Author's Note: So… People have been asking about the lack of LotR fic, and the Muses have been sniffing the air hopefully. And then the Hobbit-related news coming out obviously helped. I thought I'd ease into it again – so, hello, Mirkwood one-shot – and if anyone wants to know about Murder in the White City, Chapter 12 is called A Royal Welcome and should be up… soon, I hope. As soon as I can manage it. I'll have to take a couple of days to figure out what I've written so far (in terms of the mystery) and what clues I still need to give you. I'm sorry, I know it's been horrible of me to leave you hanging on that and I have absolutely no excuse other than recalcitrant bunnies. But I promise to get cracking on that now.

In the meantime, enjoy this!

Disclaimer: Not one Elf.

Summary: Thranduil has met and terrorized most of his son's non-Elven friends. But this is his first encounter with the Prince of Ithilien.

Prince of Ithilien

"Listen to me, Faramir," Aragorn said, softly but urgently. "I was not there."

Legolas, who was riding between them, cut his eyes at Aragorn and shook his head, but he said nothing.

"I was not there," Aragorn repeated.

"Then where were you?" Faramir enquired, unable to keep the bemusement from his tone.

"I have not yet decided, but I will think of something. Just remember to leave me out of it when you tell the story. If you have sense, you will leave yourself out of it as well, and leave the Elf to explain things as best he can."

"Thank you," Legolas said acidly. "I am fortunate that you are my friend – I would hate to imagine how you would treat an enemy."

"This has nothing to do with friendship, Legolas. I have a kingdom to think about. It has not even been two years since I took the throne. I have no heir. What, precisely, are my people to do if I die childless? And, as for Faramir, would you truly want to make poor Éowyn a widow so soon after her wedding? You are considered compassionate. Be reasonable!"

"And what about me?" the Elf demanded.

"You will grimace as though your ribs and arm ache more than they really do, give your father that look of wide-eyed innocence – you have not seen it in action yet, Faramir; wait until you do – and he will forgive you everything."

"This is infamous! I do not see why I should take the blame alone. Youwere with me."

"We are unhurt."

"I am not hurt, Ranger! I only look hurt because you are making me wear this ridiculous sling like a ridiculous child. My personal opinion is that you should be the one wearing a sling. I have little doubt that you need one more than I do. You sprained your wrist, and we all know Mortals take years to heal sprained wrists –"

"Days, Legolas. Days. Not years."

"Days, weeks, months, years. You can hardly expect me to keep track of them. It is all the same in the end!"

"In any case," Faramir said, deciding it was best to intervene before the conversation grew too heated, "I do not intend to lie to King Thranduil. It is my first meeting with him. I want to make a good impression."

"Sensible man," Legolas said, nodding. "You see, Estel?"

"What I see is a foolish man. Faramir, you do not have to lie, but it would be best not to admit to Thranduil that you were with his son when he was injured but did not prevent it."

"I am not going to lie to King Thranduil, even by omission," Faramir said firmly, forestalling whatever comment Legolas had been planning to make. "I will not, so there is no point arguing about it. Do you truly imagine, Aragorn, that we can have any kind of peace in Gondor if the Prince of Ithilien cannot get along with the father of its Elven-lord?"

"I am not the Elven-lord of Ithilien," Legolas hissed.

"Of course you are," Aragorn said smugly. "You have been the firstborn son of the Elven-king all your life, Legolas."

"That is irrelevant. I am notthe Elven-lord of Ithilien. I am not even an Elven-lord. I am an archer in the service of the Elven-king. I am –"

"Ignore him," Aragorn told Faramir. "He gets like this when he is nervous. At the moment he is worried about how to explain a broken arm and three cracked ribs to his father when he was supposed to be riding quietly from Minas Tirith to Ithilien."

"Quietly?" Faramir asked, eyebrows rising. "With you?"

"He has you there, Elessar King," Legolas chortled. "You are the one being followed by an escort detail of twelve Royal Guardsmen, four members of the City Guard, eight yeomen, four horsemen from the light cavalry, two –"

"That will do!" Aragorn snapped. "There is no need to go into details. We did manage to give them the slip."

