Disclaimer: Alas, I do not own LOTR, that's Tolkien's masterpiece.
AN: I apologize to those who may find my depiction of Celebrian less than flattering. I thought it would be interesting to show her in a different light.
Sorry No Twins in this Chapter, but there is plenty of Legolas and Thranduil! Who've been virtually ignored for quite some time and have waited patiently on the sidelines!
Chapter 7
Legolas examined their room carefully. Rich reds, whites, and ambers decorated their chamber.
The architecture was beautiful, but the carved leaves detailing the furniture…he wrinkled his nose…Clearly Rivendell elves didn't know their trees too well.
Attaching broadleaves to deciduous branches...
He could practically hear his father chuckle, 'Well what would you expect from Valley-dwellers—they're swimmers not tree climbers like you, Las.'
His father had tried over and over to explain that not all elves cherished trees the way their people did.
But it made no sense…how could anyone NOT appreciate the beauty of a tree. They were so grand and majestic.
A river was just water that flowed in a line. And if it rained too much it flooded—like when you tried to write with a quill that had too much ink—the letters just bled it out ruining the surrounding area.
He wrinkled his nose again.
Still, maybe the young lords would show him interesting things.
Despite only seeing them for a brief moment, Elrond's sons fascinated him. They truly were identical. Quite extraordinary. They reminded him of Father's twin knives.
The idea amused him. Elladan would definitely be the leading dagger. His proud stance—bold, fearless, in control.
Elrohir, despite sharing the same face, was not so. He had kind eyes, but that was all Legolas could really say for him. Definitely the supporting dagger, the extra…
Elrohir…
He wasn't the sort of elf, the Mirkwood Prince would take with him when he went out to battle orcs.
The fact that it would be long centuries before he was old enough to do so barely fazed him. The young prince knew he'd be a fearsome warrior worthy of his kingdom. He'd accept nothing less from himself.
The difficulty would be proving that to the young lords. All he had right now was potential; he'd yet to earn any notches in his belt.
Especially small and lithe for his age, he hardly painted an intimidating picture. While he'd inherited his father's coloring, his features were much softer.
It resulted in him looking even younger than his age. A spot of true anxiety.
Oh Valar! He hoped desperately that they wouldn't be too proud to entertain him. Ada seemed to think there was no gap between them at all. But Legolas knew better.
About two decades older than him, the twins would be well within their right to ignore him on a personal level. They had to, of course, recognize him professionally and officially as royalty—but that sort of dynamic was too stuffy for his liking. It'd be much more satisfying to be friends.
Oh! He hoped they didn't find him infantile. Mithrandir had shared so many stories of them, he felt as though he knew them already.
Yesterday…Legolas flushed thinking of his actions…he must've looked so foolish. But he'd been riding for several weeks with Mithrandir's stories floating through his head. Adventures! Elladan and Elrohir had tons of adventures! And he dearly wanted to have one with them! Theirs seemed much more exciting than his.
And then he saw them! And how strange their accents were! How brilliantly funny Elladan was. He was exactly as Mithrandir described him.
He'd wanted to race over and declare the three of them friends on the spot. He supposed it was just as well that Ada held him in place.
If he'd done as he wanted, they'd undoubtedly think him insane.
Well he'd give a proper, more befitting introduction tonight at dinner. That would impress them.
Yes! Yes, that was the plan! And then he could tell them of Mirkwood's wonders!
He'd heard one of their guards speaking to a blonde-haired elf, who didn't fit in at all amongst all the dark-haired inhabitants. He'd said something about the Mirkwood elves needing to prepare themselves. They'd be pestered for tales of giant spiders—Elladan was quite intrigued.
Well that delighted Legolas, he HAD seen a giant spider once. Unfortunately, Ada kept him far from the action while the guards dispatched it. But at he would at least be able to confirm their existence, hopefully that would be enough to impress the older elfling.
"Las? What are you smiling about, ion nin?"
"The twins, Ada,"
"Ah, yes our impromptu meeting party" Thranduil smiled as well.
There was no way he could forget Elladan—firm stance, flashing grey eyes—as though his small frame housed a fierce storm. And the boy knew it—daring anyone to provoke it.
The elder one certainly had pluck, especially considering his heritage.
Thranduil, though fond of his cousin, always found Celebrian painfully demure. No sense of challenge lighted her eyes, no need for championship—submissive, quiet, willowy—a traditional elleth bound for ordinary happenstances. The momentous events of her life followed as such: her own birth, marriage, and the births of her children. Not much for lyrists to lament.
He smirked; not at all like his melleth. Oh the songs that could be sung of her! Too bad she'd banned them from doing so.
