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.

Now his body was getting used to the water, and he closed his eyes momentarily, letting the smooth liquid move about him like a blanket; soft and gentle.
Drawing a deep breath, he submerged, and his eyes flew open, scanning his surroundings with mild curiosity.
The bottom of the pond was a replica of the shore -- nothing but those brilliant, incandescent stones; with the exception of a few slender ribbons of deep green kelp waving faintly in the gentle water.

It was hardly deep. Three Elves standing on each other's shoulders could have easily reached the deepest part.
The inhabitants of the pond were very small, and very few. Quick little fish with silvery bellies could be spotted if one looked closely, and occasionally a tadpole, but nothing lived in the pond that was bigger than the Elf's hand.

His head broke through the surface of the water and he glided back to the shore, deciding it was time to get out.
He was getting a little hungry, for the last time he had eaten was the morning of the former day.

He wondered as he walked along towards the house, the soft grass brushing his ankles -- did he have any clothes inside?
Pushing this thought out of his mind he shrugged mentally. It didn't really matter. Esgaroth was the closest civilization to him, and it was at least a hundred miles away -- not to mention one had to cross the great water in between.

As he entered his house, the familiar spiced scent of fresh wood flooded his senses, and he walked into his vast, richly furnished bed room, opening a wardrobe and pulling out various garments. He had forgotten about his extra set of clothes that he had purchased when he had been in Laketown surveying the market -- purely out of curiosity.

However, these were human clothes, and he wasn't quite sure how they would fit...

He pulled on what looked like underclothing, then the pants, and surveyed himself in the glass of his window, eyes widening when he saw how close-fitting the attire was.Why hadn't he paid more attention to the size of the garments..?

At least they aren't uncomfortable...yet.

Next he slipped on a tunic of a breathable-smooth material of pale blue and he almost smiled as he remembered the pains the woman who sold it to him took to describe how beautiful the color would go with his eyes. He had given her the satisfaction of a prompted sale and bought the item -- he liked the feeling of the material, and it was surprisingly good quality for a town that was decidedly unfocused on appearance.

Now.

What on middle-earth was he going to do with his hair?

It was still wet, and though it wasn't in knots, it was considerably tangled, and the length was quite extensive.

The prince snatched the brush on his bedside table and began, wishing with every stroke that his servants were there.

Halfway through he threw the brush down and decided that he wanted something to eat -- peferebly redhi. He was more than a little bit tired of venison, and felt the need for something fresh and -- did he have any wine left?

With this new objective, all thoughts of vegetables were immediately dispersed, and he raided his cupboards with a vengeance.

Like father, like son.

His mad search was rewarded with a bottle of gloriously strong wine, not yet opened, and he took the liberty of forgoing the wine glass, bringing the bottle to his lips and moaning softly in pleasure as the warm liquid traveled down his throat.

Oh, yes.
He had been missing this refreshment...

The elf propped his bare feet up elegantly on the nearest table, his golden mane dragging on the floor behind him, and reflected fondly on the days before his maturity: getting hopelessly drunk with his comrades, picking fights with the wrong Elleths/Ellons and returning to the palace bruised and bleeding, disobeying his father on purpose and receiving severe punishments (which he had definitely deserved), training for battle till his body gave out, getting his first bow and arrows...

Then Legolas had grown into a fierce, bewitching young ellon.
He found it the same with everyone except his enemies; the same behavior applied to every rational creature on two legs.
They all gave him that identical expression:

"Wow."

He had learned to ignore it -- especially the females, for their comments always got out of hand very quickly.
Of course, they were all too afraid to come even ten steps away from him.

He had gained quite a reputation on the battlefield.

I just recently edited this!
I forgot how much I love this one-shot.
Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed.