Summary:  Young Legolas thinks he has found the perfect gift; however, perfection is often found when seen through the eyes of love.

Disclaimer:  Don’t own any of this – only wish I did.

A/N:  This story was written in response to Prompt #132 (Perfect) issued by the aragorn-legolas yahoo group.  (Oh yeah, a very large FLUFF ALERT should be issued with this.  *g*)

Chapter 4:  A Perfect Gift

There was nothing more important to the little Prince of Eryn Galen iDhaer than the upcoming celebration of his lady mother’s begetting day.

He knew something special was planned – it was in the air and had been for days.  The palace servants fairly vibrated with their excitement.  His father, the Elvenking, walked around with a mysterious smile on his face.  Even Galion, his father’s no-nonsense seneschal, looked like he knew a particularly pleasant secret.  Now, the big day was here – the stronghold had been cleaned top to bottom, the cooks had finished preparing all manner of succulent dishes, guests from the far corners of Greenwood the Great had arrived the previous day.

Legolas was beside himself with excitement…until he learned that while being permitted to attend the banquet that evening, he would NOT be allowed to participate in the evening’s frivolities.

And he was not a happy elfling.  No, not happy at all.

“You are not old enough, my son,” Thranduil explained patiently for the fifth time, holding the disappointed child on his lap, his wife, Lindoriel, sitting beside them both with a troubled expression on her lovely face.

Legolas fought back the angry tears that had threatened for some time now and folded his arms across his chest with a little huff of temper.

“But I am twelve!” he protested…again.

His mother smoothed his fair hair tenderly, saying, “And there will be many other parties, sweetling.”

“But…”

“Legolas…” his father warned.

“Yes, Father,” the child acquiesced, sullenly sliding off his father’s lap to stand before his parents, head down, one foot scuffing the ground in irritation.

Thranduil looked at his wife, one eyebrow raised.  Where had their calm, compliant offspring disappeared to?  She shook her head slightly, her loving glance silently declaring, “He is your son, my love.  What did you expect?”

“Legolas.”  Stormy gray eyes lifted to look at his father, who sighed.  “All the temper in this world will not gain you admittance to the celebration tonight.”

His son frowned mightily, but managed to hold his tongue.

“You will return to your room and work on your lessons for tomorrow," his father instructed.  "Afterwards, you may play until it is time to dress for dinner.  Understood?”

Legolas scowled at the floor, kicking it viciously with his foot and mumbling under his breath. 

His mother gasped, “Legolas!”  Thranduil cleared his throat softly and shook his head when she glanced at him.

Strong fingers slipped under the elfling’s chin and lifted his face until their eyes met.

“It is unseemly for the Prince of Eryn Galen iDhaer to act in such a manner,” Thranduil’s quiet voice stated.  He held his son’s gaze.  “And you upset your mother with this behavior.  Is this, then, your gift to her?”

Legolas’ eyes widened in distress at the thought and he finally lost the battle with his tears.  They spilled down his cheeks as he threw himself into his mother’s lap.

“No!  No, I am so sorry, Nana!” he choked.  Lindoriel smiled and held her little one tightly, while Thranduil moved to hold them both close.  “Shhh, hush now, sweeting,” she whispered.  “It is alright.  I know, shhhh.  Shhhh.”

Eventually the storm of tears passed and the Legolas sniffed, scrubbing at his wet face.  Thranduil produced a handkerchief, which Lindoriel used to wipe the elfling’s eyes and nose.

Legolas drew a deep shuddering breath and looked at his father.  “S…s..sorry, Ada,” he whispered, breath hitching slightly.  Thranduil put his arms about the child and hugged him. 

“Apology accepted, my heart,” he said, drawing Legolas back to look at him steadily.  “You will always face disappointments, my son.  It is how you choose to face them that others will judge you by.”

“And if I act like a baby they will think I am one?” Legolas asked.

“Yes,” the King answered, watching his son consider his actions of the past few minutes.  Tiny shoulders straightened and a little jaw firmed.

“Then I will not act that way any more, Ada,” he stated.

