Thranduil and his contingent rode steadily across the Pelennor Fields, carrying the banner of Greenwood the Great high in the flickering wind. The yellowed grass gave way beneath the horses' hooves; the ground remained softened after the debilitating battle which had been fought here so recently. Their contingent was small, consisting of only six riders including Thranduil himself, and they had covered a great distance to reach the White City of Minas Tirith before the momentous coronation of King Elessar.
The Elvenking had received a messenger from Imladris nearly seven months ago, bringing word that Legolas had joined a Fellowship on the quest to take the One Ring of Sauron, which had resurfaced in the world after years of obscurity, to its destruction in Mordor – that cursed land where Thranduil had fought in the Last Alliance many millennia ago. It was a completely unexpected turn of events which had unfolded so quickly; the prince had arrived in Imladris to inform Lord Elrond of Gollum's escape from captivity, but was subsequently summoned to attend a secret council. Before long, he had written home to announce he would not be returning to Mirkwood as planned, and Thranduil had been helpless to do anything about it. The king was left to govern his realm with no knowledge of the whereabouts of his son.
Upon reading that brief message from Imladris, Thranduil had felt shock and even anger at the prince's announcement. Did Legolas not realise the great peril he had brought upon himself voluntarily? To walk the long, treacherous journey into the black heart of Mordor, where creatures evil and twisted beyond reckoning roamed in the shadowlands? Where Thranduil's own father had been slain in ruthless battle? The icy memory of Oropher's death resurfaced with the news of Legolas's decision, and the overwhelming fear that the same might happen to his son froze his inner core.
In January he received word from Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel that the Fellowship – including the Prince of Mirkwood – had reached the shelter of Lorien's woods, but soon the company had moved on in their quest and Thranduil's heart had never truly rested in the months that followed. Yet he had had to bury his emotions and continue with his responsibilities as the ruler of Mirkwood's people in a time when strong, fair leadership was needed more than ever. The situation in their homeland had worsened rapidly after Legolas's departure, and the king had fought with his own sword against the orcs of Dol Guldur that rose from the south into central Mirkwood. He wondered how much Legolas knew of the situation that had transpired in his own beloved realm.
At least he could bring news that their people were victorious, and the forest was now free to restore itself to the full former glory of Greenwood the Great.
The king turned his attention back to the sight of the great city ahead. Not for many, many centuries had he journeyed this far south. His memory of Minas Tirith was rather distant, and he had to admit that the structure he saw before him now was breath-taking, despite the damage it had obviously suffered. This was no forest-city of Elves, hidden and entwined within the trees. No; the capital of Gondor was blatant and imposing – a monument to the boldness and pride of Men – and yet the architecture blended seamlessly into the mountains. The white stones gleamed in the daylight like a beacon in the vast plains. In truth, Thranduil had almost never expected to see a king return to Gondor's throne, so long had it been and so weakened had the human race become; and yet here he was, and the day was just over the threshold.
Guards bearing the ceremonial helmets and white crests of Gondor stood proudly on the turrets of the massive city gate. Their keen eyes recognised the sight of the Mirkwood heraldry displayed on the banner, for they had been told in advance to expect a royal party from the Woodland Realm, and orders were issued to open the doors.
Thranduil glanced over to his companions and saw the same expressions of awe as he felt in himself when they stopped at the gate. He leaned forward and patted his steed on the neck. The small group of riders waited until the doors had fully parted, and then walked their horses forward into the stone courtyard of Minas Tirith.
Gondor's capital was teeming with people involved in various forms of occupation: stonemasons repairing the battle damage; servants preparing the city for Aragorn's coronation, as well as settling in the guests who were visiting to witness it; the guests themselves, who were growing in number by the day; and finally the residents who remained determinedly engaged in their everyday business. The crowd which had parted to make way for Thranduil and his contingent, soon gathered tightly around them like water rushing to fill an empty pool.
Many eyes now stared upon them. The representatives from the other elven kingdoms, including Lord Elrond of Rivendell, were not due to arrive for a few days yet, so this was indeed the first elvish group to pass through the gates for the coronation. Many of Gondor's people had never seen an elf in their life. The human onlookers were mesmerised by the newcomers sitting upon their horses, openly curious and enchanted by the beauty of their race.
From atop his horse Thranduil saw three guards steadily approach him through the busy crowd. The first to reach him caught the reins of the king's steed firmly, allowing Thranduil to jump off – his graceful leap taking them all by surprise – and the remaining two guards went to assist the other riders. The men bowed low to the king once everyone had dismounted.
