Hello again! From the dark little corners of my head that are in
desperate need of dusting comes..a young Legolas fic!
Disclaimer: Don't own LotR *sob * belongs to The Great Tolkien. ALL HAIL!!!
Note- little bit, okay, quite a bit of angst in the first couple of chaps just to warn u. And the rating is just to be safe; I doubt this is PG-13. Thank u:)
He had heard the whispers for as long as he could remember. All about the palace halls, when they thought he was not listening, a group of servants would sniff and comment as he walked by. The young prince sighed quietly to himself as these memories came to mind. A bird called somewhere from the depths of Mirkwood, shaking away the last remnants of elven sleep from him.
A soft knock on the door made him jump in surprise. "Legolas, have you woken?" He did not answer. After a moment, his elf ears heard footsteps receding down the long hall. At once, Legolas sprang from his bed, already fully dressed, and grabbed a bow leaning against his bed. He paused, listening, then when he was sure no one approached the youngest son of Thranduil dashed out of his chamber, closing the door behind him softly in one graceful motion.
Legolas breathed a sigh of relief as he slipped into the deserted archery field on the borders of Mirkwood forest. Like most of his kindred, the nine hundred-year elf preferred to be in the company of trees rather than other elves. For the moment, the welcoming saplings sprouting near to the grassy field was enough for the son of Thranduil. But even Legolas agreed with the servants when they said he had grown reclusive, even to his family. It was difficult not to be, he thought to himself as he knocked an arrow and sighted a target, when even his father looked at him strangely, like Legolas had betrayed him in an unspeakable way.
"It was not your fault, Legolas," his eldest brother, Olorphin, had told him once. "It never was; Valar strike me dead if it was."
As he let an arrow fly, Legolas prayed that Olorphin was right. He had never intended to murder his mother.
~ ~ ~
"Milord," Olorphin's voice interrupted Thranduil in mid-pace as he entered the study. Turning to his son, he knew immediately that something was wrong. His eldest son's usually penetrating bronze gaze was cast down, unwilling to look into his father's face.
"You may see her now." The Wood elf king hurriedly pushed open the doors to his study and strode quickly down the palace halls to his wife's chambers.
Naturiel raised her wearied head as her husband rushed to her bedside. Her soft face was flushed with exhaustion and her golden brown hair was matted and unkempt from hours of labor, making her all the more lovely, in Thranduil's opinion. The king did not notice the paleness of her skin or the solemn expressions of the healers behind him.
"His name is Legolas," the elf queen murmured, her breath coming in short gasps. Thranduil realized that she held a small baby in her arms. He gently touched his new son's cheek. The prince smiled and attempted to grasp his father's finger with both of his tiny hands. Thranduil felt his heart melt as Legolas looked up at him, innocent eyes wide, as if asking his father to accept him, to love him as his son. The king gently lifted the bundle from his wife's arms, cradling the fragile life that was his son close to his chest. "Take care of him, Melyanna," Naturiel's hushed voice brought Thranduil back to the present. He frowned in confusion. A hand on his back made him bring his eyes to the sorrowful gaze of a healer.
"Milord, she... she will not live."
"No." Thranduil turned back to his wife in fierce disbelief, suddenly perceiving her weakened state. His voice shook as sheer terror came over him for perhaps the first time in his long life. "Naturiel."
"Please, Melyanna, take care of him," she whispered. Her brilliant blue eyes clouded over.
"No."
The acceptance Legolas had searched for in his father in that first gaze never came.
~ ~ ~
The realm of the Wood elf King was crumbling. That knowledge made itself ever clearer to Thranduil as he strode through the sunlit halls of his palace. The absence of a Ring of Power weighed heavily upon Mirkwood, despite the king's best efforts to maintain the kingdom. The foul beings that inhabited the forest moved with sureness now, bypassing the borders to the kingdom as if waking from an age long slumber. Nothing else stirred from beyond the woodland realm, adding to the king's discomfort. Not all was well within Middle-Earth; even Thranduil had to admit it. Though no threat presented itself to Arda openly, a steady current of unrest had begun in the depths of Mirkwood.
As if to confirm his suspicions, the sound of the arrival of horses reached the king's Elven ears. Olorphin and his company of warriors appeared from a forest path, returning from a border patrol. Thranduil felt a deepening sense of dread fall to the pit of his stomach as he watched the riders from a balcony. The numbers of the warriors were despairingly few, and the remaining elves looked battered and wearied from battle. The dread quickly grew to a slow fear as Thranduil realized that Thilaglar was not with the company.
"Milord," Olorphin greeted his father as Thranduil approached the riders in front of the stables. Around them a small crowd of elves gathered, searching for their loved ones among the surviving group.
