Legolas walked over to Aní and hugged him tightly.  “None of us are perfect, but we pretend to be.  I guess that’s why we need family around to remind us that we are only as imperfect as the life that blossoms around us!”  The bond between uncle and nephew was close.  Legolas’ was Aní’s superior, but this fact did not tend to strain the relationship so valued by the two warrior elves.  Aní greatly respected Legolas, and at little over 500 years of age, Aní knew he still had much to learn.

Laurenor added playfully, “And I will always be there to remind both you and Legolas of your follies, imperfections, bad days, and of the countless rejections you have received from maidens!”

Thranduil cleared his throat to catch the male elves’ attention, “And this aged elf is here to make sure you all behave properly!” Thranduil grabbed Laurenor by the arm, and whispered to him in a tone that he knew both Legolas and Aní could hear, “And my dearest son, I will NEVER tell Aní and Legolas how Istawen complains of your lack of creativeness in certain areas!” Although untrue, Thranduil’s words left no doubt in their minds, his sarcasm always had the worst bite!

Aní and Legolas couldn’t contain themselves and doubled over bursting with laughter. Legolas cried out through fits of laughter, “Oh dear brother, your face has turned the deepest shade of crimson this day.  You have out done both Aní and I!  Ada, I am reminded never to challenge you at a battle of wit.”

Laurenor finally summed up the courage to look up from the floor and mumbled like a little elf rejected by playmates, “I will have you know my wife finds me most-- satisfying.”

Legolas grasped Aní’s shoulder, as he almost fell over from the fits of laughter that coursed through his body.  He waved at Laurenor with his other hand, “Please, Laurenor, we need not know the details of your amorous encounters with your wife.  Istawen is, is,” Legolas trailed off, fighting for breath between his now bellowing laughs. 

Elves were not shy in talking about sex, nor did they find the topic and act to be deplorable in any fashion, but abilities were a matter of pride, and elven males and females for that matter were quite aware of their prowess.   Elves may be near perfect, but they are plagued by contradictions in nature as are all free folk, and so like most folk, elves are not pleased to imagine their siblings or parents in such a way. 

Aní picked up from where Legolas left off, “Yes, Istawen is a lucky elven maiden, but please no more! The mere hint of you engaged in such acts makes me grow pale, and we must respect Istawen for she is not here to add her opinion.” 

Thranduil added wryly, “Laurenor, I fear that one day Lotórie will join in on these battles of wit and badly put us in our place.  She is already so cunningly smart, my little flower, but the ones I fear for most are her parents.  I should know, we parents suffer our best and worst traits being born and perfected in our children!”

The elves nodded in agreement.  Lotórie had them wrapped around her finger, and whatever she wished they did.  But it was with pleasure that they catered to the little elfling.  She was always gracious and genuinely appreciative of all that was done for her.  It was as if the intensity of the dark times she was bourn into somehow made her at once as innocent and cheerful as a child, and as serious and knowing as an adult. 

The sounds of bells chiming softly announced to the elves of Mirkwood that a great feast was being readied for all to partake in.  Thranduil looked to his sons and grandson, “Let us go get ready for this night’s feast.  I hope to see you all dressed in your finest- head gear included.” And before any of the younger elves could protest, Thranduil rushed out of his study to his personal chambers.

Legolas groaned, he disliked dressing up in the royal raiment, circlet or no circlet.  He knew that upon entering his chamber, his clothes would be laid out on his bed, picked out for him.  “I wonder what color we will be wearing tonight,” he mumbled painfully.

Laurenor shrugged, “I don’t mind at all.  It pleases me actually, because Lotórie gets so excited choosing the colors we will have to wear.  You don’t want to disappoint my daughter, do you Legolas?” Laurenor glanced at Legolas and received a roll from the latter’s eyes in response.  Legolas and Aní both shared their dislike of dressing up but neither would disappoint Thranduil nor Lotórie.  The three headed to their chambers to ready for the feast.

***

The evening feast outside of Thranduil’s palace cave was grand.  The beech trees were lit up with hundreds of intricately glass blown lanterns that twinkled like the brightest evening stars.  Low lying tables lined the open areas between the trees and pillows were strewn on the ground that provided impromptu seating.  Upon each table were placed garlands of white lilies and niphredils brought from far distances.  Rising from within the garlands were candles shaped like trees, emanating a warm glow.  The sound of the Forest River flowing near by added a soft melody to the glorious evening.

In the center of the banquet rose a majestic beech tree whose branches extended out in one direction.  Large chandeliers made of delicate twigs and glass hung from the branches, bathing the large table below it with an iridescent light.  Thranduil was seated at the center of the table, upon richly embroidered pillows made of hearty material that withstood the elements.  Wood elves enjoyed sitting on the ground, it made them feel more firmly rooted in the earth.   

