AN: Set immediately after "My Brother's Keeper." Legolas is equivalent of 14 in human years. Written to celebrate the publication of my YA fantasy, Deep as a Tomb (Loose Leaves Press), though only the paperback is out right now.  Read, review, fanfic it, whatever! Enjoy, I hope. -- daw

Chapter 1. An Appeal to the Court

"My lord, surely I cannot be held responsible for the damages." The elf stretched out his arms pleadingly. "The horse bolted!" he said for the third time when Thranduil looked unimpressed.

Propping his head in his free hand, Legolas added the boring sentence to the other stunningly dull sentences on the parchment in front of him and remembered yet again why he avoided the Great Hall on days his father held court. Because he'd slipped out at night to keep watch over Eilian, Thranduil had confined him to his room when not at training or lessons or in his father's presence. Legolas could not help feeling that requiring him to act as scribe in court was beyond whatever punishment he might have deserved.

"Your neighbors say the horse is wild, and they have objected before to your riding it near their gardens," Thranduil said.

"Did they also say both of them threatened to punch me?"

Legolas yawned and wrote. Over the long afternoon, the Great Hall had filled with summer air drifting through the open doors to the antechamber. From where Legolas sat, he could lean a little to his left and look right through the antechamber and Great Doors to see the Green, where elves were busy setting up the tables for tonight's feast. He'd heard them laughing as he made his way to the Hall after his lessons. His stomach rumbled at the smell of the venison roasting on its spit on the Green. Not that Legolas would be allowed out to eat any of it.

"My lord, you understand," the elf said. "We are Wood-elves!"

"Indeed," Thranduil said, "and I value the daring of my people, but if you give in to your worst impulses, you won't need someone else to threaten you. You are a threat to yourself."

Legolas glanced up. Something in his father's voice suggested that this elf wasn't the only daring Wood-elf Thranduil was concerned about. Now that Eilian had recovered from his shadow sickness, he was pressing to go back to the Southern Patrol--his patrol he called it. Legolas had overheard his brother and father arguing about it just that morning.

"Adar," Eilian had said, "what is the point of keeping me here?"

"Your posting is Ithilden's decision," Thranduil snapped in a voice that would have made Legolas back down instantly.

"First, I doubt that, but even so, you can overrule him."

"I am not going to undercut him as Troop Commander, and I am not going to discuss this further."

Legolas had pushed the rest of the way into the dining room at that point and seen Eilian clamp his mouth shut. Legolas himself was glad to have Eilian home, though he saw far too little of him, given that he had to stay in his boring room. He sketched an arrow and then a target. A fly buzzed past his ear, landed on the parchment, and crawled a few steps, smearing the target before taking off. Legolas had heard at training that there would be archery contests at the Grove tonight. Even Annael had sounded willing to sneak off and watch. Turgon had suggested they take their bows and participate but Annael had said his parents were too watchful for that to work. Legolas's grip on his pen tightened. If Annael wanted to see a watchful parent, Legolas knew where he could find one.

Feet pattered back toward the antechamber, and he realized the elf with the wild horse was leaving. He frowned at the parchment. His father's decision didn't seem to be recorded there. Thranduil had said the elf had to make good the damage, right? Maybe share from his own garden or help replant the neighbors'? Thranduil had certainly sounded as if he were building up to that, and it would fit with a judgment he rendered the previous week. Legolas would have to check with the advisor on his father's other side. Galivion had been sympathetic and helped him out before. He had apparently attended enough sleep-inducing court sessions to notice how they tried a normal person's patience.

Legolas looked hopefully at his father, quill in one hand, pen wiper in the other. To his relief, his father was rising. Hastily he wiped his pen.

"My lord," Galivion said softly.

No!

"That was the last case, wasn't it?" Thranduil asked.

"I'm sorry, my lord," Galivion said.

Legolas suppressed a groan as Thranduil sank onto his throne, scowling as if he were choking on a groan of his own.

"The Laketown merchant asked to see you this afternoon," the advisor said, and Legolas realized why he was speaking so quietly. The Man must be in the antechamber.

