Undómiel and Greenleaf
***
The Tale of Arwen and Legolas
By Kida Greenleaf
AUTHOR NOTES: Those of you have read "Leaf Storm" may have clocked my suggestion of Legolas and Arwen being considered for marriage before the time of the War of the Ring (specifically, this occurs in that stories Chapter IV - In the House of Elrond). We know that Arwen was the youngest of her people during the Elves' last years, but what about Legolas? In Michael Martinez's essay on Legolas he notes that our favorite Elf seems like a paradox: old, yet young among his kind. I always thought of him as being "the last son of the Eldar:" a theme that reoccurs in all my stories. In my vision, he was born in the year 205 of the Third Age (October 12th to be exact! Feel free to disagree, but he seems like a Libra). That's between Elladan and Elrohir (the twins, born in the year 130) and Arwen (born in 241).
Here is my version of Arwen and Legolas' little side anecdote. I think of this as a "dramedy," with some humor and some serious, foreshadowing bits as well. It starts many years before the birth of Aragorn (March 1, 2931: an interesting date, because Peter Jackson and his team have named the film's Legolas to be 2931 years old!), around the beginning of the Third Age. Enjoy.
CHAPTER I - Child of the Trees
"Your highness!" There was a pause, then in desperation: "Prince Legolas!"
Shifting upon the supple branch, the sought Elf groaned. "Leave me alone, Arion, for once in your life!"
The seeker laughed. "Tell that to your father."
Legolas closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree, displaying defiance despite his following words, "Oh, I would rather die ten times by being eaten alive by Spiders. What does he want this time?"
In a flash, Arion swung up and joined Legolas upon the bough, many feet above the earth. "I honestly have no idea, but it seems to be good news. That is, he certainly wasn't frowning or looking half as grim as he tends to." Arion stopped, realizing he had just insulted his best friend and future ruler's father. "Though there is always a distinct nobility in his Highness' countenance."
Legolas laughed, slowly shaking his head. "Fine, fine, if it doesn't seem to be anything of tedium, I suppose I shall go."
"Race you back?" Arion suggested.
But Legolas had already leapt to the leaf-strewn forest floor and was sprinting over the dense greenery, so swift and sure that Arion found himself staring in admiration of his friend's swiftness.
* * *
Thranduil was tall and fair though his face was stern and his gaze commanding. His hair was a deep, dark gold: the gold of sunlight smoldering upon leaves that had begun to change with the onset of autumn. In varied lighting, sometimes the king's hair seemed to be as dark a brown as the shadows hovering beneath the trees, or as bright as the thin white rays of sunlight that sometimes penetrated the Canopy. His eyes were a deep gray- green. The unusual hue was the significant genetic marker of the royal family that had lived in Mirkwood for so many years.
These eyes Legolas inherited, as well as a darker version of his father's hair color, height and build: slender, with broad shoulders and strong, lean limbs. Still, the prince's face held a different quality-one that many associated with his dead mother, Fimbrethil. The eyes were keen, deep pools that fed into a soul that stretched across the treetops. The cheekbones were not as harsh as Thranduil's, though they were still well sculpted, framing his face. And his countenance was not constantly set in the grim, compelling expression his father often donned. There was mischief in his gaze, and the sharp, observant quality of an eager student.
Yet they were more than unalike. They were wholly different. Thranduil enjoyed the inner reaches of his kingdom, while Legolas longed to go beyond. The Elven-king had always been a protective father, but after the death of his wife, he fenced his son in to the extremes. As Legolas grew he began to stretch the boundaries.
Thranduil decided it was high-time his son settled down-true, he was a bit young to decide on a wife, but many had wedded younger than he. Besides that, a messenger from Rivendell came one afternoon bearing a message from Lord Elrond. And then an idea was sparked.
* * *
Thranduil smiled whole-heartedly, tender hope gleaming in his gray- green eyes. Placing a hand upon each of his son's shoulders, he said, "Legolas, you are betrothed to the Lady Arwen of Imladris!"
On its own, Legolas' mouth fell slightly open. "What?"
His father looked at him quizzically. "Elrond's daughter," the king said, as though Legolas was stupid or slow. "She is sister to your friends, Elladan and Elrohir. She is very young for our people, even younger than you. Indeed, they now say it is she who is the Lastborn, making you simply the last son of the Elves. It is no wonder that you have not heard of her. Elrond told me she has spent many years among her kin in Lothlorien, where you have not yet ventured."
Legolas found himself slowly shaking his head in utter disbelief. Suddenly he felt surrounded, claustrophobic, ensnared. "Betrothed? When was this agreement made?"
The Elven-King frowned, and his expression quickly became stern. "When it was made is of no importance to you. I do not understand the resistance I see evident in your countenance. You should be thanking me."
"Father, I do not even know her," Legolas hissed angrily.
