Author's Note: [Originally posted on AO3. Go to my AO3 profile to see the referenced moodboard.] This fic was written for the 2021 Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang, with the lovely moodboard art by StormxPadme, a fellow Mirkwood family enthusiast. I really enjoyed the opportunity to chat with her about Mirkwood in general, and for her patience as I worked on this fic little by little over time. The art is embedded below [in AO3], and you can find us both on Tumblr! We hope you enjoy!

Artist's original commentary with art: "I'd love to know more about Legolas and his group of elves rebuilding Ithilien after the War of the Ring. Animal rescue, landscaping, fighting remaining stray orcs, excessive tree-hugging, interacting with Faramir and his Rangers – bring the post-war-time to life. Bonus points for a few thoughts about Legolas' sea-longing and his future departure from Middle-earth. If you want, make it shippy by including your favorite love interest for our Mirkwood Princeling."

UnnamedElement's notes on canon decisions, language/names, Legolas' family in "my universe," as well as interesting inspiration will be added to endnotes at a later date.

Credits: No beta. All mistakes are mine [...]. Thanks to Anerea for giving me some thoughts on the last line of the poem in Chapter [7]. The title of the poem in [Ch7] ("From acorn to ruinous oak") is from Legolas in Two Towers. "Young tree" as a descriptor comes from Tolkien's letters and, as of this week [first week of September], Nature of ME. Finally, thanks to everyone at the Silmarillion Writers' Guild for the support, knowledge, and general camaraderie that made this fic even mildly possible; and thanks to Roselightfairy [(AO3)] for letting me scream at her and cry in chat on and off for hours the night before this was due.

Warnings: Implied sexual content (PG-13) [in Ch6], blood in Ch3, grief and mourning, canonical major character death(s) off-screen [ch5&6], OC character death [Ch3], [added for FFnet: in this story, Legolas' vague partner in ch6 is a male elf]

Epigraphs

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour
A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage
A Dove house filld with Doves & Pigeons
Shudders Hell thr' all its regions
A dog starvd at his Masters Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State

-excerpt from "Auguries of Innocence," William Blake

.o.

'[Imrahil] is a fair lord and a great captain of men,' said Legolas. 'If Gondor has such men still in these days of fading, great must have been its glory in the days of its rising.'

'And doubtless the good stone-work is the older and was wrought in the first building,' said Gimli. 'It is everso with the things that Men begin: there is a frost in Spring, or a blight in Summer, and they fail of their promise.'

'Yet seldom do they fail of their seed,' said Legolas. 'And that will lie in the dust and rot to spring up again in times and places unlooked-for. The deeds of Men will outlast us, Gimli.'

'And yet come to naught in the end but might-have-beens, I guess,' said the Dwarf.

'To that the Elves know not the answer,' said Legolas.

—"The Last Debate," Return of the King

.o.

"Podrán cortar todas las flores, pero no podrán detener la primavera / You can cut all the flowers, but you will never stop the spring."

-Pablo Neruda

Chapter One: Dear Father

Dear Father,

I hope this letter finds you well, and enjoying the fruits of your labor in our home. I miss the Woods that grew me but I cannot return again for a while, I think, though it burns my heart, and I have told you why. Your patience is a gift to me. Tell me, do the poppies return at the edge of the field this Spring? And that new beech you had planted last I saw you, beside your old favorite: does it root deep with limbs stretched tall and seeking? Does it drink the water of the river with as much love as the last? How does it look, painted with sunlight in the mornings?

Ah! but you need not answer those, I suppose. It is enough for you to tell me you are well.

I go on.

Here, we are well, but it is a tiresome affair at times. I have often regretted my inattention to certain lessons in my youth, though my enthusiasm for the Woods does serve me. (And how!) It is the negotiating with Men that baffles me, and I am ever grateful for Aragorn's grace and patience, and Arwen's knowing ways. We have become close this past season, and she is an anchor to my heart when Master Gimli is not around. You would like her. She speaks with a mildly Silvan cadence that warms me, even if it is a peculiarity of Lorien and not of home.

