A/N: Hello and welcome to my newest fic! This was born from an endless cycle of me reading my way through many family fics involving King Thranduil and a certain prince of Mirkwood, and never quite finding what I wanted. Strap yourselves in, for this will be a long ride, and one I hope you all enjoy!

Also. Apologies for the extremely long chapter...I wasn't sure when/how to stop.

Many thanks go to my amazing little sister for sitting and reading every single word I produced, and then editing what she did not like.

CHAPTER 1

The day holds the weak warmth of autumn- one where it is not quite cold enough to require the comforts of thicker tunics or robes, and slow strands of light creep into the Woodland Realm. For most, it is a usual day where food must be cooked, patrols ordered and business continues as undisturbed as always.

However for the young prince Legolas, it is far from an ordinary day. He has forsaken- or rather, been given permission by his old tutor Badhron to forsake- his daily lessons in favour of listening in on the debates within the Council Room. Now he sits high above the airy room in a crammed balcony where those who are not part of the King's council are allowed to listen in.

However, he is sure that his excitement at being out of his chambers would be greater still if he could actually see past the various other ellyth and ellyn who cram into every wooden seat the balcony has to offer.

"Ai, Faervel, I cannot see anything from here!" Legolas protests to the well-dressed elleth beside him. Unable to keep still, he wriggles in his wooden seat to try and get a better view of the surroundings below. However the many sleek and well-groomed heads of the ellyth and ellyn in front of him leave any glimpse of the chamber below a near impossible dream.

"Hush, Laeslas" says his dark-haired aunt. She wears no sign of impatience on her smooth brown face, and has been consistently reminding him what an honour it is for the youngest prince to leave behind his lessons and listen in on his father's Council.

Now, she frowns as he fidgets and attempts to peer over the row of edhil in front of him. "Do you want to be sent back to Lord Badhron?"

That thought of being escorted back to his tutor's stuffy rooms for more lessons on the history of the Sindar immediately makes him grow still and stop swinging his legs.

"No, I don't," he says quickly. Rare indeed are his chances to have a break from the mundane, slow days of endless lessons, and he relishes the excitement of having a break during his lessons to sit in and hear the Council of Eryn Galen speak. The worst thing would have to be returning to his chambers as though he is no more than 20 summers and incapable of sitting still for more than a few hours!

"Silence" calls Elegessil, one of the Silvan ladies and honoured singyll of the King's Council, from below. Immediately the balcony and chamber obey her command, and just in time. There is the creak and groan of the great wooden doors as they swing open, and in steps his father the King.

Well. Legolas cannot exactly see him- but he knows who it is by the way the bond between he and Ada sings happily, and the polite murmurings of greetings by those who sit below him.

"It is your royal Adar-" Faervel leans in to hiss, breath tickling his ears.

"I know- and Lhosben is with him!" Legolas doesn't care to rush forward and lean over the balcony to point out his brother; he knows the Crown Prince walks beside Ada by the warm fae which presses into his own spirit. As sturdy as a bough of a great tree touched by the sun, his brother greets him with just the slightest brush of their minds. Their bond within Legolas' chest swells with the presence of that comforting mind, until the touch politely retreats.

"Welcome, Thranduil King of this Realm, Staff-Wielder and Defender of Eryn Galen! And welcome Crown Prince Lhosben, He Who Sits in the Shade of His Father and Learns."

Beside him, Faervel groans into the sleeve of her tunic. "For all her seasons, never has Elegessil found more refined epithets for your brother…"

An ellon next to Legolas coughs in a manner that is very close to a laugh, but another turns around in his seat to hiss at his Aunt. "Quiet!"

"The Council has now commenced- be seated!" Singyll Elegessil instructs, and there is a rustle of fabric and the muttering of old wood as the many elves which comprise of the King's Council follow suit.

"We are here today," says Ada, and his voice travels to the very corners of the airy chamber, "to discuss our trade with the Men of Laketown, and our own position within this partnership. I am aware that both sides of the discussion have many points to bring to my attention, and ask that you be concise for the sake of not just myself, but all our listeners who are no doubt eager to return to the preparations for the next eve's dinner."

A ripple of laughter carries through the chamber, and within their bond Legolas senses Ada smiling up at him.

Hello Ada! Legolas greets. The gentle brush of Ada's ancient mind is all he gets as a greeting, but he does not mind. Ada will be focusing intently on the edhil in front of him, and has no time for distractions, not even by him.

