Legolas tiptoed along the edge of the delicate balcony framing Lord Elrond's home, his Elven grace so much a part of his heritage, he never gave it a moment's thought. Nor did he fret about the sheer drop below, or the fact that no one but an elf could even attempt to brave such a precipice, let alone with such ease.

His party had arrived at Rivendell earlier, and he had yet to meet Lord Elrond, the master of this autumnal, golden palace and surrounding Elven city. Oh, he had heard much of him, and not all of it inspired confidence. There were rumours about his past, his excitable temper, his sinister gaze, his affairs with mortal men, among them the notorious - and notoriously handsome - Isildur.

But Legolas did not listen to rumors. He prefered facts. Besides, if he were to pay any attention at all to gossip... there were those who told of Lord Elrond's exotic dark looks - due to his mixed roots, no doubt. This one rumour Legolas was somewhat curious about.

The prince of Mirkwood was, in fact, dying to meet his host.

He skipped across an ornate railing, then light-footedly scaled the slim tree at the far edge of the balcony and leapt across to a step several feet below, landing without a sound. He continued on without pause, not wishing to waste a moment dawdling while he could be exploring Rivendell. And who knew - he might even catch a glimpse of his elusive host.

Humming a little melody taught to him when he had been a mere youngster, Legolas continued on his hike along a wooded path lined with willows. There were a lot of pines here, he had noted on his arrival, but he preferred the grace of willows, the way their leaves rustled in the wind like tiny golden bells - every gust bringing forth a different tune, and every ray of sunlight causing them to glitter in a different shade.

Legolas had reached a narrow footbridge crossing a raging waterfall and continued onto it with a sure step. He was still deep in thought, contemplating the beauty of willows - tall, with long and slender trunks, arched brows... Brows?

He focused his eyes and found himself staring into another pair - grey like his, but so dark they were nearly amber - fixed on him from a few feet away out of a narrow, starkly handsome face.

With a gasp, Legolas took a sudden misstep. His arms flailed inelegantly and he was in imminent danger of losing his footing.

"Fool! What are you doing?" called the unfamiliar deep voice of that unfamiliar dark elf across the bridge.

But Legolas was somewhat busy and thus unable to offer explanations or think of introductions just then, as he was mere seconds away from falling off the bridge and into the raging falls below. He yelped, realizing too late that his right foot was not meeting solid ground where he set it down, because foolishly, he was still gazing at the stranger rather than at his suddenly dangerous path.

"No! Here, give me-- You'll fall, you--"

Long, willowy - why could he not get the accursed trees out of his mind - arms reached out to him, and Legolas gripped onto them, his fingers digging into firmly muscled forearms. "Help me!" he yelped.

"I am trying to, you imbecile! Hold onto me!" The taller elf gripped Legolas' arms tight enough that he would have broken them were Legolas a mere man, then attempted to pull the young prince against himself.

"Aah!" Legolas' left foot had lost its path as well, and he fell.

At least a short way. When he looked into the chasm below, he saw the falls rushing and churning beneath him, and suddenly he knew how men must feel when faced with certain death.

Luckily, his prospects were not so gloomy. He would not die if he fell, but he would certainly be very much the worse for wear. So there was, at this particular point in time, no comfort for him in the thought of immortality, as it would mean a very long timespan of being in excruciating pain, to say nothing of the effect such a fall would have on his flawless body and perfect face.

Only when he heard acrimonious cursing from nearby, and realized there was nothing but air below him, did Legolas truly begin to wonder how it was that he seemed to hang in midair. He looked up, and would have lost his grip again had he been holding onto anything at all. As it was, there was no one on the bridge. In an instant, Legolas divined that the elf who, as far as he was concerned, had set off this entire unfortunate chain of events in the first place, was in fact now holding onto him, but had, in all the commotion, lost his own footing and was dangling off the bridge on the opposite side.

"Why, in the name of all that is sacred, have my guards allowed you across the borders of Imladris, you... you--" The thundering voice confirmed Legolas' suspicion forthwith.

Legolas pouted, his pride - or what was left of it in his undignified position - deeply offended. "I am an invited guest here," he snapped. "My name is Legolas. I am the son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood. And just who are--" He croaked, "Your guards?"

"I fear then that Mirkwood has enough troubles without the threat of Sauron," the Lord of Rivendell grumbled beyond the slab of stone separating them. "I shall not bother your father with our minor problems." After much cursing - albeit in Elvish which sounded so much more elegant - he spat, "It seems to me he bears a great burden already."

"Lord Elrond, I--" Legolas was furious. And furiously embarrassed at that. He attempted to make eye contact so that he might successfully convey both sentiments to the other elf, but with that cursed bridge between them, all he could see was a long, slender form in purple-grey robes which ended in ridiculously dangling, silk-booted feet. With most unfortunate timing, Legolas began to giggle.

"Ai! What forest witch has sent this curse upon me!" Elrond muttered from the other side of the bridge, considering for a moment that it might be preferable to simply let go of Legolas' hands and thus release them both from this undignified pose at once. True, he might wind up nursing bruises for years to come, but at least none of his people would see him this way! But Elrond was a sensible elf, so instead he said, "Listen to me now." His voice commanded attention. "We can not hang here indefinitely."