"That is of little consequence. You may wish to know that she is counted as the most beautiful of our people. They say the likeness of Lúthien has been rekindled in her face."
Legolas looked away. Outside the window he could see the shadowy branches of the forest. It was wild and untamed still, unhindered by duty or law. He wished to run out into the glades again, to feel the leaf- scented wind flow through his hair; to wade through the enchanted spring and glimpse the small gleaming fish that flitted by, like tiny silver shooting stars. "I am not yet ready to marry. I cannot even say that I have ever been in love."
"You need not remind me of that!" Thranduil was visibly agitated. "All I know is that throughout our entire kingdom and amongst our kindred in Rivendell, no maiden has caught your eye. Time grows short."
"What care we for time?" Legolas countered, still not facing his father, still gazing, with narrowed eyes, straight out at the depths of the trees.
"Now that the Shadow grows in the south, we care greatly," Thranduil said, becoming genuinely angry. His tone forced Legolas to finally look into his father's gray eyes, the eyes so like his own. "War will come to our kingdom soon, and when it does, I must be sure that my only son and heir is settled with a wife and prepared to take on the crown should something befall me. Besides that, your mother always wished to see you married, but you tarried too long. Now she is lost to us, and her wish will never be fulfilled in this world."
That was cheap shot. Legolas' stomach twisted with guilt, and his throat became sore with sadness. He downcast his eyes, feeling tears well up that ashamed him. To his relief, none fell down his cheeks; rather they stayed stinging his eyes for a long moment. On the floor he saw his father's tall shadow.
"I know," he said in a whisper. The heart of Thranduil softened then. He reached out and placed a warm hand upon his son's cheek. The bond between the two Elves was strong: in a single moment, father and son paused and asked each other's forgiveness. Thranduil smiled and spoke gently.
"Nothing is yet set in stone. In fact, betrothed is hardly the right word. Rather, it is as follows: Elrond and I think it would be wondrous if indeed the Lastborn son and daughter of our people should become one. It would provide a new bond between our kingdoms that would prove extremely beneficial in each of our times of need. But neither of us would force you. In a fortnight, we shall journey to Rivendell and tarry there for the Midsummer feasts. There you shall meet your prospective wife and we shall see how things go from there."
"But if I refuse, would you understand?"
Thranduil sighed. "Obviously, it would grieve me. But your happiness is my first and greatest concern." With a twinkle in his eye, he added, "Though from what has been said, this princess is quite nearly impossible to refuse."
*I know,* Legolas thought to himself. *And that scares me.*
By Kida Greenleaf
AUTHOR NOTES: Those of you have read "Leaf Storm" may have clocked my suggestion of Legolas and Arwen being considered for marriage before the time of the War of the Ring (specifically, this occurs in that stories Chapter IV - In the House of Elrond). We know that Arwen was the youngest of her people during the Elves' last years, but what about Legolas? In Michael Martinez's essay on Legolas he notes that our favorite Elf seems like a paradox: old, yet young among his kind. I always thought of him as being "the last son of the Eldar:" a theme that reoccurs in all my stories. In my vision, he was born in the year 205 of the Third Age (October 12th to be exact! Feel free to disagree, but he seems like a Libra). That's between Elladan and Elrohir (the twins, born in the year 130) and Arwen (born in 241).
Here is my version of Arwen and Legolas' little side anecdote. I think of this as a "dramedy," with some humor and some serious, foreshadowing bits as well. It starts many years before the birth of Aragorn (March 1, 2931: an interesting date, because Peter Jackson and his team have named the film's Legolas to be 2931 years old!), around the beginning of the Third Age. Enjoy.
CHAPTER I - Child of the Trees
"Your highness!" There was a pause, then in desperation: "Prince Legolas!"
Shifting upon the supple branch, the sought Elf groaned. "Leave me alone, Arion, for once in your life!"
The seeker laughed. "Tell that to your father."
Legolas closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree, displaying defiance despite his following words, "Oh, I would rather die ten times by being eaten alive by Spiders. What does he want this time?"
In a flash, Arion swung up and joined Legolas upon the bough, many feet above the earth. "I honestly have no idea, but it seems to be good news. That is, he certainly wasn't frowning or looking half as grim as he tends to." Arion stopped, realizing he had just insulted his best friend and future ruler's father. "Though there is always a distinct nobility in his Highness' countenance."
Legolas laughed, slowly shaking his head. "Fine, fine, if it doesn't seem to be anything of tedium, I suppose I shall go."
"Race you back?" Arion suggested.
But Legolas had already leapt to the leaf-strewn forest floor and was sprinting over the dense greenery, so swift and sure that Arion found himself staring in admiration of his friend's swiftness.
