Sons of Kings
"I will not let you hand over our army to the enemy!" Thranduil spat, feeling as though he would explode into a furious rampage against the elf captain that stood in front of him. The golden haired King of Mirkwood had found himself checking his temper more over the past few months than he had ever done in the years he had served as king. Had Oropher ever been this torn? Thranduil thought, referring to his father who had been king before him, but had lost his life in the Last Alliance. Somehow, Thranduil could never picture his father losing control and that bothered the young king, bothered him to know that he had not the skills of his father.
"We must march on Dol Guldor!" The elf captain before him yelled back with a ferocity that Thranduil would normally find treasonous. However, there was no treason to be found in the elf that stood before him. Nor was there room for tiptoeing around formalities in the heat of an argument. For the elf standing before the king was indeed his eldest son, and crown prince of Mirkwood, Kelderas. Kelderas was very much the opposite of his father. Kelderas stood tall and thin with darkened hair that lay ghostly about his face. Small braids were entwined within his hair and warrior beads were anchored at the ends.
Though, to look Kelderas in the face, one would see that this elf was young. In truth, he was the youngest captain in Mirkwood history. Though he still served beneath Thranduil and two others, Kelderas was quickly rising in the ranks and well on his way to commanding Thranduil's entire army. Today, however, the young elf captain had proved to his father that he was not ready to rise any higher.
"Father, the orc attacks have become increasingly frequent," Kelderas' voice sounded strained. "We must do something."
"And you feel that the answer to all of this is a march on Dol Guldor?" Thranduil asked, sounding skeptical. "We do not even know what dark things lurk there..."
"It is the source of our problems!" Kelderas yelled. "What more do we need to know?"
Thranduil shook his head vehemently, standing up as he did so. "This discussion is over," he announced, his voice taking on a formal tone. Kelderas' shoulders slumped in defeat, but graced his father with the respect he deserved by waiting for him to finish. "We will not march on Dol Guldor until we know for sure what we are dealing with. It is too dangerous to march into battle blindly. And if the dangers prove too much, we will continue with our course of defense."
Kelderas bowed his head, though an annoyed grimace had crossed his face. He turned to leave when Thranduil called out to him. The younger elf stopped and looked at his father, almost waiting to be scolded again. Thranduil forced himself to look as pleasant as possible. "I appreciate your concern, ion-nin," Thranduil began. "But you must understand..."
"I don't understand what you're afraid of, Ada," Kelderas said. "We should destroy the problem before it grows out of our grasp."
Thranduil nodded, sitting back down. He waved his hand in a motion signaling to Kelderas that his presence wasn't wanted anymore. Kelderas sighed and walked out the doors to the throne room, pushing the guards away from him a little hastily.
"It is already out of our grasp," Thranduil whispered, closing his eyes.
"Won't you eat the rest of your fruit, Legolas?" Idrial, the only daughter of Thranduil asked, eyeing her youngest brother who sat across the table from her. Legolas, who was the equivalent of a four year old in human years, had barely eaten anything for his breakfast. His plate was still full, with only a few pieces missing. The elfling looked up from the spot on the table he had been staring at and caught his sister's concerned face. Legolas sighed and detachedly placed another piece of fruit in his mouth, showing his obvious lack of enthusiasm for breakfast.
It was known around the palace that Legolas and his sister Idrial were always the last to eat in the morning. Idrial was always saved a bit of porridge and bread from the breakfast feast her father and brothers shared together each morning. But the cooks knew that Legolas would not eat anything that was normally for breakfast. Legolas' diet had consisted of nothing but fruits, vegetables, and nuts for the past four months. It had been so since the death of his mother. Idrial had done everything in her power to get her youngest brother to eat, but her efforts were not good enough and the young elfling was thin and tired all too quickly during the day, often taking naps when other elflings were out playing.
Knowing she would not get a better response from Legolas is she kept pestering him to eat, Idrial decided to change the subject.
