A/N: Wow, I found a lot of mistakes when I reread my first entries. Forgive me, but I have only one editor who has a life beyond mine. So, just ignore what's wrong with all of this. Also, I'm taking a small liberty, er, actually, a BIG liberty. In Book of Lost Tales, it mentions the Istari reached Middle Earth in about year 1000 of the Third Age. Just for writing purposes, I had to move that to 500, *runs from the purists*. This part is the past, far before the forming of the Fellowship. Fun with alliteration this morning..
Mirkwood was not always dark and foreboding. Once, many centuries ago, it was clear and the Elves made it a place of wonder. It was not as glorious as Lorien or Rivendell, yet its beauty was in the green buds, the purple butterflies, and the cool, crisp autumn air. This was the forest Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil, awoke to. This is where he spent his first years, naive of the world outside.
Yet time exists, even in a land as peaceful as this, and its beauty began to fade. The Elves drew in their borders and disappeared from the view of all, save the men of nearby Dale. This is the world a weary traveler cloaked in all grey came upon one warm summer evening.
The Istari hummed to himself as his horse plodded lazily along. A soft rustling of branches caught his attention, causing him to turn and stare at the sky.
"Who dares to tread upon the paths of Thranduil's realm?" It was an Elf, but one so young Mithrandir had barely recognized him as such. Bright, ocean blue eyes studied him and a mass of light blonde hair that hid his ears from view hung around his face. Indeed, he must have been as young as Arwen, for it was tradition that Silvan Elves braided their hair once they reached a thousand, their designated coming-of-age.
"I am a messenger of Rivendell, bearing news from Lord Elrond to the ruler of this realm."
"I am him," the young Elf responded calmly. "You have not give me your name,"
"Which one would you like? I have several. Yet the Elves call me Mithrandir, so I shall give you that one. I did not know the king of Mirkwood was so short!"
The Elf scrunched his nose slightly as if indignant. "You must have heard strange things then, if you believed I was old."
"I have heard the king is tall and fair as the leaves in fall. I heard his wife was gentle and warm, like a spring day. And.." At this, Mithrandir paused, smiling slightly beneath his beard. "I also heard their son was a bane to his people and pierced one of the oldest Elves in the kingdom with his arrow!"
"It was an accident, and he deserved it!" the Elf cried as he stomped his foot.
Mithrandir laughed, a warm reassuring sound. "You are his son then! Please, give me your name and forgive my sharp tongue!"
"I am Legolas," the Elf answered. "And I forgive you, as long as you tell my father I was not so deep in the forest,"
"I shall keep your secret, if you show me the paths to your home," Mithrandir replied, still smiling. His hunch had been correct, for he had heard tales of the son of Thranduil, mainly of his impish nature. Now, seeing him up close, he had an odd sense that Legolas was destined to play a part in his future.. and that of all of Middle Earth.
A wise ranger once said that 'No two kingdoms of Elvenkind are the same.' Mithrandir was somewhat surprised to see how very few shelters had been built above ground, the forest seemed nearly untouched. The home of the Elves, both Silvan and Nandor, was underground.
Legolas led him deep through winding tunnels, well lit by glowing torches. The air was well circulated and Mithrandir could vaguely smell the forest outside through hidden airways. The tunnels themselves were earthen and far different from the rock halls of Moria. He heard and saw several Elves, but they said not a word to the stranger who was being led by their young prince.
Finally, they arrived at a hallway and two solid oak doors. They were made of white wood and a long trail of ivy had drawn designs beautifully around the doors. Mithrandir marveled at the sight, for a mysterious craft had twisted and moved the ivy to its current patterns. Legolas waited patiently as the doors swung open to the inside.
