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Little Legolas Adventures:
by Dayast Joy
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Rating: PG-12
Pairings: Hints at future Elrond/Legolas and Thranduil/Haldir; Elrond/Gil-gald mentioned
Summary: Elrond has a broken heart, but little Legolas promises himself to heal it.

Feedback: yes, but please be kind.

Notes: Some observations about elf children versus human children in this story/series may not follow canon strictly, but I hope that nobody takes offence.

Warnings: Mpreg, no pregnancy allusion, but Thranduil is Legolas's mother and Gil Galad was his father in this series.


Part 3: Promisses

"Now, Thranduil, remember that Legolas has been through a traumatic experience. Scold him tomorrow if you must but cuddle him tonight," panted Elrond as he tried to keep up with Thranduil's powerful run.

The half elf had found the king at one of the nearby waterfalls, bathing after a successful hunt. Thranduil had sprung on to his horse naked but for a pair of breeches, the moment the words, "Legolas has had a small accident," were out of Elrond's mouth.

Now the great healer was beginning to appreciate the size of his own dwellings as Thranduil bolted up the stairs and shot down the corridors towards the healing chambers.

He charged towards the bed. Figwit rose from his chair and bowed; trying not to appear startled at the monarch's appearance. Shirtless, barefoot, clad in only blood stained breeches, hair wild and damp, with an expression of concern and rage twisting his usually beautiful features.

Legolas's appointed baby-sitter shuddered just outside the doorway, glad to have been overlooked for the moment.

"Baby-bun!" the elf king and doting parent cried in anguish, as he set eyes upon the small, still form wrapped in towels with peeling skin and angry red patches covering his tiny face.

Haldir startled awake at the exclamation and saw a wild elf, all glaring eyes, crazy hair and stinking of animal blood, looming over the bed.

"Aieeeeeeeee!"

Thranduil was shocked to find fat five-year-old fists, wrapped in bulky bandages, pointed aggressively in his direction. Haldir had gone from sleeping cuddled up against Legolas's side to an upright warrior's pose in less than a second.

Elrond burst out laughing, then said, "Oh, Thranduil, you've frightened the poor child!"

Haldir frowned, rapidly blinking sleep from his eyes, and then promptly looked abashed. "Your Majesty! I'm sorry, I didn't recognise you...Eeee!"

The last was a squeal as Thranduil scooped him up and hugged him. "You brave boy! Elrond told me how heroic you were."

Haldir blushed prettily and lowered his gaze as was proper. But Thranduil noticed that the already generous chest swelled with pride. Well, no matter, today he had a right to be smug.

Thranduil set Haldir back down on the bed and then smiled tenderly down at his baby-bun.

"I'm sorry that I've caused so much trouble, father," Legolas said in a soft, contrite voice. He had been instructed by his beloved Elrond to stay very still so as not to irritate his bleach-burned skin further, and he was being very obedient.

Thranduil patted his son awkwardly on a towel swathed tummy, he was afraid to touch him. "Are you in pain, baby-bun?" he asked.

"I'm okay and quite comfortable, father," Legolas said smiling as best he could, then adding, "I'm glad you are not mad."

"He should be fully recovered in a couple of days," Elrond said reassuringly.

Elf babies were rare and nature had a way of protecting these precious little gifts. They were quick and nimble from a young age, compared to humans, and although they did not reach their full adult size until they turned 50, they got almost all their growing done by their early twenties. Also, they were slower to mature emotionally and intellectually, although they learned to speak and write faster than their human counterparts.

In short, with a physically superior body and a childish brain, a young elf's early years were fraught with danger, despite the most vigilant parenting. Nonetheless, most of them got through the little mishaps of childhood unscathed, such as falling out of trees, falling into waterfalls, falling off horses, bouncing off rocks... as well as falling into tubs of bleach and being trapped in dried fruit and candy boxes apparently!

This fact did not make a new elf parent any less anxious though.

Elrond knew these facts more from his studies to be a healer than hands-on experience at this stage in his life. He wasn't to know it just yet, but he would soon be father to a pair of mischief filled twins who would test their elven ability to survive disaster every other day.

Thranduil finished chatting with his son about the accident, and had finally convinced himself that Legolas was not mortally wounded or in any way permanently damaged (he had not seen his hair yet) when he started singing a soothing lullaby. He punctuated the ages-old song with loving pats on Legolas's tiny tummy, which was swathed under layers of protective healing herb-soaked towels and a warm blanket.

