[[[Hello Everyone. This is just PART ONE of a two chapter saga I'm writing in response to a friend's request for a LOTR fanfic about Thranduil and Legolas as prompted by the new HOBBIT movie. I'm a fan of the books and of the movies, but I'm not a die hard LOTR groupie. I respect the world and tried to be as accurate as possible, (though it's been awhile since I've read the books) but this is fan fiction, so please criticize the writing if you must, but not the logistics of the stories, the characters, the language, etc. I do not claim to be JRR Tolkien or the wise sage who knows EVERYTHING about Middle Earth. This was written for fun and as a request fulfillment for a friend who loved my Loki/Nari story line in "Something Worth Fighting For" and asked for a Dad/son fic for Thranduil and Legolas. And since I'm trying to fight writers block as I finish my other fanfics, I obliged. With that being said-Disclaimer over... Enjoy :)]]]
"Once, many lifetimes of men past, there was a young elven prince who lived with his father and brothers in the northern realm of Beleriand.
As time passed, a great war divided the kingdom and forced the prince and his family to find a new homeland.
By this time, the prince had grown tall, strong, brave, loyal and true and was a skilled warrior with a jovial spirit and a keen mind.
And he would need all of these to face what was to come…
For there was a time when there were whispers of a power growing in the east—a dark sorcerer who claimed dominion over men and beast. And with this spreading shadow over the mountains and the woodland realm, the elven prince and his father, King Oropher, and their kin joined the last alliance of elves and men to fight back the darkness.
But, a heavy price was paid in the Battle of Dagorland as Oropher, the King of Greenwood the Great and the woodland realm, fell.
It was in that moment, that Prince Thranduil stepped forward and picked up his father's standard, leading his people to victory against the armies of Mordor.
After the great battle, very few of the legion that left the Greenwood returned and the young Prince became king—the next in his father's line. And for a time, there was no darkness in the woodland realm, only light.
Not long after his return, King Thranduil fell deeply in love with a sylvan elf—beautiful and strong, with long, wavy hair as red as the flame of the setting sun..."
Lord Elrond of Rivendell paused for a moment, his eyes softening before he looked down to the newborn elfling lying in the crook of his arm, her blue eyes watching him intently, still quietly listening to his story while sucking on her fist.
He smiled as he watched the infant wrap its other small hand around his finger when he continued in a sweet, melodic voice.
"In time, the queen gave birth to their only child, a beloved son, for whom the newly crowned king wished only peace and happiness.
But, it was not to be...
For, a mere two lifetimes later, the king was called from his homeland to the north to fight the great fire-breathers who ravaged, killed and plundered all things precious without any thought or remorse. Fearing that the fire would spread to destroy all that he held dear, the King left his family and kin and rode to the northern land at the head of his army.
While he was away, the light that had graced his homeland, once again faded into darkness as whispers once again crept in to the Greenwood.
To protect their homeland, Thandruil's queen, Laetherial, a warrior in her own right, led a small elven militia force to the edge of the realm, where legions of orcs had been sighted gathering near the dwarf ancestral mountain of Gundebad and fell bravely in battle.
It was upon his return to the Greenwood that the king, badly injured in his battles with the great serpents, but victorious, learned the devastating news of his wife's death.
It is said that his heart hardened at the moment the words were spoken to him and all warmth and light left his soul, so much so that not even the sight of his beloved son could ease his pain.
The great elven king, in his sorrow, turned away from world and a dark magic once again settled over the land, turning the once green and lush wood into the Mirkwood and, many years later, under this same shadow, the king's beloved son departed his father's service.
With his son gone and his kingdom fallen, it is said that often the light of the moon casts a shadow on the once and mighty king alone in the room that was once occupied by his wife.
But, little does he know, that a beautiful baby princess now awaits in a nearby realm for the day when she and her father can journey home to the great woodland realm of their people and bring beauty, light and meaning to the king's life so that the palace may re-open its doors, the Mirkwood may be green once again and the broken king may be again reunited with his beloved son…
So that they all might live... happily…ever…after…"
# # # # # # #
The large gate to the cavern palace of the Woodland realm opened just as a white horse and rider thundered through, the elven messenger gracefully swinging down from the horse's back before the animal even came to a halt and quickly approaching the three guards posted at the mouth of the courtyard.
"Vedui' ..." the messenger greeted in elvish before continuing in the common tongue, "I bring word for King Thranduil from Lord Elrond of Rivendell."
"We wish no word from Elrond of Rivendell," the Captain of the guard said in a calm, but haughty tone, straightening to full height, "Leave now and you may cross our boarders safely before night falls upon you. Namaarie."