"What will you be doing today, Legolas?" she asked, taking a bite of bread, hoping to get Legolas to follow suit, but knew that he would not.
Legolas shrugged. "Lessons," he said nonchalantly.
"Of course, but what after those lessons?" Idrial asked. "Perhaps Saleas will have something fun for you to do?" Idrial was referring to Legolas' mentor and protector, whom had been assigned to him at his birth. Saleas was an older elf who had fought alongside Thranduil in the Last Alliance, and had consoled the king after the death of his father. The two had become close friends and Idrial knew that her father had chosen wisely when assigning Saleas to Legolas.
"Perhaps," Legolas answered briefly and then continued to nudge the fruit around on his plate.
Idrial sighed, but leaned back in her chair to contemplate her youngest brother for a moment. Legolas's pale blond hair hung about his shoulders, with small braids and twists throughout. He was a high contrast to Idrial and Kelderas as both of his older siblings had dark complexions. His face still held some of it's babyish qualities, but already it was starting to take on an older quality. He looked so much like his mother that it was inevitable not to feel a bit of sadness when one looked upon him. Perhaps that was the main problem about the realm now. No one who looked upon Legolas was every one hundred percent happy to see him. They were all reminded of one they had lost. Legolas was no fool either, and Idrial knew that the young elf had started to suspect that something he was doing, or rather not doing, was upsetting those around him.
"Luthin will be here today," Idrial said, trying to make the tone lighter. Legolas looked up at the mention of his other brother. Luthin, too, had the fair complexion of his father, with golden rich hair, not the pale kind that Legolas and his mother alone shared. Luthin was the closest to Legolas in age, followed by Idrial and Kelderas topped them all.
"Will he be a warrior?" Legolas asked, a sincere perk of curiosity in his voice.
Idrial smiled. "Not yet, he is still in the novice stages. He will not be a warrior for another few years."
"And when he is one, will he fight orcs?"
Idrial cringed. The topic of discussion would often turn from happiness to the subject of orcs. Idrial took a moment to concentrate on forming an answer that would not upset her younger brother. But the topic of orcs would always be an upsetting topic. For it was not any of the guards or warriors that had seen what orcs had done to their mother, but it was Legolas alone who had watched as the orcs had ravaged and beaten her to death while he hid in the trees, almost unable to keep himself from crying out. But he had promised his mother, and had been the focus of her eyes even as they had glazed and then faded.
That is what hurt the most, knowing that the youngest son of Thranduil had watched his mother die and had possessed the will power to stay hidden while his mother succumbed to a punishment he couldn't understand. Idrial didn't know what Legolas thought of the situation, for whenever she had tried to guide him to talk about it, he would shut down and turn everyone away. She knew that when Legolas was ready to talk, he would, she just hoped that the time would come where he would be ready. She didn't know if she could lose two family members. And the thought of Legolas fading from grief was enough to make the remaining family members fade along with him.
"Luthin will be trained to fight them," Idrial said cautiously. "He will know how to kill them and they won't hurt him. He'll be well guarded when he is fighting." And Idrial hoped that her words were true.
Legolas merely nodded before setting down his fork and looking sincerely at his sister. "I wish I could kill all the orcs in Middle Earth," he whispered.
Idrial let a small smile of sympathy fall across her etched face.
"As do I, penneth, as do I."
"My Lord!" The estranged voice of his advisor brought the Lord of Rivendell's attention away from the parchment he had been studying. He looked up to see Erestor barge into his study room and close the doors tightly behind him, his back against them. Normally, Elrond would have wondered if Imladris was under siege. But Elrond knew better, for Erestor's face was not one of panic or fear, but one of anger and rage. Elrond knew that the only thing that could place such animosity into his advisor was a pair of elflings that Elrond himself had brought into the world.
"What have they done this time?" Elrond asked, before his advisor could go off on a tangent.