Haldir, sitting upright next to his prone friend, was the picture of propriety with bandaged fat hands in his sweetly chubby lap, round legs tucked neatly under his rather voluminous night gown (one of Figwit's smaller inner tunics. Haldir had no clothes of his own after his traumatic arrival in Rivendell).

However, as the hypnotic song continued, his little shoulders started to droop, the tiniest, politest yawn escaped him and he started to sway a little. Thranduil sang a little softer with every verse, and by the end of the lullaby, Haldir plopped into a neat little heap by his friend, blissfully asleep.

It was a comfort to their parents that baby elves needed a lot more sleep than adults, keeping them out of mischief for brief periods during the night; and when they were very young, during the day as well.

The two elf lords exited the room noiselessly as Figwit resumed his watchful pose in the chair by the bed.

As he left the room, Thranduil indicated for the careless warrior who had been assigned the task of baby-sitting Legolas during the king's hunt, to follow him to a room far away from where the children were sleeping.


"Wasn't that a little harsh?" Elrond asked Thranduil as he observed the warrior staggering out the door, ashen faced.

Thranduil had punched and throttled the elf warrior for his carelessness, but had thankfully granted his forgiveness when the younger elf had nearly blacked out.

The elf king said nothing, and Elrond decided that a young king whose authority as a ruler was not as well established as that of himself or Galadriel and Celeborn, Thranduil had to rule with an iron fist. It was not his place to say anything more about how Thranduil treated his subjects, who did seem very loyal.

The elf king sagged into a chair, his shoulders heaving and his face buried in one powerful, long fingered hand.

Elrond knelt in front of the king and laid a gentle hand on his knee. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Was it possible that ferocious king Thranduil was crying? Surely not!

"If anything ever happened to baby-bun I'd just... die," Thranduil replied in a whisper.

Elrond had no doubt at all that he spoke the truth.

Thranduil cuffed at his eyes and shook his head violently to clear it. "I am just being as foolish as an elf maid. I know that elf children are hardy and that baby-bun is quicker, stronger and brighter than most elf children but the thought that he might be snatched from me by misfortune is... beyond bearing. It makes me fearful and I cannot bear to be afraid."

"I never knew fear until I met death. In one conflict, far too swift for elven understanding, I lost both my father and my lover..." Thranduil caught Elrond's hand as soon as the last word was out of his mouth. He regretted any pain he might have caused his friend by mentioning Gil Galad, and alluding to the passionate love affair that had caused the high king to spurn Elrond's loyal love.

The half elf sat back on the floor and snatched his hand away from the blonde elf king, turning away for a moment. He had known loss and death and betrayal all his days, so many had broken his heart: Elros, Gil Galad, Isildur, with each new wound harder to endure than the last.

And now, with his gift of foresight, he also had the painful burden of knowing that darkness would come again. Greatness would find Legolas as it had found him, inflicting its usual heavy losses, but Elrond knew not how baby-bun's father would ever bear to let precious darling child embrace such a difficult destiny.

Thranduil broke the awkward silence with a small grunt. "Ai! I look like a fright."

Elrond sighed, and then looked up and smiled. "You most certainly do." Just like that, and the tension in the moment passed.

"I've left all my clothes and jewels and weapons, and a fine deer, by the river. I hope my warriors have the sense to return with them," Thranduil muttered, half to himself.

He looked at Elrond, who had risen to his feet, as the Lord of Rivendell stood dry-eyed, calm and immaculately dressed before him.

"Forgive my emotional outburst, Elrond my friend, sometimes I cannot control my feelings," he said humbly.

"Be thankful you can still feel," Elrond said sadly, then exited the room.


"By the Valar, it is hideous," Thranduil exclaimed.

Legolas, sitting in bed with Haldir, was in the unenviable position of being looked down upon by two towering adults. He quailed under his father's gaze and looked hopefully at Elrond for support. Chubby Haldir squeezed his friend's skinnier hand sympathetically.

"Well, it's certainly different, but not ugly, Thranduil. His hair is bright now, and it looks... almost natural. Some elf children have hair this naturally golden, like Haldir," Elrond said, comfortingly.

Little Haldir had the good sense not to mention his father's bleach shampoo at this point, and could not resist fluffing his own perfect locks and puffing out his chest in a vain fashion. He had braided his own hair that morning into a sophisticated hairstyle currently popular in Lorien, and Thranduil was quite amazed. It was hard enough getting Legolas to sit still to have his hair done, let alone expecting the active little elf to do it himself.

"Well, I suppose it adds a little glow to him," Thranduil finally relented. "Will it grow back soon?"