But through their bond, his father allows him a glimpse of the Council-room, its polished floors and wide table which provides for many edhil to sit. An ellon rises before him- before Ada- and begins to speak. Still submerged within their bond, Legolas catches a flash of green silks and long dark hair which has been carefully braided; Lhosben. And then Ada, with one last soft touch of his mind, carefully closes the bond between them, and Legolas is once more sitting up in the balcony next to Faervel.

"Oh yes," mutters an elleth in front of Faervel, "I would much rather be at my cooking station than be here listening to my King speak.."

"Ah," says her companion sagely, "you are apprenticed to Maeasson the Cook, are you not? I have heard he is quite temperamental these days- hasn't his hervess gone to fight in the South-?"

"Would you two be quiet!" The ellon from earlier scolds the two ellyth into silence. "Some of us are trying to listen and not chirp away like bluebirds!"

Legolas, feeling Faervel's expectant gaze on him, politely tunes out the chatter around him and tries to listen in on the speeches of the Council beneath him.

"-thus I propose that we should continue on with our trade with the Men of the Lake. They have provided us all with what we need- being, pardon me, my lord, only Dorwinion and wheat."

A chuckle runs through the council.

"Yes," says Ada, his tone dry. "Thank you Míwon, I am well aware of my people's insatiable thirst for Dorwinion. To break the trade with Laketown would be such a pity for all our people. Now, Lady Inneth, I believe it is your turn to politely rebut Míwon's argument."

"Thank you, my lord. As Míwon mentioned, we have for so long relied on the Men of Laketown for our wine, but that so long has become too long. Are we not edhil, who pick and source our food from the very earth our gracious Ivon has granted us-"

The debate continues on with various members of the council all taking their turns to express their opinions. And their opinions continue on going until Legolas wonders that he has not started growing moss.

To be truthful, he finds it is nowhere near as exciting as he'd thought it would be. He'd always imagined the council to be full of sharp words and shouting, but this is slow and stately, much like the many dinners his father and oldest brother are always attending. Of course he knows as Prince of Eryn Galen, he must be attuned to the needs of his people, and their wishes, and must possess all the knowledge he needs to respond in kind to what they need.

But who knew debates could be so dull?

So instead, he breathes in, and feels for the touch of the forest around him. Being in the King's Halls for all his life, he has learnt to reach out and find the Song of the forest and draw it close to him as a distraction. And now the Song slips in past stone walls and a King's powerful spells. It weaves its way into his fae, wrapping eagerly around him like the warm sunlight of spring and dances before his eyes as a spring-bright forest-

"Laeslas! Focus, please!"

His eyes snap open to Faervel frowning down at him, disapproval etched into her stiff mouth.

"Sorry, Faervel" he murmurs, gently withdrawing from the Song, "It's just, the speeches are so long.."

The frown deepens until her mouth is drawn down with it. "Speeches do tend to be long when you are before the King in Council, and he must listen. But you yourself, as the youngest prince of our people, must learn to sit still and listen to all, regardless of whether or not their words make you want to sleep."

Legolas nearly sighs at her all-too-familiar words but catches himself before he does. "But isn't that the role of Lhosben? To listen to speeches?"

Faervel's dark eyes twinkle with amusement, and her face softens from its look of disapproval. "And what of your sister Annith, or even your brother Aeglostor? Have they not also had to learn how to sit still and appreciate the Song that comes from many words? As they have, so must you, and this is why Badhron has allowed you to sit and listen."

A sudden awareness makes Legolas' heart leap. His stuffy old tutor had let him come here today! And while he at first thought it to be a stroke of pure fortune, now it makes sense!

"Didn't Badhron allow Annith to sit and listen to her first council when she was nearly 80?" He asks.

His Aunt looks down at him warily. Having been his nurse and care-taker even since his own naneth died, she knows him perhaps better than anyone, save Ada. And she can no doubt see his excitement, and guess what he thinks.

"Yes, he did. I suppose though, with you, he knows how diligent you are with your studies…"

Legolas doesn't hear the rest of her words, for something small and delicate has begun to stir in his chest. If Badhron let Annith listen to a council when she was near 80 summers, does that mean he thinks me to be ready? Does that mean he may consider talking to Ada about letting me train properly, like Annith or Aeglostor?

"Faervel," he says quietly, "if tutor Badhron let me come here today, does that mean he thinks me ready to begin proper training?"

Now the frown returns to his Aunt's face. "Proper training?"

"As a warrior," Legolas says eagerly. It is hope that brings his heart to beat wildly under his chest. "Like Annith, or Aeglostor."

