It was a fair and balmy morn, with dew drops clinging to the edges of the long lush blades of green grass and dangling from the rims of morning glory blossoms that sprawled over the scrubby shrubs just beyond the borders of that fabled land of mystery and magic, fair Lothlorien. The sun shone with sparkling gentleness in its first peek at the world, hardly giving any hint of the ferocity with which it would soon lambaste the open lowlands in the valley of the Anduin to the north, the rolling, dusty steppes of Rhûn to the east, the humid quays and piers of Belfalas to the south, or the breezy coastal dunes of Lindon to the west. Yes, soon the shelter of the towering Mellyrn would be welcome as much for relief from the sizzling sun as for the peaceful serenity that enveloped the enchanted realm beneath their boughs.

Travellers from all across the many regions of Arda converged upon the Golden Wood for the festival of the Summer Solstice and with the strange magical portals removed no one had any trouble entering the graceful land. Once beneath the trees, folk paused for a time on the banks of the Nimrodel, bathing their feet in the stream's rejuvenating waters and refreshing their spirits before continuing into the city of trees. In fact, so many found it pleasurable to do this that the Galadhrim warriors had to set up pavilions upon the banks and began providing food and drink for the arriving visitors. The doughty soldiers did not seem to find it demeaning to tend to the guests in this manner and indeed few missed the days when they were in constant danger of attack from evil forces bent on destroying their world. It was far more interesting and entertaining to meet all these new folk and learn about the lands from which they had journeyed.

Thus, with only one day before the start of the festivities, nearly everyone had quite forgotten about the Lord of Ithilien and his bizarre plans to make a mockery of the celebration. After all, no more travellers had gone missing and nothing was reported of the strange and alluring elf maiden, the mighty, graceful castle, or the delicate elven bridge. The disappearance of the Kings of Gondor and Rohan, Meriadoc Brandybuck the Pride of the Shire, and a small contingent of armed guards was not widely known among the general population. Celeborn had convinced Orophin and Selldhuin to suppress the footage of Legolas' confrontation with Galadriel, Arwen, Lothiriel, and Estella three days ago. And not even the Lady of Light was aware that the twin Lords of Imladris and the Lord of Aglarond were in danger, though it is true Arwen and her grandparents wondered where the twins could be.

Yet the sons of Elrond had not communicated a specific time when they expected to arrive and Galadriel was unable to contact them telepathically. She never could reach them that way, for Elladan and Elrohir were embarrassingly bereft of any psychic tendencies whatsoever. No one was concerned about the Dwarf, unless it was Legolas and he was not thinking too clearly at the time. Arwen and Celeborn and the Lady of Light were nonetheless worried for Elladan and Elrohir, given the utter vanishing of the other powerful leaders.

"Look into your mirror," urged Arwen.

"Very well, I shall," answered her grandmother and gracefully descended the winding, gilded stairway down to the grotto of her magic pool, her husband and granddaughter following. Once there, Galadriel took up her magic silver ewer and dipped it into the clear waters of the enchanted spring. With elegant steps she advanced upon a shallow basin set upon a pedestal and poured the water in, chanting as she did so: "Mirror, Mirror in the birdbath, show to me my grandson's path."

Anxiously all three leaned close and peered into the shimmering surface. As they watched an image formed, and the trio beheld the sons of Elrond upon their mighty steeds, cantering along the East Road toward the Misty Mountains. The Elven Lords did not seem distressed or harried and were laughing and talking comfortably to one another.

"This proves nothing for we do not know if this is happening now or occurred days ago," complained Celeborn. "Honestly, what good is this thing if one cannot understand whether the vision is from the past, the present, or the future?"

"Aye, even the wise cannot say if this is a true event or merely one of a number of possibilities," added Arwen. "Can you not ask a more specific question?"

"It does not work that way," explained Galadriel. "If the Mirror just gave me the answer then what would be the point of exerting my insight and intelligence? There would be no need for the mighty Galadriel if this parlour trick could do as you ask."

"Grandmother, you created this 'parlour trick'. Are you saying you are unable to change how it works?" queried Arwen.

"Created is not exactly the correct term to use, dear Arwen," the Lady of Light hedged. "Perhaps 'discovered' is more accurate."

"Try 'stole'," said Celeborn. "This scrying mirror belonged to Nimrodel first."

"I did not steal it!" huffed his wife indignantly. "She ran off to search for Amros and said I could use it while she was gone. I cannot help it if she never found her way back here."

"Then anyone can use it?" Arwen demanded and did not wait for a reply, dipping her fingers in the water to break up the vision of her brothers. "Mirror, Mirror brightly shining, where is the Prince of Mirkwood hiding?"

Eagerly the three elves leaned close and waited. Presently a strange figure formed in the water, rather like a question mark. In fact it was a question mark. Arwen made a decidedly irritated sound that was almost an audible curse in Black Speech as she shook up the water's surface again.

