𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐑 One Shots

Esgaroth

Light Elven feet fell deftly on the seasoned ground of the forest near Esgaroth, as the tall Warrior made his way back to his dwelling.

He had recently wiped out a small party of Orcs (they never seemed to quite disappear), and now his clothes were torn and nearly falling off.
Battered, bruised, and more than a little tired, he made little or no attempt to address this current predicament.

One could have only described the tall, lean figure as a angel from Valinor -- though blood (both his silver, and the Orc's murky red) stained the entirety of his body, and in his strong hand he held a great longbow; slender and strung with a single Elven hair-strand.
The eyes that scanned his whereabouts so keenly were ice-blue, nearly transparent, and framed with long black lashes -- totally contradicting the hue of his thick mane, which was as spun-gold; silken and almost down to his thighs. The mouth that was so often drawn in a firm line of determination was visibly soft, thin, and the delicate, pale shade of a peony.
His skin was smooth, porcelain, and slick as a seal.

Legolas was usually a model prince -- obeying every order voiced by his king without question; fulfilling every duty expected of his office and leading his father's people to war when evil arose...
It was a known fact in the kingdom of Greenwood the Great that their king had a very bad temper...
And that his son had a worse one.
Normally the prince kept it under control -- never so much as glaring at anyone...
But then Elohir had called him a "Pretty Ellon" right to his face during a council, and what had happened after that had not been very nice.
In short, Elohir had gone home with a few broken bones, and the prince? His father had been mortified at his son's beastly behavior and had banished him for a period of three years before he could return to the forest.
Of course, the prince had complied, leaving immediately and taking with him only his longbow, his quiver of arrows, a small knife, and the clothes on his back.

Snapping a twig under his feet as he strode purposefully on, the prince's brow furrowed as he reflected on these past events.

He hadn't been ashamed of beating that Rivendell brat to a pulp.
He still wasn't ashamed.
That sarcastic, dark-haired prince had deserved every bit of it, and he had loved, no...savored the shocked expression on lord Elrond's face.

Looking up from the leaf-strewn ground, he fixed his eyes on the object ahead -- a vast and elaborate woodland building made of dark oak.
Legolas had made it himself, with his own two hands; and now, after nearly 6 months of labour, it was finished.
Inside this great dwelling was a master bedroom, a kitchen, a dining room, a training studio, a lounge room (this was hardly ever used), another bedroom for no reason in particular, and on the back of the building there was a shining pond of clear, clean water that he usually used for the purpose of washing in.

Looking with distaste at the dark Orc-blood on his personage, he broke into a run, heading for the pond in swift, graceful strides, letting his golden hair whip behind him.
It was midday and the great, yellow sun was shining directly down upon the smooth, glassy surface of the pond, creating an almost white glow over the water and sending out sparkling little waves that touched the shore gently.

The Elf reached the pond and let out his breath shortly, removing his sweaty-stained clothes and eyeing the water warily.

Today would be a veeerryy cold bath.

The shore was shallow and paved with smooth stones, and Legolas stepped in gingerly, sucking his breath in as he descended, the cold-clear water closing over his broad shoulders.
He began scrubbing vigorously at the blood still clinging to his pale skin, and watched with idle satisfaction as it came off, sending little swirls of deep red into the water that vanished instantly.