Estel
by Bethuviel
Disclaimer: The estate of J.R.R. Tolkien owns all recognizable characters from the works of literature encompassing The Lord of The Rings. I receive no compensation for any work I have written and/or published on this site.
Author's note: All reviews, whether critical or applauding are appreciated.
Legolas sat on a old fallen log in the forest of Greenwood the Great. He had risen before the dawn and had left the confines of his father's underground fortress, wanting to greet the new day alone. He felt the need to see the forest slowly come to life under the warm rays of the sun. Legolas hadn't ventured very far and was still within the safety of the perimeter guarded by elven warriors; this helped him to relax. Today he would enjoy the beginning of the dawn and not worry about the slow encroachment of the spiders or their partner, the darkness of the One.
He ran his fingers over the log, feeling the pattern of the trunk. Each tree was different and unique. This particular tree had lived for hundreds of years. He knew it's story well. He remembered the oak as a seedling, vibrant, and joyous with life. He could hear the song it had sang. He remembered the day of it's death, so many years ago. Too late, a spider had been discovered within it's branches. The spider had snatched and feasted upon a defenseless elfling who had escaped from his mother and had gone outside to play. Legolas sighed as he patted the tree. The old oak had mourned itself to death, refusing to live after the incident. His father, Thranduil, had implemented the new perimeter and the guarding of the realm.
Legolas could recall the days of his youth and running freely through the forest, playing with his friends. Those days were forever gone. His home had been renamed Mirkwood. Legolas understood the solemnity of the name. How had his home gone from Arda as a place of life, to a place of shadows and death?
He felt a warmth upon his shoulders and looked up. The sun had risen and it's rays peeked through the canopy above him. There it was, the promise of hope. The orb had risen again, sure and steady, as it had everyday since it's inception. Legolas smiled. Manwe and the Valar had been wise to devise the ship which carried the last light of the trees through the sky.
Hope. Legolas heard the first stirrings of the forest animals. He heard the chirping of the babies in the nests, spurring the adults to find food. He heard the rabbits in the underbrush, and the deer in the thickets. He breathed deeply and exhaled slowly.
The light of the sun danced across the leaves and foliage around him, sparkling various colors through the prisms of the dew drops that moistened the greenery. He smiled again to himself. He knew that whatever lay before him, he had the courage and the strength of his ancestors flowing within his veins; he would not be alone, and he would overcome.
Legolas wiggled his toes and stretched his legs. Sometimes it just felt good to do that simple act of stretching. He patted the physical remnants of his lost friend beneath him and stood up, wondering briefly if trees had souls that would join them at the end of all things in the great song. Slowly he made his way back into the fortress of his father, squaring his shoulders for the day before him.
There would be meetings and discussions and more meetings. It was going to be a long day, but he felt better mentally, and knew that he would survive the boring drudgery of it all. A visitor was expected that day…Mithrandir. Legolas had not seen him for many decades and looked forward to renewing their friendship. One of the Dunedain would be there as well. He looked forward to meeting him as well. Legolas knew that the Dunedain were the direct descendants of the Numenor and he felt excited at the prospects of meeting one.
He felt hope stir within him again. "Estel," he said aloud, then smiled again. He felt at peace with himself. Hope was in the world again, he could feel it around him, and within in.