"Mirror Mirror brightly shining, where is the Lord of Ithilien hiding?" she corrected and once more they awaited a response. This time the obliging mirror displayed a lovely image of fair Lothlorien as seen from the western banks of the Nimrodel. All three elves groaned in frustration.

"Let me try, perhaps it requires a firm, masculine tone to make it obey," Celeborn the Wise opined. "Mirror, Mirror in the pan, where are Elrohir and Elladan?"

This was a very specific request and no doubt the Mirror Nymph trapped within the water molecules appreciated it very much, for momentarily a bright yellow circle appeared adorned with two small black eyes and a huge grin. After that, an image of a lovely meadow near a small spring materialised in the wavering surface and adorable bunnies could be seen hopping about in and out of their rabbit holes. It was one of the most straight-forward and direct responses the Mirror Nymph had ever given. Unfortunately, the three elves failed to understand the significance of the picture and Celeborn angrily plunged his fist into it, creating a splash that destroyed the vision.

"This is pointless," groused the Lord of Lorien. "I cannot imagine why you ever thought this was a useful tool."

Galadriel shrugged off his criticism. "I never said it was easy to interpret the Mirror's images. However, my intuition tells me the depiction of rabbits is not a coincidence. Legolas either has delayed the twins or they are all three working together on this scheme of his. Rumil must be found, for perhaps he knows something more of Thranduilion's plans."

"Aye, but what if we cannot find him? It is only one day before the festival," complained Arwen. "If it becomes known that Elessar and Eomer are missing, panic will break out, perhaps even war!"

"Indeed, we must not allow that to become known. I suggest we enlist the aid of body-doubles to play the parts of the missing rulers," said Celeborn.

"What an excellent idea! We can make it a pre-festival event, a kingly contest to entertain people ere the start of Mordor Gras. Arwen and I shall see to it," enthused Galadriel and guided Arwen out of the glade to begin auditions for the monarchs' doubles.

While the ladies departed to organise the spectacle, Celeborn decided to search again for Rumil, for he believed that if he found his youngest foster-son he would also have located the missing Lord of Ithilien. The Lord of the Mellyrn no longer believed Legolas was the instigator of the strange kidnappings and wished above all to make amends for unjustly imprisoning the Wood Elf and permitting such humiliation to be visited upon his great-great nephew. With that in mind he sought for Haldir, who had returned from a State Meeting with Prince Imrahil of Bel Falas the previous evening.

He found his Vizier engaged in serious debate over the need for a means to eradicate of the growing amount of waste and garbage produced by the now flourishing human settlements springing up through-out the known world. It was a dire problem, for the mortals, being of fleeting duration, did not seem to perceive the longevity of the pollution their midden heaps were causing. Haldir's partner in the discussion was none other than Darwinor, Celeborn's unsung youngest brother, a serious elf devoted to studying the natural world and comprehending the origin of all the living things on Arda.

"You fail to perceive the gravity of the dilemma," he was saying to Haldir. "The humans are multiplying faster than anyone expected. Even Maedhred's calculations did not predict such an exponential growth rate. Unchecked by the threat of Orcs, goblins, trolls, wargs, and evil Maiar, the humans are reproducing in a manner reminiscent of rabbits rather than people."

"Yes, that is clear," argued Haldir, "but there is land and resources aplenty to support this booming population, for the same reasons you mentioned. There is no longer the threat of crops and livestock being destroyed, of offspring being devoured or taken prisoner as slaves or worse. The humans will prosper and bring the lands to bountiful fruition, as Eru surely intended for them to do."

Darwinor shook his head sagely and placed his fluted wine glass on the table beside his chair. The pair were seated in the study of Haldir's elegant talan, located in the Mallorn right next to the Lord and Lady's abode. It was not the biggest or most extravagantly appointed home in Lorien, for that belonged to Orophin and Selldhuin, but it was sufficiently grand to attest to Haldir's prominent role in his country's governance.

"You are missing the point. The humans do not care about anything but their own prosperity. They are wasteful and careless with the resources available to them. Mark my words, if they do not learn to manage the lands wisely, new predators will arise that will not be so easy to dispense with," intoned Darwinor. "Such things will make the Ring Wars appear insignificant.

"You thought the evil of Sauron was a trifle, did you?" grumbled Celeborn, coming upon the two and interrupting the conversation. "Where were you at the Battle of the Last Alliance when our cousin twice removed on Nana's side, Oropher, led that ill-fated and fatal charge before Morannon? Oh yes, safe and snug in Harlindon, I believe, writing a treatise on the degree of variability in hereditary traits of underwater sea creatures that make a stone-like shell of protection and form huge colonies in the shallows of the oceans."

"Do not mock me, brother! I would have gone with him but Oropher refused to allow it, saying I was no fit warrior and would hinder both you and Galathil (Celeborn and Darwinor's brother, the one in the middle) with worry for my safety. Nay, I did not mean to imply that Sauron was a trifling problem, only that at least the existence of a predator kept the human population in check," countered Darwinor. "And my study of those underwater cnidarians provided an astounding amount of proof for my theory regarding change in an organism, as an entire species, over time. The implications for humans and elf-kind are very important."