A sharp difference existed between this long hall and the other areas of the underground. A small throne laced with golden leaves sat in the back of the hallway; two smaller thrones of silver and marbles leaves on opposite ends of it. Even underneath the earth, beautiful flowers grew within this room and streams of light provided light from hidden shafts in the ceiling. An Elf of silent majesty sat in the golden throne, his blue eyes filled with a soft sad wisdom, his golden hair knotted in a crown of leaves. This was Thranduil, son of Oropher, and ruler of Mirkwood.
Legolas stood straight, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Thranduil nodded to his son and the young Elf disappeared from view.
"Greetings lord," Mithrandir bowed. "I am Mithrandir, and I have come on behalf of Elrond,"
Thranduil stood, carefully examining his guest. "You bear news of the Enemy then?"
"Nay, though perhaps that is a good thing. I only come to see your kingdom, for Elrond advised me to visit each realm for when that time comes."
"What do you think we have to offer?" Thranduil glanced at him as his focus went to a set of swords resting high against the wall. "That we have not already given?"
"You can watch, provide scouts and messengers as can be spared, archers are needed, for there are none finer than those in Mirkwood," Mithrandir offered, adding the small compliment for hope of flattery.
"Then you may send word I shall spare eye and ear as I may, but I shall not ever again send my kindred to fight beyond our borders."
Mithrandir arched his eyebrow. "Sauron is a common enemy, when the time comes, we shall be in nee.."
"I have given you my response to send to Elrond," Thranduil answered before the Istari could finish. "Ask me no more."
Mithrandir stood, halfheartedly murmuring to himself. The request had been granted, partly, and that was all he could expect.
The next day Mithrandir left to return to Rivendell, where he would venture out to Lorien. He vaguely remembered Elrond describing the Last Alliance, and Oropher's bold but unplanned charge. It was no wonder his son was loath to send his people into battle again. The Elves were tired and full of grief.
After a few days of traveling, he allowed himself a short rest in a mossy clearing. A tiny fire he lit and he ate a small bit as he made plans of his next journey.
A noise from behind first alerted him to the presence. He grunted as he lit his pipe, staring suspiciously at the other end of his fire. He inhaled deeply, then chuckled as a loud crackling noise echoed in the quiet. Legolas was sprawled out against the ground, Mithrandir's wooden staff smoldering beside the Elf.
"It is not wise to play with an old man's things!" the Istari said in between smoking his pipe.
Legolas jerked up, an indignant sulk on his face. "If you are an old man, I am a Balrog!" He wiped the leaves off his tunic and settled down, staring suspiciously at the staff as if it would leap up and bite him.
"That is a dangerous thing to say Legolas." Mithrandir answered. "You might just become one."
Legolas did not seem worried in the least by the statement and instead focused on wiping the black ash off his cheek. "I am running away to Rivendell,"
"Your father will be angry with you..."
"Then so be it! I want to see Lord Elrond's home, and you have gone too far to return me,"
"Imp!" Mithrandir laughed. "Fine, but I had no part in this escape. You alone must face King Thranduil's fury!"
Legolas smiled brightly. He stood up and disappeared in a mass of tree branches from a nearby oak.
"Valar help Elrond if his children are as reckless as this Elf!" Mithrandir mused as he settled back against a tree trunk, knowing Legolas was somewhere above, watching the stars.
Justification: -Oropher was slain in the first assault upon Mordor, rushing forward at the head of his most doughty warriors before Gil-galad had given the signal for the advance. Thranduil his son survived, but when the war ended and Sauron was slain (as it seemed) he led back home barely a third of the army that had marched to war.
-Book of Lost Tales, 271
It makes sense to me that Thranduil (setting what little is said of him in Hobbit to the side) would NOT be ready to fight outside of his borders save in last defense. The Silvans were already rather isolated, and I doubt they cared much for what happened outside their forest.
Oh, and for the constant mention of Mithrandir instead of Gandalf: (most of you guys know anyway so just skip this) Faramir explains in Two Towers that Mithrandir is the Elvish name for the wizard, and it means 'Grey Wanderer'. And Legolas DOES refer to him as such, at least in the second book.