Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Miscreants and Rapscallions

By Elendiari

Chapter One: Crime and Punishment

     He should have known. Gandalf had warned him about taking hobbits into his service, Tooks in particular, but he had not listened. They were, after all, his close friends. How was it, then, that they managed to wreak havoc and mayhem when they had only been in the City one month?

     “Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?” Aragorn asked sternly, gazing at the trio in front of him.

     “We’re very sorry, Father,” Eldarion replied. “Don’t get mad at Faramir, please, it was my idea.”

     “No, it was mine!” cried Faramir. “Well, the contest was.” He raised his eyes defensively. “But it was Legolas who said that shields make the best sleds!”

     Aragorn looked up at the Prince of Mirkwood and Lord of Ithilien, and was deeply surprised to see that the Elf looked rather guilty, and also defiant.

    “I did tell them that, Aragorn,” Legolas admitted. “I was remembering what my friends and I would do on winter afternoons for fun.”

       Aragorn glanced at Pippin, who was standing next to him, and saw that the Took’s eyebrows were raised, and he seemed to be biting back a smile. He faced the miscreants again.

     “I don’t care whose fault it was, I must pass judgment on all of you. Yes, even you Legolas,” he added as the Elf opened his mouth, frowning. “You have dented two ceremonial shields, ripped the carpet on the stairs, and broken a window. Not to mention scaring two of the maids half to death. So, I am assigning you to clean up duty. You will scrub the ballroom floor until it shines. It should only take you one day, if you start in the morning. Now, go to your rooms.”

   “Yes, Father.” Sullenly.

   “Yes, your Majesty.” Meekly.

   “Aragorn, a word with you.” Deadly.

   Legolas stood his ground as Faramir Took and Prince Eldarion left the study of the King Elessar, heads bowed, hands jammed into pockets. He had not thought that they would actually try sledging down the staircase on shields when he told them of his old pastime, but on hindsight, he should not have been surprised. They were their fathers’ sons, he thought wryly, remembering a young Aragorn in Rivendell, rappelling down the roof of the Hall of Fire, and even Pippin on the Quest, using Gandalf’s staff to knock down apples, and subsequently being turned into a frog. Still, to punish Legolas along with the two young children seemed highly indecent.

    “Legolas, do not even try to get out of this,” Aragorn began, but Legolas silenced him with a look.

     “You may be the King of the West, Aragorn, but you are my friend, and you forget that I am far older than you are. There is no reason for me to scrub the ballroom with the lads,” Legolas snapped. “It wasn’t as if I were sliding down the stairs with them.”

     A snort from Pippin caused them both to glance at him. The hobbit, resplendent in his uniform, was grinning from ear to ear, eyes dancing.

     Ai, Valar, thought Legolas faintly. A tiro nin, Fanuilos.

     “Pippin,” said Aragorn sternly. “You look as though you know something. What is it?”

      Pippin looked over at Legolas before replying. “Legolas, you really must teach me those Elvish battle cries someday, when you have the time.”

    And with those words, Legolas’ doom was sealed.

*****

    Faramir went to his room and cried. The High King had gotten angry with him. The shock of it was something that his poor little mind couldn’t handle, and so he lay face down on his pillow and wept. It wasn’t until the storm had passed that he was aware that Eldarion had climbed up on the bed next to him, and was patting him on the back.

      “It’s all right, Faramir,” the little prince said. “I don’t think that Father was really very angry. He just had to discipline us.”

      “Do you think so?” Faramir asked tremulously, accepting the handkerchief that Eldarion handed him, and wiping his nose.

    “Of course.”

    Faramir nodded, reassured. Eldarion was slightly older than he was, being nine years of age, as opposed to Faramir’s eight, but they had become good friends the moment that they had met. Or, at least, the moment that they had finished sizing each other up. They had had many good times in the past weeks, playing war and getting on the nerves of everyone in the Citadel. They were good partners in crime. Eldarion could get out of almost anything with his good spirits, and as every female in Minas Tirith thought that he was the most adorable thing that they had ever seen, so could Faramir.

     “Really, it won’t be that bad, cleaning the ballroom,” Eldarion continued.

     Faramir sat up and leaned against the headboard next to him. “Why not?”

    “Well, think about it. We’ll be in the ballroom all day, with mops and buckets full of water, cleaning the floors. Think about the fun we’ll have!” Eldarion said, his eyes dancing with mischief.

   Faramir grinned. Put like that, the morrow would be very fun.

To be continued…