Blood-Stained
Ch. 1: Coronation
The stars were bright that evening in Northern Mirkwood, and so father and son were enjoying each other's company under the velvet canvas, content to be silent and serene. Each was a mirror reflection of one another, though Thranduil sported a few worry lines about his forehead and cheeks, present despite his eternal youth.
"The stars are beautiful tonight. I miss these times we spend together, father." The younger Greenleaf said softly, his voice almost a whisper. It seemed that any sound perverted the still beauty around them, but words would have to be spoken at one time before both retired for the night. It seemed natural that the younger and more naive of the two - though that was waning fast, the King could see - be the one to speak them first, and to break the silence.
"As do I, Laegolas." Thranduil spoke gently, crossing his arms and leaning against the balcony railing, looking much more like a human in that moment than Legolas could ever remember. Legolas could remember far back to his childhood years, and of the times when his father would speak of tales concerning humans and the race of men. He had a growing suspicion that his father knew more about humans than he let on, and perhaps had lived among them at one time, but if he knew anything he kept it from his son.
This night was no ordinary night; in a few short hours, near midnight, would be Legolas' formal crowning, naming him the prince of Mirkwood. Until this night he had but been his father's successor, but now he would wield some power over the subjects of his father's land, and he was guaranteed the crown when his father faded into the West. It was customary for father and son to spend the hours before alone together, speaking of the old days when they were both a little younger and when the world didn't seem as threatening as it did now.
Legolas' eyes flickered to the shining silver helm laced across his father's forehead. It was very much similar to the one he had seen Elrond of Rivendell wearing when he had visited there as a child, laced over and through itself with silver strands of what looked to be the precious metal mithril. Legolas knew for a fact that his father had a small amount of the metal locked away in the family vaults, and that his own new helm would be made of it as well. It was amazing how something so earth-bound and plain could sparkle so beautifully when tendered and shaped properly.
Despite all these wonderful things about becoming Prince, Legolas could still feel his stomach fluttering uncomfortably. It had been his greatest fear that he could not live up to the reputation his father had built, and that his people would never come to respect him in the way that they did his father.
"You are nervous." Thranduil said, turning his head. A smirk was planted on his face, and Legolas had to marvel at his father's hearing. His breathing had changed only slightly, not enough for even himself to pick up voluntarily, and it seemed to his father to be as loud as the Northern winds that ran through Mirkwood in the early fall.
"I don't suppose I'd be a good ruler like you if I wasn't." Legolas said, finding himself unable to look his father in the eyes. He looked down to the streets and the palace courtyard, where the preparations for the ceremony would take place. Though he would not inherit all of Mirkwood for a good long time yet, he found more and more of his freedom taken away and replaced by duty, a word he had scorned for want of his own life many years before.
To his surprise, Thranduil laughed. "How right you are. I wouldn't want my son to have a big head, now would I?" He chuckled, smiling a real smile for his son. The old elf had not really produced a real smile in so long, Legolas found it hard to remember a time when he did smile truly, from the bottom of his heart. He found it very uplifting.
"Do not worry, you are not King yet." The King of Mirkwood laughed again, reaching out and slapping his son on the back. Legolas found himself smiling again, and returned to looking out at the stars. He supposed that he could be a good ruler, and he was sort of glad that it was far away, into the distant future.
He was not his father, but it did not matter. He was Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood.
Lady Galadriel pulled up her brilliant white steed, coming to a halt at the gates of the palace. Behind her were some of her guards, including Haldir, and at her side was her husband Celeborn. She immediately recognised one of the Stewards of Mirkwood as he slipped through the palace gates, and beyond she could see all the preparations coming into place.
"Your Ladyship! Mirkwood is happy to welcome you to the coronation of Prince Legolas!" The Steward said, sounding baffled but also quite happy that someone of such distinction had come to see the young - as young as he could be considered, being an elf - prince.
"Please come in, your Ladyship! I shall inform the king immediately of your arrival! Unexpected, but still much welcomed!" The Steward said, sounding much like he was babbling. Galadriel felt the corners of her mouth turn upward as the elf struggled with the gates before them, then practically running back up the long winding road to the glimmering palace beyond.
"Humph," Celeborn scoffed at her side, "No grace whatsoever." Galadriel laughed, motioning her horse forward, also indicating that the small party should be on it's way. She heard a few of the guard speaking in low voices in the back, and almost immediately one of them being thumped rather hard with what sounded like the end of a bow; most likely Haldir telling them to 'smarten up and fly straight' as she liked to call it.
The company of roughly five moved up the road on steeds of pure white, seeing as they came closer that it was nearly time for the coronation to begin. She could also see many others arriving from different roads leading up to the palace, spotting many fair-headed blonde elves and some dark-haired ones, supposedly from Rivendell and the lands around it. Perhaps she would see Elrond here on this night; she had missed him since his last visit to Lothlorien, as the two were good friends, though she knew her husband could not stand him.
Finally reaching the palace itself, Galadriel dismounted and let the reins of her horse to one of the stable hands, of which she was surprised to see was human. He bowed to her respectfully with all of the grace that an elf would have to someone of her stature, leading her horses away to the stables on the other side of the palace. It left her staring despite her tolerance of humans, and Celeborn was happy to vocalise it for her.
"Men, in Mirkwood? It's bad enough about that damned wife of his..." He muttered, but was quickly silenced by Galadriel with the motion of her hand.
"Hush love, we don't want to make ourselves look bad in front of oh-so-many people, now do we?" She said, smirking when her husband grumbled something derogatory towards Thranduil and dropped his head, apparently done with the vocal argument. He knew she was right, after all, but he could not bring himself to be civil to the King when he didn't have to be.
