Title: Ivy on the Walls
Summary: During a restless night after returning from a long outing in the south, Legolas reflects on how he and his home have changed since the start of the war in Mirkwood, and Thranduil seeks to comfort and motivate his son.
Author's Note: Hello, I'm back! I've been trying to work on another longer story, and I am just not happy with it. But, I wanted to post something because it has been a while, and ended up with this one shot. If you have a second to let me know what you think, I always appreciate feedback and constructive criticism! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own The Lord of the Rings or anything else created by J. R. R. Tolkien, I just like to play in his world.
Legolas rested his elbows on the edge of the walls and breathed in the smell of the forest., the earthy scent helping to ground him. He had been away from his father's stronghold in the north for three years, leading the elves at the southern borders in their battles against the darkness that spread from Dol Guldur, and he felt out of sorts after his recent return.
Three years was not long for an elf. Normally, the passing of so few years was hardly worth noticing, but things changed rapidly these days in what was once the Greenwood. So very recently his mother smiled as she watched him train to become a warrior and stood with strength and grace by his father's side at the throne. Now, she was gone. So very recently his people lived throughout a vast, green, and peaceful forest. Now, they huddled behind walls in a stronghold in the north. So very recently, his duties as a warrior meant helping farmers fend off wolves or the occasional spider infestation. Now, it meant perpetual battles with orcs, spiders, and other foul creatures. It meant separation from loved ones. It meant losing friends.
So very recently, his home was known throughout Middle Earth as Eryn Galen, or Greenwood the Great. Now, it was called Mirkwood but all save the elves who dwelled there. Legolas would never call his home by that wretched name. But if he was being honest, the name was fitting for these lands now.
So very recently, the very walls that he rested upon did not exist. Now, they stood as a barrier between the elves and danger, grown over with ivy and moss for having stood so long. A necessary nuisance, his father had told him when the walls were first built, to protect their people from the invading evil.
In Legolas' opinion, these walls were an offense to the forest and they did not belong in his home. Or at least, they hadn't, not so long ago. He understood all too well the dangers that existed outside of these walls. But elves, and wood elves in particular, did not like to be separated from nature. Rather, they communed with it. Inside and outside flowed from one to the other in seamless transition.
Gently, Legolas ran his fingers through the leaves of the ivy. He supposed this particular development was not a bad thing. The forest was claiming the walls, making them part of the landscape while still leaving them intact to protect the elves who enjoyed some measure of safety behind them. Legolas often wondered if the walls were a symbol of fear or of security to the elves who lived within them. Both perhaps, and regardless of what they represented, his father was right and they were necessary for now.
Three years outside of the walls had taught him just how necessary. Outside, no one was safe. Attacks came frequently and often with very little warning. The darkness in the south was so deep that the sun no longer penetrated the thick cover of trees and spider webs, allowing orcs to roam freely even in the middle of the day. Constant vigilance was necessary. Keeping watch over an encampment was no mere formality as it had been when he was a child, it was a necessity.
Even when off duty, it was difficult to find rest. Rest was, of course, necessary—sleep was a weapon that could be wielded against the enemy as much as a bow or blade, what good was a warrior who could not keep his or her feet for weariness? But they slept with their boots on and knives at their sides. They slept a half sleep, ready to awaken at the first sign of trouble. Such vigilance took a toll on even the best warriors and eventually everyone needed a break—a respite behind these walls. As a captain and the prince, Legolas had found himself extending his time outside of the walls over and over again to help with reinforcements for a patrol or to lead a particular offensive action. He had not even realized it had been three years since he left home until his father, who was very much aware of how long he had been gone, ordered him to return. He came willingly, he had not set out with the intent to stay so long as he had. Now, he was once again behind well-guarded walls and as safe as one could be in this realm, but Legolas found it hard to stop the constant awareness for threats or danger.