"I said I would see him tomorrow," Thranduil said, not bothering to keep his voice down at all.

"I told him that, my lord," the advisor said, "but he says he has to leave for home at dawn because the anniversary of his marriage is tomorrow, and his wife expects him."

Thranduil's mouth tightened. "He should have thought of that before he made this trip." He sat back. "Very well. Send him in." He waited while the advisor hastened to the doors and beckoned.

Legolas's brain stirred itself a bit more awake. Men would at least be different, and given his father's obvious irritation, there might even be some sort of angry scene that did not involve Thranduil being angry at Legolas. That would be much more entertaining than the four walls of his room.

He heard a flurry of rustling cloth, scraping shoes, and something heavy moving in the antechamber, before a richly dressed Man swept into the Great Hall, flanked by two others. The Man leaned back under the weight of a wooden chest. Thranduil's face was sour as he watched them approach, but the Man beamed as though sure of his welcome. He stopped halfway to the throne, set the chest down, and dropped to one knee, a movement echoed by the two people with him, and Legolas saw that they were a boy and a girl who were not yet Mannish adults, though he couldn't have guessed their ages. The boy looked enough like the merchant that Legolas guessed he was the Man's son, though the boy's sullen look was nothing like the Man's excited smile. The girl was pretty but so thin that her bright silk clothes bagged around her chest and waist.

"My lord," the advisor said, "this is Merchant Camil, and his son and daughter, Hoth and Jardin."

Thranduil kept silent for a few heartbeats in a move Legolas had seen before and indeed been intimidated by himself. Finally, Thranduil shifted forward on his throne. "Rise and approach."

Hoth and Jardin sprang up while Camil stood and heaved the chest up again. He gave a quick glance around, then thumped the chest onto Legolas's table hard enough that the ink bottle rocked.

"Your Majesty," Camil said, unclasping and opening the chest, "I'm sorry to have pressed so hard to see you, but I'm sure you'll forgive me when you see the goods I have to offer." As he talked, he pulled items from the chest and spread them across the table. Legolas hastily gathered his parchment, quill, and ink and slid his stool back to make room. From the chest came a rainbow of silk and soft wool cloth that Legolas recognized in the trio's clothes; an array of gems--some made into jewelry and some loose; colored embroidery thread; silver cutlery; and several cut glass bottles. Camil opened one and waved it in Thranduil's direction. The scent of some flower Legolas didn't know drifted on the summer air. Hoth and Jardin placed themselves at either end of the table, arranging the jewels. In Mannish terms, he guessed she was close to adulthood, though the boy was about Legolas's size and so probably about his age. The girl smiled at Legolas. She smelled of the same scent that the bottle held. Legolas inhaled surreptitiously.

Face blank, Thranduil said, "As I am sure you are aware, my people import mostly iron and grain, not trinkets."

Suppressing a smile, Legolas pretended to write on the parchment in his lap. Elves valued beauty too much to dismiss the stuff on the table as trinkets, and his father was no exception. Even now, light flashed from the ring on the finger his father was drumming on his arm rest.

"Your Majesty," Camil exclaimed, "surely you appreciate the quality of these wares. Feel this!" He seized a length of scarlet wool and held it out to Thranduil with one hand. "And look at these." With the other hand, he scooped up two or three of the small carved ivory pieces Jardin had just prodded into a heap. Another piece of ivory slid loose and skidded toward Legolas, who caught it and handed it back to Jardin.

"Thank you." As she replaced the jade on the pile, she smiled at him again. Like her father, she wore one of the little ivory charms on a silver chain looped over her ear. Head lowered, Legolas studied the ear's gently rounded top, torn between wanting to touch the exotic curve and avert his gaze at its strangeness. His father's voice drew him back to attention.

"If you leave samples of your wares, my steward will consider them," Thranduil said. Despite Camil's invitation to touch the silk and wool, Thranduil hadn't lifted his hand from the arm of his chair.

