What Little Kings Are Made Of

This was written for the "August 2005: A Realistic Legolas Story" challenge. Admittedly, I am not a big Legolas fan, but, I felt up to the challenge. Feedback is appreciated; and if there are errors in this, please feel free to let me know. (Haldir is soooooo much easier. And sexier. And hotter.)




Watching the deer downwind of him very closely, Legolas notched an arrow. He had followed this particular buck for several hours. Its meanderings had brought the young elf to the far west of his father’s holdings. His eye on the buck, his thoughts fled forward to the meal he was about to procure.

His anticipation was squelched by something moving out on the plains. He watched for several minutes as his quarry slowly moved away. Ignoring the buck, Legolas stood motionless, staring at the object beyond the sight of mere men. It took form, causing him to spin and start for home. Clearly, this was something his father would take great interest in.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thranduil sat in his chair. It was always so when he listened to the petitioners from the outer reaches of his influence. He had allowed men to settle in the north and east, and it seemed they did not always get along with their fellow settlers. This time, it was over grazing rights. He knew that the people of his land were good and strong, but, at times they tried his patience with their petty squabbles.

After listening to the three parties argue over using the same pastureland, he held up a hand. All quieted immediately.

“Now, as I understand it, you cannot all use the same land because your animals mingle and you cannot separate them, is this so?”

“Yes, my lord,” said the man with the fewest cattle. “I have few enough as it is. When they graze together, I seem to lose a couple. I cannot afford to lose any more. My family will starve this winter.”

A movement at the door caught Thranduil’s eye. He smiled slightly to see his son slip into the audience chambers. Motioning him forward, he waited until Legolas had reached the space in front of him.

“Ah, you hunt went well, my son?” he asked.

“It did, my lord. But, I would speak with you when your duties here allow it.” Legolas bowed his head in respect.

“Then, we shall talk. But, first, I have a riddle for you. These men all own cattle. They all must use the same pastureland. Yet, they cannot keep their cattle separate. The one is losing cattle to the others. What would you suggest?”

Legolas glanced at the men. All seemed earnest and honest. Turning to the man with the greatest grievance, he studied him for several seconds.

“Do you accuse these men of stealing your cattle?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Oh, no, my lord!” the man exclaimed, horrified. “I do not believe that. It is just that they are all the same breed and once mingled, are difficult to distinguish.” The man looked stricken to think that his plight would be so misconstrued.

“And, you two. Do you think he believes you thieves?”

Both men looked scared. The penalty for thievery was strict. And yet, no such charges had ever been levelled against them.

“No, my lord,” replied the older of the two. “It is as he says. They just cannot be identified.”

Legolas thought for a moment. He knew this was a test. His father already had the answer. Thranduil had welcomed the men into his kingdom, knowing there would be problems. And, knowing that one day, his son would inherit those problems.

“To the south, where vast herds of livestock roam the open plains, the farmers have a method of identifying their stock. They mark them. Some do it with paint, some with burning irons. At the end of the season, there is no question of ownership. Would this not work as well in this instance?”

The three men looked at each other, understanding dawning. Smiling, they looked to Thranduil and bowed. Talking among themselves when they were dismissed, they withdrew from the chambers much happier than when they had entered.

Legolas looked to his father. The light in Thranduil’s eyes told his son that he had given the correct advice.

“That was well said, my son.” The pride in his voice was unmistakeable. “It will be your place to one day make many such decisions. I will rest well knowing that you are capable.”

“It is only under your tutelage that I can make such decisions. But, Father, there is something of import we must discuss.” Glancing around, he stepped closer to where his father sat. “In private, please.” Stepping back, he allowed his father to rise.

Dismissing all those present, Thranduil led the way to his private chambers, Legolas following. As they went through the door, Thranduil once more felt pride in his son. A great hunter, an outstanding warrior, and on the road to becoming a fine statesman. Yes, he would leave his kingdom in good hands, when the time came.