"What ill fortune fell upon you?" The king demanded bluntly. Olorphin's gaze flickered for a moment, then returned to a state of blankness, blocking whatever emotion his face might reveal. The prince dismounted quickly and stood before his father.
"We were attacked." he began, "At nightfall, at least a dozen spiders came across our camp. We were not prepared, and lost many." This time the grief was apparent in the elf prince's eyes. Turning away, he pulled a helmet from his saddle- bag.
"Thilaglar was lost."
Thranduil's hands shook as he took his third eldest son's helmet from Olorphin's hands. A series of emotions flashed across his face, finally settling on a stony glare that Olorphin had seen many years ago, after Naturiel had died in childbirth. The prince silently led his chestnut steed away, leaving Thranduil alone with the last memory of his son.
The arrow lodged in its target with a sharp twang, a perfect hit. Legolas reached for another, not quite pleased with his first shot. Of course, he hardly ever was quite satisfied with his skills with the bow. With eight older brothers to feel inferior to, even a slight mishap earned Legolas endless humiliation from his kin. Carefully he pulled another arrow from his quiver, choosing a smaller target nearly buried behind the undergrowth of Mirkwood. He fired, and the arrow flew true to its mark.
"An excellent shot, milord." Legolas jumped a foot off the ground as a golden haired elf appeared from the brush where his arrow had vanished. " Your wondrous aim nearly speared my right arm."
Legolas offered an apologetic smile, all the while fuming at his brother. Trust Belegril to disturb a peaceful morning of solitude. He wondered why the arrogant elf had not joined the company that had left some weeks earlier to patrol Mirkwood's borders.
"I trust you are not here to inspect my archery skills," Legolas said, annoyed.
"Nay, but if I go, you will have no willing target with which to test them on," he retorted smoothly.
Legolas watched his brother swiftly remove his arrow from the target, a small wooden block hung from a tree, and examine it closely. Second eldest of the nine sons, Belegril bore a striking resemblance to his father. With sharp grey eyes and a regal posture, he bore the mark of royalty more so than any of his kin, and could often be mistaken for Thranduil himself if looked on from behind. Olorphin frequently said that he was more like his mother before she died, soft spoken and compassionate. The passing of Naturiel was quick to put sharpness in his step, and coldness in his words, however, creating an even more convincing imitation of Thranduil. Perhaps this was why he does not leave the palace walls easily, Legolas thought to himself. Like Thranduil feared for his sons' lives, Belegril feared that battle would leave no heir to the throne of Mirkwood, and busied himself in the cavernous palace library, studying the languages and history of Arda. Legolas himself saw no point in his older brother's actions. The young prince longed to join the war parties that scouted the forests to defeat spiders and other foul things. While Belegril spent hours in an ancient text, Legolas worked to exhaustion perfecting his skills with the bow. Naturally, the brothers hardly ever found something to agree on.
"Father wishes to see us," Belegril informed Legolas, returning the arrow to its quiver lying on the ground. "And Olorphin's company has returned from the borders."
Legolas's blue eyes shone at this bit of news. Bidding Belegril a hasty farewell and thanks, he eagerly gathered his training bow and quiver and hurried to the stables to meet the company. Any excuse to avoid a confrontation with his father was always welcomed.
Legolas broke into a run as he caught sight of Olorphin leading his horse to the stable. The eldest son of Thranduil turned at the sound of his name, and gave a small smile that made his brother freeze in his tracks.
"What news of the borders?" Legolas asked tentatively as worry began to creep up his spine.
Olorphin shook his dark head. "Naught that you should burden yourself with, not yet." His tone only made Legolas's worry rise. He followed Olorphin into the extensive stables, taking care to stay out of way of the many horses flooding into their stalls.
"What happened, brother?" he shouted above the clatter of hooves. Olorphin did not reply at first, then spoke softly.
"Father wishes to speak to you. Make haste, for he will not wait long."
Legolas gave up and wove his way through the now chaotic stable aisle to the palace.
Sun danced upon the numerous volumes of the palace library, casting its rays everywhere it could reach. Thranduil felt its warmth on his face, but did not recognize it. He looked to the large window overlooking the archery fields. A few elves gathered to practice, drawing freshly fletched arrows from intricately carved quivers. Someone sang a sweet song of welcoming nearby, but the wood elf king did not hear it. Turning his gaze inward, he found Belegril slumped in one of his favorite chairs, features blank as the desk before him. Elven senses warned Thranduil of the arrival of his youngest son. Legolas made no sound as he entered the cavernous library, but strode swiftly to his father's desk. The sight of the young prince drove a dagger through the king's heart. He looked so much like his mother, the only son to inherit her deep sapphire gaze and softened features. How many times had he pondered this, that he should look so much like her and yet be the one to-
Thranduil shook his head, and the thought disappeared. Refusing to look Legolas in the eye, he turned his gaze to the door as Olorphin entered, closing the door behind him. Since Thranduil's other five sons were away on scouting trips, there would only be three to mourn their brother's death.