"Indeed not, Lord Elrond." Legolas chortled.

"Well, we may agree on that at least. Now, this is what we will do. I shall swing up onto the bridge first and, once I have found my balance, I shall pull you up as well."

"Should I not perhaps--" Legolas began, then coughed daintily. "I mean, would it not be better if I ascended the bridge first and pulled you up, Lord Elrond? After all, I am several thousand years... um..."

"Don't be impertinent!" Elrond gasped. "Besides, I would not trust you to pull a pail of water from a well. No. You simply hold on until I have secured us both."

"Yes, Lord Elrond." Legolas decided that it was perhaps time to simply follow his irked host's orders. "I will do as you say."

"Finally." Elrond took a deep breath and swung his left leg across the bridge.

Legolas looked up, still admiring the elaborately embroidered boot and the leg peeking out from the robe in a pair of matching leggins, when the other leg joined it and Elrond heaved himself fully onto the bridge.

"You are remarkably agile, Lord Elrond!" Legolas called out to the elf now atop the bridge, then he cringed.

"Another word, and I shall simply drop you."

"I am terribly sorry." It was fun, teasing that man whose disposition was such a famously stern one, Legolas thought with a smirk.

"I shall make you sorrier still." Elrond was now on his back. He secured himself by hooking both of his legs around the sides of the narrow stone construction, in case Legolas should decide to fly right across him and tumble off the other side. It was something he could not rule out with this young fool. With effortless ease, he yanked the younger elf upwards and onto the bridge and, incidentally, on top of himself. "Oomph!"

"I am sorry. Really I--" Legolas gasped. He was lying flat on top of Elrond, his legs trapped between the elf lord's slightly longer ones, his hand still entwined with the other's while Elrond's free hand secured him with a tight grip on the side of his waist. "Oh." His eyes widened.

Elrond, too, stared. Up into the loveliest face he had ever laid eyes upon.

For a time, neither of the two elves could speak at all.

Legolas' lips were parted in wordless awe, the sight which had unbalanced him originally a mere blur of a memory, now that he saw that face and those stern, beautiful eyes directly beneath him. "I..." he eventually croaked.

Elrond saw his still involuntarily angry gaze reflected in the soft grey eyes - such young, innocent eyes - and the sight caused him to quickly twist his face into a more agreeable mask. "Well..."

Legolas swallowed, heat spreading all along his body, now that the full-length contact with the elf lord's prone form beneath him began to register. "I...am..."

"Usually this clumsy?" Elrond asked huskily. He considered shifting to avoid inevitable embarrassment, but did not dare to cause even the slightest friction between his own silk-clad form and the slim figure in forest greens atop him. Who knew what would happen if he did!

Legolas shook his head very slowly, and Elrond could not help but notice the way the sun caught in his hair and blinded him, any more than Legolas could help marvel at the stark and yet warm dark shade of Elrond's lush tresses.

Their hands still lay entwined besides Elrond's head, and he simply could not think of a single good reason why he should release Legolas' waist, where his other hand rested, considering how warm and perfect the gently curving flesh felt beneath his palm.

Legolas himself did not move a muscle. He did not even blink.

"So tell me, Prince Legolas," Elrond said with an amused smirk, not willing to let the incident go entirely. "Were we to sit at a table and share a meal, would your fork slip and skewer my eye?"

"Oh no." Legolas smiled in return.

Elrond thought the seasons were changing ever faster. It had to be his age, but he could have sworn auturmn had just turned to summer in the blink of an eye. "If I were to afterwards lead you from the table to show you how the stars reflect in the river just below my balcony, would you stumble and fall and pull me with you?"

Legolas smiled more broadly, and so did Elrond. "Absolutely not, Lord Elrond."

Elrond drew up one leg, in the process sliding Legolas further up his own body, assuring himself that his physical predicament was a shared one and delighting in Legolas' gasp gleefully. "And were I to escort you to your quarters late at night, Prince Legolas, would you slam the door into my face?"

Legolas leaned down very slightly and whispered, "I would not, my Lord."

Elrond released Legolas' hand and waist and pushed him backwards, then stood and drew the elf prince to his feet as well, once more taking his hand in his own. "Well then, will you dine with me tonight, Legolas?"

Legolas shivered. "Yes," he breathed, and watched wide-eyed as Elrond raised his hand to his cruel and yet divine lips and pressed a light kiss to his knuckles.

"I will send for you at eight," the elf lord murmured against Legolas' long-fingered hand.

"I shall be ready at seven," Legolas said boldly.

Elrond smirked. "Too much eagerness can lead to clumsiness, Legolas. Have we not had enough of that for one day?" His hand still held Legolas' own against his lips, blowing warm breath across it as he spoke.

Legolas' heart was pounding wildly. "Then, if I fall gracelessly into the room, you shall have to catch me, my Lord."

Elrond growled low in his throat, his dark eyes afire. "At seven then."

And he turned and strode up to his house, leaving Legolas behind to watch the grace of his slender, robed form ascending the many stairs, stumbling only once, very briefly.

End