Understanding gleams in his aunt's eyes, but it isn't a kind understanding. Her mouth twists into a look of discomfort. "Ah, you speak of training training. Laeslas, we have been over this."

"Yes, I know. But I am nearly 60 summers old-"

"And Annith was 80 summers before she was allowed to commence training," his aunt does not hesitate to interrupt smoothly. "Now, please, put this out of your mind and focus on the speeches. Belathon is going to speak now."

Legolas smothers the urge to kick his feet into the back of a chair. Listening to speeches is the last thing I want to do- I want to train.

For seasons now, all he has thought of is training with the King's Guard- he has known it from the moment he could think and walk and talk. Often when he was buried in endless lessons on grammar and posture and everything that comes with a royal birth, his hands would itch to throw aside the pen and pick up a training dagger, or draw a bow. Of course, he does not want to fight for the mere sake of it, but because it means he will see the forest, and help his people.

As a prince he must find a way to bring meaning to the position he was born into, and for him, the only path is through becoming a warrior.

Apprenticeship under a Commander begins every Ethuil in the Halls, and while he knows he is too young to be fully apprenticed, he has been begging Annith enough times that she is beginning to consider it. At least, that's what she told me, last we met.

It'd been at a formal dinner, one for the Mereth-en-Iavas, and she had been reluctantly dragged away from her Garrison by Ada to participate. Wearing a pretty gown and a look of great pain, his sister listened to Legolas as he'd told her all about his longing to see the forest- or anything, really- that was outside of Ada's Halls, and how he wished to hold a bow and notch an arrow or throw a dagger.

It was the same little speech he'd given her at the last Feast of Autumn, and the one before that, and it had paid off as she'd snapped five little words: Alright, I will consider it.

And then she'd told him to shut up and eat his food, but Legolas didn't take it badly; how could he, when his fae had been alight with joy?

I will train, he thinks quietly. And then I won't have to sit in the Nursery all day and have my family treat me like an elfling.

But this mingled rush of longing and frustration swiftly fades, for the room has changed- more than that, it has grown louder. The ellyth and ellyn all around him are murmuring, turning to each other- some are even on their feet, peering down the balcony!

A rush of words greet him. "-we must break our self imposed isolation, and gather our forces- turn to the South, once and for all!"

"Eru Above!" Faervel rises to her own feet, her eyes widening. "Has he been bitten by a ungol himself?"

"Is that Belathon?" Legolas asks, for the ellyth in front of him have rushed forward to view this wild speaker, whose voice rises and falls like the crack and rumble of a summer storm, and he still cannot see anything.

"Drive out the yngyl and we find ourselves with new land- and new ways of trade! We would become the leading partner in trade in all of Arda- no longer confined to these Northern reaches of forest!"

He has heard of Belathon son of Laeron before. From what Annith has told him, the Silvan elf was an archer on Aeglostor's company for many seasons, until he surprised the entire Kingdom and became interested in the politics of the court. Legolas has heard the name being muttered around his chambers when Ada and Lhosben gather in the study and think he does not listen. But he did not know Belathon had such- such ideas!

His Aunt doesn't seem to hear him. In fact, no one seems to hear or see anything but the speaker. The chamber beneath them is in uproar- lords and ladies shout and bicker, some calling for the speaker to be silent, others shouting their encouragement.

"For too many yen, we have sat in the dark and let the Shadow creep in unchecked and unchallenged to the very heart of our beloved Eryn Galen! How can our council suggest that we do nothing, while our Silvan settlements are threatened and the woodsmen who make their home by our Eastern borders can no longer enter the forest for fear?"

Scrambling to his feet, Legolas propels himself from his seat to the one in front, and then rushes to the very edge of the balcony. A gap remains between two ellyn that is small enough to give him full view of the Council. It is indeed Belathon who speaks- and he does so wildly. A tall ellon, Belathon has a sharp, angular face with high cheekbones that Legolas imagines would cut any who came too close, and has a sharper tongue that he now wields to great effect.

Down below, the ellon has abandoned his seat at the Council and instead glances about the chamber as though he is trying to reach the fae of every person before him. The wave of his hands seem to push his words forward, up into the air, until Legolas can feel them nestling into his skin.

Legolas looks to his brother and father; Ada and Lhosben are as still as mountains before a raging flood. They hardly seem to breathe from where they sit at the head of the table, but even from high above he can see their gazes travelling with the every movement of Belathon.

As though realising the eager audience above him, Belathon glances up. His thin mouth curls up into a fierce look of determination. "Would you, edhil en Eryn Galen, be content to sit and do nothing while the Shadow grows even darker and seeks more and more light to take for its own?"