"Hail, King Thranduil; you and your company are most welcome here. Lord Aragorn has been awaiting your arrival and will be most pleased to hear of your coming. He is engaged in business in the throne room, but he would be most grateful to learn of your arrival, if you wish to be announced now?" The guard who spoke had been the one to attend Thranduil's horse, and was obviously the most senior in rank.
The Elvenking shook his head in his naturally authoritative fashion, although his eyes conveyed gratitude for their warm reception. "No, thank you; I do not wish to disturb him if he is busy. I shall find Lord Aragorn later to greet him personally." His eyes turned vaguely to the city above; he had another, even more important reason for coming here.
The guards lowered their heads respectfully at the king's words.
"If you would be so kind as to take our horses," said Thranduil, looking back at the animals, "and allow my company to be shown to their quarters to freshen up?"
"With pleasure, Your Majesty," replied the guard, and he took the reins of two steeds while his fellow men followed suit. Presently he called out the name of another warden who was stood nearby at his post by the inner gate. "Would you show the Mirkwood contingent to their rooms in the royal guest house?" he called as the warden looked up.
The man agreed in an excessively eager manner – obviously taken aback by this honour of escorting the new Elvish visitors – and led the rest of the Mirkwood party up the first of a long series of stairs.
"Farewell for now and take some rest. I shall see you later," said Thranduil to his companions as they were guided away from the courtyard. Then his attention returned to the city which he was now free to wander, and attempt to find his son.
He brushed forward into the street.
Walking through the ground level of Minas Tirith proved to be challenging; the king had to navigate around the busy households and stalls, around groups of men and women conversing or working, and other obstacles within the walkways. He side-stepped as a man carrying a basket full of goods edged past him a little too closely. Thranduil began to regret wearing his red cloak as it made him stand out even more amid the citizens of Gondor. The king had not gone so far as to wear any kind of crown on this particular day, but nevertheless his sumptuous riding clothes betrayed his high status. Furthermore, he stood several inches taller than the other people in the street, and his long, fair hair contrasted greatly with their dark locks. Although the citizens were becoming used to the increasing presence of strangers within their walls – many of whom journeyed back with Aragorn after the end of the war – the Elvenking caused many to stop in their tracks and stare. This was something the king tried to ignore.
Thranduil came to the end of the long road from the courtyard and reached the sheer stop of the mountain face. With no sign yet of the prince, he swiftly turned and retraced his steps, passing through the courtyard again and towards the other end of the vast semicircular passage.
From behind a flower stall a lady began to approach him, wearing a long silk headdress and a green gown. She had been bent over the stall to take in the scent of some blossoms, but the startling sight of the Elven lord caught her eye and she straightened herself up. The king looked similar to another elf she had briefly seen in the city several days ago; the long fair hair and blue eyes were incredibly recognisable. Thranduil noticed the human approach him as if she wanted to speak, and he stepped towards her hopefully.
She curtseyed. "Are you looking for something, my lord?" the woman asked. The elf seemed to be searching intently for something through the crowds and buildings, and she wondered if she could assist in any way – perhaps offer directions to a lost visitor.
"I am looking for my son, Legolas, from the elven realm of Mirkwood; he is staying here as a guest. I do not suppose you have knowledge of his whereabouts?"
She shook her head. "I'm afraid not, sire – I have not seen one of your kind today. I am sorry I cannot be of more help."
The king gave a short sigh, but bowed his head to the lady for her time. "Thank you anyway, I shall continue my search." He proceeded through the street.
The woman curtseyed again as he left, and lingered where she stood so as to watch the elf pass gracefully into the crowd. If she had known her conversation had been with the King of Mirkwood, she would have fallen speechless.
Presently Thranduil reached the other side of Minas Tirith's ground level. A staircase led up from the base of the wall and the king trod hastily up the stone steps ascending to the next tier of the city.
On this level the buildings seemed grander, and the people were not rushing around busy squares and markets as they had been on the ground level. The main street was also much narrower and comprised just a single lane, which made it much easier for him to search. On his left he noticed a large building with a sign carved into the stone lintel, describing it as a chamber for commerce; as his gaze moved on he saw that the adjacent buildings all seemed to share a similar purpose for civil affairs. Thranduil was not sure why he should expect his son to be in this vicinity, but he continued to wander anyway. Truthfully Legolas could be anywhere, although the king suspected he was likely to find his son somewhere near the royal house and not far from Aragorn; perhaps he was even engaged in the business which the guards had mentioned and could not be reached at the moment. The new king of Gondor would undoubtedly want his friends close by for support.
