Chapter Two:  Of Surprises and Arrows

 DO NOT OWN LEGOLAS. HE IS A CREATION OF THE MASTER TOLKIEN AS ARE MANY OF THE PLACES AND NAMES MENTIONED HERE ON OUT.  .

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Thranduil turned around and looked down to Legolas, winking his eye.  Legolas was about to run towards Thranduil's study, but Thranduil called to him, “Legolas, you just might want to wait where you are at.” After all if Lotórie were to not find her uncle, she would be most disappointed, and Thranduil wanted to watch the exchange.  It was these moments that provided Thranduil his bits of joy that were like a refuge from the ever encompassing Shadow.  And he couldn’t help but selfishly indulge in such moments with his son.   Thranduil saw his son but also his wife, and if only for a moment, would imagine what it would be like for Lotórie to run into her grandmother’s arms.  Sounds of giggles from below, snapped Thranduil’s attention back into the present time, and he watched lovingly as Lotórie ran into Legolas’ arms.

“Uncle Legolas!” Lotórie squealed as she hopped into her uncles waiting arms, “look what I made!” She stuck the crooked little arrow in Legolas’ face, accidentally smacking his forehead with the shaft of the arrow, and waited wide-eyed for her uncle’s approval.  With her free hand she grasped one of Legolas’ braids, as it was her tendency to automatically seek for the security of the braid.  If other little elves had security blankets, Lotórie had her uncle Legolas’ braids.

“What is this, little one?”  Legolas held the little elf in his arms, and reached up to the object Lotórie’s hand was wound tightly around.  Legolas gasped “Oh my, it is an arrow!”

Lotórie’s eyes brightened and she enthusiastically nodded her head, but her enthusiasm resulted in her pulling Legolas’ braid rather sharply.

Legolas grimaced slightly, but was able to hide his discomfort from his niece.  He didn’t want her to become over concerned, after all, he should be used to the tugging of his braids.  He took the bow from her hands and spoke with whimsical awe, “By the Valar, if this isn’t one of the finest arrows I have set eyes upon!  None of the arrows in my quiver match it!”

Lotórie’s little body shook with delighted laughter, and Legolas could not help but spin her around, and join her in her merriment.

“Uncle Legolas” Lotórie spat out between giggles, and Legolas ceased their spinning.  Lotórie’s face slowly relaxed into a serious pout and with awe she asked, “Do you really think so?”

“Of course, see here, how the wood of the arrow is thoughtfully stained a dark brown?”

Lotórie nodded her head vigorously, causing some brown curls that had been suspended by a hair pin to come loose around her face.

Legolas continued, “This tells me that the maker of this arrow is indeed wise, for he, or SHE was mindful that the arrow needed to disappear in the darkness of our woods.” Legolas held the arrow up to the light, “Look, see here, the feathers, they have been hand wound, not such an easy task.  And the feathers, such rich hues of green and brown, like the earth and trees.  This arrow will fly true!  Once let loose, it will disappear in the air and fly faithfully to its target.  Oh I feel sorry for the foe who falls to this arrow, for he will not see it until it is embedded in him!” Legolas glanced back at Lotórie.  Her little face wore a large smile that beamed with pride. 

Lotórie finally spoke up, squealing excitedly, “Uncle Legolas, I made this arrow, I made it for you!”

Legolas playfully gasped, “Loth nín , *you* made this… for me?”

“Yes I did!  Oh Uncle Legolas, I knew you would love it,” she replied, hurling her arms around his neck.  Then she planted a bit wet kiss on his cheek, the kind of kiss only little children so lovingly grace their loved ones with.  She looked back up at Legolas, raising her eyebrow in a most Thranduil way, and questioned her uncle, “You really think it is a great arrow?”

Legolas replied softly, “Yes indeed, it is a very good arrow, and I am honored to have it.” He set Lotórie on the ground, and then knelt with one knee on the ground before her.  He took the arrow and put it in Lotórie’s small little hand and asked, “Lotórie, will you do me the honor of placing your most beautiful arrow in my quiver?”

Lotórie’s mouth fell open, “You really mean it?”

“Of course I do!”

Lotórie then worked her face into what she thought would be the most appropriate seriousness befitting the moment, and walked around Legolas’ kneeling figure.  With wide eyes, but stern countenance, Lotórie dropped the crooked little bow into Legolas’ quiver, and stood, frozen by the awe of the moment.

Legolas swung around and caught the little body in his arms and stood up.  “Hiril nîn ,” Legolas sweetly spoke, “you have graced me with a most divine of gifts.  I shall treasure it and make sure it flies with truth!”  He then lifted Lotórie’s little hand, raising it to his lips, and placed a light kiss on it.  With sudden mirth in his eyes, Legolas announced, “And now, we shall see who is the first to reach Ada’s study!  The winner gets all the dessert they want tonight!”

 Lotórie wriggled out of Legolas’ arms and dropped to the floor running speedily through the cavernous palace, with Legolas chasing behind.  Legolas paused before entering a hall and looked up to his father, aware that he had watched the entire scene, “Adar, since you insisted on sharing this moment intended for me and Lotórie, I am sure you will have no objections if our little flower has her fill of dessert tonight!”

The devilish smile on Legolas’ lips was too much for Thranduil to remain silent, “Of course ion nîn , I would expect nothing else, as I suspect you will be joining our little Lotórie in her delightful dessert banquet!”

Legolas let out a hearty laugh, “I have a little nymph to catch up with! I can’t let her win too easily.”  And suddenly Legolas was gone.