DISCLAIMER: Nope, not mine.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the prequel to Many Meetings, set when Legolas is a little under five hundred and when Thranduil's people have not yet moved north. (For the record, I usually write an older Legolas than most people do, a century or so younger than Arwen, but hopefully that won't impair your enjoyment of the story!)

I had hoped to have a bit more of this written before I started posting, but it looks like I need a looming deadline to motivate me to write it. *g* I do hope to keep to a fairly regular schedule as far as updates are concerned.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass, for advice, suggestions and patience with questions.

SUMMARY: Legolas and his mother are enjoying a summer in Rivendell. Unexpected events in their home lead to tragic consequences nobody could have anticipated. Angst, friendship.

WARNINGS: None at the moment, but there will be major angst in later chapters.

CHAPTER 1: In Imladris

"Out of my way, out of my way!"

The sound, accompanied by madly racing footsteps, was familiar. The Elves gathered in the entrance hall of the Last Homely House exchanged glances and smiles as the shout was closely followed by a dark-haired young ellon, looking as panicked as though he were being chased by a balrog. He wove in and out of the throng with surprising agility, even for an Elf.

"What have you done this time, Elrohir?" a slender Elf dressed in a silvery-grey gown asked him as he passed her.

"Nothing, Nana, I swear." The young Elf paused at the door and risked a glance over his shoulder. At the sight of a pair of ellyn appearing at the top of the stairs, he groaned. "My Queen, will you not give me sanctuary? I swear I have done nothing to deserve this!"

The dark-haired elleth thus addressed only laughed. With another groan, Elrohir bolted out the front door and in the direction of the surrounding woods. The two young Elves who were pursuing him ran down the stairs. One was dark-haired and identical to Elrohir, the other blond. They, unlike their quarry, were armed with bows and had full quivers, which explained how he had managed to get such a head start.

"Remember that Elrohir is expected to meet the messenger from Mithlond tomorrow," the Master of Imladris called after them as they flew to the door. "I want him fit."

"Do not worry, hîr nîn," the blond Elf shouted over his shoulder. "No lasting physical damage, I guarantee it!"

"You are still recovering from your broken arm, Legolas! Do not exert –"

"It's no use, Elrond; they're too far to hear you."

The Lord of Imladris shook his head with an expression of resignation.

"With all due respect, Lindariel, your son is the most unsatisfactory patient I have ever had to treat in my life. And that is even including the twins and Gil-galad."

"Elrohir!" Legolas shouted furiously as he and Elladan ran into the trees. "You know you cannot hide!"

There was no response. Elladan shifted his weight, reaching for his bow.

"He must have taken to the trees," he murmured.

"That will not help him," Legolas whispered. He looked around to see if Elrohir was visible nearby, and, finding that he was not, he went to the nearest tree and laid his hands flat on the trunk. Elladan watched silently. Trees, whether in Imladris or Eryn Galen, tended to be unabashedly partial to Legolas and were always willing to abet him.

A few seconds later, Legolas murmured, "Le hannon," and lifted his hands from the trunk. He glanced at Elladan and pointed.

Elladan walked over to Legolas so softly that he could barely hear his own footsteps.

"The stream is in that direction," he breathed.

"Istón."

"Is Ro anywhere near it?"

Legolas looked at him for a moment before his face broke into a smile. "I will ask the trees to make sure he does not hear our approach."

Around an hour later, three ellyn were seen returning to the Last Homely House, one of them dripping water as he walked and muttering imprecations about the perfidy of apple trees.

Draw. Aim. Release.

Thwack.

Draw. Aim.

"I do not know why you even bother, Elfling," Elrohir said. "You never miss." He set an arrow to his own bow and squinted at the targets that had been set up at the other end of the practice field. "Need they be so far away?"

"You can bring yours closer," Elladan said cheerfully. "If you think you cannot manage this."

"And I am not," Legolas said, "an Elfling."

"I will not argue with you while you are holding the bow. You are not an Elfling." Elrohir waited until Legolas' attention was on the target and then mouthed to Elladan, "For now."

Elladan suppressed a snicker.

"I heard that," Legolas said calmly.

"How could you? I made no sound."

"I heard the intent." Legolas waved an arrow at Elrohir threateningly. "I know you, Elrondion."