King Elessar... How strange that name sounded in his head. It seemed mere moments ago that he had first met the young and unkempt ranger of the North – going by the name of Strider at the time – who seemed as far away from assuming the throne as one could get. He doubted that Aragorn himself had ever expected it would become a reality. The world was about to change as the race of Men established themselves as a great presence not seen since the Second Age. Only time would tell whether Aragorn would fulfil the towering expectations of him and prove to be a successful ruler; but Thranduil admitted he had hope for the new king. Aragorn had proven himself on many occasions. Legolas had chosen his friend well.
Legolas...
Thranduil strayed back from his thoughts to focus on any sign of his son. His earnest search continued up to the city's next level, and two more, until eventually he reached the fifth storey of Minas Tirith.
This vicinity was very small and secluded, and much of it lay in the shadow of the vast Tower of Ecthelion. Here the small buildings appeared to be the residential quarters of the nobility and those directly involved in Gondor's court, for there was no trade or business here. The Elvenking took a few steps beyond the freestanding houses and turned sharply right, into a passage sheltered by a curved stone arch. Through here he could see the entrance to further rooms embedded in the mountain itself.
Just ahead of him, in the first of a series of private halls, a door lay open and a figure moved gracefully and unhurriedly within.
He saw the glimpse of golden hair, which the Wood-elf king so easily recognised in this foreign setting amongst the raven-haired people of Minas Tirith. The familiar braid which knotted at the back of his head. The point of an elven ear and the distinctive blue tunic – yes, it was him.
Legolas looked up casually from the doorway. The prince's eyes landed on the form of his father standing outside in the narrow walkway – whose own sharp eyes were staring straight back at him. They both stopped, as if not daring to break the spell that must have brought their images together. It had not been long at all since their parting – not in elven years at least – but the many tumultuous events that had occurred in both of their lives ever since had made the time feel significantly longer. For Thranduil, the burden of not knowing his son's whereabouts, or whether he was even alive, had made each day painfully difficult to get through.
Legolas's mouth, which had parted in surprise at Thranduil's arrival, grew into an expression of joy. He was not sure why he was stunned by the appearance of the king; after all, he had written to request his father's presence at the coronation upon returning to Gondor, and Thranduil had sent word in return that he would be travelling to the occasion with a contingent. However, the joy he now felt at their reunion was something he had yearned for.
"Adar!" he exhaled.
Thranduil took a few hesitant steps towards the prince. "Yes, it is I," he replied. "Legolas..."
The elder elf stepped through the entrance and met his son halfway. They fell into a strong embrace from which they did not withdraw.
It was not often that the proud Elvenking of Mirkwood felt vulnerable. His steadfast demeanour was usually as strong as a mighty oak, and emotions rarely made themselves visible in the seasoned king's regal countenance; and yet his face grew full of the thoughts and troubles which had been buried in the deep regions of his consciousness until now, but were soon washed away with the relief of seeing his son again.
"Of all the things that could have possibly unfolded," he chuckled hoarsely. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I sent you off to Imladris to inform Lord Elrond of Gollum's escape, and the next thing I hear, you've taken part in a secret council and sworn an oath to travel to Mordor!"
"I know," laughed the prince as he thought back. "I am sorry I could not give you the news in person, but there was no time to return to Mirkwood, as I'm sure you understand. I did what I felt was right. The ring-bearer needed to be protected on his journey to save Middle Earth, and I vowed to defend him with my life. What else could I have done?"
Pride swelled within Thranduil's being and threatened to displace the many other emotions swirling within him at this moment. It was difficult to comprehend the fact that Legolas had joined the quest to destroy the One Ring for good. He had been one of the nine members of the Fellowship – the Nine Walkers; they had successfully achieved what they had set out to do and saved Middle Earth from unimaginable, eternal darkness, and their names would be written in legend forevermore.
His son's courage would be known forevermore.
"Oh Legolas," he murmured. "I was so afraid of what might happen. I could have lost you."
Legolas remained silent and simply held his father tighter.
Thranduil drew back and embraced the prince's head with both of his hands. He looked deep into the eyes of his son with disbelief, pride, and the remnants of fear which were not easily lost in the mere minutes since he had seen Legolas again with his own eyes.
The Prince of Mirkwood had outdone his noble title.
"I half expected you to be in the company of Aragorn," said Thranduil breathlessly.
The younger elf shook his head. "I was in the royal house with him earlier, but the advisers wished to have an in-depth discussion with him over the proceedings of the coronation day. They wanted to know his plans for the arrangement of the audience." He smiled wryly. "Aragorn asked me to take my leave and spend a few hours down here to escape from the work, despite my offer to stay. But Gandalf remains up there with him for support."