"Oh that. We are all descended from a common ancestor: humans, elves, orcs, wizards, goblins, and trolls. You will not find anyone willing to accept that notion, myself included. A common origin, yes; that I will concede for we are all a product of the mind of Eru…"

"Oh hang the mind of Eru and the bloody Music for a change!" exhorted Darwinor, rising from his chair to face his brother. "The proof is there for any that have eyes to see. Even by your admission we are all composed of the same stuff, for there was only the matter around us with which to start. Indeed, we are all similar creatures with varying degrees of mental capabilities, nothing more. How else could elf-kind successfully breed and produce offspring with human-kind and, unfortunately, goblins?"

"Ah! Must you bring up that old wives-tale about the origin of Orcs? You speak of us the same as any of the non-speaking creatures hunted for game," admonished Celeborn. "Do not forget we are the First-born and the humans the Second-born of Iluvatar."

"Pah! That is rubbish. We are all creatures of flesh and bone, all subject to death, all subject to the need for water, nutrients, light, and air to live. The difference between us and any common beast is that we have voices. Yet must I remind you that so did Orcs and goblins? What is the good of being able to speak if the mind making use of the gift is utterly unable to comprehend the nature of existence in the first place? Unfortunately, humans seem to have little more mental capacity than Orcs."

"Surely they merely need to be educated, Darwinor," said Haldir in his best diplomatically conciliatory tone. He detested getting caught up in Celeborn and Darwinor's arguments.

"Educated? Certainly they need to be educated but even the most ignorant Wood Elf has enough sense not to destroy the forest he lives in. And that, my dear Haldir, is because even the most simple-minded of Nandorin elves comprehends the life of that forest in terms of centuries and Ages rather than a span of less than one-hundred years. The humans do not care because they are not going to be around to deal with the problems they are creating."

Darwinor sat back in smug satisfaction of having dealt the decisive point and sipped at his wine. He was a most striking elf, regal and scholarly with the wisdom of Ages worn proudly upon his brow. His hair was silver streaked with black and his eyes were the colour of the sky at midnight without a moon. As tall as Celeborn, he was the youngest of the three brothers and the only one of Galadhon's, (son of Elmo, father of Celeborn and his siblings), sons to seriously study the workings of the world. "Their children's children will be," snapped Celeborn. "Surely they will make certain the future holds sufficient resources for their progeny to enjoy in abundance. Stop being such a doom-sayer, Darwinor."

"I will not, for I am not a doom-sayer but a truth-speaker. If those supposed to be wise refuse to acknowledge it, that is not in the fault of the facts I present."

"Enough! I weary of hearing you two bicker over this!" exclaimed Haldir in uncharacteristically irritated timbre. He rose from his seat and glared at both his foster-father and his foster-uncle in equal displeasure. "What is it that you came to see me about, Lord Celeborn? Surely it was not to seek out yet another opportunity to contest with your brother."

"That is true, Haldir. My apologies for disrupting the peace of your home. I know you tired of playing the diplomat. I am looking for Rumil and hoped you would know his whereabouts?"

"Find the Wood Elf King's son and you will find your youngest fosterling, muindor," suggested Darwinor, rising once more. "I happen to know dear Legolas is quite taken with Rumil and has been for a long time. As for me, I too regret raising my voice in your talan, muindorion vell (dear nephew). I will go and find my cohorts on this expedition. Good day to you both." With that and a courteous bow, Darwinor left Haldir's home.

Celeborn waited until he had descended to the forest floor and moved beyond earshot. That took an hour during which Haldir unbraided his hair, combed it thoroughly, and then refastened it neatly before Celeborn finally spoke. "Ai! He is the most bull-headed person I know! Why must every visit from him end up in these pointless discussions of the degeneracy of the speaking peoples of the earth?"

"It is his passion, I suppose, to understand how the Valar effected the design of the world and the beings within it," offered Haldir graciously. "I have not seen Rumil, however, and suggest Darwinor is right on that count. He is probably with Legolas somewhere in the woods."

"That presents a problem, then, for it was in hopes of locating Thranduil's youngest that I wished to find your brother. Legolas is intent upon remaining hidden."

"Why so? He usually has a grand time at the Solstice Festival. Last year in Gondor he convinced the Eagle Lords to provide flying tours of the lands; he was the first to try it. I will never forget the sight of him racing along the path, arms clasped in the mighty bird's talons, right up to the edge of the cliff. When they dropped over the side and out of view I swear my heart stopped! What a great cheering ovation there was when the bird glided up again, wheeling in the warm air current, and Legolas sailed off with him over the countryside."

"Yes, yes, I recall it well. Tried it myself, too. You are right, Legolas usually just has fun at such gatherings, saving his pranks and jokes for when he is thoroughly bored. I should have remembered that but instead I have permitted our country to indulge in an unwarranted act of aggression against the Lord of Ithilien. Haldir, I am going to need your aid in averting a catastrophe. If Thranduil learns of this there will be no appeasing him."

