Adar (my Lord Father)," spoke one contritely. "I should have resisted the urge to play this prank and as oldest am prepared to accept the punishment for my younger siblings." This was Fêrlass, but to the Noldor emissaries he would always be Raven Dancer.

And on hearing that Thranduil was his father, and thus the others' as well, the three visitors were completely flabbergasted and could only stare in wide-eyed fascination as the little drama progressed.

Both of the other Raven elves were objecting.

"Nay, I am as old as you and can bear my own punishment!" This from Doronlass, the second-born of the twins. "My sincere apologies, Hîren Adar," he added quickly.

"I am not an elfling anymore, Fêrlass! Look after yourself, for once!" The younger sister sniffed indignantly. She tossed her head and the beads and shells in the chestnut hair clanked quietly as the braided topknot shook. "Ada, it was just a joke and oh! It was so very funny! You would have laughed and laughed!"

Thranduil had a hand to his face, fingers curled around his chin and mouth as he glowered at them, seeming to ponder deeply the offences committed and what an appropriate chastisement might be, but as his eyes met Corchrîn's, he was struggling to subdue a grin and restrain his laughter.

"That is most courteous of you, Fêrlass, yet all of you are old enough to know better. You will each step forward and ask forgiveness from our noble guests," the King at last found enough composure to speak and stood aside as the young elves shuffled hesitantly forward.

"We humbly beg your pardon, Lord Erestor, and yours as well Masters Cugu and Toloth," the twins spoke in unison and bowed simultaneously, but the Imladrians were accustomed to that sort of thing and never blinked an eye.

"Accept my apology as well," offered Annûnfaen politely with a curtsey that looked absolutely ridiculous, considering her costume, yet was thoroughly endearing. "I am also sorry my whistling arrow frightened your horses."

"Oh, well, the horses will be well enough," said Toloth amiably. "No harm done, I suppose."

The warriors would not normally let it go that easily, for they felt rather foolish to have been taken in, but the situation unfolding was far more interesting than the idea of blame and retribution.

"Aye; it was a good stunt! Better than anything our lads ever dreamed up!" Cugu winked conspiratorially at Fêrlass.

The oldest twin smiled back.

"For my part, I will be satisfied, provided a suitable means of correction is specified," added Erestor.

"So be it! The incident will not be held against you in the Realm of Imladris. Consider yourselves fortunate that you will not be required to answer before Lord Elrond for your errors!" intoned Thranduil's deep voice.

All eleven of the miscreants relaxed at that, for it looked as if the strangers would not exact any retribution on top of that ordered by the King and their Nenith (Mothers). Erestor wondered briefly what sort of stories these young ones had been told of Elrond to make them so worried of confronting him.

"Scullery," the long index finger of the King's right hand sentenced Fêrlass, who winced. "Kennels," the fateful pointer moved on to Doronlass, whose shoulders slumped. "Training grounds," the digit's doom fell on Annûnfaen, who pouted and folded her arms before her chest.

With sighs and groans the Raven children of Corchrîn resumed their places behind their mother and Thranduil moved down to the next group.

This time when the inu stepped forward the two elves barely brushed their left and right cheeks against one another in greeting and remained at arm's distance thereafter. The air took on that definitive crackley feel as when too much energy accumulates in a storm and the clouds are about to discharge a dangerous bolt.

The proud elven lady was tressed in locks the colour of molten steel and had eyes like shadows dark on leaves of green. She was dressed as regally as her counterparts yet of the quartet she alone did not appear at ease in the posh apparel. At her side, strapped right over the finely embroidered silk of her rose coloured gown, was a vicious sword in a scabbard that looked as though it had been through the Last Alliance, which it had. In fact, so had she.

"Hîren, (my Lord)" spoke the Lady beneath the banner of the Blue Dragon, "it is unfair for Hervess Canthui (Fourth Wife) to blame Glamor (Echo), Galurem (Much Good Fortune) and Nost Amlug Elu (the House of the Pale Blue Dragon) for these errors. It was boredom that spawned my children's participation in these foolish actions. Had my son and daughter been allowed on the hunt, they would not have sought to take part in this unworthy endeavour!"

Three sets of Noldor brows shot up upon registering the reference to multiple mates. Cugu turned to Toloth with scandalised shock and mouthed Fourth Wife? as Toloth shook his head and shrugged. Erestor discreetly elbowed Cugu as a giggle from the smallest among the assembled elves alerted him that their astonishment had not gone un-noted. They returned their attention to the scene, for an edgy and shrill sort of bickering was going on between the inu and her grown daughter.

"Naneth, I do not care about the hunt! I am going to spend my life as a warrior maiden and there will be many such events!" This was the red-haired female with the elaborate dragon logo on her legs.

"Then why did you go with this pack of delinquents, dragging along your brother?" demanded her mother angrily. "You have made our House look foolish and trifling! What would Nana-minui (First-mother, grandmother) say?"

"Ai! She would not care!" rejoined her son, Galurem, also a brunette and one of the anu with pierced nipples.