An interesting anecdote, I think:

As in many places, orcs are still about. I hardly even have to mention that to you, of all people, but it feels odd to tell a story without prefacing it. Forgive me. Anyway, Gloreg, Halda, Emelin and I have been working closely these past months, while Saida and the rest endeavor to locate a place for more permanent settlement, once we have insured—with Faramir's rangers—that the spaces they explore are safe and clear. (Eowyn has been a boon, as well, and she and Saida have become friends. Ewessel is unreasonably fond of her.) You know all this, of course, apart from the domestic things (or, rather, I assume you do—for I send Lumornon the reports and, I expect, by the end of the week they make it to you.)

I shall therefore spare the exposition and move us farther forward before you weary of my chatter!

It was mid-week last that we received a message from the folk in Emyn Arnen (dropped by messenger bird—I was astounded and felt utterly outdone!) that peculiar activity had been noted in one of the stands of thick oak near the land we currently work. Obviously, Halda and I went first to survey as we are best suited, but found nothing amiss. Yet—while we were gone—a second message was delivered that noted unusual activity in the trees again and beneath the eaves, and so out we went again. Who am I to assume they have made the mistake and not I? That has burned me in the past, but I ought to have followed my instincts this time, before we wandered back into the copse alone.

We stayed on the ground that time to explore, careful and quiet, waiting for something unsavory: orcs or spiders. Even though those do not live here like that, I cannot break the habit of keeping my head tilted toward the trees though, this time, that habit is what saved us!

For, in the underbrush, you see, were several small wild boars like the kind hunted by the Woodsmen north of us, rattling about the way pigs do, rustling and rooting. The big ones were gone—hunted or otherwise, I do not know—and Halda and I, of course, moved to assess the small things after making certain the location was safe. I stood as she moved in with half an ear to the canopy and half to her, and so I immediately saw the true cause of the disturbance:

It was the messenger birds themselves!

Or, rather, the ones off duty. These birds were a new project of Faramir's youngest rangers and they had made great progress over the past month in training them for delivery, but not for return. This, apparently, led to more and more of the younger folk roaming out to look for them as more and more messages were released (for, as birds will typically do, these were not bothered with returning until they were ready!)

The full tale did not emerge until I met with Mablung later in the week, and it is not at all interesting and so I will not bore you in the listening or myself with the telling but—

The story ends with the realization that the young rangers had been reporting on themselves this whole time! First for the movement of the birds in the canopy, and then the movement of themselves about the place, which they then alerted us to. Apparently, the messages were continuously sent out in flight while we were out, and then the rangers-in-training going out after them until they were none of them left behind at the place—wandering about and tracking one another—while Halda and I stood obliviously in the forest until that old habit drew me to the birds. My movement into the trees—however slight it was—drew the attention of a wandering ranger child scout some fifty yards away, while Gloreg and Emelin crept upon another pair of youngsters elsewhere and we all scared each other rather badly, I think. (Or, rather, we scared them! Though I will admit to being startled—and more than a little peeved—to find myself on the receiving end of a frightened's ranger-child's bow when I lowered myself to the ground to alert them.)

Mannish children, Man-children? Their ages confound me still and I do not know. But it was a day of utter nonsense: pigs, birds, and under-trained youth: a "comedy of errors," as the hobbits would call it, in Westron. A story that flirted with danger but did not engage it, and it will entertain me, I think, for years to come.

(We never did find the large boars, though. And the abandoned boarlets we sent with those children of Men, for we had enough meat, while they are so many.)

I hope it has entertained you, too.

That exquisite amusement aside…

Next month. Gloreg and I travel to survey the edges of the forest round the eastern eaves, toward the mountains and away from Minas Tirith. It will be a new place, and we will take care. We have spent long hours with Faramir reviewing maps of the places as they have changed over the centuries, for there has been much conflict here, and fraught times. It has been difficult everywhere, I think, especially for those places that blossom in defiance of the shadows that seek to darken them.

Until next time, Father. May you find time today to turn your face toward the sun; or else walk this night beneath the stars.

With love,

Legolas