Thranduil was dressed in a velvet robe of green that bore no embroidery.  Beneath it he wore a tunic of  light gold that was embroidered with threads of dark gold that traced the shapes of leaves along the fabric.  A crown of woodland flowers lay upon his brow.  His sons wore similarly colored outfits, but both their robes and tunics were darker.  The colors suited Legolas’ blond locks the most, and he seemed to shimmer in a golden light.  In fact to all who looked upon the royal family, the gold of their fabrics seemed to catch the lights of the candles upon the tables and the lights reflected from the chandeliers above them, and Legolas seemed to shine the brightest.

Laurenor and Legolas sat comfortably on their pillows, taking in the merriment that had begun around them.  Laurenor noticed the many looks that were cast towards his younger brother, and some admiring but respectful glances that were cast towards him.   At Legolas’ age, Laurenor had been quite popular with young maidens both elven and mortal, but Legolas, he noticed caught the attention of many more eyes.  Laurenor did not feel jealousy, but rather sympathy for his brother.  He on the one hand did not mind the attention, and in fact relished in it, but Legolas was not as quick to enjoy the admiration thrown at him. 

“We need a sacrifice tonight.  The beasts have smelt blood and are hungering for a  taste of its sweetness,” Laurenor announced to Legolas.   Laurenor caught a young maiden sitting at a table near them glancing indiscriminately at Legolas.  He called over to the pretty elf, “Is it the light of gold that emanates from my brother that so draws your gaze, my lady?”

The elf drew her eyes away in embarrassment, but Laurenor continued, “Do not draw your eyes away in shame, for it is only natural.” Laurenor gripped Legolas’ arm, but the golden haired elf refused to turn.

Laurenor winked at the elf maiden drawing a piqued smile from her pretty lips, “Prince Legolas is not fooling anyone, is he?  He pretends to be a most chaste and pure elf, disguised behind the Vanyarin gold of his hair, but we both know that what lurks beneath his fair countenance are the wild passions of a wood elf!”

The young maiden now laughed freely and glanced over to the youngest prince.  Laurenor cautioned her, “But be careful my lady, and do not draw too much blood.  I am afraid that our prince has let loose too much of it, we need another body to sacrifice tonight.”

Legolas’ body tensed beneath Laurenor’s grip, and he quickly turned to face his brother.  Legolas retorted sarcastically, “Yes I forgot that complements of that nature have a habit of creeping up behind me and stabbing me in the back.  Please forgive me if I don’t jump up and down for joy Laurenor, as I am still dazed from the blood loss.  Here, use my napkin to clean up my spilt blood, I know how you hate messes.”

Lotórie caught the sharp words that were being exchanged between her father and Legolas.  She promptly marched up behind them and glanced at each with her best Thranduil-like face, eyebrows positioned threateningly.  The two brothers were so engaged in their war of wit that they managed to ignore the little elf standing behind them.   Lotórie turned to the young maiden who was startled by Legolas’ exclamation and looked at her curiously.  She wasn’t quite sure what it was about the way the maiden looked at her uncle that bothered her.

“Legolas” Laurenor gasped with exaggerated disbelief, “I would never suggest that we offer you up as a sacrifice.  I merely suggested that a virginal sacrifice would appease the lustful.  I did not suggest that *you* were the virgin I referred to.  Why Legolas, you a virgin?  My, what would all the lovely maidens you have bedded think?  If I were one of them and heard you, I would slit my wrists for my lovely prince has renounced the memory of the night we spent together in the throes of passion, no wait- lust.”

Legolas scowled at his brother, “But you speak as if blood has not been spilt on your account dearest Laurenor.  I remember a time when you used to sneak off with me when I was but Lotórie’s age, and if I recall correctly, I was a pawn used to attract the pretty maidens.  And did they ever swoon to you- might I add thanks to *me*.  I guess I have always been preferred by females, whatever their race be, but that’s besides the point.  I remember you to be rather the playboy, but never *the* preferred of the maidens.”

Laurenor snorted, “The preferred of females, you Legolas!?  Of orcen females to be sure! Now it is told here and there that they can be heard, howling out in the shadows of the wood, lusting after a certain blonde elven prince, whose hair streams like the golden sun even in the darkness of night!  With moisture clinging to his full lips, creepings of rose blush touching upon his high cheekbones, and his eyes made of glimmering blue sapphires that pierce the heart of the most wicked and hateful heart!  You see Legolas, elven maidens, on the other hand, prefer dark haired elves, like me.  We are more feral, while orcs prefer the more dainty golden haired males!” 

