This story is mostly about Lenwe, my character, although Legolas does play a major role in the early chapters. The story will chronicle Lenwe's life. BG- Lenwe is Legolas' younger brother and they live together in Mirkwood.
Disclaimer: Legolas and Thrandiul and Mirkwood and Middle Earth all belong Professor John Ronald Reul Tolkien, Except Lenwe. He is mine.
I could fall asleep to Keane. My name is Lenwë. I am an Elf. I am over 2000 years old. This is my story.
2000 years ago, in a land called Middle Earth, I was born. I was a prince, royalty, son of the Lord of Mirkwood, King Thranduil. Power and influence were handed to me instantly. Members of the gentry, hundreds of years old, bowed to me, a mere infant.
But there was one who would not bow, not then or ever.
My older brother, Legolas, Crown Prince of Mirkwood. It was his honor alone to bear the mark of our clan. His honor to be bedecked with green. But he was not ever cold to me in his superiority. In fact, the rank difference was never even discussed between us. For by the time I was old enough to understand, he was gone.
But our time together I savoured more than anything. He taught me the skills of an Elf of Mirkwood, the exact way to hold a bow. I had wanted to learn so badly, and he indulged my every whim.
"Nay, Lenwë, you must hold the bow so the arrow fires upward at a precise angle to create better lift."
"But Brother, you are so much taller than I am, and your bow is so very heavy."
Legolas' eyes crinkled into a smile, "Yes, I suppose it is too big for you, isn't it?" Then he laughed as I nearly fell to the ground under the bow's weight. "Come, I have a gift for you. I was saving it for your next name-day, but now is a more appropriate time, I think."
I followed him through the wood to a little glade I had never been to before. A place now deeply close to my heart.
" I come here when I need to be alone, when I need to think," he said softly.
"What do you think about, Brother?"
"Adult matters, Lenwë. Taking a wife, managing Father's affairs, all the stress of being Crown Prince." He sighed, "It's all well and good for you, my dear little Princeling. You'll never have to worry about things like that."
It seemed to me that a terrible, profound sadness briefly wafted across my brother's face, but the next second it was gone.
He sat, pensive for a moment, looking out over the little stream, then he got up suddenly, as if he had just remembered why we were there.
"Ah, yes. Your gift." He smiled. And he went to fetch something from a secret box beneath a tree.
"A bow for my very own?" I asked in wonderment.
"Yes. Precisely calculated to fit your proportions."
Words seemed beyond my capability. Here in my hands lay a beautiful thing. I examined it from every angle, running my hands over the intricate carvings, depicting butterflies and vines and leaves, feeling the tension in the bowstring, just right.
"Thank you, Brother, I will treasure it always."
"Or at least until you grow out of it," he laughed.
I smiled in acquiescence, but he was wrong. I have kept the bow to this day. It holds too many memories.
"Let's go back, Lenwë."
"Hm!" I nodded.
A few months later came the celebration that is most important in the life of a young elf of Mirkwood, my thirteenth name-day. The day when I would receive a second name, full of meaning and history from my father, a rite of passage. But Thranduilion, the family name, was already taken by my much older brother. I must take another name. The handmaidens, my mother the Queen's women, dressed me in the royal blue befitting a second son. My mother said I was the jewel of the sky. Waiting for the ceremony to start, I was flitting about the garden, waving the sleeves of my long robe in the sunlight.
"Lenwë," my brother called to me. "The ceremony is about to start. Let's go! What are you doing?"
"Playing with the butterflies, you know I think they are the most beautiful in all of Middle Earth."
"You look just like them, little Princeling, with your flowing robes. Come, we must go," he remonstrated.
"Aye."
I was looking forward to receiving a new name, to becoming an adult in the eyes of the People. When the naming ceremony began, I felt a wave of nervous tension slide over me. I barely heard the ceremonial incantations as the elders prepared me to receive my second name, but at the appointed time for my father to give me a new name, my brother stepped up instead.
"Lenwë," he said, "has grown up under my care. So my father and I have decided that I, the man who knows him best, shall give Lenwë his second name."
He cleared his throat, "and that name is…" he paused, "Wílwarîn."
Applause broke out. I was numb. The name was beautiful. It was the name of my favorite creature, the butterfly. Words failed me, but I knew then that I loved my brother more than anything in the all the world.
Lenwë Wílwarîn.
Lenwë Wílwarîn.
Lenwë Wílwarîn.
I kept saying it over and over inside my head. It sounded good, great. Better than great. It was perfect.
Yay! this is the first story I have ever written. I usually write poems and such. Please review, comment and critique! Oh, but nothing like "OMG spazzz legolas liek totally does Nawt hve a brother this rellly sux0rz!11" I have read the books of Tolkein (rest his soul) more than you have, probably :). Be Nice to a new writer!