Legolas had returned only a few weeks ago. At first, he found rest easily enough—he had been exhausted then and kept busy by the schedule set for him by the War Council, who wanted the most recent updates and analysis directly from their prince. He knew this forest and this war better than anyone else now. Better even than his father, who had wandered these woods far longer than he had. As the king, Thranduil was more often than not forced to stay behind the walls—responsible for the elves' strategy in the conflict—venturing out only with great need. His son, on the other hand, was sent out to confront the danger head on, to take on the tactical challenges of the war, and to implement his father's and the War Council's strategy.
He had been questioned relentlessly about the state of the forest, about their enemy's numbers and tactics, about the successes and failures of their warriors. While he was gone, he'd sent back as much as he could in his reports. But time was a commodity, and there was never enough of it to go around. His reports were often brief out of necessity, containing only the most essential information. Besides, other elves who returned to the stronghold were also expected and able to provide information in person that Legolas could not provide in writing. But, as Prince, he was part of the Council when he was here to participate. This made Legolas both a source of information and a decision-maker, and gave him a unique perspective and insight into the challenges the elves faced.
Today had been the first day that he'd had any time to himself. At first, he was glad for it, but quickly he'd grown bored and uncertain of what to do with himself. When night had fallen, he had not been worn out from the day for the first time in a very long time and found himself restless. Having spent years in the forest, sleeping in the cover of the trees and under the watchful eyes of his friends and fellow warriors, he was unused to a bed and big, open room. It made him feel vulnerable. Without exhaustion to aid him, he found himself unable to sleep.
Accepting the fact that rest would continue to elude him, he'd prowled the buildings that made up his home, moving silently through the empty throne room, the council's chamber, the warriors' training grounds, the quartermaster's halls… He'd spent some time on the archery grounds contemplating training with his bow for a while—archery usually calmed him. He'd not truly practiced in the last three years, but used his bow in battle so much that his skills had sharpened rather than waned despite the lack of training. The thought of archery now brought to mind recent battles, those who'd lived and those who'd died, ground gained and ground lost—he loved the craft, but archery would not bring him peace tonight.
He'd moved on and trekked the walls that surrounded his home, nodding at guards as he passed them but not stopping for conversation. He'd not come here on purpose, it seemed his feet had brought him here of their own accord. Now, he leaned against the edge of the wall, scanning the surrounding trees for threats without even realizing he was doing it.
He did not wear the light armor he wore in the south, but he did carry his weapons. Direct attacks on the walls were rare, but they happened. The orcs were growing bolder lately, and Legolas suspected that assaults near the stronghold would increase. And in any case, these weapons had been his only permanent companions while in the south and he felt far too exposed without them now. To leave his weapons behind was tantamount to forgetting to dress. These past few years had changed him.
His father had changed too. When time allowed, father and son had exchanged letters during their separation, but neither had much leisure time for letter-writing. Even in the shortest of notes, Thranduil's worry for his son was evident. But there had been little Thranduil could do for his son save worry. It was also clear that Thranduil worried for the kingdom. They both did. This war had consumed their lives. They had been forced into decisions that neither of them liked.
Thranduil had made the decision to build the walls. He had acted as though he was not concerned by it, as though he was confident that it was the right decision, as though their presence did not offend him. But Legolas knew better. Legolas knew that building these walls had been a silent admission by the king that their situation was indeed dire and that he did not know how else to keep his people safe.
A touch on his shoulder jolted him from his reverie, and his response was instinctive. He turned and drew his knife in the same instant, his other arm moving forcibly upward to block a blow that did not come. He was furious with himself for being caught off guard, but his motions now were swift and certain.
At least they were until he found himself staring into the penetrating gray eyes of his father, and not into the malevolent black eyes of an orc. Thranduil calmly and deliberately raised his hands in a placating gesture, stepping back from his son and the knife that had come to rest against his throat. For a moment, neither father nor son moved or spoke.
The guards nearest them had noticed the commotion and reacted quickly as well. They had moved to draw their bows, but they now hovered uncomfortably with arrows knocked, but not drawn. Their uncertainty was palpable.
