Faramir Fiction Archive

Elf, Wasps and an Angry Wizard

Written by KC

30 March 2004 | 5535 words

Part 2

“You know I shall find out, mellon-nin,” Aragorn teased.

Legolas, still with a rueful smile, remained silent as he walked back into Faramir’s bedchamber. Faramir, who had got back into bed, was on top of the bedclothes propped up by pillows half lying, half sitting, in an obvious attempt to lessen the pressure on his sore posterior.

Legolas got onto the bed and resumed the cross-legged position he had been in when sitting vigil over Faramir.

Aragorn, who had followed Legolas, sat in the chair by the fireplace. He looked at the elf intently with a raised eyebrow reminiscent of Lord Elrond.

Legolas sighed.

“It is embarrassing,” the elf complained.

Faramir snorted. Legolas smiled shyly at the young Steward in understanding. If anyone knew the definition of embarrassment it was Faramir, considering the events of the last hours.

Aragorn continued to look at his friend intently.

“Alright, alright, I will tell you!” Legolas said in quiet exasperation, conceding defeat. The elf knew that it would not take much prompting from Aragorn to get the whole sorry tale from Gandalf. “But upon your honour it goes no further,” he added adamantly looking at Aragorn and Faramir, both of whom nodded their agreement to the elf’s terms.

Legolas proceeded to tell the tale…

---

Faramir had acknowledged Aragorn as the King of Gondor but the ranger-King had not yet been crowned.

Aragorn was in conference with Faramir and Mithrandir discussing the Coronation to come. Gimli had invited Legolas to join him and the hobbits in a drinking game but Legolas was feeling the confines of the stone walls and so decided to practice his archery and then explore the White City.

So giving his apologies to his dwarven friend he proceeded to the practice range. After practicing in the small archery court in the top circle of the city - reserved mostly for the nobility, Legolas meandered down through the other levels of the city until he reached the commercial district in the city’s fourth circle. The woodland elf had never visited a city of stone before and certainly not one as large as Minas Tirith. He chuckled to himself as he realised he must look like an elfling; all eyes and curiosity.

The elf could feel the eyes others on him as he made his way down to the lower levels of the city. It was only to be expected as few elves had visited the White City. Most looked at him in curiosity or in awe. A very few, Legolas was saddened to see, looked at him in distrust.

His meanderings brought the elf eventually to an old drinking establishment. A few rows of tables for customers were arranged in the area in front of the pub. A long, tall pergola with vines growing over it, provided shade for those drinking at the tables. A few paces to the side of the tables was a horse trough. Two horses were at the trough. A man was atop a grey mare and was holding the reigns of a brown gelding.

Across the road from the pub was a busy market square. Shops lined three sides of the perimeter of and there were vendor stalls dotted inside the square. Legolas decided to sit down at a table closest to the road directly opposite the market so that he had a good view of the comings and goings of shoppers and vendors.

“What will you have master elf,” came a woman’s shy voice from beside him.

Legolas looked up and smiled at the young, blushing barmaid.

“An ale will be fine, thank you,” he replied turning his attention back to the square when the barmaid left to get his order.

Enjoying his ale, Legolas watched the ever-changing scene on the other side of the road. The elf was ever amazed at the resilience of the human spirit. Everywhere there were signs of the battle for Minas Tirith; buildings in need of, and being repaired, warriors sporting battle wounds and women doing the work men would normally do due to the loss of so many Gondorian men. Many of its citizens had lost loved ones; fathers, brothers, uncles and nephews, but here they were going on about their daily lives. Although eyes would shadow every now and then, smiles and laughter prevailed.

“Well, well, well, what to we have here – an elf,” came the slurred voice of a man from behind Legolas.

‘Elf’ had been spoken as if the man was trying to get rid of a bad taste in his mouth. Legolas turned around slowly to look at the owner of the voice. The human was leaning, with his arms crossed in front of him, against one of the pergola’s supports directly behind the elf. Legolas could see by his clothing that the human was of the nobility. The man was tall, dark haired, broad of shoulder, not at all good looking, with an unmistakably nasty disposition and very obviously drunk. A potentially dangerous combination, Legolas thought.