"Not care? She was a fearless warrior and brought great honour to our House! How dare you insult the memory of Nanethen!" (my mother) hissed the warrior in pink satin and would have cuffed Galurem but Thranduil caught her wrist and held it.

Their eyes locked and a bitter contest of wills ensued for several seconds before the King gave a nearly imperceptible sigh, plastered a long-suffering smile onto his face, and let go. Her hand fell limply to her side and curled up into a fist.

"Huneb'ell, please do not allow their antics to cause you such grief! I will be certain to punish them for the insult to your House as well as the practical joke upon our distinguished guests. Will this appease you? Can you forgive them, Hervess Nelui?" (Third Wife)

Erestor almost choked trying to swallow a shocked gasp and prevent a snicker from finding a way out of his nose as he assimilated this information. Not only because this female was wife number three but also because her name meant 'Joy Hearted', which clearly she was not. When the formidable Lady flashed him a searing glare he sobered immediately and no longer wondered at Thranduil's yield during the power struggle moments ago.

"Make your apologies that we may go! Your punishment shall be of my choosing," she growled to her children through gritted teeth.

"Forgive us our insolent behaviour!" implored Galurem, now quite grim. "And I will gladly submit to your censure, Lord Erestor!" Despite his bold demeanour, he much preferred anyone to discipline him other than his Naneth.

"Aye, we meant no dishonour to our Ada's guests," Glamor echoed her brother's dismayed repentance, hoping the endearment would soften her father and cause him to overrule Huneb'ell's decision.

Before the Noldor could reply to the beseeching pleas for redemption, Huneb'ell simply said "The mines" and every one of the collected Wood Elves flinched to hear it. She marched her disconsolate children out of the courtyard and into the stronghold, sparing a curt nod and an unattractive sneer at the Noldor as she passed.

The Sinda King sighed wearily and smiled thinly at the visitors as he moved to the next group.

Cugu and Toloth watched with keen interest and almost leaned forward to improve their view. They glanced discretely at one another. Definitely material for the Hall of Fire for many years to come, thought Cugu, and could tell by the sparkle in Toloth's eye that he was of like mind.

As for Erestor, he was becoming increasingly overwhelmed with the startling number of revelations this day had produced. He was certainly fascinated and more than a little incredulous, wondering if the King was wont to play such pranks himself, and whether this entire drama was an elaborate hoax. The noble advisor began a close scrutiny of the fey elves, looking for resemblance to the Sinda Lord.

A female with hair the same shade as walnut shells came to meet Thranduil next and pecked him daintily on the lips with a rather shamefaced smile and a small shrug of her right shoulder. Her eyes were lively and coloured like the inside of willow trees. Her gown was of midnight blue and had small diamonds scattered about in mimicry of the stars above that were only just beginning to show. She stood beside the flag of the Butterfly.

"Hernvenen, (my husband) I make no excuses for the behaviour of our younglings. Well do you know that I disapprove of such actions, yet I am powerless to stop them. They do not heed me, Hîren; in fact they are less easily moved than a dragon from its hoard!" she said and grinned.

No one missed her uncharitable reference to the now absent House and even the Noldor were having difficulty subduing the smiles that sought to break free upon their faces.

"I do know it, Hervess Tadui (Second Wife)," the King answered. "We both realise that Lothanor (Sunflower) is a natural leader; however, Huneb'ell's complaint was not unfounded. Was it, Sell Vinui (First Daughter)?" So saying he turned to the fair inu in butterfly paint and lifted one appraising brow.

Butterfly Face did not balk at meeting her Adar's stare and moved to the front of her siblings.

"I will accept the responsibility, Hîren Adar," she said calmly and then turned to the Noldor. Lothanor bowed before them and smiled when she straightened up. "It is true; this was my idea. Please do not hold it against my sisters! I am grieved that our attempt at amusement has caused you distress."

"We accept your genuine regret over the incident. Please, think on it no more!" said Cugu sincerely.

"Aye, no one was in any danger; the distress was insignificant," Toloth agreed.

"Whatever made you choose to do such a thing?" asked Erestor, curious.

"Oh, it was most definitely the mention of slow-witted, xenophobic, backward, ignorant tree lizards!" Lothanor smirked as she spoke and all the wild elves nodded in concurrence.

The guests had enough conscience to look thoroughly guilty and remorseful as they gazed cautiously at the King to see how he might react to this.

"Ah! You overheard us?" stuttered Erestor. "Most unfortunate, and how quiet you all are! Really you must forgive our loose tongues; it was the rain, you see."

To the Imladrians' unbounded relief, the sparkly giggle of youthful laughter met their ears from the same small elf as before, and Thranduil noticed. He at once broke into a gleeful smile and threw back his head in joyous guffaws of merriment.

"Aye, I am sure the rain is at fault, for you three have shown yourselves worthy in every way!" he said to Erestor and motioned for Lothanor and her sisters to approach him. "Lothanor, it is the stables for you. Come here, Brithla (Pearl)," he said to the inu with the huge silver hoop in her nose and drew her forward. "You, too, Gwirithiel (April's Daughter)," brought the last sister forth. "Will you let Lothanor take the blame in this?"

