All that Glitters
by SkyFire

For disclaimer, see part 1.

A/N: 1)I just wanted to say thank you to all the people out there who have already reviewed and
those who hopefully will in the future. *g* It has meant a lot to my plotbunnies and I! *g*

2)Okay, this is the last chapter of this story. *ducks* Let me know if you want to see a
continuation, hmm? Like the saying goes, "There's always room for L-E-G-O-L-A-S." *g*

3)Takes place immediately following the last chapter, not even a minute has gone by. *g*

Please review! *g*

All that Glitters
by SkyFire

Part 5

The addition of that fear to the mix of emotions already surging through him was just too much
for his poor, empty stomach to handle, and it protested. Violently.

The black-haired dwarf let out a howl of outrage when the young Elf threw up all over his boots.

Once the heaves were done, Legolas fell back to the forest floor, gasping and miserable. He knew
that the dwarf he'd... decorated... would be even more upset now. He looked up fearfully,
flinched back as he saw the black-haired dwarf standing there, hand raised to strike.

Before the blow could land, however, an arrow buried its head in the ground between them.

"Land that blow and you're dead where you stand, dwarf," came the Elven order, anger turning the
usually smooth voice harsh.

The Mirkwood Elves came into view all around them. All had arrows set to bowstring, bows bent
and arrows aimed with deadly accuracy at the three dwarves.

"Do not move," came the order as black-hair instinctively twitched toward the boy. "Release the
Prince to us. Now."

With a growl, black-hair drew his knife. Glaring at the boy, he roughly grabbed him by the rope
around the ankles, pulling them closer so that he could slice through the rope, ignoring the
boy's short cry of pain as the rough handling awoke the pain in his hurt ankle.

Not even waiting for his hands to be freed, Legolas scrambled away from the three as soon as his
ankles were freed, then climbed to his feet and limp-ran to one of the Elves, one he remembered
seeing at home.

That Elf put away his bow, instead tending to the young one. He cut the rope around the slender
wrists, frowning in anger upon seeing the creases and purple pressure-marks left by the rope.

"Are you hurt, my Prince?" he asked gently. He saw the blood on the boy's pale face, tracked the
source to a small cut on his head, scabbed over now. The boy was all over smudged with dirt.

All the tension and fear seemed to have caught up with the young Elf. He trembled, his eyes
filling with hot tears. "M-my h-head hurts," he said, lower lip quivering, "and m-my ankle." He
looked up at the other, green eyes shimmering pools of tears. "I threw up."

The older Elf smiled sympathetically. "That's all right, my Prince," he said. "Is there
anything else?"

"I'm thirsty," the boy said. Just then his stomach decided to enter the conversation, grumbling
loudly. Legolas blushed slightly in embarrassment when Elves even five feet away looked at him
in pitying amusement before turning their attention back to the dwarves.

"When was the last time you ate, my Prince?" the older Elf asked, frowning. The boy was, beneath
the dirt-smears, far too pale, he thought. Of course, that could be in part because he'd just
been sick.

"At home," Legolas answered. His face scrunched up in distress and the pooled tears escaped his
eyes, falling freely. "I want to go home," he wailed.

The older Elf gathered the sobbing young Prince to him, lifted him gently. Legolas buried his
face in the other's neck, still crying out all the fear of the last two days. Soon, the
exhausted boy fell asleep in the other's hold, tears still running down his face even as he slept.

The three dwarves, meanwhile, had had their hands bound behind them by the Elves. They stood
there, roped together at the waist, blindfolded.

"Let's go," the Elf carrying the sleeping Prince said. He glared at the three. "Legolas should
go home, and I'm sure that King Thranduil would wish to introduce our... guests... to the dungeons
as soon as possible."

And so the Elves began the journey back to the Elven King's mountain palace. Their pace was slow,
both because of the slumbering Elf Prince and the string of blindfolded dwarves they led.

The trip itself was uneventful, as mostly every creature in Mirkwood knew better than to attack
such a large, well-armed and alert group of Elves. The orcs had only attacked them because the
orcs of South Mirkwood had the collective intelligence of half of a broken rock.

The first golden rays of the Sun were just starting to filter down through the thick forest
canopy when the group of Elves reached their capital.

Most of the Elves split away, going to catch a well-deserved rest and tend to the minor injuries
they'd taken in fighting off the orcs. The rest of the group- twenty or so Elves- crossed the
bridge over the forest river and passed through Thranduil's magical gates and into the Elf King's

Legolas, just beginning to stir as he recognized the change of pace, was taken away to bed by his

The rest of the Elves were shown into the Elf King's audience chamber, still leading the three

Thranduil stared at the three dwarves silently for a long moment from his elaborately carved
throne, his dark eyes blazing. "These are the... creatures... that stole away my son?" he asked,
voice chill with anger. He'd never truly *liked* dwarves before, but he'd alway taken care to be
civil, for they traded in the gold, jewels and finely wrought metals that he so loved. But if
they had taken Legolas, treated the boy ill in any way....

"Yes, Sire," one of the Elves said.

"We saved him from the spider!" the black-haired dwarf protested loudly. "We never hurt him. We
deserve a reward."

"Be quiet," the answering Elf said. "You gave him no food or water, and you were set to beat him
when we caught you."

"Beat him?" Thranduil asked questioningly. His face froze as that fact sank in. His eyes blazed
fury brighter than the light of the legendary Silmarils of Feanor. "You would beat my son?" he
raged. "Put them in the dungeon!" He turned to the Elf that had spoken. "They did not feed
him?" he asked. At the other's negative nod, he ordered, "put them in the dungeon, and feed them
only once every two days. They shall suffer as did my Legolas."

And so the dwarves were taken and locked in the deepest, darkest, dankest dungeon cells, even as
Legolas was fed, bathed, and put to bed. A Healer would be sent to him when he awoke, but for
now he slept, his guardian in his place beside the bed to protect him from those who would wish
him harm, as was his duty. During the night, he gently soothed away the young one's nightmares
with quiet snatches of childrens' songs and stories.


So, what did you think of this fic? Let my rabid plotbunnies know, hmm? Should there be another
fic after this? If so, what would you like to hear more about? *g* Let the 'bunnies know! *They*
like to eat reviews. *I* like chocolate-covered Elf-lords. *g*