"Very, very slowly I'm afraid, but his eyebrows which were burned off by the bleach will grow back dark brown faster," Elrond said.

With the characteristic resilience of elves, Legolas's skin was already mostly healed, but his father did not like the shade of hair on his precious baby-bun's head. It looked alien.

Elrond combed out Legolas's hair gently, glad that none had fallen out. It looked quite pretty actually, glowing in the sun.

"With such a sweet face, Legolas, you need not ever worry about what colour hair you have," Elrond said sincerely. "Now how would you like to have your hair braided today?"

"Any way you like it, Elrond," Legolas said, basking in the warm glow of his beloved's gentle gaze.

The healer laughed and wove bright little crystals into braids tight against Legolas's temples, earning a worried frown from his little admirer. Legolas hated jewellery, it was so troublesome.

However, when the tiny elf was shown his reflection in a mirror, he gasped with delight, "It is like I have water droplets in my hair." It was so much nicer than the hairdos he had to wear at home with jewels and a tiara piled on to his small head.

"You look lovely, and your hair is sitting better!" cried little Haldir, clasping fat, perfect hands together in delight.

It was true, the blonde hair was finer and softer and more manageable. Elrond looked at Legolas for a long time, there was something about his face and air that was heart wrenchingly beautiful. In the elegant elf lord's eyes, Legolas was lovelier than even precious, podgy, golden haired Haldir.

"Thank you Elrond," Legolas said, jumping into the healer's lap and cuddling him. "Shall I comb your hair for you?"

"Legolas, don't be cheeky. I'm sure Elrond has more important things to do than to entertain you for so long," Thranduil said.

Elrond was shocked by how moved he was by the dark eyes fixed on him with such love and longing. Without thinking, he laughed and agreed.

An attendant came in to announce lunch at that moment and Haldir, ever conscious of the need to maintain his delightful plumpness, eagerly hopped out of bed to go to the dining hall.

However, Elrond was setting out his combs for Legolas, and ordered a tray for the both of them. He offered Thranduil a tray too.

The elf king was about to accept the offer when he noticed how crestfallen Haldir looked. If the party were all having trays brought in, he would have to have a tray too, to be polite. But trays were never as lavish and delicious (or fattening) as lunch in the dining hall. The fat little vain pot was still suffering from privations endured while trapped in the dried fruit and candy box.

Thranduil decided it would be best to let baby-bun charm Elrond himself. "I'll accompany Haldir down to the dining hall, thank you Elrond."

The smile that Haldir offered him was well worth his efforts.

"Be good, baby-bun," he said lovingly, kissing the bright blonde head on his way out. Haldir trotted daintily, but not too eagerly or quickly as to seem uncultured, after the formidable warrior-king. Even at five, he was not at all intimidated by the prospect of Thranduil's undivided attention over lunch. The chubby darling waved prettily as he disappeared around the door.


"Thank you for letting Legolas lend me this suit, Your Majesty," Haldir said as they sat in the garden after lunch.

Thranduil smiled. The suit of a long tunic and tights was near bursting at the seams, Haldir was indeed a fat little child, but it could not be denied that he wore the outfit with more style and grace than wee Legolas ever did.

It was a treat to see the pampered darling running around in form fitting clothes, Thranduil thought it was adorable. He did not know it yet, but he would think this very thing for very different reasons many centuries later when Haldir was an accomplished warrior and renowned beauty.

The elf king had been very tickled at how polished the precocious elf child was. Haldir could eat in a series of lightning fast nibbles, so he could consume all manner and volume of fattening foods to maintain his enviable figure without appearing greedy. He could also smile and engage in light but entertaining conversation while eating.

Baby-bun, in comparison, was much quieter, preferring to listen and observe before saying anything. He also liked to savour his food, and could never be forced to stuff himself. He was going to grow up skinny, Thranduil sighed resignedly to himself, so he was lucky he had his father's exquisite features and graceful athleticism.

"You are most welcome to some clothes, Haldir," the elf king said kindly. He liked the young elf much better after he stopped being so vain and haughty. As a friend to Legolas, he revealed his sweet and brave side.

There was a lull in conversation as Thranduil sipped at some wine he had brought out to the garden. When he turned to face his young lunch companion, he was alarmed to see him sitting with his eyes closed and his cheeks puffed out full of air.

The elf king didn't know why he did it, it was a terribly silly thing to do, but with elven quickness he poked Haldir sharply in the left cheek, making the little elf spit out the air with an explosive snort.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I forgot myself. I'm not supposed to do that in front of company!" Haldir wailed, shocked at his own lack of etiquette. He clapped podgy hands over his offending mouth.

