by Kara Michal

Feedback: Yes, please! With a honey-coated Legolas on top!

Dedication: For Silver. Let Men be Men with Men!! **muah!**

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am paid nothing. This is only the release of twisted fantasy, and no infringement of copyright is intended. My thanks go to J.R.R.Tolkien, for providing such a fertile universe in which to play.

Legolas, distracted by the arrival of a company of riders to his father's court, failed to catch the small, seed filled pouch-ball tossed by his fellow.

"Ouch!" Legolas rubbed the sensitive point of his ear, glaring at his laughing playmate.

"You're supposed to catch the ball on your elbow, Green Leaf, not your head."

Legolas stooped to retrieve the fallen ball, his ear still smarting. "I'd not laugh so loudly, Glorfindel, considering that this is your first win in five hundred."

"Four hundred and seventy two only," Glorfindel retorted, the sting of his losing streak taking some of the mirth from his voice. "Hey now, toss it back!"

But Legolas hardly heard his friend, curiosity itching in his mind. Few indeed came to Thranduil's court without Legolas knowing it. He tossed the ball over his shoulder, where it landed exactly where he had planned, on top of Glorfindel's blonde head. Chuckling at his own mischief, Legolas clambered up the nearest elm to get a better look at the visitors.

They were men, all of them, clad in the rough spun garments of the North. One among them caught Legolas' attention more than the others. He was a young man, by the measure of men, with black hair bound in a long braid down his lean back, and the beginnings of a beard upon his chin. He carried a long staff of gnarled rowan in his hand, and his eyes were wiser by far than most men of any age. Intrigued, Legolas climbed down from the elm and followed the fascinating, Elf-like man.

Legolas moved as silently as a moon shadow through the trees to his father's court, stowing himself comfortably in an alcove where he could see and hear the proceedings unobserved. Through the lengthy formal greetings and extending of well wishes, Legolas scrutinized the man, named only as the emissary's apprentice. He kept his chin down as a sign of respect and humility, but there burned in his eyes a power and knowledge that belied his subservient posture.

As the greetings came at last to a close, and the visitors were offered rest before the welcoming feast, the apprentice flicked his eyes to the alcove where Legolas lounged. Uncannily, he seemed able to pierce the shadows as if he knew Legolas was watching him there.

When the visitors left the throne room, Legolas waited a few heartbeats before jumping down from his alcove. His father crossed his arms over his chest and leveled a disapproving scowl at his only child.

"You are overly curious of the men, my son. It is unwise to spend much time among them, for they are short lived and small minded."

"You suffer them gladly enough, father."

"They bear valuable tidings from the North. As our neighbors, they should be respected." Thranduil admonished.

"Yes, father." Legolas bowed his head to conceal the adolescent rolling of his eyes.

"As you are so interested in our visitors, you shall attend them and ensure that they are comfortable."

"As you wish," Legolas said with courtly grace, hoping his father would not see the excitement that hummed along his nerves. He took leave of his father as calmly as he could, lengthening his stride through the leafy corridors to come more quickly to the bowers where the guests were installed. As he entered the first bower, Elven stewards paused in their duties to bow their heads in respect. Two of the guests, the emissary and his apprentice also bowed low.

"May the stars shine ever brightly upon you," Legolas greeted the guests. "I am Legolas, son of Thranduil. My father has sent me to see to your comfort. Is there anything you desire?" The emissary bowed low, greeting Legolas.

"King Thranduil shows us much honor by sending his son in hospitality. I am ever at your service, Prince Legolas."

The emissary made a very pretty speech, and Legolas pretended to listen politely to his flowery chatter, but his eyes ever strayed to his apprentice. The young man went through the motions of inspecting their accommodations, admiring the beauty of the stars through the leafy roof, but he was distracted, sparing knowing glances and small wry smiles in Legolas' direction.

"My apprentice has expressed his desire to see more of your great realm, Prince Legolas. Perhaps an escort could be arranged."

"It would be my pleasure to guide your apprentice, Emissary. There is indeed much to see in Eryn Lasgalen. Perhaps you would care to join us?"

"Again, I thank you, Prince Legolas, but my old bones long only for rest after our journey." The emissary bowed low yet again. To his apprentice he said, "Go, my young one, and learn the ways of the Fair Folk."

