When Friends Become Enemies
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns LOTR, and since I am neither a man, nor dead, you can rest assured that he is not me.
A/N: This is my attempt at an angst fic, so go easy on me!
"And that, my friend, is how an arrow is shot!" The triumphant Prince of Mirkwood declared proudly. His companion, Aragorn, gave a half-hearted snort.
"Doesn't matter anyway," he said, "Swords are so much better than arrows, and everybody knows that woman prefer men who can use a sword to men who spend all their time trying to pin a twig to the centre of a target."
"Jealous, are we?" Legolas taunted with a grin.
"Well, I'm just saying, there's a reason I'm married and you're not!"
Legolas threw a pebble at him, and it hit his friend right in the middle of his forehead.
"OUCH!" Aragorn responded by scooping up a whole handful of pebbles, and proceeding to throw them at Legolas, who did the same.
"Aren't we a little old to be having fights in the mud, boys?" The cool voice of reason belonged to Arwen, who, having heard noise coming from the grounds had hurried out, only to be greeted by the sight of two of the two most respected men in Middle-Earth pitching rocks at each other like there was no tomorrow.
"Not at all my dear!" Aragorn declared, before swooping his wife up into a kiss. Legolas made gagging noises.
"And Legolas, we really must find you a wife, I know I have quite a few friends who'd like to get to know you better," Arwen said after Aragorn had let her go (her Elvin ears had picked up the Prince's noises of disgust).
Legolas paled and backed away from Arwen. Aragorn threw back his head and laughed at the look of pure horror on the face of his friend.
"And I do believe that it's time for your appointment with the tailor, weren't we going to have a new dress suit made for you? This time it was Aragorn's turn to pale; there was nothing he hated more than a visit to the tailor.
Arwen lead a protesting Aragorn away, (there were faint cries of, "But I don't wanna!" and "What's wrong with what I'm wearing now?") while Legolas packed up his things, but, unbeknown to the three laughing friends, shadows stirred in the woods next to which Legolas stood, shadows of a deadly nature, shadows which would ensure much pain for the flaxen haired elf who at this moment was happily watching his friends depart, blissfully oblivious of the torture which lay in wait for him.