“I am given to understand that the King is to marry an elf,” the man said in distaste. Again ‘elf’ sounded like an obscene curse.

The man was starting to grate on Legolas’ nerves for the ‘elf’ in question was Arwen Undómiel, doomed to a mortal life to marry the man she loves. The elf knew now that the man was also a fool - to voice such prejudices in a pubic place. Wine alone could not account for the man’s stupidity he thought - a very dangerous combination indeed.

“You seem to have a grudge against elven folk, sir. What has been done to cause you such annoyance?” Legolas asked blandly.

“Elves do not belong in Minas Tirith. An elf does not deserve to be Queen of Gondor,” the human continued to rant, ignoring Legolas’ question.

Every time the man said ‘elf’, Legolas could feel his temper rise.

“We have elves, dwarves and halflings, all sorts of unnatural creatures, welcomed into the city…”

Each word from the man’s mouth sounded like an obscenity.

Legolas thought of the fellowship and the sacrifices they had all made and the understandings they had reached. Legolas thought fondly of Gimli, gruff on the exterior but soft on the inside, who had befriended an elf and protected his friend’s back.

Legolas thought then of the hobbits and the terrible sacrifices they had made, especially Frodo and Pippin. Frodo would never see true health again in Middle Earth and Pippin, a tweenager, had lost his innocence. All had seen more death and despair than any that resided in the Shire.

---

Legolas, feeling a familiar cold rage building in him, decided it would be in the human’s best interest if he left - now. The elf rose, turned his back on the human and started walking away.

“Do not turn your back on me elf…” the man yelled but stopped abruptly as he was faced with an angry elf, bow in hand, pointing an arrow at his head.

Before Legolas thought about the possible consequences of his actions, he loosed the arrow and hit his intended target, a wasp’s nest attached to the pergola above the man’s head. Legolas watched as the wasps, angered by the attack on their nest, swarmed and attacked the human.

Screaming obscenities the man ran blindly waving his hands about his head in an attempt to escape the angry, stinging wasps. Unfortunately for the hapless human, he ran directly into the horse’s trough and, overbalancing, fell in.

The waving of arms, fall and subsequent thrashing of the human in the horse’s trough spooked the two horses; the grey threw off her rider and bolted to the right and the brown gelding bolted to the left.

The grey galloped across the road into the market and straight into a Pieman who was taking an armful of pies to a customer on the other side of the market. The Pieman flew in one direction and his pies in the opposite direction. The Pieman landed in an apple stall, sending apples in every direction and the pies landed on various bystanders.

Several men tried to catch the reigns of the grey, spooking the poor creature even more. The grey, on seeing the men, backed up into a vegetable stall. The vegetables went the same way as the apples.

One young man was finally able to catch the grey’s reigns and sooth the horse, stopping any further devastation.

The brown gelding, that thankfully had no rider to throw, also galloped into the square but into the opposite corner. The brown galloped straight through the palm-reader’s tent taking the tent with him. Both palm-reader and client were still sitting on their stools, stunned by the unexpected events and their sudden exposure to the elements.

The brown gelding continued on, knocking over crates and other assorted items, finally disappearing, tent in tow, through an alleyway at the back of the market square.

The man whose horse had thrown him was still on the ground dazed and the other human was still in the horse’s trough and still yelling obscenities.

Legolas stood stunned to immobility in the centre of the maelstrom, looking very much like an elfling - all eyes.

“Legolas Thraduilion!!” came the familiar sound of an angry Wizard, a very angry Wizard.

Legolas started, then groaned as he closed his eyes and cringed. From the anger in Gandalf’s voice it was obvious that the Wizard had seen everything. How does the Wizard do it? Legolas thought. Every time he loses his temper, Gandalf is there to bear witness.

Legolas turned to see Gandalf bearing down upon him. The wizard looked furious.

Legolas had faced any number of fierce creatures bravely and fearlessly; orcs, goblins, spiders, wargs and cave-trolls. But when confronted by a very angry Wizard, Legolas did what any normal wood-elf would do - he turned tail and bolted.

“Legolas Thranduilion, come back here this instant!” Legolas heard the Wizard yell as he ran as fast as his elven legs could carry him.

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