Olorphin promptly sat next to Belegril, murmuring something incoherent and placing a comforting hand on his brother's back. Legolas regarded them all questioningly, managing to remind Thranduil of his youth even as the young prince folded his arms across his chest in confusion. The wearied king sighed and motioned for Legolas join his brothers in a chair. He thought for a moment, trying to decide what to tell the young prince, and finally settled on the truth.
"Legolas, your brother Thilaglar, is gone." Thranduil held his breath, waiting for his son's reaction. The elf did not move, and for a moment, Thranduil thought he was not breathing.
"How?" The word came just above a whisper.
"Defending the borders. Legolas,"
Without a word, Legolas ran from the library, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him.
Gone. How could such an able warrior have-?
Legolas did not fight the tear that ran down his cheek, splashing onto his soft tunic, followed by another that dripped onto his pillow. Olorphin always returned from battle. Thilaglar had always returned from battle. The prince had not paid much heed to the weeping elven women and the riderless horses that came with the returning companies. All he knew was the borders were safe again and his brothers were heroes. Now, now he understood why the she- elves wept and the horses returned without warriors upon their backs. He shook his head in disbelief. Elves were immortal. Any fool in all of Arda knew that. How could such a valiant elven warrior...die...like any mortal?
"Legolas? Legolas!" Olorphin's sharp tone made the son of Thranduil jump. Legolas said nothing, and soon he heard the familiar tread of footsteps down the hall.
Legolas should have understood how. Another tear disgraced his cheek and landed on his bed as he thought. He should have known; the prince knew why Thranduil looked at him differently. He had killed his mother. Legolas let loose a sob. He had killed his mother and now Thilaglar was gone. A mocking voice in the back of his mind sang, 'your fault, your fault, you have led your brother to his doom.'
The son of Thranduil shook his head violently. No, it was not true. But he shuddered as an icy hand gripped his throat and he felt in his heart that it was true.
Disclaimer: Don't own LotR *sob * belongs to The Great Tolkien. ALL HAIL!!!
Note- little bit, okay, quite a bit of angst in the first couple of chaps just to warn u. And the rating is just to be safe; I doubt this is PG-13. Thank u:)
He had heard the whispers for as long as he could remember. All about the palace halls, when they thought he was not listening, a group of servants would sniff and comment as he walked by. The young prince sighed quietly to himself as these memories came to mind. A bird called somewhere from the depths of Mirkwood, shaking away the last remnants of elven sleep from him.
A soft knock on the door made him jump in surprise. "Legolas, have you woken?" He did not answer. After a moment, his elf ears heard footsteps receding down the long hall. At once, Legolas sprang from his bed, already fully dressed, and grabbed a bow leaning against his bed. He paused, listening, then when he was sure no one approached the youngest son of Thranduil dashed out of his chamber, closing the door behind him softly in one graceful motion.
Legolas breathed a sigh of relief as he slipped into the deserted archery field on the borders of Mirkwood forest. Like most of his kindred, the nine hundred-year elf preferred to be in the company of trees rather than other elves. For the moment, the welcoming saplings sprouting near to the grassy field was enough for the son of Thranduil. But even Legolas agreed with the servants when they said he had grown reclusive, even to his family. It was difficult not to be, he thought to himself as he knocked an arrow and sighted a target, when even his father looked at him strangely, like Legolas had betrayed him in an unspeakable way.
"It was not your fault, Legolas," his eldest brother, Olorphin, had told him once. "It never was; Valar strike me dead if it was."
As he let an arrow fly, Legolas prayed that Olorphin was right. He had never intended to murder his mother.
~ ~ ~
"Milord," Olorphin's voice interrupted Thranduil in mid-pace as he entered the study. Turning to his son, he knew immediately that something was wrong. His eldest son's usually penetrating bronze gaze was cast down, unwilling to look into his father's face.
"You may see her now." The Wood elf king hurriedly pushed open the doors to his study and strode quickly down the palace halls to his wife's chambers.
Naturiel raised her wearied head as her husband rushed to her bedside. Her soft face was flushed with exhaustion and her golden brown hair was matted and unkempt from hours of labor, making her all the more lovely, in Thranduil's opinion. The king did not notice the paleness of her skin or the solemn expressions of the healers behind him.