He chuckled—remembering a recent banquet—where one cocky singer portrayed their courting a bit too suggestively. Thranduil may have bequeathed his son his talent for the bow, but he knew where Las inherited his right hook.
What a night! Maybe when they returned to Mirkwood, he'd check up on that ellon—make sure his jaw had healed.
She could appreciate the fire in Elladan's spirit—nurture and handle it as it ought to be.
It was abundantly clear that Lord Elrond was deeply displeased with the boy—more so than the other.
Rather pacifistic and bureaucratic, he would frown on the child's straightforward nature.
And though it wasn't really his business at all how the Peredhel dealt and disciplined his brood, he felt himself bristle at the undoubtedly unequal punishment that would follow—Elladan definitely took the harder fall out of the two.
He'd bet his finest wine on it. The thought genuinely angered him.
Amazing…a spur-of-the-moment clash in the woods and an unorthodox apology this morning, won his favor.
The reason for his approval wasn't hard to guess as he glanced down at the precious child before him.
Piercing blue eyes watched him intently.
It was with no small amount of pride that he could confidently declare the Valar had blessed him with an exceedingly handsome, intelligent, talented child.
He smiled, reaching a hand out to pet the little one's hair—his heart warmed greatly by his presence.
Legolas bore strong resemblance to him with clear pale skin, light hair, and that strong (his wife would say stubborn) jaw.
Las was a force (albeit a small one) to be reckoned with.
He thought of Elladan again.
Similar spirits. Bold. Confident. Strong-willed.
Perhaps, some parents viewed those traits negatively and…perhaps with a wavering hand of guidance they could mesh into seeds of rebellion.
And if that ensued, who was really to blame? Not the child, but the parent who reared him.
Fierce souls needed remodels they could admire, respect, and relate with.
True, he often needed to curb Legolas' brash enthusiasm and the misadventures that ensued from it.
But the thought of smothering that spark…
Thranduil frowned.
Frank, honest, accurate descriptions of situations made for a useful warrior who could communicate aptly—relaying information concisely.
Surely Elrond knew that…
Unless Elrond was purposely trying to raise yet more diplomats who enjoyed drowning their speeches with flowery metaphors overwrought with ideals that only lived on paper…which was all and well in peace times…but good luck negotiating with orcs.
The sudden thought of Elrond attempting to hold council in Dol Guldor amused him greatly.
"Ada?"
His attention snapped back to his son.
"Do you suppose they'll like me?" he inquired, eyes hopeful.
"All who meet you, love you my little sparrow."
"Ada that is not so and you know it" the child disputed, hands on his hips.
"It is not?" he asked, lips quirking.
"Indeed" the child stated matter of fact "Cousin Vinwo is ALWAYS dreadfully displeased with me."
"Perhaps it has something to do with your archery?"
Legolas frowned, "Well it is not MY fault that I am a better shot than he is."
"No, but perhaps you shouldn't tell him such."
"But I don't. All I suggest is that he try aiming for the center as I do."
Thranduil grinned "Oh Las…"
"Ada, I do not like it when you smile so. It is as though you are having some private joke at my expense."
At this the woodland king laughed boisterously, kneeling before his young son and pulling him into a hug.
"Oh do not be cross. I laugh for happiness not mockery. You are my light, tithen las. How could my heart be heavy while you are present?"
"Well, I should hope it never feels like an anchor. It would mean you didn't like me much and that would hurt my feelings Ada."
"Well then, it is good that I adore you then" he answered back easily.
"Very good. Because we are both immortal and you shall be saddled with me for quite some time—Forever in fact."
The elvenking's laughter rung again, louder than before.
Celebrian fidgeted, fingers twisting together fretfully.
It seemed that wherever Thranduil went, Legolas followed.
When she offered to take him to play with other children his age, both had stared at her as though she'd made some ridiculous comment on the weather—like it was raining marbles in place of water.
Perhaps she could have written that off as simple spoiling. In earlier years, the twins had happily tagged alongside their father with little thought to his destination or convenience…ahhh, the difficulties in climbing stairs with two elflings attached to one's legs.
Except that Legolas wasn't loud or rambunctious or in-the-way, speaking to his father in soft tones that even her elven hearing couldn't quite make out.
The seriousness in which Thranduil paid attention to him didn't suggest whimsical stories.
It was odd, seeing Thranduil with a child in tow.
Whenever she envisioned him, she thought of her wedding. Him standing, brooding at the back—Dark, metal armor glinting—the only leather to be found on him was in the straps holding the plates in place and his archery gloves.
A lesson dearly learned.
She's long wondered if that was some cryptic message to her husband.
The armor in place of robes…was it a slight? Some wordless pact that they would ALWAYS battle one another—regardless of station or relation or collateral?