"King Thranduil will want to hear what Lord Elrond has to say…" the dark haired messenger insisted, stepping closer to the Captain as he made a motion to reach into the leather satchel around his torso. But, he immediately found two crossed elven blades blocking his path, wielded by the two other guards in protection of their leader.
Through the blades, the messenger and the Captain eyed each other for a tense moment before the messenger spoke first.
"It concerns his son, Prince Legolas…" he continued, retrieving, not a weapon from his satchel, but a scroll of parchment and held it out in front of him.
Upon seeing this, the Captain of the guard spoke to the two others in elvish and bid them to lower their weapons.
"Tampa…lava…" he said sternly, holding up a hand and the blades were quickly relinquished.
The messenger continued slowly forward and offered the scroll to the Captain, who narrowed his eyes before carefully plucking it from the elf's hand and unfolding it.
After a few moments of reading the words on the parchment, he stiffly re- rolled the scroll and handed it back to the messenger before nodding curtly.
He then turned to the guard on his right and stated softly, "Ready the King's elk. He will wish to depart before twilight for Rivendell."
"Yes, my lord," The guard saluted, then walked away quickly.
At which point the Captain turned back to the messenger...
"Come," he motioned solemnly with his right hand before placing it with his left behind his back and turning on his heel to lead the elf through the courtyard entrance and into the reception hall that lead to the throne room of King Thranduil of the Mirkwood.
# # # # # # # #
It was a three day journey from the Mirkwood to Rivendell and, on the third day, Thranduil and his legion of thirty guards arrived at mid-day with the horns of the Eldar sounding their arrival through the gates of the elven city and the King of the Mirkwood riding upon his elk in the center of the formation.
Lord Elrond and his attendants stood upon the grand staircase that led to the main courtyard, watching intently as the elves from the Mirkwood came to a halt before them and formed ranks around their king as Thranduil dismounted from his elk and glided gracefully through the rows of soldiers as they saluted him, then pivoted to clear a path for him to the staircase before falling into line again behind him once he had passed.
When he had climbed the staircase and finally stood face to face with Lord Elrond, the two men saluted each other before Lord Elrond greeted the king in elvish.
"Creoso, mellonaminurned. Nae saian luume'…" he said and Thranduil nodded kindly then followed Lord Elrond up the stairs, leaving his circle of attendants behind them.
When they reached the quiet anonymity of the courtyard, Thranduil and Elrond stopped and turned to face each other to speak more candidly.
There was a tense moment of silence as the two men eyed each other, unsure of what to say, then Thranduil broke the silence and spoke formally in the common tongue.
"It has been many lifetimes of dwarves and men since I have graced the halls of Rivendell with my presence," he said, his eyes now wandering around at the majestic surroundings, then his voice lowered and refocused his eyes upon Lord Elrond as he bowed his head as respectfully as possible, "I am grateful for word of my son and for your invitation, Lord Elrond…I know that it was not given without reservation."
Lord Elrond took in a breath then bowed stiffly in return, "It was not. But, the past has no place between us, Thranduil, son of Oropher, especially in times like these when we must consider the lives of those we love…and I know that the children of your sacred line are as dear to you as mine are to me."
Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment as if wishing away painful memories, then with a resolved nod opened them, focusing his gaze intently on Elrond.
Unlike Lord Elrond, Thranduil had only been blessed with only one child, his son Legolas. But, that didn't make the words any less true.
"With those words being spoken, I wish to look upon the continuation of my sacred line," Thranduil said softly, as he took a measured step forward and clasped his hands behind his back, "Where is she? Where is my grandchild?"
# # # # # #
The Rivendell guards saluted Lord Elrond and stood aside in line formation as the two men made their way down the stone path and through the grand courtyard and up two separate winding staircases to the main veranda over-looking the north port to the sea, Lord Elrond leading the way.
Once they reached the top of the staircase, Lord Elrond slowed his approach and, with a look to Thranduil over his shoulder, swept himself aside to reveal the scene before them on the veranda—a young elf maiden leaning over a large wooden cradle bed, ornately carved and decorated in flowers and vines with a veil of woven tulle draped over the canopy top.
"Kela…" Lord Elrond said in elvish, kindly bidding the nurse maid to leave them.
The maiden nodded to Lord Elrond then smiled down to the cradle before taking her leave of the two men and exiting past them down the main staircase.
Once they were alone, Lord Elrond's gaze turned again to Thranduil and he watched as the elven king took in a short breath to steel himself, then started gliding slowly forward toward the cradle.
Within moments, his slow deliberate movements had him circling the cradle where Lord Elrond could see his face begin to soften and his eyes open slightly wider in awe as he looked down through the tulle and beheld the small newborn lying beneath—his granddaughter.