Again, Thranduil watched him closely, waiting for the obvious to occur to his little warrior, who suddenly flushed and restated, “I will try, Ada, really I will.”

The King smiled and gathered his son close once more, kissing the top of his fair head.  “I know you will, son – and that is all I ask.”  He looked at his wife and snorted softly, turning the child to face his mother.

“And look how your mother is so proud of both of us.”  Lindoriel grinned, kissing both emphatically as she got up. 

“And rightly so, my lord,” she said.  “Now, both of you behave – I have things to see to.  Legolas, I will come to your room in several hours to help you dress.”  She left then in a flurry of silken robes, her soft laughter at Legolas’ grimace of disgust echoing behind her.

Legolas got up and walked to the door with his father.  “Ada, do you know where Eloriel is right now?” he asked suddenly.

Thranduil considered thoughtfully, trying to remember where he had seen the housekeeper’s assistant earlier.  “I believe she was in the Great Hall preparing the table for the banquet.”

“Thank you, Ada,” Legolas yelled back over his shoulder as he dashed down the family corridor towards the main hallway.

“Walk!” Thranduil called after him, smiling when the youngster slowed his pace to a skipping trot and disappeared around the corner.

Legolas found Eloriel arranging several large vases of early summer blossoms to put at each table.  He waited patiently (sort of) for her to finish, rocking back and forth, heel to toe, and giving great gusty sighs from time to time.  Finally, the dark-haired maiden handed the vases to her helpers and shooed them off to place about the room.

She turned to the waiting child and studied him, smiling widely.  “Such forbearance, my Prince!” she exclaimed as she sat on a nearby bench and motioned him over.  He stepped to her side, leaning against her confidingly and began whispering in her ear.

Eloriel listened closely to the disjointed story, but having known this one since his birth she easily understood his intentions.  At the end, she stood and bent down to look into the child’s serious gray eyes.

“I know exactly what you need, my lord,” she said.  “Go to your room and prepare everything as you wish.  I will bring the rest of it in an hour or so.  Does that meet with your approval?”

Legolas nodded eagerly and raced off.  “I will see you later, Eloriel!” he yelled.

“Walk, Legolas!” she called, shaking her head in fond exasperation at the Prince’s exuberance before hurrying off to gather the promised items.

Three hours later…

Lindoriel opened her son’s door and stopped, one hand covering her mouth in surprise.  Her little one was standing, already clean and dressed in his best court robe, beside a table set fit for a King…or a Queen and her Prince. 

Her amazed eyes took in Legolas’ little table which had been transformed by a lovely lace tablecloth, placed slightly off center.  In the middle was a bowl of her favorite fresh flowers – small pink roses, interspersed with white daisies, delicate baby’s breath, and Queen’s lace, all arranged in a haphazard, strangely graceful manner.  The table was laden with one of the smaller silver tea services and two place settings of fine porcelain, all somewhat crooked.  The herbal scent of freshly brewed tea permeated the air, along with the delicious, yeasty smell of the fresh-baked pastries the Queen favored.  A bowl of ripe berries and a dish of fresh butter completed the table’s fare.

“My lady?” Eloriel whispered in her ear as she made to leave.  “I brought everything that HE asked for and he arranged it – just for you.”  She squeezed the Queen’s arm gently and let herself out of the room.

“Naneth?” Legolas said, holding a chair out just the way he had seen his father do countless times before.  “Will you not sit down and have a scone?  Cook made it fresh just for you and I fixed the flowers and got ready early just so we could eat by ourselves and I made this for you, too, all by myself!”  At the end of his breathless recitation, he held out a clumsily wrapped box with a pink rose affixed to the lid.

Lindoriel wiped a tear away and sat in the proffered chair, taking the box and kissing Legolas’ cheek.  “Thank you, my love,” she said, admiring the rose on the box’s cover.

“Do you like it, Naneth?” he asked, surveying the table with a critical eye.  “I wanted everything to be just right.”

The Queen wrapped her arms around her most precious gift and looked at the table with him.

“It is just right, my darling,” she assured him.  “It is absolutely PERFECT.”