"What? Tell me what has transpired," demanded the Vizier in trepidation. Celeborn explained the unfortunate situation as briefly as he could and the two parted, agreeing to enlist a small band of trusted warriors to aid in searching every tree in the woods if necessary in hopes of recovering the lost Lord.

As that little discourse unfolded, Darwinor made his way through the Mellyrn's glorious golden effulgence to a secluded section of the forest as yet uninhabited by elves as it was so far from the city and the doings of High Society. Plus,TM reception was quite poor in that region. There he entered a sheltered glen ringed with seven oaks, very ancient and sturdy with branches as thick as the trunks of lesser trees and leaves that fell throughout the year yet never denuded the boughs. A great tangle of interlocking limbs they formed and amid these were several talans built, all well concealed from even the most discerning eyes of the Galadhrim. Here Darwinor ascended and was met by an excited and exuberant elf who flung his arms around the austere naturalist and squeezed him so hard Darwinor thought his ribs would crack.

"Darwinny! You are here! I am happy; we can play together!" enthused this sturdy, full-grown, warrior-sized Noldorin elf.

"Yes, Dagrohîr, (Battle Lord) I am here now; please let me breathe!" rasped out Darwinor, but the affectionate elf just squeezed him harder. Darwinor began to see spots and whimpered fearfully.

"Oi! Here now, Dagrohîr, let him go, will you?" cajoled a stern voice from higher in the tree.

"All right, Maedhred. Sorry, Darwinor; I hug too much?" asked the contrite over-grown elfling with an eager smile, bouncing on his toes.

"No, no, I am fine, hênellon vell (dear boy). What game are you playing today?" Darwinor eyed the huge dark-haired elf carefully, for he had a most peculiar helmet upon his head. It was apparently made of silver or mithril and had five long, thin projections of the same stuff sticking up from the crown of the covering in distinct right angles to the curved surface, with the fifth one dead center at the very top.

"Oh! I am a magic elf today, Darwinor! Maedhred has made me a magic hat, just like Mithrandir's only better 'cause mine is made of fool's mithril and it can capture pictures from the air!" Dagrohîr was clearly very proud of his new toy and touched it almost reverently.

Darwinor smiled indulgently and patted the simple elf's arm. "It is indeed a fine helmet." Then he began to climb higher, calling as he did so, "Maedhred, what are you up to? What kind of foolery are you about this time? Are you putting your brother in danger with that thing on his head?" When he reached the highest flet he stood, puffing just a little from the effort, hands on hips, glaring at the elf he found there.

Maedhred, tall, dark, and intense like his infamous grand-father Feanor, was seated before a standard Viewing Mirror that was not displaying any of the standard LBC broadcasts, as far as Darwinor could tell. Instead there was only a blurred and granulated, dimly shadowed image of what looked like an underground root-cellar. He could just discern something rectangular glowing more brightly in the centre. Maedhred was fiddling with the Mirror's controls.

"Dagrohîr, move half a metre to the left, please; there, in that small patch of sunlight," said the forbidding-looking elf Lord, completely ignoring the challenge from the naturalist. He scowled when the repositioning of his half-brother did not affect the image on the screen to any significant degree. He got up and changed the angle of the antennas projecting from Dagrohîr's helmet and then returned to tinker with the Mirror's knobs and buttons some more.

Standing next to the Noldorin prince's work table was another elf who seemed to be moving through the steps of a rather regimented exercise routine. First he clasped his hands before his stomach and gave a funny little bob from the waist. Next he switched his hands behind him and clasped them there, turning halfway round and stepping one small step sideways at the same time. He made the little bow again, then turned, stepped, and changed his hands to the front again. All the while his gaze was inward and he gave no indication he noticed the new arrival or heard the speech of his comrades.

Darwinor watched him a moment, thinking the motions were not unlike a form of physical and mental meditation he had observed while on a visit to Rhûn. The humans there, who in his opinion had surely mixed with Avari bloodlines at some point not too distant in the past, called the practice Thûl Echado, 'make breath', and lived a highly ritualised warrior culture not unlike the silvans of old Greenwood once practised. Darwinor found this similarity siginificant, for he knew this elf was a younger brother to Oropher: Thurintû, King Thranduil's eccentric uncle.

The elf repeated his ritualistic postures until he had completed a circle and then started over, turning in the opposite direction. Having finished the circuit and returned to facing Maedhred, he cleared his throat and said: "Ten billion, nine-hundred-twenty-seven million, two hundred-twelve thousand, and sixty-six."

"Excellent, Thurintû, (Hidden Strength) now tell me how many leaves are in just the oak grove here. These seven trees only," said Maedhred.

"Already counted," said Thurintû.

"Ah, good! How many, mellon?" Maedhred smiled at Thurintû, who refused to look him in the eyes but stared instead at the Noldorin elf's boots.

"Forgot." mumbled Thurintû and sighed. Without further comment he began his careful step-and-bow method of calculations anew, staring this time up into the branches around him.