There were a few moments of silence as Elrond watched Thranduil study the infant intently, cocking his head as he pulled his hands behind his back and slowly leaned forward for a closer look.
When he pulled back a few seconds later, Thranduil found Lord Elrond now at his side.
The elven king regarded the Lord of Rivendell out of the corner of his eye for a moment before he spoke, his gaze falling again upon the tiny, fair haired infant slumbering in the cradle below them.
"Such a small, fragile thing…" Thranduil said softly, his face expressionless
"Re naa vanima …" Lord Elrond replied in elvish, a small smile gracing his lips before he turned to Thranduil and continued in the common tongue, "And her life force is very strong."
"That's because she takes after her father…" Thranduil said in a whispered, thoughtful tone, "She does so remind me of him at that age…"
Lord Elrond looked from Thranduil to the infant, then back to the elven king.
"Would you like to hold her?" he inquired, quirking an eyebrow
Thranduil's own brow narrowed uncertainly for a moment before he took a measured step back from the cradle and shook his head slightly.
"No…" was his immediate response, "It's been a very long time since I've held an elfling…"
"Do not fear," Lord Elrond replied, trying to put Thranduil at ease, "Even after a thousand years, it is a skill that never leaves you."
He then turned to the cradle and slowly leaned forward, reaching out his long, thin and gentle hands to take hold of the infant and lift her out.
"Sha…sha…quel kaima, lirimaer…" Elrond spoke soft elvish to the infant to calm her as the movement began to stir her from her sleep, causing her to whimper softly but never open her eyes.
Thranduil watched, intrigued, as Elrond cradled the elfling in the crook of his arm while he skillfully wrapped her silver woven blankets tighter around her.
He then turned on his heel to face Thranduil.
Thranduil's nostrils flared nervously as Lord Elrond slowly closed the distance between them and it soon became clear that the King of the Mirkwood was going to find himself holding the elfling whether he wanted to or not.
Therefore, accepting his fate, he straightened to his full height as he stepped forward and received the small mass of blankets from Lord Elrond, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he tried to remember where he needed to place his hands to properly support the infant.
When the elfling was safely in Thranduil's arms, Lord Elrond took a step back and let his gaze fall on the scene of Thranduil and his grandchild.
"Oh…" the elven king gasped softly, almost absentmindedly, as the infant awoke and looked up to him with Legolas' wide and curious eyes as Thranduil laid her along his forearm with her head gently cradled in his hand, "Hello, little one…"
The elfling cooed in response and brought its tiny, wrinkled fingers to its mouth and Lord Elrond couldn't help but notice the small smirk that crossed Thranduil's lips as he continued to gaze down upon the child in awe, seemingly surprised that the elfling was just as taken with him as he was with her. It was as close to a genuine smile as the elven king had come to in over a thousand years.
"What is her name?" Thranduil suddenly asked, never taking his adoring eyes from the infant and Lord Elrond sighed and his smile faded as he brought his hands in front of him and folded them thoughtfully.
"She has not been given a name," he responded, his eyes softening, "Legolas has refused to see the child and therefore, has yet to bestow a name upon her. It has been nearly a month…"
Thranduil lifted his gaze from the infant to Lord Elrond, concern creeping into his regal blueish gray eyes, "Then, his grief is truly as terrible as you have written."
Lord Elrond nodded, then continued, "Yes… He needs guidance. He will not speak to or listen to what I have to say. I have tried many times. I believe it is your guidance that he needs now. Perhaps, it is you to whom he will speak—you, whose council he will abide."
Thranduil sighed forlornly, then stepped forward and within a few strides, leaned forward over the cradle and gently placed the infant back into it, making sure that her blankets were arranged snugly around her.
"Legolas left the Mirkwood many lifetimes ago," Thranduil continued, watching the infant for another moment as she fell back to sleep, before pulling back and turning to look at Elrond, "And, in that time, we've barely spoken. He has strayed from that path of life and no longer answers to his king, seeks his advice or does his will—"
"And what of his father?" Lord Elrond interjected with a raised eyebrow and watched Thranduil stiffen immediately at his words, his eyes softening with sadness as the Lord of Rivendell continued, "What of the man who shares his blood and who knows from his own experience the kind of pain such grief can cause? Will he not listen to him? Will he not hear his words?"
Thranduil narrowed his eyes and now studied Lord Elrond intensely as the dark haired elf quickly closed the distance between them in one swift movement, his brown eyes imploring and his voice turning to a whisper, "Your son needs you, Thranduil. You have traveled this path before...you know the way back. You can lead him out of the darkness that consumes his heart. Will you not help him?"