* * *
Thranduil was tall and fair though his face was stern and his gaze commanding. His hair was a deep, dark gold: the gold of sunlight smoldering upon leaves that had begun to change with the onset of autumn. In varied lighting, sometimes the king's hair seemed to be as dark a brown as the shadows hovering beneath the trees, or as bright as the thin white rays of sunlight that sometimes penetrated the Canopy. His eyes were a deep gray- green. The unusual hue was the significant genetic marker of the royal family that had lived in Mirkwood for so many years.
These eyes Legolas inherited, as well as a darker version of his father's hair color, height and build: slender, with broad shoulders and strong, lean limbs. Still, the prince's face held a different quality-one that many associated with his dead mother, Fimbrethil. The eyes were keen, deep pools that fed into a soul that stretched across the treetops. The cheekbones were not as harsh as Thranduil's, though they were still well sculpted, framing his face. And his countenance was not constantly set in the grim, compelling expression his father often donned. There was mischief in his gaze, and the sharp, observant quality of an eager student.
Yet they were more than unalike. They were wholly different. Thranduil enjoyed the inner reaches of his kingdom, while Legolas longed to go beyond. The Elven-king had always been a protective father, but after the death of his wife, he fenced his son in to the extremes. As Legolas grew he began to stretch the boundaries.
Thranduil decided it was high-time his son settled down-true, he was a bit young to decide on a wife, but many had wedded younger than he. Besides that, a messenger from Rivendell came one afternoon bearing a message from Lord Elrond. And then an idea was sparked.
* * *
Thranduil smiled whole-heartedly, tender hope gleaming in his gray- green eyes. Placing a hand upon each of his son's shoulders, he said, "Legolas, you are betrothed to the Lady Arwen of Imladris!"
On its own, Legolas' mouth fell slightly open. "What?"
His father looked at him quizzically. "Elrond's daughter," the king said, as though Legolas was stupid or slow. "She is sister to your friends, Elladan and Elrohir. She is very young for our people, even younger than you. Indeed, they now say it is she who is the Lastborn, making you simply the last son of the Elves. It is no wonder that you have not heard of her. Elrond told me she has spent many years among her kin in Lothlorien, where you have not yet ventured."
Legolas found himself slowly shaking his head in utter disbelief. Suddenly he felt surrounded, claustrophobic, ensnared. "Betrothed? When was this agreement made?"
The Elven-King frowned, and his expression quickly became stern. "When it was made is of no importance to you. I do not understand the resistance I see evident in your countenance. You should be thanking me."
"Father, I do not even know her," Legolas hissed angrily.
"That is of little consequence. You may wish to know that she is counted as the most beautiful of our people. They say the likeness of Lúthien has been rekindled in her face."
Legolas looked away. Outside the window he could see the shadowy branches of the forest. It was wild and untamed still, unhindered by duty or law. He wished to run out into the glades again, to feel the leaf- scented wind flow through his hair; to wade through the enchanted spring and glimpse the small gleaming fish that flitted by, like tiny silver shooting stars. "I am not yet ready to marry. I cannot even say that I have ever been in love."
"You need not remind me of that!" Thranduil was visibly agitated. "All I know is that throughout our entire kingdom and amongst our kindred in Rivendell, no maiden has caught your eye. Time grows short."
"What care we for time?" Legolas countered, still not facing his father, still gazing, with narrowed eyes, straight out at the depths of the trees.
"Now that the Shadow grows in the south, we care greatly," Thranduil said, becoming genuinely angry. His tone forced Legolas to finally look into his father's gray eyes, the eyes so like his own. "War will come to our kingdom soon, and when it does, I must be sure that my only son and heir is settled with a wife and prepared to take on the crown should something befall me. Besides that, your mother always wished to see you married, but you tarried too long. Now she is lost to us, and her wish will never be fulfilled in this world."
That was cheap shot. Legolas' stomach twisted with guilt, and his throat became sore with sadness. He downcast his eyes, feeling tears well up that ashamed him. To his relief, none fell down his cheeks; rather they stayed stinging his eyes for a long moment. On the floor he saw his father's tall shadow.
"I know," he said in a whisper. The heart of Thranduil softened then. He reached out and placed a warm hand upon his son's cheek. The bond between the two Elves was strong: in a single moment, father and son paused and asked each other's forgiveness. Thranduil smiled and spoke gently.
"Nothing is yet set in stone. In fact, betrothed is hardly the right word. Rather, it is as follows: Elrond and I think it would be wondrous if indeed the Lastborn son and daughter of our people should become one. It would provide a new bond between our kingdoms that would prove extremely beneficial in each of our times of need. But neither of us would force you. In a fortnight, we shall journey to Rivendell and tarry there for the Midsummer feasts. There you shall meet your prospective wife and we shall see how things go from there."
"But if I refuse, would you understand?"
Thranduil sighed. "Obviously, it would grieve me. But your happiness is my first and greatest concern." With a twinkle in his eye, he added, "Though from what has been said, this princess is quite nearly impossible to refuse."
*I know,* Legolas thought to himself. *And that scares me.*