Legolas rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "They are only four hours' ride behind."

"That was because we had to waste an hour while somebody fell off his horse –"

"I did not fall off my horse. It was entirely your doing. If you had been paying attention to the road instead of mooning about whatever it was that Arwen said to you when she came to say goodbye at –"

"You see? This is precisely what I do not want you to say in your father's presence. He is not particularly fond of me in any case –"

"My father likes you! And he has liked you all the better since meeting Gimli. He once told me something about how, whatever your numerous faults, at least you were not a cave-dwelling stone-eater. Of course I took strong exception to his referring to Gimli as a cave-dwelling stone-eater. I know for a fact that Gimli eats normal food. I have never seen him eat a stone."

"You see?" Aragorn said to Faramir. "This is what you will have to put up with. For the next two weeks!"

Legolas, glaring at both of them, nudged his horse away and towards the nearest tree. He reached out to lay a hand on the trunk.

A moment later, he had muttered something that Faramir did not understand but which made Aragorn double over with laughter.

"Really, Elfling?" Aragorn choked. "I did not even know you knew words like that!"

"Laugh all you want, Ranger. My father is already waiting in the courtyard."

The Elven-king of the Woodland Realm was indeed waiting in the courtyard, and Faramir was puzzled.

He had always been interested in Elves – fascinated by them – and since the day he had learnt to read, he had devoured every bit of information he could find about them. Minas Tirith's library was extensive and old. He had found much to interest him. Most of the books and lays were about the Noldor and their struggles – Lúthien was the only exception. There was very little recorded information about Eryn Galen and the Elves who lived in the northern reaches of what had once been Greenwood the Great.

But such books as Faramir had found had described Thranduil son of Oropher as just and essentially kind, if proud. He could be hard, one writer said, and unpleasant to strangers, but surely he had to be; how else could he hold his realm against the evil that threatened to engulf it, and with no tool other than the bows and swords of his warriors?

That was the sum of what Minas Tirith's library could reveal. There were whispers of other things, of tragedy and betrayal that had cost the life of the queen, but nothing specific.

A few weeks ago, he had asked Aragorn what Thranduil was like. (He had felt a little ridiculous waiting to go to Minas Tirith to ask Aragorn that when Legolas was half a day's ride away, but one could hardly go to the son of the Elven-king and say, "Is it true that your father locks trespassers in the dungeon with the rats?")

At first Aragorn had been inclined to give substance to Faramir's worst fears. He had assured him that Thranduil's short temper was no legend, that uninvited guests frequently found themselves locked in one of the cellars, that Aragorn himself, on his first visit –

And then Arwen had come in, and Aragorn had said, "But, really, Legolas seems to like you, so I doubt you will have any problems with Thranduil. He is usually accommodating of his son's friends."

"Thranduil is fond of Legolas, then?" Faramir had hazarded. It seemed a safe enough assumption.

Aragorn had laughed until there were tears in his eyes, and even Arwen had seemed amused by the question. Neither of them would say more than, "You will see."

Faramir could not understand what it was that he was expected to see. Thranduil had taken one look at Legolas, rolled his eyes, and ordered him to the Healers. Just like that. No greeting, no questions, not even a token enquiry after Legolas' health. And Faramir knew that Thranduil had not seen his son for over a year. (Faramir had had to strain to understand the Sindarin: it was not the same sort he had learnt.) Legolas, for his part, had knelt (with a grimace for his ribs), pressed a formal kiss to his father's hand, and gone indoors without a word.

Once Legolas was out of earshot, Thranduil turned his attention to Aragorn. The King of Gondor had dismounted and was waiting with one hand on his horse's bridle.

"Elessar King," Thranduil said, with far more warmth than he had used to greet Legolas. "You are welcome to Eryn Lasgalen."

"My King." Aragorn bowed, fist pressed to his chest in the Elven gesture of fealty. Despite Thranduil's tone, the King of Gondor sounded as though he expected to be fed to a giant spider. "I had nothing to do with it."

