Princes Three: The Beginning

Interlude

Legolas slowly became aware of the smell of smoke and the crackle of a dying fire. Caught for a moment in the hazy state between sleep and wakening, he started to turn and stretch, and found himself snugly held in place, surrounded by silken strands.

As he jerked into full awareness, his first thought was of spiders- but the silk was not sticky, nor foul-smelling. It tickled, and smelled of brisk wind, rain and cedar. And it was black, he discovered, focusing carefully in the dim pre-dawn light beginning to slip through the arches.

Arches. Imladris. Oh, Valar’s wisdom! The twins. Moving carefully, Legolas raised his head and looked about. One of the twins lay facing him, legs entangled with his own, ebony hair trailing over them both, mingling with pale gold. Disconcerted for a moment, the prince frowned, then pushed back the covering furs and glanced down gratefully. The mithril ring was on the left- so this was Elladan, and it was Elrohir who was spooned tightly behind him, one arm draped across his hip, breath gently tickling his neck.

Returning his head to the pillows, he let his thoughts drift lazily. Striped fabric, he mused. We look like a bizarrely striped fabric of black and gold.

No, not fabric, he decided with a smile. Dessert! We look like a blackberry and cream trifle.

Or a sandwich, he thought, breaking into a broad grin. That’s it, a sandwich. Creamed chicken on black rye, he smirked, stifling a chuckle.

No, I will not be creamed chicken, he snorted quietly. Suddenly losing control of his mirth, he snickered helplessly into Elladan’s hair. Honey butter on toasted lembas. Very toasted lembas.

As Legolas tried to stifle his laughter, the curtain of dark hair was thrown back, and he found himself looking into twinkling grey eyes.

"Such high spirits, and so early. What amuses you so, ‘Las?" , Elladan asked quietly, mindful of Elrohir, still sleeping soundly.

Trying heroically to regain control, Legolas took a deep breath and managed, "Creamed chicken…", before once again erupting into suppressed laughter, shaking so that Elrohir stirred in his sleep, pressing yet closer.

Elladan raised one eyebrow skyward and queried, "Creamed chicken? It is not yet dawn, and you are laughing yourself sick over a sandwich filling?"

Legolas snickered once more, and whispered, "Exactly. We look like a sandwich, and I will not be creamed chicken."

The elder twin stared at him blankly for a moment, before breaking into a dazzling grin. "And what filling would you be, hmm? And more importantly, what does it make me?"

"Honey butter," the woodland prince chuckled quietly. "And that makes you toasted lembas...or half a cinnamon bun," he added.

"Honey butter?’, Elladan repeated musingly, raising his hand to the prince’s face. "Let me see…", he breathed against Legolas’ lips, before capturing his mouth in a soft, warm kiss. "Sweet and rich. Aye, you can be honey butter, I suppose."

"But just now, you are still sleep-drunk," he went on, snuggling closer to the golden prince, "As am I. Lie still, anor nín , and rest awhile. 'Tis not yet time to rise."

Legolas willingly complied, drifting slowly back toward sleep in the comforting warmth of the bodies curled around his own.

Just as he dropped off, he thought drowsily of Elladan’s words. ‘Lie still, anor nín ’. 'Anor nín,' he mused. 'Should I be flattered, or frightened?'

Too groggy to struggle with the possible import, he slipped into slumber.

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