The circlet adorning his head seemed terribly heavy. The metal wrought leaves curling over his brows had shadowed his eyes even more. Pale skin and dark cloak (still in mourning for his father…for his army) made him look especially grim and wraithlike.
Glorfindel, watching his dearest friends from the first row, had followed her gaze.
Wincing as he caught sight of Mirkwood's new king and murmured under his breath, "His heart has no light."
Just as she had then, she shivered—scrutinizing her cousin from the safety of her husband's side.
There was nothing in Thranduil now that reflected the dark, young king she'd glimpsed. In truth, she'd never viewed him as a very happy ellon. Prone to frowning and acerbic replies.
But the elf astride her now was all charm and handsome smiles. Seemed to radiate joy and satisfaction—green eyes shining brightly in his attractive face.
And every time he glanced upon his child, he simply seemed to…come alive; a deep reverberating happiness as clear as a blue sky and bright as the sun.
She reluctantly admitted to herself, that in this state—her cousin was very likeable.
Perhaps…centuries ago…this had been his permanent disposition…perhaps this was what had inspired her father's enduring fondness of him.
She could see his good nature winning over Glorfindel, his ostentatious vocabulary earning Erestor's admiration, and his genuine love for his child, slowly gaining her husband's respect.
Her cousin was deeply affectionate to his young son—often holding, hugging, and smiling at him—letting him sit on his lap or hold his scrolls and ledger.
Very important scrolls, she might add. Ones that concerned the trade routes of Mirkwood, Rivendell, and Lake Town.
Didn't Thranduil worry over little smudge marks, creases, or careless abandonment? Would she later find these documents under a table strewn with toys?
And yet…Thranduil never need straighten his child's tunic, reprimand the state of him, or admonish him for speaking too loudly.
Contradiction on contradiction…such an odd relationship…
At moments Legolas seemed quite naïve—clearly missing the adult's humor in several instances, but the way he stared at her numerous times as if SHE were amusing HIM—put her ill at ease.
She'd tried engaging Legolas in conversation—asking him what classes were his favorites, what fairytale he loved best, what dessert he would like in the days to come?
Each time he seemed almost caught off-guard, which was ridiculous—these were normal questions.
She'd relaxed her onslaught after a pointed look from Glorfindel that silently announced: Stop badgering the child. If he wants to talk to you, he will.
She released an unhappy sigh, try as she might to accept the child as he was…she couldn't.
Inwardly she squirmed for not asking more about him—she'd had plenty of time to prepare for this and had squandered it!
Besides his birth—upon which she and Elrond sent an (unfortunately belated) gift and her father's letters depicting great happiness for Thranduil's blessings—she knew precious little about the elfling.
Only that Celeborn found the child 'precocious, adorable, and refreshing—with a great hand for archery.'
She knew it was ridiculous, but she felt a bit…slighted by that.
Her adar was usually rather restrained in articulating his affection.
He still acted rather formal to her husband and cordial to Glorfindel—despite her insistence that he may as well have been family.
She supposed it ruffled her a bit: Celeborn loved his young cousin Thranduil long before his marriage, long before her birth, long before many things that comprised the foundation of her entire world.
It lent them an exclusive closeness: one that made Thranduil a curious blend of cousin, brother, son, and friend.
Not even marriage to a wife, who clearly disliked his cousin, discouraged his affection.
Nothing curbed the flurry of letters they wrote to one another. Throughout childhood she'd often found her father writing to a cousin she barely knew of. Even after the familial phantom gained a face, she couldn't say she…adored him.
No…he was far too…harsh, victory-oriented, brash…with a mouth full of sharp words as cutting as his weapons. And he ALWAYS had a weapon with him. Hands that only wounded, and never healed…
She pressed her lips together tightly, trying to hold in the frown that desperately wanted to free itself.
Especially since Legolas was peering at her—an intense stare for so young a child.
It made her dreadfully uncomfortable—almost as though he could sense her baseless dislike for him.
Several moments passed where he studied her unblinkingly.
Good at archery, hmmm? Well with a piercing gaze like that, it was no wonder…
She wished she knew some glorious gem about him. Like he loved swimming! Or that he enjoyed riding! Or that the library was one of his favorite haunts!
Something that would ignite his enthusiasm and make him…make him act more like…like one of her own children. If she could see some sort of similarity, she could loosen that hateful knot of envy.
Her father described her sons accurately…not affectionately. Elladan was warrior-esque—impetuous. Elrohir was scholarly—quiet.
Legolas was 'precocious, adorable, and refreshing—with a great hand for archery.'
She felt herself seethe even while she berated herself for such unkindness. She'd almost succeeded in managing her emotions and then she'd look at him again.