"With my son's injury or with the fact that he has been riding through the forest with no escort –"

"My King, we were with him!"

"I beg your pardon. He has been riding through the forest with no useful escort –"

"My King, I must protest –"

"If you were a useful escort, he would not be hurt."

"My King," Aragorn said, clearly desperate to change the subject, "this is Faramir, Prince of Ithilien. He is my friend – and your son's."

Thranduil turned to him. Faramir found himself wishing he could disappear into the leaf-strewn forest floor.

Faramir had been told that Legolas looked almost exactly like his father. He saw now that it was true: Legolas did look like Thranduil. There was a difference, though. When Legolas looked at him, Faramir did not feel like his soul was being taken apart, examined and found lacking in all respects. If this was what Aragorn described as 'accommodating'…

Faramir shivered. Thranduil reminded him irresistibly of his own father.

"M-m-my King," Faramir stuttered, mimicking Aragorn's gesture. "It is an honour to meet you."

"Yes, we will see about that. I will have Istuion show you to your room."

Two hours later, Faramir's opinion had been cemented: Thranduil was exactly like Denethor.

Thranduil's seneschal had shown Faramir his room (in the royal quarters, near Aragorn's). Faramir had barely had time to change his tunic and find a fresh cloak before Aragorn had arrived, announcing that the Elven-king requested their presence in his study.

"And when Thranduil requests things," he had gone on, "they happen. It is far safer for everyone that way."

Faramir had trailed after Aragorn through a twisting maze of tunnels and passages (how Legolas could call this miserable labyrinth home and yet dislike caves was beyond him) to the Elven-king's study.

It was a brightly-lit room, although Faramir got the impression that it could be forbidding, and perhaps even frightening, if the curtains were drawn shut. Thranduil offered them wine, which the Prince of Ithilien, after a brief hesitation, accepted. His mind was whirling with a mixture of excitement and trepidation: he had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined that one day he would be drinking wine with the Elven-king of the Woodland Realm.

Aragorn was now attempting to explain what had happened to Legolas. Thranduil waved it away.

"He has always been a fool. In any case, I can discuss Legolas' stupidity with him, later. There are far more important things to talk about now."

Faramir suppressed a sigh. It appeared that Thranduil was exactly like Denethor.

Then those intense blue eyes turned to him, and he quickly revised his opinion. Thranduil was far worse than Denethor.

"For instance," the Elven-king went on, stern expression melting into gentle inoffensiveness that Faramir was certain was deceptive, "you have told me nothing about yourself, Prince Faramir. I heard from Legolas that you enjoy archery."

"Yes, my King," Faramir replied, hoping fervently that he would not be asked to demonstrate. He had no desire to have the entire population of Eryn Lasgalen laughing at his attempts to shoot a copper coin from two hundred yards. "I trained in the bow as a boy. And Legolas and his friends have given me some instruction."

"Of course. I hear you and Legolas have been spending a great deal of time together in Ithilien."

"Yes."

"Would you describe yourselves as friends? Or merely acquaintances?"

Faramir looked desperately at Aragorn, but the other man only shrugged, his expression too mirthful to be remotely comforting.

"I… I am honoured to call Legolas my friend," Faramir stammered.

"You consider it an honour?"

Denethor had never been this bad.

"I… Legolas thinks…"

Faramir was saved the trouble of thinking of something to say by a knock on the door. He turned, pathetically grateful, hoping against hope that it was Legolas come to rescue him.

It was not.

The entrant was clearly a warrior. He was not particularly tall, and he was slender, even for an Elf. But everything about him, from the soft-booted feet planted firmly on the ground to the knife tucked into his belt to the determined gleam in his grey eyes spoke of the perpetual preparedness that only came to veteran soldiers.

"You have an impeccable sense of timing," Thranduil told the newcomer. "There is someone I want you to meet. This is Faramir, Prince of Ithilien. Prince Faramir, Lord Thorontur is our Archery Master."