Eyes wide with horror at what he had done and, even worse, what he had nearly done, Legolas recovered himself. He pulled his knife away, trying to still the tremble in his hand. The prince stepped back and bowed low, looking as though he longed to retreat farther than the relatively narrow passage at the top of the wall allowed, "Aran nin, goheno nin."
Thranduil regarded his son in silence for a moment, before he waived the guards away and stepped forward, closing the space between him and his son. Still moving with deliberation, the way one might when facing a wild animal, Thranduil grasped his son's shoulders and straightened him, "There is nothing to forgive, ion nin," Thranduil pursed his lips and pulled his son into a firm embrace, "This is why I ordered your return," he breathed quietly into his son's ear.
Legolas tensed for a moment. He'd not been this close to anyone else in a long time, but eventually relaxed and returned the embrace.
Thranduil relished this closeness with his son. He and Legolas loved each other, but did not often express it like this. They parted somewhat reluctantly.
Legolas turned back to the forest, not willing to meet his father's eyes just yet. He leaned back on the wall and continued gazing into the darkness.
The king moved to stand next to him. He did not lean against the wall as casually as his son, but he did rest his hands on it, unconsciously running his fingers through the leaves of the ivy much as Legolas had done not long before, "Do you see anything of note this evening?"
"Nothing, all is quiet," Legolas replied, as though giving a report.
"As it should be," Thranduil responded. "You know, the guards here have successfully protected these walls and this stronghold since last you were home. Your commitment to your duties is admirable, but unnecessary. When I asked that you come back, it was for rest, not for guard duty."
His son rewarded him with a faint smile, "Asked? I thought I was ordered home, my king."
"Hmm…" Thranduil murmured, "Often, when a king requests something, it is misconstrued as an order. And you did not object, I note."
"Even I do not have the courage to object to the order, or request, of the king."
"We both know that is not true."
This time Legolas smiled fully, but his hands still clenched the wall with a nearly white-knuckled grip.
Thranduil noticed. Very little escaped his attention, especially when it came to his son, "It is alright to need time to adjust when you return home after being gone so long."
Legolas nodded, but did not say anything, his eyes downcast again.
"I should not have let you stay out there as long as I did, Legolas. This war, it is not like what I faced when I was young. I marched to war on distant battlefields. The war of your youth came to you in your home. This, I think, is worse."
"It is our war, Adar," Legolas replied, "I do not face it alone."
"No, but you do face it head on. I expect that it is difficult to come home from battle and not truly leave the battlefield. You fight among the trees and live among them as well. It is understandable that you would need time to adjust—there is so little separation between your life out there and your life in here."
Legolas turned his gaze to the wall beneath his arms, "There is very literal separation."
Thranduil chuckled, "I know you hate these walls, Legolas."
"I know they are necessary."
"If only you could have seen the expression on your face when I ordered them built and you thought no one was looking…" the king murmured fondly.
Finally, Legolas turned to his father. "I understand now. I understand why you ordered this," he said, gesturing to the walls.
"I wish you still didn't," Thranduil said earnestly.
"I understand, but I don't like it," Legolas muttered.
The king smiled and they stood together in companionable silence for a while.
"Legolas, what brought you here tonight?"
"I could not sleep," he replied simply and truthfully, "What brought you here?"
"You," the king replied equally simply, "I went to see you. When you weren't in your room, I went looking. I did not look long before it occurred to me you might still be keeping watch for our people."
Legolas again scanned the darkness outside of the walls, "I did not come here for that purpose."
"Then why come here? Even with your keen eyes, there is little to see here at this time of night."
It was a moment before Legolas answered, "I am not sure why."
"In the months before I asked you to return, and since you arrived home, I've been reflecting a great deal. I can't help but think back to my own youth, I too found sleep elusive when I returned from long battles. I was not surprised when you were not in your bed."
"Adar, I don't see why three years should matter so much. This war has lasted far longer than that. I've been leading our people into battle for decades now, and following others into battle even longer than that."
