DISCLAIMER: LOTR belongs to the creative genius of JRR Tolkien, not me.

Dance With Me

The brave warrior from Mirkwood looked round in alarm as he found himself surrounded by the foe he dreaded most. To say that he was afraid would be both unfair and untrue, but he was definitely apprehensive and at somewhat as a loss for he could see no way out of his dilemma. Not one to admit defeat, he schooled his thoughts and allowed no sign of his inner turmoil to reflect in his face or his demeanour. Only those who knew him well could see the trapped look in his bright eyes as he considered his next move.

Had his predicament called for the use of bow or knives, he would have already freed himself from the trap, but for some undefined reason he could not wield the only weapon available to him in this instance. Legolas, one of the Nine Walkers and son of the powerful King Thranduil, was lost for words.

As he glanced across the room at the sons of Elrond, he was dismayed to find no help in the two pairs of eyes that regarded him with barely controlled mirth. Elladan shrugged helplessly, and whilst there was a hint of sympathy from Elrohir, he made no move to assist his friend. There was no point in trying to catch Elessar's attention for it was firmly riveted in the depths of the Evenstar's eyes and as for Gimli, well his predicament was entirely the Dwarf's fault, he decided unfairly.

His friend had chosen to sit on the other side of the room where the Hobbits had taken a table with the Rangers and were actively involved in attempting to drain the ale barrel dry. Gimli had gestured eagerly for Legolas to join them, and the Elf had done so, leaving the relative safety of the King's table without thought for the consequences. He had spoken briefly to Gimli, and confirmed to the others that in fact the Dwarf had won the orc head tally by one, and having discharged his duty to his friend, left to return to his seat where Glorfindel was now speaking with Elladan and Elrohir. As much as he loved both Aragorn and Gimli, he was sorely in need of some Elvish companionship, although, he thought ruefully, they had certainly deserted him for the moment.

Oblivious to his fate, he had barely taken a step back to his other friends when he was surrounded by what he was certain was every unmarried maid at the wedding, all full of romantic notions no doubt enhanced by the occasion, staring at him with adoration and seeking his company on the dance floor. Legolas was not immune to the charms of fair maidens, but neither was he inclined to dance with every one of them in Gondor. Silently he wished his adar had not taught him to be so well mannered, for his sense of propriety was warring with his conscience, telling him he should in fact ask the ladies to dance, in sharp contrast to his desire to do so.

Like all Elves, Legolas found great pleasure in dancing, albeit his preference was to do so in the freedom he found beneath the trees and the stars, but he had learned to his dismay that once he partnered one maid, he was expected to favour all the others with at least one turn around the dance floor. A small sigh of resignation escaped his lips, causing many a heart to flutter as it was mistakenly construed as a sigh of pleasure, and just as he was about to select his first partner, rescue came from a most unexpected source. Soft lips brushed his cheek, and the delicate fingers of one of his own took his hand and led him away from the disappointed and extremely envious maids of Gondor.

Silvery laughter filled his mind and Legolas could not help smile with relief and immense gratitude at Galadriel who he now held in his arms as they moved with unmatched grace to the sweet music.