"Well, you ought to," Elladan said lazily. "You would have had to have the brains of a dwarf not to know him by now."

"So what is it like being a warrior of the realm?" Elrohir asked suddenly.

Legolas rolled his eyes.

"As if you don't know."

"Of course we don't," Elladan said. "Imladris is a haven, Legolas, not a kingdom. Look around you. This is a valley, there is the house and then the garden and some ponds and flowers and it's all very pretty but it barely even qualifies as a city. We are simply warriors."

"You, on the other hand, are the heir to the woodland throne," Elrohir said, smiling at the grimace that got from Legolas. "You have a kingdom to defend –"

"Royal duties –"

"Trade relations to maintain –"

"Quite right. Who would want trade relations with Imladris? We only produce songs and swordsmen."

"Ada might find uses for both," Legolas said. "He likes songs and he always complains about a surfeit of archers."

Elrohir laughed.

"I'd like to see the swordsman who can stand against the Greenwood archers. I know I won't be volunteering."

"You shoot like a Man, Noldo."

Elrohir looked outraged, but before he could say anything a shout from the edge of the practice field attracted their attention. The three Elves turned towards the sound and saw a tall, golden-haired warrior waving at them.

"Glorfindel!" Legolas exclaimed in delight. "I thought I would not see you before I left."

"Not see me, penneth?" the older Elf asked, jogging up to them. "I think not. I have to see what damage Thorontur's inadequate tutelage has done to your aim, do I not?"

Legolas laughed.

"Lord Thorontur has not had much time to devote to training – since you last saw me shoot most of my training has been with the Archery Masters."

"Worse and worse," Glorfindel said grimly. "Your father's Archery Masters cannot be trusted to shoot a horse from three feet. I will have a word with Thorontur about this; we cannot have your archery ruined for lack of a good teacher."

Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir all laughed, although they were not entirely certain whether Glorfindel was joking or not. He gave them a smile that could have meant anything and backed off a few paces.

"Go on, Legolas," he said. "Five arrows, in the centre, as quickly as you can."

"A silver brooch says Glorfindel will find something to complain about," Elrohir murmured to Elladan. His voice was too soft to carry to Glorfindel, but Legolas heard and scowled at him. His scowl deepened when Elladan replied, "Do I look like eight kinds of idiot? Glorfindel finds something to complain about when he watches Daeradar at practice."

"Legolas!" Glorfindel said. "Whatever ridiculous nonsense those two are going on about, ignore it and shoot!"

Legolas drew in a deep breath, checked his bowstring, set his feet, and pulled the first arrow from his quiver.

"That was a brilliant idea, Celebrían," Lindariel murmured as she stood at the study window. "I don't know how you thought of it."

Celebrían laughed. "I thought of it because I have brought up three Elflings, not one. Glorfindel was getting restless in any case; he usually does when he is cooped up in Imladris for too long. It was really solving two problems at once – now he will not be mooching around gloomily, scaring visitors out of their wits, and they will not be getting in trouble."

"I don't know if you are too confident, there," Elrond said. "That Glorfindel will be fully occupied until dinnertime I do not doubt; ever since that incident with the oak tree and Celeborn's new cloak he has been trying to interfere with your son's archery training, Lindariel. The last time Thorontur was here he complained about it so much that I had to drug his wine in order to get a decent night's rest – and slipping sleeping herbs into guests' goblets is not, I might add, something for which I wish to become notorious."

Lindariel and Celebrían both laughed at that.

"Meleth nîn," Celebrían assured her husband, "there is no danger of your becoming notorious for drugging people's wine. You already are notorious for that."

Elrond smiled at his wife, who merely shook her head at him. Then, as though coming to an unspoken decision, they both turned to the amused queen.

"All right, Lindariel," Elrond said in a tone that brooked no argument, "enough of this. You've not been yourself since you came here. What is wrong? And do not bother denying it," as the elleth shook her head. "I believe I know where Legolas gets his stubbornness. Something troubles you. What is it?"

There was a very long pause. Then Lindariel bowed her head.

"I grieve for my son," she said quietly.

Elrond looked startled, but Celebrían seemed to understand; she waved her husband to silence when he opened his mouth to ask for an explanation.

"It cannot be easy," the Lady of Imladris said gently. "He is young – even younger than Arwen, and the Valar know I have a difficult enough time believing that she is grown up."