"Let me just tell you what they have done," Erestor said, his voice sounding strained. "I woke this morning to find that someone had come and moved my stuff around during the night. I checked on everything that had been moved, but could find nothing out of the ordinary. I was getting dressed and went to put my boots on, thinking that there could be nothing wrong with them for they were not among the items that had been misplaced. When I had my foot in my book, I felt something slither under my foot. They put a snake in my boot!"
"What?!" Elrond's face was a look of shock and horror. "Did it bite you? Do you need an antidote?"
Erestor's face suddenly softened a bit. "No, and it was just a little garden snake, harmless, but I hate the creatures."
Elrond relaxed and guided his rapidly beating heart to do the same. He closed his eyes for a moment and counted to ten, trying to calm himself. There were moments in his life when he wondered why the Valar every gave him sons, twin sons at that. Twin sons that liked to pull pranks on everyone and their mother in Arda.
"What did you do with the snake?" Elrond asked, now imagining the scene that must have unfolded in his advisor's bedroom. A small smile came unwillingly to Elrond's lips.
"I..." Erestor began, his face turning a bit red. "I threw it out the window." Elrond shook his head, a few chuckles escaping him. "I could think of nothing else to do!" Erestor defended himself.
"Nor could I," Elrond agreed. "I might have spared it a little and just placed it outside, but I know how you despise them." Elrond joked with his advisor.
Erestor sighed, running a hand through his raven hair and then shaking himself. "If you ask me," he began, once again showing his unshaken, prude self, "I believe that it is high time you and your family took a vacation."
Elrond chuckled at his advisor again. "Oh?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "And why not you take a vacation?"
"Because I want to be home for a while without the mishaps," Erestor said. "You need to leave while I rest."
Elrond out right laughed at his advisor, noticing how Erestor too was smiling now, though more a cautious smile that showed Elrond how serious Erestor was. When Elrond's laughing died down, he rose from his desk and came over to Erestor. "Where shall my family and myself go?" He asked, in all seriousness.
"Anywhere but here," Erestor said quickly.
The two walked out into the hall and discussed the possible locations of a good vacation for Elrond, his sons and their mother to go. They had gotten nowhere with their plans when a yellow haired elf came around the corner with a half smile on his face.
"I may have an idea," said the new elf, his hands ruffling a parchment.
"Do you now, Glorfindel?" Elrond asked. "What do you have there?"
"A letter from Mirkwood," Glorfindel said, his face losing some of it's joy. All three elves seemed to sober at the mention of their sister realm. Elrond reached for the parchment and read it over quickly.
Lord Elrond,
As you know, our Queen has passed into the Halls of Mandos. Mirkwood has suffered a great loss with her passing, but I fear that it's loss is far from over if things continue on the way they are. The royal family are all losing their inner battles and Mirkwood's people only reflect their leaders.
I have heard my father tell me many stories of you and your sons. I've come to enjoy hearing of the antics of Elladan and Elrohir. In your letters, it seems as though they bring much joy to you and all of Rivendell, if not an occasional headache. I know that it may be blunt for me to ask, but I had hoped that you could share a little light with a realm succumbing to darkness. It has been so long since we have heard the true joy of laughter or had time to sit and let out emotions out in a restrained manner. It seems all we do now is fight and let ourselves block out any semblance of help.
What I am truly asking, Lord Elrond, is will you come to Mirkwood and help us battle with our loss? I fear that we cannot do it ourselves. We are losing and the pain is bringing us all down. I fear for our littlest one, Legolas, for he was witness to her death. He has not smiled since the day we watched him leave to ride with her. I fear he does not have much longer.
We need help, my lord.
In your debt,
Princess Idrial of the Woodland Realm
Elrond lowered the letter and looked at Glorfindel's somber face. "I had not thought they let their suffering take them so far into the darkness." Elrond said, folding the letter in his hands. He nodded. "Find my sons and Celebrian, I feel as though this vacation cannot wait a moment longer."