Maedhred turned to Darwinor as the tall, willowy Sindarin began the bizarre motions again. "Nay, mellon, I would never put Dagrohîr in harm's way, as you should know by now." Maedhred finally deigned to give his guest an answer. "Besides, that is a very sturdy helmet I have constructed. A unique alloy of iron and carbon. Gimli helped with the smelting and in fact I was to meet him here days ago to show him the results. He is very interested in the possible applications of the material for making weapons. I cannot imagine what has delayed him, but the data I am receiving indicates it is something unnatural. There is a great disturbance in the Music."

"Truly? Perhaps that explains Celeborn's unusual discombobulation. I was just speaking with him and he lost patience with my theories in mere seconds. It generally averages ten hours to reduce him to insulting my honour but today he went right for the throat, so to speak. He was seeking Rumil but did not say why," Darwinor approached the blurry screen and squinted, trying to make out what the image was. "I told him Rumil was probably with Legolas and that made him very upset, though of course he imagines I did not notice that. Honestly, he must think I am an idiot."

Maedhred gave a derisive snort. "Forgive me, but you know my opinion on that: at times Dagrohîr has greater insight than Celeborn."

"I smarter than Grand-Ada! I more magical than Grand-Nana and Ada put together!" twittered Dagrohîr, twirling about on the tips of his toes, arms outstretched to help him balance. He inadvertently whacked Thurintû on the shoulder. Dagrohîr gasped and leaped back. "Oops! Sorry!"

The Sindarin savant jolted as though he had been sliced open with an Orcish scimitar, which is precisely what it did feel like to him, then went rigid, wrapping his arms tight around his chest. He cast a searing glare upon poor Dagrohîr's chest and seemed to have forgotten to breathe. He vision switched for a nano-second up to the helmet-headed ellon's contrite eyes. "You. Hit. Me." seethed Thurintû, quietly.

"Didn't mean it. Sorry!" whispered Dagrohîr.

"Lost count!" Thurintû shouted in absolute fury, raising his hand to point at poor Dagrohîr. "Hit me! Alhand! (Stupid)"

"Thurintû, he did not do it intentionally," assured Maedhred in placating tones, but he could already tell it was too late to assuage the counter's wrath.

"Lots count! Alhand ellon!"

"Sorry, sorry! Didn't mean it!"

"Lost count!"

"Sorry, won't hit you again, Thurintû!"

By now Dagrohîr was sniffling and sobbing and wailing out his apologies while Thurintû was shouting his accusations at the top of his lungs and the din was astoundingly unbearable to elven hearing.

"Ai Valar!" shouted Darwinor, plugging his ears with his index fingers. "Dagrohîr, just leave him be! You know Thurintû does not like to be touched!"

"Stop crying, muindor," ordered Maedhred. "Thurintû will calm down if stop answering back and let him have his space. Come here, Dagrohîr!" He got up from his chair and went to collect Elrond's helmet-wearing offspring.

"Sorry, Maedhred. Sorry, Thurintû." whispered Dagrohîr, tears falling unchecked down his cheeks. He never meant to upset Thurintû but he always managed to make a mess of things. That was why his Ada made him stay in Lorien instead of Imladris. Whenever there was something important going on he caused problems and made his Ada sad. His Grand-Ada and Grand-Nana said he had to stay in Lorien for his safety but he knew it was because his Ada was mad at him for trying to repair the barn roof after he made the tree fall down on it.

He did not know digging around the roots would make the tree fall. Erestor had told him to make himself useful and go find some truffles for Cook and he knew truffles grew underground beneath the tree roots. There was a big birch tree near the stable, so he decided to dig there. He dug and dug but did not find any so he just kept digging deeper and deeper. The next thing he knew the tree fell onto the barn! It made a big hole and scared the horses.

Well, Dagrohîr might not be smart but he knew Ada would get mad, so he climbed up on the roof to see if he could push the tree off but it was too heavy. Then he got stuck up there because he could not figure out how to climb back down and everyone was looking for him and Ada was upset when they found him because it got dark and he was crying because the dark was scary sometimes. The next day he was taken away to stay in Lorien and he had not been in Imladris since. Dagrohîr was not sure how long ago that had been; time was not something he was able to keep track of. He would have to ask Thurintû; he was good at counting things up.

Once Dagrohîr retreated to hide behind Darwinor, Thurintû quieted and stopped yelling. He remained where he was, breathing hard and pointing at the spot where Dagrohîr had been standing, muttering under his breath "Lost count, have to start again, lost count, lost count" over and over. Could they not understand how much it hurt to jab him in the shoulder that way? Somehow, he knew Dagrohîr did not understand, so he had refrained from striking back, but he was still angry about it. Then he sighed and sat down cross-legged on the floor, once more wrapping his arms tight around his body, rocking himself just the smallest bit. It seemed to help and he relaxed somewhat. "Lost count."