"His name is Legolas," the elf queen murmured, her breath coming in short gasps. Thranduil realized that she held a small baby in her arms. He gently touched his new son's cheek. The prince smiled and attempted to grasp his father's finger with both of his tiny hands. Thranduil felt his heart melt as Legolas looked up at him, innocent eyes wide, as if asking his father to accept him, to love him as his son. The king gently lifted the bundle from his wife's arms, cradling the fragile life that was his son close to his chest. "Take care of him, Melyanna," Naturiel's hushed voice brought Thranduil back to the present. He frowned in confusion. A hand on his back made him bring his eyes to the sorrowful gaze of a healer.
"Milord, she... she will not live."
"No." Thranduil turned back to his wife in fierce disbelief, suddenly perceiving her weakened state. His voice shook as sheer terror came over him for perhaps the first time in his long life. "Naturiel."
"Please, Melyanna, take care of him," she whispered. Her brilliant blue eyes clouded over.
"No."
The acceptance Legolas had searched for in his father in that first gaze never came.
~ ~ ~
The realm of the Wood elf King was crumbling. That knowledge made itself ever clearer to Thranduil as he strode through the sunlit halls of his palace. The absence of a Ring of Power weighed heavily upon Mirkwood, despite the king's best efforts to maintain the kingdom. The foul beings that inhabited the forest moved with sureness now, bypassing the borders to the kingdom as if waking from an age long slumber. Nothing else stirred from beyond the woodland realm, adding to the king's discomfort. Not all was well within Middle-Earth; even Thranduil had to admit it. Though no threat presented itself to Arda openly, a steady current of unrest had begun in the depths of Mirkwood.
As if to confirm his suspicions, the sound of the arrival of horses reached the king's Elven ears. Olorphin and his company of warriors appeared from a forest path, returning from a border patrol. Thranduil felt a deepening sense of dread fall to the pit of his stomach as he watched the riders from a balcony. The numbers of the warriors were despairingly few, and the remaining elves looked battered and wearied from battle. The dread quickly grew to a slow fear as Thranduil realized that Thilaglar was not with the company.
"Milord," Olorphin greeted his father as Thranduil approached the riders in front of the stables. Around them a small crowd of elves gathered, searching for their loved ones among the surviving group.
"What ill fortune fell upon you?" The king demanded bluntly. Olorphin's gaze flickered for a moment, then returned to a state of blankness, blocking whatever emotion his face might reveal. The prince dismounted quickly and stood before his father.
"We were attacked." he began, "At nightfall, at least a dozen spiders came across our camp. We were not prepared, and lost many." This time the grief was apparent in the elf prince's eyes. Turning away, he pulled a helmet from his saddle- bag.
"Thilaglar was lost."
Thranduil's hands shook as he took his third eldest son's helmet from Olorphin's hands. A series of emotions flashed across his face, finally settling on a stony glare that Olorphin had seen many years ago, after Naturiel had died in childbirth. The prince silently led his chestnut steed away, leaving Thranduil alone with the last memory of his son.
The arrow lodged in its target with a sharp twang, a perfect hit. Legolas reached for another, not quite pleased with his first shot. Of course, he hardly ever was quite satisfied with his skills with the bow. With eight older brothers to feel inferior to, even a slight mishap earned Legolas endless humiliation from his kin. Carefully he pulled another arrow from his quiver, choosing a smaller target nearly buried behind the undergrowth of Mirkwood. He fired, and the arrow flew true to its mark.
"An excellent shot, milord." Legolas jumped a foot off the ground as a golden haired elf appeared from the brush where his arrow had vanished. " Your wondrous aim nearly speared my right arm."
Legolas offered an apologetic smile, all the while fuming at his brother. Trust Belegril to disturb a peaceful morning of solitude. He wondered why the arrogant elf had not joined the company that had left some weeks earlier to patrol Mirkwood's borders.
"I trust you are not here to inspect my archery skills," Legolas said, annoyed.
"Nay, but if I go, you will have no willing target with which to test them on," he retorted smoothly.
