This is the sequel to "The Unauthorized Biography of Legolas Greenleaf." You will want to read that story first, all 24 chapters. Don't skip, or you might miss something!

I absolutely do not own him. He owns himself, as you have seen and I am sure will continue to see. Tolkien created him. I just give him free room and board, and try my best to keep him out of trouble.


Chapter 1 He's Back?

"Get up!" shouts Yes Dear, dragging on my arm. "Hurry, you've got to get up NOW!"

The phone is no longer on the floor beside me, and I wonder for a moment if the whole thing was a dream. Coming to sit, I find the room still spinning around me, and I feel a bit sick to my stomach.

"What's happening?" I ask, fingering the bump on the back of my head.

"Legolas is back. Get up. We're going to get him. Hurry!"

Why is he yelling at me? And why is he in such a hurry? Any fool would know that Legolas is long gone, back in Middle earth for over a week now. The call had to be a prank, someone's sick way of really messing with my head for the Christmas holiday. And it really worked, because my head FEELS really messed with.

Rising to my feet, holding on to the wall in front of me for dear life as the room tilts violently inside my head, I scowl at him. "It was just someone playing a cruel joke. I can't believe you would fall for that. Besides, I thought you wanted him to go back."

"Hurry up!" he yells again. "Get in the car, I'll explain later!"

I manage to grab my jacket as he pushes me out the door and down the steps. As I turn to go to the van, he grabs me by the arm and pulls me out to the car instead. "Come on," he urges, "it's faster."

"What in blue blazes are you in such a hurry about?!!" I holler as he throws the car in reverse and peels out of the driveway. Little Pip in the backseat lets out a "Whooooo Hooooooo! Copyright Celeborn!"

"And how do you know who it was, anyway?" I continue.

"I talked to him. He only got one call, and it's a good thing I listened to him instead of just hanging up when I saw you keel over like that." He pauses, taking in my stiffened posture and crossed arms, coupled with the angry countenance he is faced with. "al," he says, "I know it's hard to believe, but I really do think it was Legolas. And if what he said is true, he's in a heap of trouble."

"If this is your idea of a sick surprise for me, he's not the only one who's gonna be in a heap of trouble," I threaten. "What did he say happened?"

"He didn't have time. He just said he was back, and could I come get him. Then when I asked him where he was, he said he wasn't sure."

"Well then, how the heck do we know where we're going in such a hurry?"

"I asked him if anyone else was there that I could talk to, and he said yes. I had to prod him to get him to give the receiver to somebody so I could find out what was going on. He acted a little, well, disoriented."

"Disoriented?" I let out a guffaw. "We're talking about LEGOLAS, dear. He always acts a bit disoriented." Or at least, he used to. When he lived with me.

"You know what I mean. He sounded like he was really tired, exhausted even." He scowls at the Thranduil eyebrow I shoot at him. "I know, totally unelven, but I swear that's the impression I got."

"Well then, who did you end up talking to?"

"A cop. An Officer Pendleton, from the Greenwood Police Department."

"WHAT??" Ok, now this is really NOT funny. Not a good joke at all. Things are getting serious here.

"Officer Pendleton said they were holding him at the Greenwood City Jail, and asked if we would come over and bail him out."

My mouth is gaping open, my eyes bugging out of my head. Little Pip leans over the front seat and adds, "I hope he's gonna get restricted to his room for two whole weeks for this one. No TV or computer or ANYTHING."

"Bail him out?" I repeat. My first thought was that he had gone to the police like I had taught him to do if I ever got lost on him again. You know, asking for help. Not in the hoosegow for committing some crime. "What in the world did he do?"

"Apparently the manager of the theater called the police for a breaking and entering in the concession stand this morning. They couldn't charge him with breaking into the theater itself, because there wasn't any proof that he had broken anything or actually entered the building while it was closed." He pauses, laughing. "The concession stand, I hear, was a whole different matter."

I close my gaping mouth, and my bugging eyes, not wanting to deal with the vision that has just entered my brain. It matters not, for the insides of my eyelids are the screen for the playing of my own private nightmare. Legolas Greenleaf behind the concession stand at the local movie theater. Unattended, as in both elf AND candy. Dear God, help me, I am just sooooo not ready for this.

"Don't tell me. I don't want to know any more," I implore. We ride in silence for a little while, the only sounds being the hum of the car as it flies west toward Greenwood and the sound of Little Pip in the backseat singing Christmas carols. Suddenly, all the possibilities that could occur with Legolas Greenleaf locked up behind bars dawn on me.

"Oh my God, please tell me they didn't throw him in the cell with all the other criminals!" I gasp, visions of my lovely blonde haired warrior surrounded by large dirty, smelly, burly men, fighting for his life, or at least his dignity. "We've got to call them and get him out of there!" I might not have been in a hurry before, but I am frantic now.

