When Camping Gets Scary
Aranel

A/N: Just a short story about Legolas’ first camping trip. All due credit to J.R.R Tolkien, but Galenlas and Lanthir are mine.

“Come, Galenlas and Lanthir,” called Legolas to his young friends. “Hurry, before my father changes his mind.” It was a warm day in Viresse; the sun was out and the sky was clear. The only clouds were soft and white. The three young Elves strode smiling into the woods, hunting bows in hand. For the first time in their lives, they were finally going to be able to stay in the woods overnight without an adult. Legolas knew that the reason Thranduil had given his consent was that he wished for them to sharpen their senses and heighten their understanding of the woods, as was the custom for all young Elflings, but he didn’t care about the motive. They passed merrily under the shadows of the trees and under the verdant forest canopy.

“Where should we set up camp?” asked Lanthir, almost at once.

“Near a stream,” replied the princeling. “But we are too close to the edge of the woods. We should go further in… but not too far or the ‘Elf-eating Dwarves’ will make a morsel out of us!” The other two glanced at each-other oddly, as if they were wondering whether Prince Legolas was right. Were there really ‘Elf-eating Dwarves’? Galenlas and Lanthir were at that gullible stage in their lives. Legolas was five years older than they, which wasn’t much in elf-years, but enough that he could take advantage of their ‘believe everything you hear’ mentality. So, time and again, he would tell them a story and they would get taken in, giving Legolas a good laugh at their expense. He was getting very well known for his mad jokes in the Mirkwood court, but that is another story altogether.

Presently, they came to a rippling brook, small and tranquil, but pristine. The terrain was mostly level and covered thickly with tall oaks all over. A few smaller bushes grew at the bases of the trees, and some sinuous flowering vines trailed down the branches. The Elflings unshouldered their packs and weapons and set them down. Legolas rummaged in his pack for his princely blanket. He made his bed on a flat, grassy piece of ground with few rocks. Then, he glanced over at his friends.

“Lanthir,” he said, “do not bring out the food yet. Leave it in the pack or a passing animal (or Dwarf) might smell it and eat it.”

“All right,” agreed Lanthir. He suddenly grew curious.

“Legolas,” he said, “have you ever seen a dwarf before? What do they look like?”

“I have,” answered Legolas. “Once, when I journeyed to Rivendell with my father, I saw a Dwarfish ambassador. I almost burst out laughing when I saw him, but I restrained myself. They are very short and stocky… and hairy and ugly!” Here, he laughed. “They eat anything that they can get their hands on. I saw him take a bite out of one of the Elven chairs as we sat in council. He bit off a whole piece of wood and swallowed it like it was sweets or something! Just imagine what one of them could do to us!”

“Brutal!” exclaimed the other Elflings in horror. Legolas was enjoying himself entirely too much. His friends were visibly shaken, even though they tried very hard not to display it. Their looks of anxiety fueled his little ’embellishment’.

“Tonight,” he said, “I’ll tell you a little story that my father told me. I could hardly believe it, but it’s true. However, it’s not bedtime yet. In the meantime, let’s go have some fun.”

“No Dwarves to the East,” pronounced Legolas. “Friend Lanthir, see you any of Dwarf-kind?”

“No Dwarves to the North or West,” answered Lanthir, shading his eyes with a hand, even though no sunlight was hindering his sight.

“Then what do I smell?” questioned Legolas. “I thought I smelled a dwarf.”

“And ye of the dreaded fair-folk, you are smelling one of Durin’s kin,” recited Galenlas gutturally, as he appeared out of the trees.

“I knew we should have scouted to the South,” lamented Legolas. “The loathsome dwarf has surprised us yet again!”

“But he will not pass as long as I stand on my own two feet!” swore Lanthir. “Match my blade with your petty axe!”

“And I shall!” said Galenlas. “The skill of the Elves cannot hope to best an axe of Durin. You will be slain before you can beg for sympathy.”

“And on the occasion of which I implored a dwarf for clemency, the sun, the moon, and the stars would fall from their places and the world would be thrown into darkness!” Lanthir retorted. Galenlas charged forward, doing his best impression of an angered dwarf. He raised the branch representing an axe high over his head. Lanthir met his stroke downwards with his stick and threw the axe aside, out of Galenlas’ reach.

“Oh please!” pleaded Lanthir, instantly dropping to the leaf-covered ground. “Please do not kill me, friend elf!” He hugged Lanthir’s ankles and pantomimed kissing his feet.

“Bravo, bravo!” congratulated Legolas. “You were both wonderful! It was a good play, was it not?” They both agreed.

“Someone else can be the dwarf next time!” laughed Galenlas, clambering to his feet.

That evening, the fire burned brightly as the smoke curled lightly upwards to join the stars. The rippling brook mirrored the light of the waning moon in its shallow expanse, and the glimmering reflection wavered ever so slightly as the water rushed smoothly over the rocks.

The three Elflings sat around the small fire, and after a good meal, they laughed and talked and told uncanny tales about ghosts and the like.

“…and the dwarf stopped at nothing until he caught him!” intoned Legolas chillingly. “Then, he invited all of his Dwarfish friends over for a bite. And that village has never been the same since! The end.”

“You do not think that there really are those kinds of Dwarves… here… in the woods?” asked Lanthir, a slight tremble noticeable in his voice. “Not that it frightens me,” he added ever so quickly. Legolas smiled impishly and said:

“Maybe.”

That was all the others needed to hear.

“I am going to bed,” said Galenlas. “No more of your rum stories, Thranduilion!” He settled on one side of the fire and lay, eyes closed, listening to the rustling of the leaves, the brook flowing, and the crickets chirping. Lanthir did much the same. They both soon relaxed and drifted off. But, Legolas, having enjoyed overmuch the success of his story, decided he would pull another of his mad jokes.

When he was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that his friends were asleep, he surreptitiously crawled out of his bedding and up. After fluffing up his pillow a good deal so the others might possibly think he was still there, he crept off into the trees.

Lanthir sat up quickly. He had heard a strange noise! He noticed that Galenlas was up as well. Neither dared say a word, but the looks on their faces tacitly betrayed that they had both heard the sound. And then it came again! It sounded as if a group of at least three creatures were headed their way, stomping and making such a racket that they were easily heard in camp. And then, there were voices.

“Quiet!” hissed a rough, throaty voice. “We don’t want the Elflings to hear us!”

“We don’t want to lose our snack!” came another, squeakier, voice. At this, the Elflings jumped in alarm. They both glanced over at Legolas and realized that he wasn’t there.

“Oh no!” whispered Lanthir. “Legolas has already been eaten!” The noise drew presently nearer. At last, the Elflings could take it no longer. They leapt up, and not stopping to grab anything, took off through the trees in the opposite direction. They didn’t stop running until they reached the gates of Mirkwood. They had worked themselves into a panic and were sweating profusely. Their chests heaved as they tried to spit the story out, but they found themselves at a loss for words for quite some time. Later that night, Thranduil was informed about something along the lines of “Elf-eating Dwarves that had already eaten Legolas” wandering in the woods. He sent out scouts to look into it. They easily located the camp and Legolas and were relieved to find that the Dwarves hadn’t sunken their teeth into the princeling yet. They asked him if he had seen any Dwarves hanging about.

“Dwarves!” said Legolas coyly. “Where? What Dwarves?”

Needless to say, his father was highly amused. And, of course, the elusive “Elf-eating Dwarves” were never seen nor heard from again. I believe this had something to do with the fact that Legolas was not allowed to go camping again for a very, very, long time.

Finis

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