I know nearly everyone feels Legolas and Thranduil don't quite see eye to
eye. That's how I portray them. Not in an abusive relationship, just a
testy one. This takes place just before the Battle of Five Armies from "The
Hobbit."
"It is our duty to aid the Lakemen," Thranduil said. "In our times of need, they have proven to be noble allies. We shall perform likewise.
Legolas exhaled angrily. "You have never been truly welcoming towards the Men of Esgaroth, Father, in times of need or otherwise. Now that they have gained access to the Dragon Horde, you will rally at their side? Where is the nobility in that?"
The room was suddenly silent, though the tension was bitter and thick. The captains shifted uncomfortably, glances darting back and forth between the King and the Prince. Outside a hawk cried. The sun was high, brightly burning white light down upon the treetops, speckling the empire below the Canopy. In time, Thranduil spoke.
"Is it your wish, then, to leave the Men to tend to their own wounds?"
"That is not what I said."
"Oh?"
"Of course not. We must help them. There is no other choice but that. But do you honestly think the dwarves are going to be entirely willing to deal out their gold to unfamiliar Men, let alone the very Elves that held them captive?"
Thranduil smiled grimly. "An opportunity for ransom to be paid."
Legolas cast down his eyes, running a hand through his hair. "I have disagreed with your policies before, Father, but now I truly see folly. I feel that this conflict will eventually come to blows. But I do not share your love of riches, and if I did—"
"Of course a Prince may harbor no love of wealth, he who has been born into it and raised by its benefits throughout his life", Thranduil shot back, raising the volume in his voice a notch. "I saw this kingdom rise to its greatness, Legolas. I watched my Father lay the first stones of our hall, I saw the artisans carve the Tengwar runes into the eaves. And in time I saw him fall on the battlefield, pierced through the throat by an arrow of Angmar. But I did not allow all that he created to die with him."
"No," Legolas said. Laced in his voice was icy venom terrible to hear. "But since you have allowed our forest empire to fall to ruin. From Greenwood the Great, land where the Tree Shepherds walked in the Elder Days, it has become Mirkwood: where yrch still trespass unheeded, where shadows swallow up green shoots. Still the Spiders occasionally drink Elven blood, and they spin their strangling webs about our kingdom, slowly netting us in, multiplying and growing stronger and hungrier. And to the south a new threat has arisen." He paused, his eyes piercing, his face sad. Those who heard his next words found them to be profoundly prophetic. He said: "Gold may rust and rot away, and likewise times may change. Kingdoms rise and fall. Some that are forgotten are stirred up again and blossom anew. Others are forever lost and naught may be done for them. Our kindred to the west have all but disappeared from Middle-Earth. Soon we too shall be called away to Eressëa, and those who stay shall fade away in time. When we are denied, so shall we be doomed."
"Say what you will," said Thranduil, "But we shall stay in our realm so long as it is true.
"Our way is dying," Legolas whispered. Then he fell silent.
He thinks and speaks like an Elf of Imladris, thought Thranduil. Lyrical, sad, longing for things he shall never know. Admittedly, Thranduil was afraid as well. Deathly afraid. He felt the ebbing of their age flow out in each breeze that flitted through the boughs, and in each leaf that fell from its place on the towering trees. It was a forbidden chant whispered in the magic water of the Forest River. At night it was seen in the pinpricks of stars, in the distant green glow of Spider eyes and clicking mandibles. And with the passing of the Dragon, another large section was lost. Change was smeared across every landscape.
Thranduil concealed his fear, almost entirely out of pride, yet partly out of genuine love. He said in a steady tone: "Tomorrow we shall make for Erebor. To live in the shadows of the future is fruitless, Legolas. This is where our duty rests now."
Legolas looked at his father for a moment. "Must I come as well?"
"Aye, indeed you must." A hint of defiance could be seen in his son's expression. Thranduil said: "That is a command. Your kingdom has need of you."
"Yes, Father." His voice was dead, and the same hawk cried out.
"It is our duty to aid the Lakemen," Thranduil said. "In our times of need, they have proven to be noble allies. We shall perform likewise.
Legolas exhaled angrily. "You have never been truly welcoming towards the Men of Esgaroth, Father, in times of need or otherwise. Now that they have gained access to the Dragon Horde, you will rally at their side? Where is the nobility in that?"
The room was suddenly silent, though the tension was bitter and thick. The captains shifted uncomfortably, glances darting back and forth between the King and the Prince. Outside a hawk cried. The sun was high, brightly burning white light down upon the treetops, speckling the empire below the Canopy. In time, Thranduil spoke.
"Is it your wish, then, to leave the Men to tend to their own wounds?"
"That is not what I said."
"Oh?"
"Of course not. We must help them. There is no other choice but that. But do you honestly think the dwarves are going to be entirely willing to deal out their gold to unfamiliar Men, let alone the very Elves that held them captive?"
Thranduil smiled grimly. "An opportunity for ransom to be paid."
Legolas cast down his eyes, running a hand through his hair. "I have disagreed with your policies before, Father, but now I truly see folly. I feel that this conflict will eventually come to blows. But I do not share your love of riches, and if I did—"
"Of course a Prince may harbor no love of wealth, he who has been born into it and raised by its benefits throughout his life", Thranduil shot back, raising the volume in his voice a notch. "I saw this kingdom rise to its greatness, Legolas. I watched my Father lay the first stones of our hall, I saw the artisans carve the Tengwar runes into the eaves. And in time I saw him fall on the battlefield, pierced through the throat by an arrow of Angmar. But I did not allow all that he created to die with him."
"No," Legolas said. Laced in his voice was icy venom terrible to hear. "But since you have allowed our forest empire to fall to ruin. From Greenwood the Great, land where the Tree Shepherds walked in the Elder Days, it has become Mirkwood: where yrch still trespass unheeded, where shadows swallow up green shoots. Still the Spiders occasionally drink Elven blood, and they spin their strangling webs about our kingdom, slowly netting us in, multiplying and growing stronger and hungrier. And to the south a new threat has arisen." He paused, his eyes piercing, his face sad. Those who heard his next words found them to be profoundly prophetic. He said: "Gold may rust and rot away, and likewise times may change. Kingdoms rise and fall. Some that are forgotten are stirred up again and blossom anew. Others are forever lost and naught may be done for them. Our kindred to the west have all but disappeared from Middle-Earth. Soon we too shall be called away to Eressëa, and those who stay shall fade away in time. When we are denied, so shall we be doomed."
"Say what you will," said Thranduil, "But we shall stay in our realm so long as it is true.
"Our way is dying," Legolas whispered. Then he fell silent.
He thinks and speaks like an Elf of Imladris, thought Thranduil. Lyrical, sad, longing for things he shall never know. Admittedly, Thranduil was afraid as well. Deathly afraid. He felt the ebbing of their age flow out in each breeze that flitted through the boughs, and in each leaf that fell from its place on the towering trees. It was a forbidden chant whispered in the magic water of the Forest River. At night it was seen in the pinpricks of stars, in the distant green glow of Spider eyes and clicking mandibles. And with the passing of the Dragon, another large section was lost. Change was smeared across every landscape.
Thranduil concealed his fear, almost entirely out of pride, yet partly out of genuine love. He said in a steady tone: "Tomorrow we shall make for Erebor. To live in the shadows of the future is fruitless, Legolas. This is where our duty rests now."
Legolas looked at his father for a moment. "Must I come as well?"
"Aye, indeed you must." A hint of defiance could be seen in his son's expression. Thranduil said: "That is a command. Your kingdom has need of you."
"Yes, Father." His voice was dead, and the same hawk cried out.