Hi, everyone. This is my new story about King Thranduil. Thanks for stopping by. I appreciate it.
The king's hall was not the place for joy. The throne was sat by a king who was condemned to suffer interminably. It was a purgatory for him, a place of waiting. He had waited for so long; waited for the new sunrise, waited for the next spring, waited for the next conquest. But most of all, Thranduil was waiting for his beloved son to come back.
He had never returned.
Mirkwood was not the treasure house of the beautiful memory but rather the vestige of sadness imprinted by loss.
The remnant of the forgotten past was buried here in the king's hall.
It was the abomination of Eru, the Mighty God, that cursed Thranduil to live forever with no love.
Every breath of the king was lifeless. He had died a long time ago in the flame of Mordor where his queen fell into the enemy's hand.
All he wanted was to see him again, Legolas.
"Mae athollen, ion nín.* Welcome back, my son." Whispered Thranduil. He wanted to greet Legolas on his return.
Silence, only silence covered the king's hall. Living alone for too long, Thranduil felt he started losing his mind.
"Welcome back home, my son." He whispered again. He wanted to hold his son in his arms. It would be the first time in a thousand year that he would find his peace again.
"I hope I do not interrupt you, your Majesty." A servant came in. He bowed once. Lord Elrond sent a dossier to Thranduil. He opened it delicately.
"Ae! A copy of the red book of Westmarch written by Bilbo and Frodo." His eyes gleamed with joy. It might be interesting, Thranduil thought. Flipping through the book quickly, Thranduil was disappointed. He put the book down and sighed.
"They rarely mention anything about me in the book. I am the great king of Mirkwood, but they don't even give me the name in the book. Ae! yes. The Elven king! How many times? Two, three. That's all they talk about me? I had fought thousands of wars before these little toddlers learned to walk. My life is more adventurous!"
Thranduil was furious, then he calmed down, realizing that the servant was watching.
"Very well, I don't care about this nonsense." He sat on his throne again. The king's hall was silent once more.
"Your Majesty, do you want me to keep it in your library?" asked the servant.
"Keep it anywhere you like. Do not trouble me with this immaterial matter. Just keep it out of my sight."
The servant bowed again but before he was about to leave Thranduil changed his mind.
"Wait. Let me take a look at it again. Maybe it's not too bad for me to read. I am dying of boredom in this great hall."
Thranduil took the book back with enthusiasm.
"I have a better idea. I will write a new one, a new story about me. Ae! I don't have much time. Maybe I will start with short stories first then let see where it leads to. Bring me a pen." He commanded. The servant rushed to fulfill his demand. A table was set up on his throne.
"Trees may wither. Rivers may dry. Lands may decline, but the only way to keep the memory survives is to write." Said Thranduil.
"Si ath thûr!* Now to victory!" Thranduil began his first chapter.