"Nay!" burst out Gwirithiel. "I volunteer for the vaults, Ada, as penance for the deed."

"And I will go to aid the scribe, Ada," sighed Brithla with severe disgust. "We will not do this again!"

"That will suffice. Would you add anything, Calargyll (Lamp Bearer)?" Thranduil turned to his second wife. She shook her head and smiled, opening her arms to gather their three offspring back to her side.

Now the King was standing in front of the silver Queen and they clasped hands and shared a long silent moment of eye speak, smiling gently upon one another's souls. They inhaled and exhaled together and parted.

"What of our sons, Ithilloth (Moonflower)?" asked Thranduil quietly.

Before she could reply, Necklace Male stepped up bravely.

"I am more at fault than the others, Hîren Adar," he said. "Lothanor would not have proceeded without my agreement and assistance. Please allow me to act as our guests' servant and guide during their stay."

"Well said, Sîrgell," (Running River) murmured Ithilloth approvingly.

"Indeed, you represent Adaren's House, Sîrgell," Thranduil's voice was sombrely limned in disappointment. "Do not forget that among your siblings, you alone do so. I expect much better from you, especially at your age."

"Forgive me, Adar!" pleaded the heir of Oropher.

"I also regret my part in it. I am the one who launched the acorn assault," another son stepped forward, brown-haired and doleful.

"Oh ho! Well now, that was a wicked thing to do!" fussed Toloth. "What is your name?"

"Do not harm Orgilion! (Star's Day)" the third one placed himself between his brother and the warrior. "I dared him to, and I am the one that started the laughing game."

"And I suspect you two are the ones who learned of our guests arrival upon the road and neglected to report it," Thranduil interjected. "You were on patrol together near that area yesterday, Menelfân." (Clouded Sky)

"Aye, you are right, Hîren. I spotted the tresspa…visitors and led Orgilion back last night to prove it, for he thought I was making it up," Menelfân confessed.

"Then Lothanor concocted this little ruse. What a fine impression you have all made upon the emissaries from our sundered kin," scolded Ithilloth seriously. Her voice was calm and her tone was amiable, but that only made her displeasure more palpable, and when she spoke everyone's attention focused upon her.

Each of the fey elves' heads dropped in shame.

"Orgilion, Menelfân; your actions impart a serious debt upon my father's House. Know you not what an honour it is that he chose you to represent the Hawk? What will you do to amend your errors?" she continued.

"I will work the docks," offered Orgilion. "I meant no smear upon the House of the Hawk!"

"Nor did I," said Menelfân. "And I will tend the armoury."

"So be it," said their mother and inclined her head to the guests. "I leave you now in the capable care of Sîrgell, my good elves, and bid you fair rest! We shall meet tomorrow to discuss your proposal, but go now and prepare for the feast. Tonight we shall celebrate and be merry!"

So saying she stepped away and her younger sons followed, bowing graciously to their father and the Noldor as they passed. Calargyll came next with her three daughters, and Corchrîn brought up the rear of the procession, her Raven children before her. They all entered the stronghold and soon departed from sight, leaving Thranduil, Sîrgell, Erestor, Cugu, and Toloth alone in the courtyard.

Well almost alone.

Once the rest of the assembly cleared out the source of the sparkling laughter was revealed. Erestor had noted the small elfling before but had been too intrigued with the King's brood to pay much attention. The two warriors got their first glimpses of the child and smiled, startled to have missed such a vision.

The little one stood apart next to the banner of the cedar tree and was so small he could not have been above the age of five or six. His hair was shoulder length and unbound; it shone under the lamplight, shimmering in streaks of gold and mithril that rivalled the radiance of Anor's rays. His eyes were soft blue clearer than a cloudless sky at noon on the summer solstice and danced with amusement and joy as he looked upon the King. He was wearing loose silk sleeping clothes in pale azure, had no shoes upon his feet, and definitely looked as if he had escaped from the nursery and his bed.

At the child's side sat one of the huge hunting hounds and the elfling was just the right size to drape one arm over the dog's shoulders. He was absently patting the animal's fur as the other hand resided before his chin, thumb determinedly inserted between the small red lips. He smiled and the hand came away from his face.

"Ada!" he cried cheerfully and held out both arms.

Thranduil immediately swooped down and caught the child up, hoisting him high over his head and then pulling him in close to his heart, delighting in the shrieks of jubilant excitement that issued from the elfling, sharing laughter with his small son.

"Legolas!" the King spoke. "You should be sleeping now, pen dithen (little one). Why are you out here in the courtyard so late? Did you pretend to be asleep so that Eirien (Daisy) would leave your rooms?"

"Yes, Ada," answered the child matter-of-factly. "I wanted to see the stranger elves but Eirien said I was too little. I am not! I needed to come so someone would be here for Nana's House."

At this Thranduil smiled sadly and gently and kissed his youngest child. "Aye, you are right. You are here for the House of Tawar. Come, then, and greet out guests."

Tbc
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Legolas and the Balrog