"Oh, Haldir, I should apologise. That was very naughty of me! But I couldn't resist; your cheeks were too round and tempting. Why do you do that anyway?" Thranduil asked with a chortle.

Haldir blushed, delighted at the compliment, and resisted the urge to puff out his cheeks again. "It keeps my face plump looking."

The elf king smiled. It was not easy being full figured when you were an elf. They lost fat very easily and tended towards being gaunt or lean. Thranduil wondered if puffing out his own cheeks at this late age might help hide his pronounced angular face structure a little better.

"The exercise must be working, you do look very precious and round, Haldir," he responded with an indulgent smile.

The young elf smiled back winningly, but this time it came from the heart and wasn't just a manifestation of his good breeding. His sky blue eyes sparkled, and then he tentatively withdrew the hair bracelet he had so painstakingly made from a pocket of his borrowed tunic.

"Your Majesty? Please accept this simple gift from me, I have nothing to repay all your kindness with," he said, suddenly shy.

Thranduil stared at the unexpected gift. He knew how much effort went into making it, and how many hairs had to be plucked and woven.

"My, my, little Haldir, a most beautiful hair bracelet. If I am to accept your gift, you must promise me two things," Thranduil said.

"What?" Haldir asked, curious.

"A hair bracelet is a symbol of love, which means that you have infinite "huggy-rights" with me and I with you," the elf king said.

"Huggy-rights?" Haldir asked, never having heard the strange term before.

Thranduil scooped him into his lap and squeezed the breath out of him. Haldir squealed with shock, and then could not help bursting into delighted giggles.

"And the second thing, you must only call me Thranduil from now on," the elf king added.

Haldir smiled up at him, ensconced in his lap, as he put the hair bracelet around his wrist.

And then the older elf kissed an irresistibly lovely cheek.

The podgy elf clasped a hand over his cheek, and Thranduil guiltily asked, "Oh, does it still sting from when I poked you?"

"No, I'm holding your kiss to keep, Your M-Thranduil," Haldir beamed winningly at him.

And then the young elf held out the pinky of his other hand and wiggled it at Thranduil.

The elf king linked his long little finger with Haldir's fat one, and the child solemnly said, "Huggy-rights forever, Thranduil."

They laughed uproariously after that, both aware of how ridiculous that particular oath sounded, but also delighted at how precious it was at the same time.

The two elves would share a lot more moments of laughter together, some infinitely more private and tender. But Thranduil always remembered in later years the first time he saw Haldir smiling at him with that radiant, soul-warming smile, a cheek held coyly in one elegant hand, with their pinkies interlaced.

That image would one day sustain the wild warrior king through the darkest days of his life.

In the healing rooms overlooking the gardens, Elrond smiled as he heard the bursts of merry laughter coming from below. Thranduil and Haldir were getting along famously, although they seemed the most unlikely pair.

There must have been a time when Elrond and Elros filled gardens and dining halls with their laughter. The latter had always roared more heartily with delight, though, showing affection much more confidently as it had been in his nature to be so open with his love.

The pain of missing that laughter was as deep as the joy and comfort it had inspired.

How many centuries had passed, since Elrond had looked with disbelief and despair upon the man who bore his face and lit up his soul, lying dead upon a funeral pyre?

How many nights spent longing in vain for Gil Galad's embrace?

How many hours mourning the loss of Isildur's noble heart and his corruption by the One Ring, now lost and threatening to bring darkness again?

Never had love come to Elrond without loss.

He promised himself that he would never allow himself to love so completely again.

Tomorrow he would tell Celeborn that he accepted Celebrian's offer of marriage. She did not love him, and he did not love her, nor did they even desire each other, but their mutual respect and desire to build a dynasty for their respective peoples were reasons enough for a marriage.

And perhaps, with time, his children with her would heal his broken heart.

A small nose burrowed into the back of his neck just then, startling him out of his reverie. "Ah! Legolas must be done with combing my hair," he thought.

Tiny, busy hands wrapped fondly around his neck, and Elrond patted the small fingers. Strange, that a cuddle could bring so much comfort.

"Someday, someday when I'm bigger and braver and wiser (and less naughty) I'll comb and braid Elrond's hair on our wedding day," baby-bun promised himself.

Sometimes, a promise made in childish hope and love will grow into a great, noble effort that can heal even the most wounded of adult hearts -- and undo a vow made in bitterness and hurt.

Continued...

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