Legolas watched his brother swiftly remove his arrow from the target, a small wooden block hung from a tree, and examine it closely. Second eldest of the nine sons, Belegril bore a striking resemblance to his father. With sharp grey eyes and a regal posture, he bore the mark of royalty more so than any of his kin, and could often be mistaken for Thranduil himself if looked on from behind. Olorphin frequently said that he was more like his mother before she died, soft spoken and compassionate. The passing of Naturiel was quick to put sharpness in his step, and coldness in his words, however, creating an even more convincing imitation of Thranduil. Perhaps this was why he does not leave the palace walls easily, Legolas thought to himself. Like Thranduil feared for his sons' lives, Belegril feared that battle would leave no heir to the throne of Mirkwood, and busied himself in the cavernous palace library, studying the languages and history of Arda. Legolas himself saw no point in his older brother's actions. The young prince longed to join the war parties that scouted the forests to defeat spiders and other foul things. While Belegril spent hours in an ancient text, Legolas worked to exhaustion perfecting his skills with the bow. Naturally, the brothers hardly ever found something to agree on.
"Father wishes to see us," Belegril informed Legolas, returning the arrow to its quiver lying on the ground. "And Olorphin's company has returned from the borders."
Legolas's blue eyes shone at this bit of news. Bidding Belegril a hasty farewell and thanks, he eagerly gathered his training bow and quiver and hurried to the stables to meet the company. Any excuse to avoid a confrontation with his father was always welcomed.
Legolas broke into a run as he caught sight of Olorphin leading his horse to the stable. The eldest son of Thranduil turned at the sound of his name, and gave a small smile that made his brother freeze in his tracks.
"What news of the borders?" Legolas asked tentatively as worry began to creep up his spine.
Olorphin shook his dark head. "Naught that you should burden yourself with, not yet." His tone only made Legolas's worry rise. He followed Olorphin into the extensive stables, taking care to stay out of way of the many horses flooding into their stalls.
"What happened, brother?" he shouted above the clatter of hooves. Olorphin did not reply at first, then spoke softly.
"Father wishes to speak to you. Make haste, for he will not wait long."
Legolas gave up and wove his way through the now chaotic stable aisle to the palace.
Sun danced upon the numerous volumes of the palace library, casting its rays everywhere it could reach. Thranduil felt its warmth on his face, but did not recognize it. He looked to the large window overlooking the archery fields. A few elves gathered to practice, drawing freshly fletched arrows from intricately carved quivers. Someone sang a sweet song of welcoming nearby, but the wood elf king did not hear it. Turning his gaze inward, he found Belegril slumped in one of his favorite chairs, features blank as the desk before him. Elven senses warned Thranduil of the arrival of his youngest son. Legolas made no sound as he entered the cavernous library, but strode swiftly to his father's desk. The sight of the young prince drove a dagger through the king's heart. He looked so much like his mother, the only son to inherit her deep sapphire gaze and softened features. How many times had he pondered this, that he should look so much like her and yet be the one to-
Thranduil shook his head, and the thought disappeared. Refusing to look Legolas in the eye, he turned his gaze to the door as Olorphin entered, closing the door behind him. Since Thranduil's other five sons were away on scouting trips, there would only be three to mourn their brother's death.
Olorphin promptly sat next to Belegril, murmuring something incoherent and placing a comforting hand on his brother's back. Legolas regarded them all questioningly, managing to remind Thranduil of his youth even as the young prince folded his arms across his chest in confusion. The wearied king sighed and motioned for Legolas join his brothers in a chair. He thought for a moment, trying to decide what to tell the young prince, and finally settled on the truth.
"Legolas, your brother Thilaglar, is gone." Thranduil held his breath, waiting for his son's reaction. The elf did not move, and for a moment, Thranduil thought he was not breathing.
"How?" The word came just above a whisper.
"Defending the borders. Legolas,"
Without a word, Legolas ran from the library, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him.
Gone. How could such an able warrior have-?
Legolas did not fight the tear that ran down his cheek, splashing onto his soft tunic, followed by another that dripped onto his pillow. Olorphin always returned from battle. Thilaglar had always returned from battle. The prince had not paid much heed to the weeping elven women and the riderless horses that came with the returning companies. All he knew was the borders were safe again and his brothers were heroes. Now, now he understood why the she- elves wept and the horses returned without warriors upon their backs. He shook his head in disbelief. Elves were immortal. Any fool in all of Arda knew that. How could such a valiant elven warrior...die...like any mortal?
"Legolas? Legolas!" Olorphin's sharp tone made the son of Thranduil jump. Legolas said nothing, and soon he heard the familiar tread of footsteps down the hall.
Legolas should have understood how. Another tear disgraced his cheek and landed on his bed as he thought. He should have known; the prince knew why Thranduil looked at him differently. He had killed his mother. Legolas let loose a sob. He had killed his mother and now Thilaglar was gone. A mocking voice in the back of his mind sang, 'your fault, your fault, you have led your brother to his doom.'
The son of Thranduil shook his head violently. No, it was not true. But he shuddered as an icy hand gripped his throat and he felt in his heart that it was true.