Faramir felt his eyes go even wider. He had heard of Thorontur: Legolas and all his friends spoke of Thranduil's Archery Master with a mixture of affection, awe, and something very close to fear. Aragorn had told him of once having seen Legolas and his seconds, Saeldur and Aeroniel, reduced to such a state of nerves by Thorontur's criticism during one of their practice sessions that they had fired fifteen arrows each and hit their target a sum total of eight times. At the time Faramir had laughed and assumed that Aragorn was embellishing a far less dramatic story; now, looking at the Archery Master, he could well believe it.

"Prince Faramir," Thorontur said politely. Then, turning to the King, "Thranduil, I saw Legolas –"

"Precisely what I wanted to speak to you about," the Elven-king interrupted smoothly. "And since Faramir and Aragorn are here, I would hear their views as well."

"What about?"

"Legolas. I really think I should recall him from Ithilien –"

"What!" Aragorn said, startled into speaking. "But –"

Thranduil shot him a look that would have had Faramir fleeing. "I did not say I wanted to hear your views before I had finished speaking, Estel."

Aragorn met Thranduil's eyes for a long moment before nodding imperceptibly and dropping his gaze. "Forgive me, my King."

Thranduil went on as though there had been no interruption. "I think I should recall Legolas from Ithilien. His childishness goes utterly unchecked there. It was unwise of me to permit it in the first place. With all of them there – and utterly unsupervised – something was bound to happen. And today's incident only confirms my view."

"M-m-y King," Faramir stammered, finding his voice, "it was a completely unforeseen accident. We encountered danger –"

"Danger? To Legolas? In the forest?"

"Legolas was not thinking about –"

"That is precisely the problem. He never thinks."

"He is young," Faramir pleaded desperately.

"As to that, Prince Faramir, your grandfather's grandfather had not been born when Legolas took command of my archers."

"Mistakes –"

"Mistakes should not be made by responsible captains, Prince Faramir, because such mistakes cost the lives of warriors."

Faramir looked at Aragorn for help. He was astounded that the King of Gondor had not already leapt to his friend's defence – he was quick enough to silence any of his courtiers who made snide comments about the presence of Elves in Ithilien.

But Aragorn only shrugged helplessly.

"My King," Faramir tried, "Legolas would never put anyone in danger."

"You just told me you encountered danger on your way here."

"But that had nothing to do with Legolas!"

"If he had been paying attention –"

"None of us was paying attention!" Thranduil raised an eyebrow, and Faramir flushed furiously at the thought that he had just interrupted the Elven-king. "Forgive me, my King, but – but – you cannot – you cannot."

"Do you tell me that I cannot command my own archers?"

"No, of course not! I – I just – you cannot blame Legolas for – it was our fault, if anything. Aragorn – Aragorn was saying something about Arwen and I had reined in to listen, and Legolas was ahead but had to stop to –"

"Faramir!" Aragorn snapped. "Enough!"

Faramir started to protest, but at Aragorn's frown he turned back to Thranduil. "In any case, my King, it was not Legolas' doing."

A soft sound from behind him made Faramir turn.

Legolas was standing in the doorway, and clearly had been standing there for some time. Faramir had not heard him come in.

The young Elf's expression was unreadable.

Faramir looked back at Thranduil. He did not know what he expected to see – perhaps the blustering displeasure he had learnt to expect from his own father, perhaps remorse at having said more than he intended.

What he did not expect to see was the Elven-king blushing like a child caught out in mischief.

"Legolas," Thranduil said. "Come in. I have been waiting for you." If Faramir had not been hearing it with his own ears he would not have believed that the Elven-king who had been storming about Legolas' childishness only moments ago was the same Elven-king who now sounded almost ingratiating.

Legolas quirked an eyebrow and sketched a brief bow. "My Elven-lord."

Thranduil held out his hand. Legolas only paused a moment before stepping forward. As soon as he was within reach, Thranduil seized his wrist and tugged. Legolas dropped easily to one knee before his father's chair.

For a moment Thranduil and Legolas simply looked at each other. Words seemed unnecessary between them; Faramir felt a brief pang for something he had never known.

Then, smiling, Thranduil said, "Your new friend is swift to defend you, Legolas, even to me. I believe I like him."

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