"When the hell are you gonna decide to shut up."

The tall, lanky, blonde ellon gave his friend a calm, measured glance.

"Whenever you decide to stop being a damned elleth."

"Oh I'm the elleth, here. Excuse me."

There was a brief pause in which the two ellons shared a controlled, heated stare, and then the lanky, easily seven-foot ellon broke the intense eye contact casually, settling into a more comfortable position in his richly furnished chair: "Gods, Legolas. Get over yourself and let's go throw some punches. I'm getting sick of your stupid girl issues.
Always some attractive female holding onto your apron strings...
Stop baking, will you?"

At this last comment, the prince couldn't help the cynical smile that crept onto his peony-pink, shapely, royal mouth.

"Shut up, Haldir, you simp. You know my cooking sucks as well as my ability to put up with stupid people.
Yes, I'm talking about you."

The Lorien Gaurd slapped his hand on his left pec, letting out an exaggerated wheeze, his grey eyes wide in feigned shock.

"Ow...ow, that hurt..."

The prince ignored the comment, pouring himself some red wine from a bottle of slate-colored glass, watching with lazy satisfaction as the burgundy liquid fell in an even stream into his carved crystal glass.

He took a generous sip.

"There. I wish I had something to toast, but Gods -- there isn't a thing on this earth that deserves that much respect," and he and Haldir shared a sarcastic chuckle.

The Lorien Gaurd was just about to join Legolas in sipping wine, when the door to the prince's room burst open, and a soldier, clearly out of breath, stumbled in, stepping forward awkwardly to address the prince.

"Your...Highness..."

Legolas crossed his feet casually, looking at the soldier with a level gaze, his blue Sindarin eyes glittering gently under his dark lashes.

"If you're not going to speak, I think I'll punish you for bursting into my chambers, old fellow," the prince's smooth voice rolled.

The soldier straightened up at this encouragement, his once ragged breath now coming more easily.

"Your Highness. Orcs have been spotted at the edges of Greenwood. Shall I ready our--"

"No," Legolas cut in calmly, "I'll go. Haldir and I. My hor--our horses will need to be ready.
You're dismissed."

The soldier shut his mouth, which was still hanging open from his attempted speech, and turned on his heel, expression extremely deflated, and was gone.

Haldir looked at Legolas, face placid.

"Well, mangled Manwë. Aren't we just gonna completely take advantage of our family today."

The prince rose, stretching his back as he did so, wrinkling his nose as it popped quietly.

"Oooo...ahem. Yes. I'm taking advantage of you. Anything else you want to prove?"

The Lorien guard smirked, pushing past the prince as he headed towards the door.

"I don't have to."

_________________________________________

Their horses were ready as instructed.

Legolas' lovely white mare was a gorgeous, colossal beast.

Her shoulders were broad and protruding, her neck elegantly arched, and her back curved in just slightly; her barrel slim and taut with muscle, her large, graceful frame ending in four long, thick, strong legs.

She looked like a mix of a standard, slender horse, and what the humans liked to call a "shire" horse, so she was refined, agile, and fast, but also huge in proportion compared to most of the horses that dwelt in Greenwood the Great.

She was terrifying.

Standing at around twenty-five hands tall from her shining black hooves to her withers, the horse was pretty much the same size as a baby mumakil.

But she held much more power.

The mare was the direct descendant of the mighty Shadowfax, kin of Felaróf, the first of the Mearas, the most intelligent and versatile beasts of Middle Earth.

Many legends said that the Mearas had the astounding and somewhat eerie ability to understand mortal speech...

This beautiful, hulking mass of muscle and agility proved the legend a fact.

It was known all around that the prince of the Greenwood had a Mearas that understood speech, and that the two were inseparable. For many years the horse had resisted the mastery of even the direct descendant of the ancient Noldorian kings, but eventually Legolas had won the respect of the beast, and the two had formed a strong friendship.

They called her Ninque Sulë , or "white spirit", for her dazzlingly white, almost ghostly coat.

She was a pure white horse, and those were quite rare; for in order for this phenomenon to come about, the horse had to have pink skin under a white coat.

There were many white horses, but their noses, around their eyes, and on their lower legs was grey plastered and smudged into the snowy white -- no, Sulë, as Legolas called her, was a unique animal.

Many a master before had not only been completely discouraged by the horses' stubborn and violent nature, injured and rejected multiple times by the beast, but had also grown a fierce dislike for the creature's pale and ominous fuchsia eyes; ever watching, studying every move...

Sulë could have won a staring contest with the lidless eye of the Dark Lord.

Her ovular pupils swam in a sea of faded coral, long white lashes shading their bizarre depths...

Legolas thought she was the most beautiful creature that ever walked Middle Earth, and Sulë knew this -- she loved the prince for it.

She had memorized the lovely, deep, rolling sound of his voice, and the way he walked -- so confident, assured, calm...

He had been the first gentle hand to touch her snowy flanks; the first to hold her majestic head in his two strong, weathered hands and press his slender, mortal nose to hers.

Sulë no longer watched where the prince was while he was around her, for she trusted him with a completeness many mortal friends would envy.

As her master approached, she lifted her large, white head, a swirling pink eye studying him intently, blinking in an endless calm.

The prince raced forward, Haldir trailing behind, and collided with Sulë, his hands pushing her back gently as she bumped his chest and shoulders with her muzzle, nickering quietly into his torso, nipping at his high top-knot and pulling it loose, his pale golden hair mixing with her long white mane like a multicolored waterfall as she nudged his grinning face with her soft, moist muzzle, whinnying in glee.

"Sul--Sulë! Stop that! I've got somewhere I need you to take me -- it's very important. What am I supposed to do with my hair, now?"

The beast noticed the slight change in his tone, and turned her head to the side, regarding him momentarily, realizing that he really was done with the games, and needed her help.

He raised his hand to her shoulder, and their minds were able to meld easily with her Mearas blood and his Sindarin.

Orcs have been spotted on our borders, Sulë, the prince said, Those foul rabble cannot escape with our location -- I need as much speed as you can give me, Windlord.

The horse paused, then, she spoke in his mind softly, gently:

You know you have it. Where can I take you, oh Prince of Greenwood, my friend?

_________________________________________

Sulë (Quenya) -- "spirit"

(Pronounced: Oo -- leh)

Ninque (Quenya) -- "white"

(Pronounced: Nihn -- koo -- eh)

Manwë (Quenya) -- "Blessed One"

(Pronounced: Mahn -- weh)

(Manwë was the leader of the Ainur, one of the Aratar, King of the Valar, husband of Varda, brother of the Dark Lord Melkor, and King of Arda.)

_________________________________________

Just some randomness from my brain!

(Yes I have one.)

Hope you enjoyed! I certainly did. ;)