Rivendell lay quiet and peaceful. The stars dotting the sky above seemed especially bright this night and neither obscured by clouds nor outshone by the moon, which was no more than a silver sliver.

Legolas followed the path leading from one of the hidden grooves up to the high house slowly, softly humming to himself, stopping here and there to enjoy an extraordinary view or pick a beautiful flower. He had spend half of the night resting in the beautiful garden of Lord Elrond.

He had arrived only this afternoon and his mind and body craved rest. He had been hunting orcs with Lord Elrond's twin sons for more than three month and the filth and evil he had witnessed weighted his heart down.

Now was the most peaceful hour of the night, even the immortal elves of Imladris were resting and Legolas found that the almost eerie quiet made his heart hurt even more. He longed for laughter and the sounds of life, but now there were none to be found.

Silently he passed through the high corridors that were only filled with starlight, looking for another soul that – like him – was restless at this hour of night.

He had nearly given up hope when a sound reached his sensitive ears. Low cursing and clanking that he could not place. Curiously he followed his ears to a place he had so far never been in Rivendell. The kitchen.

When he drew nearer he wondered even more who this somebody in the kitchen might be, for the voice that was now quietly talking did not have the beauty of an elvan one and some of the words seemed to be in the common tongue. The warm light of candles and a hearth fire beckoned him closer when he came down the stairs.

Legolas stopped in the shadow of the doorway to see who was there, not wishing to intrude and still longing for company. There was only one person in the kitchen and the elf of Mirkwood blinked in surprise, for it was a young human. He might number fifteen summers at the most, moving with the lankyness of a boy who is just growing into manhood and is not fully familiar with his new body yet. Long, dark hair was bound in a pony tail but escaped into unruly curls, framing his frowning face. He wore leather breeches that were a little to short as if his legs had grown too long just in the last couple of weeks and a shirt a little to big for his lean frame.

At the moment he was staring down at a collection of cooking items he had arranged on one long table, looking a little lost.

Legolas remembered Lord Elrond saying something about a human boy he was fostering so this must be the one. He looked pleasant enough and obviously was quite fluent with the elvan language which was impressive for a human his age.

The human started rummaging through the items again till he produced a small handwritten book and then that cute frown again formed on his brow as he read, sorting ingredients.

With a soft cough, not to startle the boy too much, Legolas moved into the kitchen. The young human looked up, blushing immediately.

"Greetings to you." Legolas said, trying to remember the name of the boy. "Estel, is it?" The boy nodded, looking like he was going to bolt. "I am Legolas. I did not wish to intrude," Legolas continued hastily, "I was just curious who might be up so late except myself. If you would rather be alone, I will not..."

"No, no, it's alright." Estel shook his head and more of his curls escaped their confines. A small smile appeared and Legolas realized with a start that he was quite cute. For a human. "I was just not expecting anybody to come by just now..." He looked down at his cooking tools again with something akin to despair.

"What are you trying to do?" Legolas asked curiously, trying to get a look into the book. Again the boy blushed. "Waffles." he answered, staring down at his hands. Legolas caught the laugh trying to escape him in the last moment.

"And why, by all the Valar, are you doing that just now?" he asked as earnest as he could manage.

Estel shrugged. "I am trying to teach myself some cooking." he said, all seriously, "As the Lord Elrond has so generously taken me in I thought it would be only fair if I could contribute something to his household as well. And I am not exactly that great with weapons and all. Yet."

"That is a honorable notion. Maybe I can assist you with your task?"

The boy's smile grew wide and shining and Legolas felt his heart open. "Would you?" Estel asked, genuinely grateful.

"Sure." Legolas had never made waffles in his two thousand summers, but he was more than willing to try.

After going through the recipe together Estel started mixing eggs, sugar and butter, while Legolas put the waffle irons into the hearth fire to heat them. Then he spooned flour and milk into the mix while Estel continued stirring the dough. They worked in companionable silence and Legolas was rather surprised at the patience and calm of the young human. He had never really met one his age but his father had told him that they were especially troublesome in their teens.

When the dough finally had the right consistence – just dripping of a spoon without tearing – they carefully took the hot irons out of the fire. It was Estel who dripped a large spoonful of dough on the irons and then closed them.

Both human and elf watched with a bit of despair as an overflow of dough created a mess on the table, but soon the tantalizing smell of fresh waffles filled the kitchen and both sighed happily. They shared that first waffle and made some more, this time taking care not to pour to much dough onto the irons.

About two hours later they had eaten all of the waffles, cleaned up the kitchen and outside the stars were slowly fading, retiring for another sunny day.

"Thank you." Estel said to Legolas, when he had put away the jar of flour. "It was very kind of you to help me with this. If I can ever repay you with any help..."

"I have to thank you," Legolas replied, smiling fondly at the boy who had lifted the gloom from his heart, "you have been most pleasant company. If ever again you decide to make waffles in the middle of the night, do let me know."

They smiled at each other and Estel offered his hand in farewell to the elf. "I will."

*****

Minas Tirith lay quiet and peaceful. The sky was clouded and soft rain was falling, filling the air with the endless music of water.

Legolas of Mirkwood sat at the window of the guest room he occupied since he had come to the white city. Tomorrow would be the day of Aragorn's wedding to Arwen and Legolas was remembering all the little thing that had shaped his life where the two of them were concerned, when a soft knock to his door woke him from his memories.

Surprised at such a late visitor he left his place at the window and opened the door to look at Aragorn, smiling sheepishly.

"Can't sleep, too nervous." the ranger turned king explained, brushing ever unruly curls out of his eyes. "I was wondering... I thought, maybe... you said I should tell you if I ever feel like making waffles again... does that offer still stand?"

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Beryll

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