"Never mind, Thurintû, just begin again," urged Maedhred in matter-of-fact tones. He did not believe in coddling either of his unique friends. He found that, though their mental meanderings were sometimes difficult to fathom, both elves realised how different they were from others. Indeed, each was well beyond majority, with Thurintû Ages old and Dagrohîr not much younger than Arwen. Maedhred instinctively understood how much each one appreciated being spoken to and treated like any other elf.

Indeed, this was not something Maedhred was unappreciative of himself as people of all races tended to avoid him at all costs. He knew well that subjects which were infinitely fascinating to him were intensely boring to others. Indeed, even Darwinor's eyes glazed over a bit if he went into too much detail about the similarity in fractal patterns found in quite divergent types of natural phenomena, like the distribution of tree leaves compared to that of stars in the sky, which was of course the purpose of all the counting he was making Thurintû do. (The gifted elf had completed a count of the visible stars during his first Age of life and now was working on leaves. It was much harder, for trees did not necessarily carry the same number of leaves from one season to the next.) Besides, being the illegitimate child of Maedhros, one of the cursed sons of Feanor the Kinslayer, and Celebrian, Lord Elrond's estranged wife, meant Maedhred was not the sort of elf people invited to parties and outings.

A minute or two later Thurintû collected himself sufficiently, sighed, and stood up, sending a glare in Dagrohîr's general direction, who was peeking around Darwinor's shoulder and quickly ducked out of sight again. "Have to start over," Thurintû announced acidly, clearly blaming the simple-minded son of the great Lord Elrond Peredhel, and then began his choreographed calculations anew.

Everyone breathed a bit easier and Dagrohîr moved out from behind Darwinor, who gave him a handkerchief to blow his nose. "Maedhred, Ada coming to the party?" he asked hopefully for about the hundredth time in the last two days.

'Yes, your Ada will be here, muindor, do not fear. He has not forgotten about you. I am sure he will bring you a nice present, too," said Maedhred kindly.

"What kind of disturbance have you found, Maedhred? What does that vague image represent?" inquired Darwinor as if the outrageous interruption had never occurred.

Before any answer could be made, Thranduil's eccentric uncle stopped his eccentric posturing and exclaimed: "Thârlabaron! Thârlabaron!" (Grasshopper! Grasshopper!) as he began to positively jiggle and dither in place upon the talan, smiling up into the treetops. The next instant a slender, naked, golden-haired figure jumped down next to him and was enveloped in the Sindarin savant's embrace. It was Legolas, of course, Thurintû's beloved great-nephew and the only person the autistic elf could bear to touch. That was because Legolas never tried to touch him first and remained still when Thurintû came close. He smoothed his hand over Legolas' messy hair and patted the bare back, rocking him. The Lord of Ithilien kept his arms at his sides and laid his head on the elder elf's shoulder with a deep and weary sigh of sorrow.

"I see Legolas' butt," Dagrohîr giggled, covering his grinning mouth with his hand and pointing.

"Me, too," Darwinor snickered, shaking his head. "Why are you naked, Legolas, not that we hold that against you but it is highly irregular, you must concede."

Maedhred, however, was not amused. He and Legolas were close and he knew for certain something must be very wrong for Legolas to show up in such a dishevelled state. The hero of the Ring Quest was quite vain about his looks, generally speaking, and especially never let his hair get so unruly and mussed. "Legolas? What has happened, mellon n’n?"

Legolas heaved another great sigh and stirred. He lifted his head and shared a look with his great-uncle. Some sort of unspoken communication must have passed between them for Thurintû turned him loose and left the talan, climbing into one of the other trees. Legolas glanced at the rest of the elves present and slumped over to the small table, casting himself dejectedly into one of the chairs there. He promptly bowed his head upon his crossed arms and sighed so deeply it was nearly a sob.

"Legolas naked AND sad," mourned Dagrohîr. "Sorry, Legolas. Want to wear my helmet? It makes you a magical elf."

"Nay, but thank you, Dagrohîr," murmured the distraught Wood Elf. "Everyone hates me. Arwen slapped me across the face, Lothiriel kicked me in the stomach, Estella kicked my shins, and Galadriel is going to lock me up forever in a hollow tree. The tree nymphs are furious with me because I disrupted their baking schedule and now their production is down. That will make them late on delivery and they will lose profits."

Maedhred and Darwinor exchanged confused glances while Dagrohîr was shaking his head and sniffling in commiseration.

"Whatever are you talking about, pen vell?" (dear one) demanded Maedhred. "No one hates you."

"I like you, Legolas," added Dagrohîr. He did, too. Legolas never made fun of him when he said something stupid or did something foolish, the way other elves did. Legolas had even made him a bow to practise with and a whole quiver of arrows. The arrows did not have any pointy parts so no one could get hurt if he missed the target, and Legolas had shown Dagrohîr how to aim and shoot, too. "You a good friend. Do not be sad."

Before Legolas could answer, Thurintû rejoined them. He stood behind Legolas' chair and unceremoniously grabbed a handful of hair and pulled his great-nephew's head up, ignoring the indignant yelp this incited. Then he began carefully grooming the tangled tresses with the comb he had fetched, humming a little tune quite contentedly and smiling.

