In the sitting room that served as an informal lounge for the royal family of Gondor the king held up both hands before his clamoring audience in a call for silence. He glanced sheepishly at the nurse who stood in the doorway with a longsuffering smile that was betrayed by a foot that unconsciously tapped the floor beneath the hem of her skirt. Aragorn winced. Once again the persistent application of diabolically clever delaying tactics had defeated him.

“Enough!” He declared, “I have given you your tale and now the hour is late. Arise. You may tarry no longer.”

   Moaning sadly little Eldarion and his sister made an exaggerated show of crushed disappointment as they got up from their places on the carpet in front of their father’s chair and slouched away toward the waiting nurse. Aragorn watched, chuckling quietly as she shepherded the children off to their beds.

“They are crafty, are they not?” he commented, scrubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully, “I do not recall at that age being so determined to avoid sleep.”

When there was no reply Aragorn turned about to find his old friend regarding him with a piercing stare so cool and regally indignant that it made Thranduil at his most threatening seem like vision of bland sweetness.

“Legolas?”

“Does Arwen know that you are filling their heads with this slanderous drivel?”

“What?”

“I could scarce believe what I heard.  ...And from you, one raised in Imladris by Lord Elrond himself!”

“What are you talking ab-“

“My people diminish, Aragorn. One day we will all be gone from these lands.  …And THIS is how you would have us remembered?”

“I do not-“

“Tell me, who are these roving bands of rodent-sized edhil who creep into the houses of men by night and make merry in the nude? I have not heard of them.”

“I just-“

“Not to say that any sort of elves, large, small or in-between, would ever dress in the style of men, but for discussion’s sake… IF they were so inept as to become destitute to begin with, and IF some goodwife was moved to fashion tiny clothing for them, in what circumstance have you EVER seen an elf receive a gift so ungraciously as to simply take it and vanish?”

“But I-“

“And if they were so good with leather, Aragorn, why did they not simply open a shop of their own and make enough money to clothe themselves properly?”

“It is only a children’s tale,“

“All the more abominable.”

“I did not create it!”

“But you repeated it.”

“Never again, I assu-“

*Snort*

“You make overmuch of little, Thranduilion.”

“You make too little of much, son of Arathorn.”

“My lords,”

A soft rustle of silk accompanied Arwen’s melodious voice as she glided into the room. Her potently feminine presence immediately stilled the contentious words poised on the lips of the prince and king.

“I see that this evening we discuss the telling of stories,” she began mildly, but in her eyes there was a subtle spark of disapproval.

 Both man and elf squirmed under her scrutiny. Too obviously the king stopped himself reflexively glancing toward the door. Arwen let the uncomfortable silence hang for a long interval.

“Perhaps I have a tale that you two will find to be of interest,” she said at last in a soft tone that was clearly a command rather than a suggestion. A furtive look passed between the two lords. Aragorn meekly returned to his chair and sat down. Legolas assumed an attentive posture and mustered a weak smile. Arwen retired to her own chair and took her time composing herself there. “Well then,” she finally said, “Here is the tale.”

“Long, long ago in a far distant land there lived a prince and king who were the very best of friends. Songs were sung of their valor and of the great deeds they had done together, for long had they labored to gain peace for their land and people. Their friendship was strong and true; it spanned many years and was well known by all. But one day these two great friends foolishly fell into contention over a minor point. Their argument became so heated that at last they parted in anger. Each knew that the other was partly right and that the argument was of no real import, but their words had become harsh and now, from pure stubbornness, neither would concede to the other. Weeks passed and they neither met nor sent word to one another. Their anger soon cooled, yet each was sure that the other still held a grudge and so dared not make an overture to reconcile. The weeks turned into months, then years, and at last the prince and the king fell into despair that their friendship could ever be mended. So it was that these two great friends never spoke or met ever again, though both earnestly desired it, and they spent the remainder of their days grieving for the camaraderie that they had needlessly lost.”

 Arwen gave her listeners a long, searching look, and many moments passed in silence. Her husband sat looking at the carpet with a thoughtful frown, nodding slowly as he pondered her words. Legolas had ceased pretending to listen and his eyes had stilled to deep, meditative pools of starlight. The queen observed her companions with satisfaction, certain from their newly pensive mood that they had absorbed the wisdom in her little fable. Smiling warmly, she watched as the elf-prince quietly stirred from his contemplative state and drew a slow, deep breath.

“Aragorn,”

“Aye, Legolas,”

“I think she is saying that we should not quarrel over small things.”

“That is how it looks to me, also.”

“…Things like the telling of unflattering stories,”

“Aye. We should resolve to not let foolish children’s tales come between us.”

With a nod Legolas straightened and a little smile slowly crept onto his face. Then his eyes narrowed slightly and an odd twinkle appeared in them. Arwen's own smile faded. Something about that twinkle stole away her feeling of triumph with a quick, subtle twinge of dismay. 

Ai, Valar,

“Then you will not mind,” the prince said sweetly,  “if tomorrow night I tell the one about the king who was so thoroughly duped by a dishonest tailor that one day he paraded through his city wearing a garment that in fact did not exist…”

Edhil – elves

Ai, Valar  -- an exclamation invoking the Valar. In this story I intend it to be roughly

                 equivalent to, "Oh, heavens".

A/N:  Apologies if I am stating the obvious.  The story that so offended Legolas was The Elves and the Shoemaker. Arwen’s tale is original. Legolas proposes to tell The Emperor’s New Clothes. I guess this fic is a little AU because those stories supposedly were written not so long ago by the Brothers Grimm, but many tales have murky origins. Maybe they just retold something older. 

   I’ve wanted for a long time to do something humorous addressing the difference between fairy-tale elves and Tolkien’s elves.  If you chuckled a little I’ll call it good. -TF