His gaze, startlingly silver for one of the Silvan, seems to fall on Legolas."Will you let our elflings be put in danger, for the sake of your complacency?"

For a brief few moments Legolas cannot breathe, caught as he is in the intensity of that bright gaze.

"No!" Someone cries out behind him, even as the Council grows louder.

Belathon's eyes travel to the speaker, and something close to triumph crosses his face.

"You shame our King!" An ellon shouts beneath them. "How dare you!"

"He speaks only the truth!" A dark-haired elleth counters angrily. "Is truth no longer free in the Council of King Thranduil?"

"This ellon doesn't know of what he speaks- therefore, it isn't truth!"

"Enough!" Ada rises suddenly from his seat in a ripple of silks, and the entire chamber falls to murmurs. "Belathon Laeronion, your speech-time has ended. I thank you for your impassioned ideas; the Council will take much time to consider them."

The dark-haired ellon bows politely, yet there is something stiff in the gesture that makes Legolas think he isn't being polite at all. "That is all I ask, my King," he says smoothly as he takes his seat.

"Now that is how you make a speech!" An elleth in front of Legolas says to her companion.

"He's as mad as the yngyl he talks so angrily of!" Another hisses. "To make it seem as though our King and council are letting the Shadow cross into our borders- that little ellon doesn't know what he speaks of!"

"Laeslas? Laeslas! Come, let us sit back down." Even amongst the crowd Faervel manages to find him, and grasps the sleeve of his tunic as though he is no more than 12 summers old.

"I didn't know Belathon spoke so well!" Legolas says to her, gently pulling out of her grasp once they sit down.

"No," Faervel says grimly. Her eyes are shadowed, and to his alarm he sees a thin line of sweat growing on her brow. "I would not have you listen to him again. He speaks well, to be sure, but his ideas… they do not sit well with your Adar, nor many on his Council."

"Faervel?" Concerned, Legolas brushes her wrist with his fingers; the life beneath his touch continues on as always, firm and steady. It does little to soothe the alarm that makes his heart kick. "Are you well?"

His mother's sister blinks slowly, and then returns to herself. "I am well, Laes…I just…" She looks about her, and then to him. Her dark eyes, the same shade of newly turned earth, flicker across his face almost desperately. "Perhaps we ought to return to your chambers. The Council is nearly finished, and I wish for a cup of cool water."

"Of- of course," Legolas rises with her, alarm prickling at his skin. What does she see? What concerns her so greatly?

No one seems to notice as the two edhil depart, nor do they concern themselves with the way the elleth leans heavily on her smaller companion as though she would fall if he did not hold her up.

All of their gazes are instead caught like trout in a net, drawn to the dark-haired figure of the Silvan, Belathon, who sits beneath them and yet smiles.

A/N: And first chapter done and dusted! I hope you all liked it!

In case you are not already aware, Legolas in this story is very young- only 57 'summers' and thus approximately the age of a 12-15 year old, if elves mature by 100. If you're a stickler for the movies, I apologise; but please, go ahead and imagine that every portrayal of Legolas in DoS and BOFTA is in fact my OC Aeglostor- Legolas' older brother and not a very happy elf.

Also- some of you may be confused as to why there is so much referencing to bonds and faes. Well, I like to think that within Tolkien's writings, he included a lot of references as to the strong relationship elves have with their own souls, so to speak, and the bonds between family members. In my story, this is the difference between elves and other races; being immortal, elves need something to anchor them to Arda and keep them alive, so to speak, and in this case it is their fae.

(It is even said that once elves marry, the bond between that couple is so strong that you would only have to look into their eyes to see the other spouse/their marital bond! How cool is that!)

In my story, bonds between family members are extremely important, and the use/abuse of such is one that plays a major role. So keep an eye on it!

BTW:Ellon- male elf

Elleth- female elf

Edhel/Edhil- Elf/Elves

Singyll- Herald

Eryn Galen- The Greenwood- I like to think that Thranduil and his people still like to cling to the name for hope that their forest will one day be green again, and not plagued by the Shadow.

Ungol/Yngyl- Spider/s

Fae- the Sindarin word for 'spirit'. Some of you may be more familiar of the Quenyan spelling 'fea', but as Thranduil (in my headcanon) hails from Doriath, which was strictly Sindarin-speaking, I like to think he carried that back with him to Mirkwood.

Rhaw- the Sindarin word for 'body'

Ada/Adar- Dad/Father

Naneth- Mother