"I know, but going out for years at a time is not the same as going out for weeks or months at a time. I think tonight proved that."
Legolas bit his lip and looked down again, "Adar, I—"
"Legolas, do not think of it. I could tell you were deep in thought and I should not have startled you."
"You should not have been able to startle me," Legolas' frustration with himself bled into his voice.
"Responses like what you showed tonight have likely kept you alive these past few years. Those are good instincts to have, and it is alright if it takes time to separate out there from in here. Those who served outside these walls with you would never have touched you to get your attention. I should not have either."
Legolas glanced up in surprise. Even in private moments like this when the king was filling his role as father, he very rarely admitted fault of any sort.
Thranduil could tell what Legolas was thinking, "Don't get used to it,"
"Of course not, aran nin," Legolas hesitated again, speaking slowly, "In some ways, the walls help. They do provide separation between out there and in here, between undeniable danger and relative safety."
"As I said, it is difficult when the battlefield is also your home, when there is not somewhere truly safe to retreat and take time to rest and recover."
"I still don't like them, though," Legolas said simply. He frowned, deep in thought again. He appeared to be considering something. Then he turned to face his father, opting for full honesty, "It is more than dislike. I hate them. I hate that they are necessary, that we cannot keep our people safe without them. I hate that we are forced to divide our home—it feels like an admission that we cannot protect what lies outside of these walls."
"I feel that way as well. But, my desire to protect our people in any way I can exceeds my desire to pretend that our situation is not dire."
"I understand. Truly, I do. But when they were built, I did not think they would stand as long as they have. But here they are, years later, and there is still no end in sight to this war—no end to the necessity of these walls. I spent the past three years fighting over the same ground again and again, and it proved to me how far we are from defeating our enemy."
Thranduil grasped his son's shoulders, steering him around so that he faced the stronghold within the walls, "Perhaps you look the wrong way. You cannot spend so long seeing only the war and not the people you are protecting without losing perspective. You've spent your night looking out at the darkness," Thranduil then motioned to the village within the walls, "You have not turned around to see that our people go on about their lives and sleep peacefully in their beds because of all that you and all of our warriors do outside of these walls."
Legolas paused his dark thoughts for a moment and reflected on his evening. His father was right, he'd wandered the areas where preparations for battle were conducted and then come here without sparing a single glance at the village—where their people, the very reason that this war was worth fighting, lived. He'd thought about the war and the darkness, not the reason behind it.
Thranduil continued, "If you gaze long into the darkness we face, it will gaze back into you. If you do not wish to falter in that moment, you must draw strength from your purpose. Never forget why you fight."
"I didn't," Legolas responded, "I haven't forgotten why this is worth it."
"I know," Thranduil assured his son, "I have never doubted you. But I think that things will get worse before this is over, and I believe you have a larger role to play in what is to come than we yet know. I want you to be ready."
Legolas leaned against the wall again, now gazing at their home, "I am. I am ready for this war to end, but I am also ready to keep fighting and do everything I can for our people for as long as it should last."
"It will end, Legolas. All wars end."
"I will tear these walls down when it does," Legolas vowed.
"We will do it together," his father promised.
Father and son, king and prince, stood together. They were no longer looking out at the darkness that threatened their kingdom, but instead keeping watch over those whom they loved most—each other and their people—taking comfort in the knowledge that they did not face the shadow alone.
End Note: Thank you for reading this, I hope you enjoyed it and, whether you thought it was good or bad, I would truly appreciate it if you would take a few seconds to write a review.
I am working on a couple of other things right now and will hopefully be back in the next couple of months, but (as you can tell from my posting history) I'm not fast when it comes to writing. That said, the longer story I referenced in my author's note above has become enough of a headache that I'm looking for some help with it. If anyone can recommend a good beta for stories like these (angst featuring Legolas), let me know. I just need a little bit of feedback on it before I start posting it.
Until next time!
Cool Breeze