Legolas regarded the apprentice through hooded eyes, waiting patiently while he donned his cloak. The rowan staff remained by the door as Legolas politely led the way into the corridor. They wandered through the palace, created from living trees and living magic. Legolas pointed out things of interest as an attentive host, and the apprentice looked about him with suitable awe as a polite guest. When they had toured the palace, Legolas asked, "Is there anything you wish to see?"

"I should like to see the place you find the most beautiful, Prince Legolas."

Legolas smiled, delighted with such an Elven reply. The light in his guest's eyes sparkled in a way unlike other men's. He led them to a place much loved for its serenity, and was delighted again by his guest's awestruck reaction to the beauty of the glade.

Starlight danced in the air. Moonlight played on the ripples of a spring fed pool that sang with the voice of a crystal flute. The apprentice could not find his voice for the beauty that surrounded him. Eyes wide, he turned about, spreading his arms to embrace the soul-drenching splendor. In a moment, he became aware of delicate hands linking with his, and an achingly beautiful Elven face filling his vision.

"You even dance as an elf," Legolas purred. He plucked deftly at the knot that held the cloak around the apprentice's shoulders, letting it fall in a gray puddle at his feet. Leading him through the steps of the dance, Legolas undid every fastener, buckle and tie that kept the apprentice from his gaze. The apprentice was unable to look away from Legolas' piercing blue eyes, and found he was drowning in the sensations of the cool evening air, an Elven hand tracing runes against his flushed skin, the sound of an Elven voice mingling with the music of the pool.

Lost in the depths of Legolas' eyes, and reeling from the intoxication of the glade, the apprentice did not notice Legolas disrobing until cool flesh pressed against his back and then vanished as he danced away. Drifting in an erotic haze, he found Legolas spinning gracefully over the dewy grass, his bare feet hardly turning a blade. The Elf prince was living art, each muscle perfectly sculpted, every movement grace personified.

An open invitation in Legolas' veiled eyes brought his steps to the edge of the pool. Legolas stepped into the pool, drawing him into the water. His breath caught in his throat as the water, warm and cool where hot spring blended with mountain fed stream, eddied over his skin. The water shocked him out of his trance, and he found some measure of his will again.

Raising a hand to the carven perfection of Legolas' cheek, he touched the being that held him in such thrall. Legolas responded by pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand and drawing him closer, again weaving a spell that held him bound in bright gossamer strands. Hands drifted over his skin, curiously exploring the scattering of hair on his chest and the downy stubble on his chin. Entranced, he traced the outline of one delicately pointed ear and was rewarded with a delicious shiver. He grew bolder and followed the supple tendons of Legolas' neck to the hollow where it met his elegant shoulder.

He bent to kiss the tender flesh, and wrapped a strong hand around the Elf's lithe waist beneath the swirling waters. Legolas tipped his beautiful head back, offering himself up into the kiss, brushing proud flesh against his in response. Legolas allowed him his play for a moment, and then reclaimed his control. Locking slender fingers in his black hair, Legolas pulled his face to his for a penetrating kiss, claiming him for his own. The Elf prince's mouth was sweeter than honey wine, and twice as intoxicating. The high passion of the Elves was piercing, too radiant for a mortal to withstand, but he had no caution left in him, and let the fire sweep over him, consuming his soul. Their bodies twined on the bank of the pool, his cries lost amid the starlit leaves.

The fire raged in his blood with an all-consuming need to touch the beauty of Legolas. And touch him he did, bringing his fair prince to the brink of pleasure and then over the edge into release. Elves are not known to leave things half finished, but he was still surprised when Legolas, his eyes dark with passion, held him still as he nibbled and licked his way down his body.

When Elven lips closed over him, he thought he would surely die. The bliss of Legolas' mouth left him spent and boneless, aware of nothing more than the mist wreathed stars above and their hypnotic dance. Still tangled in his arms, his curiosity satisfied for the moment, Legolas purred contentedly into his ear. "Have you a name, sweet apprentice, or shall I call you Mithrandir, the gray one who wandered into my arms?"

He turned to nuzzle the fragrant tendrils of Legolas' sunshine hair. "Then Mithrandir I shall be ever after, my prince, and never again called Olorin."


(For those who don't recognize the name... Gandalf was called Olorin in his youth.)