"He is barely five hundred," Lindariel said hoarsely. "He should be carefree, fooling around with his friends, wooing maidens, all the things young ellyn did before these darker days came. Instead he bears the burden of being Thranduil's heir… He is the most skillful archer in Eryn Galen, Thorontur tells me. Of course I am proud of him, but I wish he had not seen so much battle already. I had hoped that with Sauron defeated he would live in a happier world."

"Lindariel," Elrond murmured, "we are in a time of relative peace. If you feel Legolas should not be a warrior yet –"

"I cannot say that," the Elven-queen whispered. "Sauron was not utterly destroyed; you know this." She glanced at the ring on Elrond's finger. "We have nothing to protect Eryn Galen save the strength of our warriors; the enemy is swift and stealthy, and we maintain our vigilance against the day of his return. We dare not let down our guard. What kind of queen would I be if I asked Legolas not to do his duty to the realm? It only grieves me that the duty is so hard."

"Yet he finds peace here, in the company of his friends," Celebrían said, glancing out the window again. "And I see in Imladris the same young Elf I knew two hundred years ago, when he had no cares at all."

"I know," Lindariel replied. "I cannot express my gratitude to –"

"No thanks between friends," Celebrían said, smiling. "Legolas has found his way into my heart. Who could resist him? I enjoy seeing him laugh just as much as you do."

On the other side of the Misty Mountains, a tall, golden-haired Elf was standing on his balcony looking out over a seemingly endless expanse of forest, watching Elflings laughing in the lower branches of oaks and stalking each other through the trees.

He heaved a sigh. There were weeks to go until his wife and son were scheduled to return from Imladris, and he did not know how he was going to stand the wait. He knew that the few weeks Legolas spent in the Last Homely House every year were his sole respite from the duties of a young warrior, and he did not grudge his son the well-earned rest. But normally Lindariel did not accompany him. She had gone this time at the invitation of Celebrían.

He heard a soft cough behind him and turned. Almárean, the head of the household, was standing in the doorway.

"My King, the archery trials are scheduled to begin in ten minutes. The Archery Masters want to know if you will attend."

"Has Thorontur returned from Lothlórien?"

"Not yet. He sent word that he was delayed. He will probably be here in a few days."

Thranduil nodded.

"I will go, in that case. Arbellason has gone to secure the eastern border and the Elflings will be disappointed if none of us is there to admire their skill."

Almárean nodded and left. Thranduil stood outside a few minutes more before he collected his cloak and went to the practice fields where the Archery Masters were awaiting his arrival to begin the trials.

The trials were held once a month, and were an occasion for the Archery Masters to assess the progress their young charges had made. The King and the commanders usually made it a point for at least one of them to attend as well, so that they would know what to expect of the next generation of archers.

It had been on one such occasion a couple of centuries previously that Thorontur, watching Legolas make a series of perfect shots, had turned to Thranduil and said in an undertone, "The boy is mine."

Thranduil had laughed and said cheerfully, "He will be on routine patrol duty until he can count seven centuries. If you want him to ride with the Colhador, ask me then."

"Ask you? What is Arbellason commander of the army for? I will ask him."

Thranduil smiled now in recollection. In two hundred years Legolas would be deemed experienced enough to undertake the most dangerous responsibilities of a warrior. As he had told Lindariel, he would be lying if he said he was truly happy about that – a part of him was terrified at the thought of Legolas in the Colhador or the Eastern or the Southern Guard – but a part of him was also satisfied.

He would have had just as much pride in his son had Legolas chosen to be a healer, or anything else for that matter. All the same, he was pleased that Legolas had taken the same path Thranduil himself had done, and that he had braided the thin warrior braids into his son's hair on the day he had completed his training, just as his own father had done for him millennia ago.

Just as Thranduil reached the field where the novices were waiting with their bows, a young elleth ran up to him, looking near tears.

"Rochendilwen!" he said in shock. "What is it, penneth? What has upset you so?"

"My King, you must come at once!"

Sindarin Translations

Nana – Mum/Mummy

Elleth – Female Elf

Hîr nîn – My lord

Le hannon – Thank you

Istón – I know

Ellyn – Male Elves

Ada – Dad/Daddy

Penneth – Young one

Daeradar – Grandfather

Meleth nîn – My love

Ah... Sorry about the cliffie. *g* What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!