He was a beautiful child. Fair…like herself…like her mother…like Celeborn himself…
Her children…all of them…clearly had their father's coloring. Could such a small detail warrant such adverse treatment…?
Erestor was currently boring them with a montage on the portraits lining this hall.
She watched Thranduil playfully cuff his child's ear.
The boy's eyes flitted to his father to Erestor and then back, before making several small gestures with his hands.
His father caught his eye, and signed several things back.
She blinked, she may not have any warrior training but she'd seen the guardsmen relay messages in such a way.
Both smiled tightly, as though they clearly wanted to laugh, but propriety wouldn't allow it.
She didn't know this child at all.
Her only knowledge coming from a letter from her father who swiftly sensed she had no softness for the little one and Mithrandir.
Who boldly stated that Legolas was his adar's saving grace—restoring his faith in the world. And that he had the Valar's blessing.
Well of course he did. ALL elves had that. All creatures on this fair earth had that.
Nothing made him any more precious than one of her own.
"The hour grows late, perhaps we ought to stop for refreshment before continuing on to trade discussion" Elrond offered hospitably.
"Sounds wise enough, doesn't it Ion?"
"Yes Adar" The child replied respectfully.
Celebrian gave a bright smile, trying to shake off lingering resentment, "Well the noon class will have finished by now, perhaps he can take a cookie or tart with them in the courtya-"
Thranduil frowned, abruptly interrupting, "-Cousin, I know you mean well. But you become insulting. Now stop talking down at Ernil Legolas. He is my heir and well-versed in our reason for coming here."
Legolas who'd been carrying his adar's ledger the whole way, scurried forward. Opening it midway, where a red bookmark rested.
He glanced at his father who nodded to him.
Legolas cleared his throat and straightened his posture; head up, shoulders back.
He bowed once, with the book balanced carefully between his small hands.
He then locked eyes with the adults.
"Lords and Lady of Rivendell I come before you as a messenger of Aran Thranduil Oropherion of Eryn Galen. Long have our lands communicated with one another: exchanging goods and pleasantries. However, in light of recent events superficial greetings will not suffice. The tides of time swiftly change our world, and Arda is no longer a safe haven. As yrch increase, our trade suffers."
The child brandished the ledger, resting a finger at the figures there.
"This quarter" his little voice announced simultaneously young yet authoritative. "You will notice a great decrease in available supplies. Orc attacks are greatly hindering our trade with the outside world. Though your valley may not feel the effect…yet…We entreat you to consider a negotiation discussing the protection of trade routes leading between the mountains. My king, our advisors, and I have discussed this troubling reality and have agreed that the routes MUST be patrolled. We ask you to aid us in this task."
He bowed once more before closing the book and stepping back beside his father, who offered a small proud smile.
Legolas' heart pounded in the silence, his first official presentation as his father's representative.
It had gone without a hitch—the urge to whoop was strong, but that would undo the princely prestige he was aiming for.
He'd been warned about Lord Elrond's stern gaze—that it could reduce the mightiest of leaders to stuttering fools.
But he hadn't faltered or stammered or anything! Valar knew how often he had recited that monologue along the way.
The Mirkwood Company could vouch for that. In fact…any one of them could deliver that speech now. But no one dared voice any irritation…even when the young prince began it for what had to be the hundredth time. Only the dimmest would dare incur their sire's ire, especially with him so clearly pleased with his child's dedication.
And repetition had clearly paid off.
Aran Thranduil watched in calm approval—the child did well—better than many far beyond his tender years. Poised, sincere, and concise that speech was a gem.
The fact that Legolas both wrote and delivered it flawlessly was an impressive feat—one he could acknowledge as both a King and a parent.
Legolas was a worthy prince of the woodland realm; loyal to his kingdom, his station, and his father.
This was an important milestone that Legolas passed easily—Thranduil couldn't be prouder.
Meanwhile, the Lords and Lady of Rivendell openly gaped—somewhere caught between awe and disbelief.
Lord Elrond and Glorfindel shared an incredulous glance.
Yesterday, they'd seen Legolas ride in—a happy elfling buoyant with good cheer, happily chatting away with stable hands and leaning against his father's leg.
Today they met Ernil Legolas of Eryn Galen. Considerably more formidable and if those focused blue eyes were anything to judge by—no one to underestimate.
Ai Valor!
What to make of this world? When some children are menaces and others are authorities?
Lord Elrond did the only thing he could:
He bowed, "I, Lord Elrond of Rivendell, welcome this messenger: Ernil Legolas Thranduilion as well as his sire Aran Thranduil Oropherion of Eyrn Galen. I wish the Great Woodland Realm well. And would be honored to discuss the matter of trade routes at length in my council room."
R&R Please! ^^