"Legolas, you are frightening me. Please speak!" Maedhred joined him at the table and gripped his shoulder in a comforting clasp. This talk of tree nymphs was utter nonsense and to hear his friend blathering such rubbish while sober was beyond alarming. He frequently worried about Legolas' state of mind, considering the rather xenophobic and at times choleric temperament of his father, his sister's cold, cunning, heartless intelligence, and his great-uncle's obvious mental quirks. It was not a promising set of hereditary traits and from the lot of Oropher's line Legolas usually presented as the least abnormal, at least in Maedhred's opinion. Of course, there was also Legolas' little propensity for creating mayhem to consider. Maedhred wondered if his friend was finally succumbing to the family heritage of 'eccentricity'.

"Ai! It is horrible! There are devious golden spiders here pretending to be benevolent; tree-dwelling, miniature, flop-eared rabbits pretending to be spiders; strange, magical wards on the borders of the Golden Wood, and everyone is blaming me for it! Even Rumil has betrayed me. He said nothing when I was freed from prison and everyone mocked me." Legolas began ranting in the middle of the story and of course none of the elves understood any of it.

Darwinor, who had long suspected that Legolas shared some of his great-uncle's mental peculiarities, watched with interest as the Wood Elf proceeded with this disjointed narrative. Unlike Maedhred, he had no doubt that Legolas was in the midst of a breakdown; the mention of tree nymphs, golden spiders, and persecution were blatant indications of emotional instability. He reached into the breast-pocket of his tunic and pulled out a small packet of parchment and a bit of graphite, jotting down notes that described Legolas' words and his interaction with Thurintû in exactitude.

"Legolas, start over and begin with the part about the magical wards," instructed Maedhred, using the same authoritative tone he adopted when directing Dagrohîr and Thurintû.

Legolas did not seem to mind being so ordered and complied, explaining everything that had happened to him since arriving in Lorien. "For the last three days I have been evading the guards sent to capture me. I will NOT be forced into the thrall of those odious tree nymphs again! They were cruel, taunting me when I was bound and helpless. Then they pretended to be friendly, offering me water, and because I was parched from screaming for help I drank an entire two-litre container. Well, by morning I was in a dire state, and when the inevitable happened they just laughed and laughed. I hate those tree nymphs and I will never, ever buy their Pecan Sandies again! I would rather eat those dreadful scones Gimli's mother bakes." He pounded his fist upon the table for emphasis.

Except for the bit about tree nymphs, the story was actually not implausible. Many creatures in the Golden Wood were sentient and there had indeed been benevolent spiders in Valinor. Magic and sorcery were common enough in the Ages before the defeat of Sauron, and perhaps there would always be some present as long as elves walked the lands. Maedhred and Darwinor again exchanged glances, this time silently concurring that their friend was not insane after all, and thus even the cookie-baking part must somehow bear a grain of truth.

"A nightmare, perhaps, brought on by the panic of confinement," mumbled Maedhred to himself.

Legolas heard and looked at the Noldorin prince sharply but before he could retort, Thurintû stopped combing, cleared his throat, and said: "Six-hundred-forty-two thousand, eight-hundred and nine strands. Perfect." He smiled down at his great-nephew, who bent his head backwards to smile at the elder elf. That smile was just like a hug for Thurintû, coming right from Legolas' very soul as it did, and he gave his great-nephew a swift kiss on the forehead before turning away and resuming his former occupation of tallying up the leaves of the seven oaks. "Lost count," he murmured, but he sounded pleased rather than peeved.

"Fascinating," whispered Darwinor, scribbling furiously on his little squares of paper. "Why does he call you Grasshopper?"

"Small. Green. Jumps around," announced Thurintû before his nephew could reply. The counting elf shrugged and bent his swift and cutting glance into the naturalist's startled eyes for the briefest moment, added "Grasshopper," and went on with his task.

"Fascinating!" gasped Darwinor, quite unnerved by the piercing intelligence that flash of eye-contact had communicated. He resumed his scribbling with increased rapidity: 'clearly comprehends multiple conotationally derived definitions of words, ie: inexperienced as a meaning for the term green…'

Legolas chuckled at the naturalist's avid interest. He did not feel angry or unhappy anymore, for Thurintû always knew just what to do to make him feel better. No one could groom his locks as well as Uncle Thurin, not even his sister Selldhuin, and nothing returned Legolas to good spirits faster than a thorough hair-combing. He smiled at Darwinor and Maedhred and Dagrohîr. "I say, I am practically starving, for there is not much fruit on the trees or bushes that is ripe yet. Do you have anything to eat here?"

"Aye, we have lots of goodies!" exclaimed Dagrohîr and sprang into action. It was his job to provide the meals for the group whenever they were on an Adventure. He was good at it, too, as long as there was nothing that had to be cooked in a fire. He was not allowed to make fire. In no time he provided a bottle of wine, glasses to drink from, and a platter of dried fruit, lembas, and assorted nuts. He did not bring out the smoke-cured venison for he knew Legolas did not eat meat, though he, Maedhred, and Darwinor did. Legolas was the Guest, however, and courtesy demanded that his tastes be respected foremost. Besides, Thurintû was also a vegan. Dagrohîr smiled and clapped his hands as Legolas tore into the food with gusto.