"Your Majesty, I cannot wait for an answer. I need to be home. My wife already says I spend too much time at business."

"The day grows late," Thranduil said, "and I must preside at my people's midsummer feast. My steward will send word when we have decided if we wish to buy."

Legolas heard the emphasis on "if" and the annoyance in his father's voice, and he guessed Camil did too. The Man had opened his mouth but now he snapped it shut. For a moment, he frowned at the goods Hoth was hastily packing up again. Then Camil's back straightened, and Hoth paused with a grimace.

"Could we perhaps impose on your hospitality overnight? I can be a bit late tomorrow if necessary. A feast sounds like a wonderful opportunity to meet more of your people."

Camil looked from his children to Legolas. "Perhaps your clerk could introduce Hoth and Jardin to your young people."

Stunned by unexpected hope, Legolas sent his father a pleading look. "I would be more than happy to help, my lord."

"I expect you would," Thranduil said dryly. "You are welcome to stay, Merchant, but---" Before he could crush Legolas's hope entirely, Camil interrupted.

"Your Majesty, there is one other thing. I bear a message from Laketown's mayor. Two weeks ago when one of your rafts was in town, an elf drank too much wine, climbed onto the alehouse roof, and clung to the weathervane to swing to the next roof. The weathervane broke and several roof tiles were knocked loose. The Mayor demands that the elf pays for the damages."

Legolas blinked. That would be…worth seeing, really.

Judging by his father's tone, he was less impressed. Legolas guessed he'd had enough of dealing with damages for one day.

"Who was this elf?" Thranduil demanded.

"We don't know his name, Your Majesty. The mayor asks that you identify him. In any case, he's banned from Laketown. The mayor is considering banning your rafts altogether and shipping goods to you via our own boats."

There was a moment's ominous silence. "The mayor can consider all he likes," Thranduil said, "but his boats are not carrying goods on the Forest River."

The menace in his voice was thick enough that Hoth and Jardin exchanged anxious looks. Camil licked his lips. "I will tell the mayor so, but the elf is still banned and the damages need to be paid."

"I will see to it," Thranduil said. "How much?"

Legolas was no judge of how reasonable the figure Camil named was, but Thranduil gave a curt nod, so it couldn't have been too preposterous. That didn't surprise him. Few people, be they Elves, Men, or misbehaving sons, approached his father with unreasonable demands. With the possible exception of Eilian, of course.

"In the meantime," Camil said, turning toward Legolas again, "perhaps we can repair some of the bad feelings tonight. What do you say, young fellow?" He smiled. "You can show my son and daughter that not all elves are wild, eh?"

Legolas met his father's gaze. Thranduil sighed. "Very well. My steward will show you to your accommodations. Legolas will await Hoth and Jardin in the antechamber in an hour." As Legolas fought back the urge to thrust his fist into the air and cheer, Camil and his family left the Hall, leaving the chest behind.

Thranduil watched them go. "He put the mayor's message off until last because he was afraid it would ruin my temper."

If that's what Camil was afraid of, then he was right, Legolas thought. Although, to be fair, his father's temper had probably been ruined from the moment the merchant ignored his wish to delay seeing him for a day.

"Thank you, Adar," Legolas said.

Thranduil turned toward him. "You are not going to this feast in order to amuse yourself. You are old enough that I expect you to be gracious to our guests and behave with discretion."

"Of course." Legolas resisted the urge to say that if he was old enough to entertain his father's guests, he was also old enough to be allowed out at night. Despite how much he liked having Eilian home, Legolas understood his brother's frustration over having his life ruled by their father as if he were an elfling. He gathered his parchment, ink, and pen and edged toward the doorway. "By your leave?"

Thranduil's mouth curved almost imperceptibly. "Go."

Unable to believe his luck, Legolas hurried out, passing his oldest brother in the doorway.

"You look happy," Ithilden said. "Adar in a good mood?"

"Ha!" Legolas grinned at him. Ignoring Ithilden's flinch, he broke into a trot. He didn't intend to waste a single moment of his unexpected freedom.

  .