"Gandalf is here?"
"Yes, he will be the one to crown the new king. I can think of no one else better for that honour myself," he stated proudly.
Thranduil nodded. "And what is this other friend you spoke of?"
Legolas pressed his brow as he thought of whom his father might be referring to. Suddenly the details of his own recent letter came to him. "Oh, you mean Gimli?" he exclaimed. "He has gone off somewhere, probably to find lunch with the hobbits. He couldn't stand the pressure of the planning duties anymore!" The prince eyed his father curiously. "How do you feel about him? Does it bother you that I have a dwarf for a friend?"
The king sighed. "Legolas, you have done a great many things to cause me shock in these past years, and your friendship with this dwarf is only one more to top it off. Yes, I was dismayed when you told me, but your recent company has included the likes of many other strange creatures, from what I have heard. I cannot begin to guess the reasons behind your fondness for one of his kind, but I abandon any thought of preventing you from associating with him, for I know you will not be influenced."
Legolas laughed merrily at this. "I am glad you can live with it, Adar."
Thranduil slowly eased his hands from their position around his son's head and dropped them to his side, brushing the soft golden strands of Legolas's hair with his fingertips on the way down.
"Your bow is waiting for you at home," he said suddenly.
"My bow?" asked Legolas, wondering how it had got there.
"Yes. Lord Celeborn brought it with him when he visited." He saw Legolas smile at the report of the elf lord's thoughtful act. "I heard that Lady Galadriel bestowed you with the gift of a new bow before you left Lothlorien, but they believed you would want to keep your old one."
"Aye, I only left it behind because I could not carry two!" said the prince. "I carved that bow myself before I embarked on my first hunting mission outside of Mirkwood. It has been through a lot with me!"
The king cleared his throat and continued. "Celeborn and I have been discussing the future of the Realm, now that Dol Goldur has been cleared and evil will no longer cast its shadow on our homeland. We have even been in talk of bestowing the kingdom with a new name to celebrate the new chapter of its life. But I wanted to wait and discuss some of my suggestions with you."
"What did you have in mind?" asked Legolas brightly.
Thranduil gave him a tender look. "I thought perhaps Eryn Lasgalen would be fitting. And it honours the very first name we gave our kingdom upon its founding."
"Forest of green leaves? That is a beautiful name indeed; and may its leaves forever be green!"
Legolas suddenly began to feel a suspicion arise inside him. "Green leaves? Adar, you did not choose that title with me in mind, did you?" He realised the link between the meaning of that name and his own. His father couldn't possibly have missed that.
A smile grew across Thranduil's face. "Ah," he said, his eyes twinkling with unusual humour, "that may have been one of the inspirations for it."
Another thought then flashed across the prince's mind and left a shadow on his features. "Father..." He paused. "You do not intend to pass the realm to me now? You are not leaving, are you?" Legolas gasped internally at that notion, for it was not something he thought he could cope with at this stage. He could not bear to see his father leave when their lives and their beloved homeland had only just been freed from threat, and he was certainly not ready to assume kingship.
"Fear not, my son; I have no plans to leave for a very long time," said the Elvenking with a firm shake of his head. "There is much to be done, and I intend to oversee the restoration of Mirkwood and enjoy its completion." he added. "Besides, I would not leave you to bear alone the responsibility of the kingdom so soon after your trials in the last war."
"What happened in Mirkwood while I was away?" Legolas asked softly. He didn't like his father's subtle suggestions of some sort of harm occurring within their forest realm, and it felt as if he was keeping something from him.
"I will tell you everything tonight, Legolas. I promise. Mirkwood has had its own share of battles, as most kingdoms have, in this terrible conflict; perhaps we even got off lightly compared to others. However, there is some rebuilding to be done, as well as the removal of any traces of the evil that once inhabited there, but now we can look to a bright future ahead. Let us remain on that thought for now." He squeezed his son's shoulders and gave him a radiant smile. The younger elf felt uplifted with encouragement at his father's words, and both elves enjoyed the relief of a long-carried burden being lifted with the departure of shadow from their home.
Thranduil placed one hand behind his son's shoulder and guided him through the open doorway. They began to walk through the room side by side.
"I intend to carry out some restorations of my own," announced the prince.
"Oh?" The king turned to him in gentle surprise.
