Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

Summary: Spin-off from my 'First Knight' story. Drabbles and scenes that were not included in the actual FK story.

Author's notes: Here's instalment number two! Set after chapter 26: Every Which Way But Loose.


Mirkwood, 3018 TA, November.

Brethilas generally considered himself a sensible Elf.

In the realm he lived in, it was a desirable quality as to his mind and that of his staid Lothlórien mother, the great forest… um, affectionately dubbed Mirkwood housed what was probably the greatest collection of loons in Elvendom.

Not that he was not loyal to the king though. It was just that King Thranduil sometimes acted just the slightest bit insane. Take the events of the last few days for instance!

First, Prince Legolas (a regular hellion if there ever was one and Noldo trained in mischief!) shows up with a ragtag ranger to tell his father – according to rumour anyway – that he was going on some trip with several humans, Mithrandir and a Dwarf. And what was worse, it was a Lonely Mountain Dwarf. An escapee from the good King's dungeons Dwarf. The very mention of a Dwarf set the King off on one of his famous rampages. Let alone one of those Dwarfs!

Anyway, according to the rumour, said prince had found himself and his companion bundled away as his adar's guests, but against the odds, had somehow escaped the watch that King Thranduil had set.

The resulting explosion had surely been heard as far away as Esgaroth!

To say the King was livid was an understatement. Even his advisors said that upon learning of his son's escapades, King Thranduil had shut himself into his study where later on, lots of crashing sounds had been heard through the doors, along with what seemed to be threats of evisceration against a certain Lord Elrond and his 'half brained, mannish, insults to Elven intelligence' plans. And that had been of the few mutterings fit for Elfling ears.

As to how Brethilas came to be involved in this tale of a rambunctious prince and his temperamental father… well, that was quite simple.

Dragged out of his bed at an appalling hour of the night by one of the guard, he had been summarily marched to the king's study where he got to personally experience the narrow eyed glower that bespoke Thranduil in a temper, and after several blood-chilling instructions, a thick piece of sealed parchment had been shoved into his hands and he had been quite unceremoniously kicked out to the stables.

Naturally, he had been most curious, who could blame him for wanting to see what the cause of all this bother was?

And so he opened the letter.

He had never regretted anything more.

From the initial 'Peredhel, I am going to kill you!' to the 'I will rip out your spleen with a fork', the letter sent chills down his spine. It mainly consisted of opening threats, middle demands/threats and the closing death threats, it was definitely not something he should have even contemplated opening.

He looked at the letter in his hand like it was a burning brand, his horror at the news he had to deliver blatantly oblivious to anyone passing by.

He wondered whether he should start putting his affairs in order, While Lord Elrond was not known for killing any messengers sent to him but he was afraid once he delivered the news his King had bid him to convey, Lord Elrond might see fit to string him from the tallest tree in Rivendell… or throw him down the falls… or set Glorfindel, the Balrog-slayer on him… or Elbereth forbid, set his children on him. He had heard the Evenstar had quite a temper on her and that Lord Elrond's sons… well, quite frankly he had heard they attempted things no sane Elf would attempt. Still Lord Elrond could just smite him down himself… or use Vilya to do something to him… wait a minute, had not the heirs of Imladris inherited their grandmother's magic?…

The poor messenger's thoughts ran on in that vein for quite a while. Needless to say that he was not a happy camper…



Eyebrow arched and hands crossed over his chest, Elrond gave his patented glare to the two most disrespectable, giggling and chortling, excuses for advisors. "Do laugh," he said dryly, eyeing them severely, "Perhaps you could explain to Círdan and Galadriel why Mirkwood is about to declare war on the valley?"

Erestor just looked at him like he was a dunce, "Oh yes," he drawled, "Because we all know that Thranduil does not have reason. Because you did not let his only son and heir volunteer himself for Mordor. With a Dwarf."

Glorfindel smirked at him too, obviously enjoying himself way to much for Elrond's liking, "I would imagine that he will try to skin you alive the next time he sees you. And if ought happens to Legolas, well… I have seen Thranduil in a taking. In that eventuality, I say that it was nice knowing you, mellon nín."

Mentally contemplating why he put such completely insane Elves into office, and counting down the reasons why Kinslaying was outlawed.

"If it is any consolation mellon," Erestor said, "I think Thranduil's messenger nearly dropped dead from anxiety when he was handing over the letter. I think he knew something of what it said. And did not care much to hear your reaction to it either."

"Aye," Glorfindel agreed, "You would have thought he was facing Morgoth himself. Or maybe it was just the famous 'look'?"

Elrond gave him a scathing glare that clearly said 'quiet now or I will outdo the Balrog' but Glorfindel just blithely ignored it and smiled winningly – and mockingly – at him. Elrond gave up and flopping down onto his desk, quietly banged his head against the desk, ignoring his two friends' stares.

The Valar surely hated him.

At the very least, they were having sport at his misfortune.

What else could explain this… this catastrophe!

If it was not Aragorn up in arms over Buffy joining the fellowship whilst glaring at Arwen who was fussing over Buffy's health when she returned with the twins, then Legolas was trying to stop the stem of message-birds his father was sending, all but threatening to cart him off to Valinor and pay back Elrond for 'recklessly endangering Middle Earth and Legolas with his idiotic, Noldorin Peredhel ways, corrupting honest Elves into having ideas of such harebrained nonsense that it just had to be a plot of some sort'.

The Elf Lord sighed as Glorfindel cautiously poured a glass of water on his head, barely biting back a smirk, under the guise of 'snapping him out of it'.

Water dripping down his face and his back, Elrond just shook his head.

Someone was definitely out to get him…



Mithrandir – Grey Pilgrim

Adar – father

Peredhel – Half-Elven

Mellon nín – my friend


('·.¸('·.¸ ¸.·'´) ¸.·'´)
«´¨ Asha D ¨»
(¸.·'´(¸.·'´ '·.¸)' ·.¸)
( ·.¸
·.¸ )