"No wonder brother Celeborn is in such a tizzy, with Aragorn and Eomer and Merry gone missing," mused Darwinor.

"Aye, and I begin to think something similar may have happened to Gimli," appended Maedhred.

Legolas stopped chewing and swallowed down a huge mouthful of food. "Gimli was coming here? Then he should have arrived before me! I stopped in Aglarond hoping to travel with him and was informed he had departed a week before I got there, heading for Erebor."

"We need to find out all the details at once, for something grave is afoot. We need to find Rumil before Celeborn does," suggested Darwinor.

"Ai Valar, you have the dullest senses of any silvan elf I have ever met! Rumil is just beyond the oak grove spying on us right now," scolded Legolas in withering tones as he got up and walked closer to the naturalist. "He has been following me through the woods for three days and yet has said not one thing to me. NOT ONE THING! No 'I am sorry, Legolas' or 'Are you all right, Legolas' or 'Come home with me and let me take care of you, Legolas'. No, just spying on me so he can report my position to Galadriel and collect a reward or a promotion or something!" Legolas was glaring and yelling into the empty space just to the left of Darwinor's face.

"Nay, that is not true! I was not spying, I just…I was afraid you were angry with me, Legolas. I did not know what to say," insisted Rumil, for he was indeed present just where the Wood Elf had indicated. The Galadhrim warrior and ex-intern emerged from the branches and stepped down onto the talan. In spite of his upset over discovery he could not keep a small sigh of appreciation from escaping his lips as he surveyed the golden-haired warrior in all his natural glory.

"Elbereth, spare us," prayed Maedhred, eyes uplifted in exasperation as Legolas gave his head a toss in order to call attention to his magnificent mane, the motion causing another body part to swing about enticingly also. "Rumil, you are drooling; close your mouth."

Dagrohîr giggled, hand clapped over his mouth, pointing at Legolas again, a little lower down the body this time. "You should think about a big pile of writhing maggots, Legolas; that will make it go down."

"Thank you, Dagrohîr. That is quite effective," Legolas mumbled, clutching his stomach with one hand and his forehead with another, face as pallid as Ithil while he wobbled back to his chair and collapsed into it.

At once Rumil hurried to his side and sat beside him. "Are you all right? Shall I get you some water?"

"Aye, I am fine. Water would help, thank you," replied Legolas softly, giving his crush a faint smile of encouragement.

Dagrohîr laughed some more and bent down to peek under the table at Legolas' lap. "He is not thinking about the worms. Legolas has a long water-maker," he commented gleefully.

"Stop that, Dagrohîr; it is rude to call attention to such private things. You know that," explained Maedhred calmly.

"Oh, right. Sorry, Legolas." The Peredhel in the helmet straightened up, a distinct blush staining his cheeks. He gave Rumil's form a surreptitious once-over and leaned forward toward the seated Wood Elf. "Rumil is not thinking about the maggots either," he whispered in conspiratorial timbre, giving a knowing nod as he did so.

Legolas dipped his head shyly, glancing swiftly in the Galadhrim warrior's direction to ascertain the truth of this statement, smiling as his own colour rose all the way to the tips of his ears.

Thurintû ceased his dancing documentation and cleared his throat. "Ten million, seven-hundred-ninety-two thousand, three-hundred and six." He advanced to Rumil and held out the comb, waggling his eyebrows in over-dramatic suggestiveness, jerking his chin in his great-nephew's direction. "Not including leaves on the ground," he said and, once Rumil took the comb, promptly climbed down from the talan. Everyone moved to the edge and looked down; there was Thurintû doing his counting dance, eyes trained upon the thick litter of tiny dry leaves.

Legolas managed to position himself standing next to Rumil, of course, so that when the youngest of Lord Celeborn's foster-sons turned around he ran into the Wood Elf, one hand inadvertently brushing against the Lord of Ithilien's prominent water-maker. The two stood chest to chest, eyes locked upon one another, and the next instant crashed together in a passionate kiss, moaning and groping one another shamelessly.

"Awwww," crooned Dagrohîr, hugging himself and twisting back and forth a bit, "They are in love."

"Elbereth, spare us!" groaned Maedhred and dragged his half-brother away as the lip-locked elves fell to the floor. "We shall have to wait until they are finished before we can hope to get anything done."

Darwinor gave a last look and added a final note to his parchment slips as Rumil draped a securing leg over the Wood Elf's thighs and ran a hand over Legolas' supple rump. Then the austere naturalist followed his friends down to the ground where they were spared the sight, if not the sounds, of the lovers coupling.

Meanwhile, in a less secluded portion of fair Lothlorien, Galadriel, Arwen, and Lothiriel were engaged in a most enjoyable task.