"Aragorn and I have been in discussion over Ithilien, the province to the east of Gondor – it was also badly damaged, you know. I told him I would like to organise the regeneration of its forests and he was very supportive of the idea. In fact, Aragorn suggested I collaborate with Faramir to form a plan – he is soon to be the Prince of Ithilien!"
Thranduil was taken aback to hear this. Ithilien was not an elven realm and it surprised him to learn of how much Legolas desired to be personally involved in its restoration. But then the passion of the Mirkwood prince for forests and trees exceeded that of any other Wood-Elf he knew. Legolas's notions of boundaries had been overturned by his experiences of travelling between realms during the war, and the prince was keen to work with any peoples of Middle Earth to achieve his goal of helping the sickly, ravaged woodlands to flourish once more.
"That is a very ambitious project to undertake, and a very generous one too," said Thranduil, "I am proud of you."
"Thank you, Adar," the prince whispered humbly. He was touched to hear his father declare such feelings.
"Does this mean you will not be returning to Mirkwood?" the king asked after a moment of quiet.
"No, Father, of course not! I will return with you, and I will stay for a very long time when I do. I long to go back and enjoy our home, and I do not think I can truly say I have rested until I have returned to the palace and walked in our forests again." He smiled longingly at the thought of seeing Mirkwood again and the people who must be waiting for him there. "And of course I must help with the work in our own kingdom. 'Tis so exciting that we can now move forward and make new plans for it! I will gladly work with you and support you through the process, and together we can make it prosper. And when the situation is stable and I am ready, then I will travel to Ithilien to begin my work with Faramir."
Thranduil nodded in appeasement at his son's words.
"And now would you care to tell me what happened on your quest? I am very anxious to know where you have been during these months, and learn the details of how you saved Middle Earth!"
"I would be glad to, although it will take a long time indeed to share the tale in its entirety!" Legolas remarked. "But the knowledge of what happened to the hobbits after the Fellowship was separated was only passed to me a few days ago, through their own recounting of it, so that side of events is purely from word of mouth. Come, I shall take you to my chamber and tell you there."
The father and son reached the door to the guest chamber which had been Legolas's abode since his arrival in Gondor. Legolas turned the handle and stood back to let his father enter. Once inside, he offered Thranduil a seat on the long daybed stretching against the back wall; its cushions were decorated in white stars and the deep blue shades of Gondor's heraldry.
As he sat down, Thranduil reached into a deep pocket inside his riding robe. He pulled out a folded piece of parchment which bore slight creases at the corners, having travelled with the king all the way from the Woodland Realm to the White City, but which had evidently been retained with the utmost care. He opened the precious correspondence his son had penned upon his return to Gondor after the final defeat of Sauron – his second letter in these seven long months. Thranduil's eager eyes scanned over the words he had already memorised:
...
10th of April, 3019
Dear Father,
I hope you are in good health. It is with great happiness that I write to you now from Minas Tirith, having just returned from the final battle marking the end of the War of the Ring. I want to reassure you that I am very well, although the long journey since my company's departure from Imladris has taken me across many territories to fulfil some trialling duties. It would be overwhelming to describe the events of the last seven months in one letter, so I shall save my words for when I see you. We have just returned to Gondor with the hobbits who are in need of a long period of recovery, and I am glad for the opportunity to settle at last. The Fellowship remains here and we are anxiously awaiting the crowning of Aragorn as king of Gondor and Arnor.
The coronation is set to happen on the 1st of May. I cannot begin to express the pride I feel for my friend. He faces difficult challenges ahead and has a huge responsibility to carry from that day forward, but he takes it all calmly in his stride. I have no doubt that he will make a great king. Aragorn has gained the name Elessar from the people of Minas Tirith because they often see him wearing the green jewel on his walks throughout the city – he is deeply considering adopting that name as his official title!
I am most anxious to see you again, Father. I wish for you to come to Minas Tirith and witness the coronation and enjoy the celebrations that will follow – in fact, you may consider this as an invite if you have not yet received the one from Aragorn. I know you will recognise this as an historic event which will change the course of Middle Earth, and you would want to be to here to witness it. When you arrive you must tell me all that has transpired in Mirkwood since I have been gone.
I have made another friend whom you will find slightly more unusual, and perhaps you will be shocked to know I am friends with him at all. To put it plainly he is a dwarf – Gimli son of Gloin, who hails from Erebor. Gimli was also a member of the Nine Walkers. Anyway, you will meet him when you come to Gondor.
I fear that this letter has become longer than I intended it to be when I started writing, so I will stop here and simply emphasise that I am safe and well. I will tell you of everything that transpired on the quest when we meet again, which will not be far from now.
With love and blessings,
Legolas