"Nah, I think I took care of that," smiles Yes Dear confidently. There is something about the way his eyes are gleaming with mischief that makes me a little nervous about asking how he managed to take care of that. Whatever THAT means.

We pull into the parking lot of the jail. It is not near as bad as I had envisioned, though I am loath to let him spend another minute in there. I am out of the car in a flash, flying to the door, where I am met by a very polite woman in a blue police uniform who informs me I must empty my pockets and go through the metal detector before she will let me in. Yes Dear and Little Pip join me once their own inspections are over. Little Pip is disappointed none of us managed to set off the alarm. She wanted to see all the cops come running out to arrest one of us.

We sign in at the desk, where we are asked to post bail. "I'm not signing or paying for anything until I find out what is happening," I say. "Is there anyone here who can tell me what is going on?"

In a few minutes, Officer Pendleton arrives and escorts us to a small holding room. He is a pleasant older gentleman, with graying hair and a mustache that curls up on the edges. He has a grandfatherly smile and a very relaxing demeanor. He motions for us to sit at the table in the metal chairs that surround it.

"Where is he?" I blurt. "Can I see him?"

"In a minute, ma'am," Officer Pendleton assures me with a smile. "He's fine. I was just checking on him when the desk clerk called me to tell me you had arrived and to come talk with you."

I sit back, relieved somewhat, but still fiddling with the button on the bottom of my jacket, as I cannot seem to keep my hands still.

"Will you tell us what happened, Officer?" Yes Dear inquires.

Officer Pendleton smiles. "Yes sir. It seems your son. . . ."

"He's not our son," interrupts Yes Dear. "He's a friend of ours."

"Sorry," says Officer Pendleton. "Well, it seems your friend was quite famished, and raided the snack bar at the local movie theater. He seems to have quite the sweet tooth, that one!" He chuckles. "The night staff must have locked him in after the last movie last night, at least that is what we think happened. It seems the only damages were to the food products sold at the concession stand, and I'd say those damages are. . . ." he stops to chuckle again, " pretty well unrecoverable, at least in the same condition they were before." This time he laughs out loud at his own joke, and Yes Dear and Little Pip join him. I'm still playing that private show of the elf behind the candy counter inside my eyelids, and my show is NOT a comedy.

"You didn't hurt him, did you?" I ask, surprising myself at the slight growl in my voice.

"No, ma'am, actually he's been very pleasant and cooperative. He's quite charming, if I do say so myself. Well mannered. I would have complemented you on his manners and upbringing, if you had said he WAS your son, that is."

I let the little smile grace my lips for a second. My heart picks up a beat. There's a good chance by that particular description that we are indeed talking about the Prance I know. Maybe this isn't a well-planned joke after all.

"He did get quite a few catcalls when I had to march him down the hall in the jail though. It's a good thing your husband told me about him so I could put him in solitary."

I take a long look at my husband sitting beside me, who looks as if maybe he has just swallowed a canary. I swear I can see little yellow feathers in the right hand corner of his lips. He just shrugs and grins.

"If you'll just give me a moment to call the theater manager, I think we could wrap this up without any charges being pressed, if you'd be willing to pay for the merchandise he ate," says Officer Pendleton. As he leaves the room, Little Pip speaks up.

"I do hope you're gonna take it out of his allowance," she says.

When Officer Pendleton returns, he is smiling the grandfather smile again. "It's all settled," he says. "The theater manager is on the way here with the bill, and you can pay him and I'll get your friend released."

"How much is the bill?' ventures Yes Dear.

"Mr. Thompson said $300.00 would cover it."

Now it's my turn to catch Yes Dear as he almost tumbles to the floor. "Three Hundred Dollars! How much candy did he eat???"

"You don't want to know right now," I tell him. "Wait until Legolas can tell his side of the story. For right now, let's just get him out of here."

Mr. Thompson is very nice about the whole thing, apologizing profusely for having to call the police, but insisting it was the only thing he could do since Legolas had no money to pay for the candy and he couldn't remember his phone number so Mr. Thompson could call me himself. "It really was the only thing I had left I could do," he repeats again. "The boy is such a nice little fellow, I hated it, but I really didn't know what else to do. As a matter of fact, he told me himself that if you ever need help, you should find a policeman."

Dear God, it IS him, I think to myself.

About that time, there is a bit of commotion down the hallway, and I see a tall, thin, blond-haired form dressed in green and grey coming through the barred door at the end, jerking his arm away from someone in the end cell who has reached out to grasp it. He is scowling, and I can only hope he doesn't retaliate against the hand that is reaching out to pinch him in the seat of the pants from the other side.

It's really him. He's back.