Laurenor twirled his loose hair around his finger and playfully flung the brown locks  over his back.  He leaned over to his brother and growled in his ear. 

Legolas threw his head back and laughed loudly, “My own brother is trying to seduce me with his feral wood elf growl!  No my brother, I do not doubt your abilities- in fact, I believe that the flowers in front of us are beginning to swoon.  I curse the golden locks that frame my face!”

A little voice suddenly chimed in, “But uncle Legolas, don’t you know that all the maidens fancy you?” Lotórie’s eyes beamed  and she continued most seriously, “Yes uncle, I have heard them, and they *love* your golden locks.  They talk amongst themselves about how they would love to get their hands on your hair.” Lotórie giggled, “I don’t blame them, I love combing your hair too!”

The two elves reached over to Lotórie who stood behind them, and picked her up, bringing her over their heads.  They brought her down and squeezed her between them. 

Istawen who had been sitting across the table from the competing brothers finally broke her silence, “I must say that you, my dear husband have never growled in MY ear that way before.  In fact I don’t think you have ever growled in my ear.”

Laurenor looked at his wife and grinned dumbly at her.  Legolas glanced at his brother, and shoved him in the side encouraging him to respond to his wife. 

“Meleth nîn, shall I demonstrate my growl later this evening?  I was merely perfecting it for you,” Laurenor whispered to his wife.

“I look forward it to Laurenor, but watch out, for another feral wood elf may surprise you in return.” Istawen keenly raised one eyebrow, but this was very un-Thranduil in nature, and rather provocative.   She ran her fingers suggestively through her long dark thick hair.

A small gasp escaped Laurenor’s lips.

Lotórie watched the loving exchange between her parents and smiled gleefully.  Legolas pulled the elfling over onto his lap.  “And now my little niphredil it is time to eat!”  Legolas motioned over to elves that were serving the food, “Can you please bring us the dessert here?  Our little flower here is being honored for a mighty gift she bestowed upon me, and not too mention she beat me in a race today.”

Lotórie’s eyes danced with happiness, and she clapped her hands excitedly, “Legolas, you remembered!  Are you going to eat dessert with me too?  It’s ok you know, even if I did beat you.”

“I certainly am,” the golden haired elf responded.  “I have been looking forward to this all day.” Legolas glanced over to King Thranduil who was seated not far from him at the center of the table, knowing that the King would be involved in all the conversations that took place at his table.  Thranduil smiled at his son and nodded in mock approval. 

Rainiel was seated next to Thranduil, and next to her was her husband Erutunín.  Their son Aníralendon was seated across from them, and was hungrily devouring the roasted pheasant that had been served only minutes before.  Erutunín was originally from Imladris, and when he wed Rainiel, there was no question that they would live in Mirkwood.  Rainiel’s presence was much too needed.  She was Thranduil’s most trusted counselor, and Laurenor’s rock.  Most important, though, after their mother’s death, Rainiel became as a mother to Legolas.  Erutunín would not break apart any of these ties for he was fortunate enough to have both his parents alive and flourishing in Imladris.  He had had to wait to marry her as she and her brother Laurenor took on many duties after the death of Nyére.  Thranduil had been devastated and if it weren’t for his children stepping in to carry many burdens, the elven realm of Mirkwood may have been completely overcome by Shadow. 

Erutunín looked over his wife.  They had married during the time of the watchful peace.  These times had finally allowed Rainiel some time to consider her own needs.  Legolas had encouraged his sister to look to her own life, and in the year 2340, Erutunín and Rainiel plighted their troth to one another.  Aní had been born prior to the end of the watchful peace, and his little life had made the return of the shadow to Mirkwood easier to bear for the family.

Rainiel caught her husband looking towards her but lost in deep thought, “Meleth nîn , what toils in your head for you seem lost deep in memories.”

Her husband replied, “I was just remembering the time we married, and the blessing of our Aní.  He certainly was a break from the heaviness of the return of Shadow.”

Rainiel laughed, “Oh yes, he was a joy and a handful.  I think at times I was more concerned with Aní getting hurt rather than Sauron’s return to Dol Guldur.”

Aní had not heard a word, or pretended not to, and continued to devour the plates of food placed in front of him.  Aní was enraptured in the taste of a dessert, licking the sweet citrus cream that oozed down his fingers.  Some of the sweet sticky substance found its way onto Aní’s light brown locks, and glancing around to make sure no one was looking at him, he proceeded to take the strands of hair with his cleanly licked fingers and suck the substance from his hair.  But he had not been discreet enough.