There came a sound from above, and Galadriel focused her sight up towards one of the many overhanging balconies of the palace. It was run up with beautiful fern-like vines and made it look all the more homelike to her, but her attention was focused on the two figures that sat on the rails, facing each other and talking quietly to one another. Thranduil and his son Legolas spoke to each other in happy tones, laughing and talking together. It was a happy sight for her, as last time she had been to Mirkwood the king was not on good terms with his son. Catching her line of sight, Celeborn caught the sight of the two Mirkwood nobles sitting upon the balcony, much in the way that humans would do so.
"Ugh, would you look at..."
"Celeborn." Galadriel said warningly, nudging her husband ever-so-gently. He grumbled something else, and she rolled her eyes.
"Come now, my son. It's time." Thranduil smiled, letting Legolas walk before him and placing his hand on his shoulder as they passed under the archway of the balcony and into the heated rooms of the palace. They were about to leave when a young message boy - human, the king noticed - ran in on them and bowed hastily, presenting a message to his king.
"My Lord, Lady Galadriel has arrived with her party, and are presently at the gates awaiting you, Milord!" He said breathlessly, and it was apparent that he had been running. Thranduil's eyes opened in surprise, but he smiled soon after. He should have known that she would have come anyways, despite Celeborn's urgings and most terrible disposition towards him. He nodded, and the boy left, looking relieved. Thranduil turned to his son.
"Dress yourself and meet me down in the meadows. I must greet our unexpected, but welcome, guests." He said softly, walking past Legolas and exiting the room. He simply nodded after his father and began laying out the clothes that had been specially prepared for this most important day.
"Galadriel, my dear, how have you been!?" Thranduil practically yelled as he walked down the steps of the gilded palace, his arms open wide. The Lady of the Wood bowed to him, and was quite surprised to see that he went to her and encircled her in a hug, something she was not used to. She heard Celeborn snort in anger behind her, and she hoped that he didn't blow a fuse at the Mirkwood royalty. Despite this, she had to admit that it felt nice, being there in his arms, though she knew she was embarrassing her husband more and more as the second ticked by like they were minutes. As they parted she heard Thranduil whisper something in her ear in his own tongue, but by the time she had finished mentally translating it he had put on a mask and was greeting the rest of the party behind her. She simply stood there in shock, barely registering what the king said to her husband.
"Celeborn, old bean, how are you?" The King pressed, and it was obvious that he was holding back his temper. The two kings had not liked each other for a long, long time, longer than Galadriel could ever remember, though she knew not why.
"Quite well, thank you." Her husband responded curtly, clearly not in the mood to talk. Sensing this energy also, Thranduil rapidly changed topics, something that he specialized in.
"Well then, let's get you all down to the meadows, shall we? That's where we're having it, on account of the beautiful weather we've been having. Come on then, let's not tarry!" The king said jovially, putting all - with the exception of Celeborn, of course - in good spirits.
From the darkness above Galadriel felt eyes on her back, and she became fearful that someone else besides her husband and company had seen the 'friendly' embrace.
The meadows were packed with bodies; elves from all different parts of Middle Earth had been assembled in one place, and Galadriel was happy that she had come. Immediately Haldir and the other two soldier elves he had insisted come with her departed from her side, sure that she was safe in a clearing with many other elves that could protect her if need be. Celeborn stood glued to her side, sure that Thranduil would pop up from somewhere among the trees and whisk her away. It had been his greatest fear since he had very rudely hugged his wife in complete view of everyone, and he wouldn't let him get near her again like that.
"Dearest, I'm feeling slightly claustrophobic..." Galadriel said softly from Celeborn's side, looking up at him gently. He raised an eyebrow at this and separated from her slowly, but did still not leave her side. She sighed and looked about her, involuntarily looking for Thranduil.
Moments later, a herald bleated his trumpet, getting everyone's attention. He stood at the foot of the dais that had been set up, looking quite earthy and very warm amongst the fronds of leaves and ferns that it had been set in.
"Announcing his Lordship, Legolas of Mirkwood!" The herald yelled, making sure everyone heard him. Then, from a slight distance, there came a neighing of a horse. Galadriel turned her attention to the clearing opening, and found a white light slowly appearing out of the darkness. Legolas rode out into the clearing on a horse of pure white, it's head tossing up it's hair and making it shimmer in the pale moonlight of the summer night. Thranduil stood by the dais dutifully, awaiting his son's arrival.
Galadriel was nothing less than dazzled. The prince wore the proper ceremonial clothes outfitted to him for the event, which were silver and white in colour and shimmered almost as much as the horse seemed to be. Truly, he could have looked to be a Valar, one of the elven Gods, had no one known his name. There was much applause as he rode in, and Galadriel thought she could catch a smidge of red appearing on his fair cheeks as he made his way through the crowds, which eagerly parted for him.
Elves gathered around as Legolas dismounted and stood before his father, who had stepped up on the dais and had motioned for a servant to step forward, bearing something resting on a velvet pillow and covered with a thin sheet of silk. He instructed his son to bow down before him, and the elf got down on one knee, shaking slightly. This was it; this was the moment that changed the course of his life forever.
"Behold here!" Thranduil began suddenly, raising his hands, "The Heir of Mirkwood! Look upon Legolas, my son and successor, as your Prince!" As soon as he had finished speaking he looked out to the crowd, as was customary, and there was a brief pause as everyone 'mimicked' looking upon the Prince. Then, in a thundering roar that would have rivalled Mount Doom, they all called out as one voice, ringing upon the night as like nothing heard around for a thousand years.
"LEGOLAS!!" Galadriel shouted with the rest of them, raising her hand to the sky in a signature of showing she accepted the new prince of Mirkwood. Legolas himself was practically shaking in his boots, but he did not yet get up from his position at his father's feet. There was still one more thing to be done.
The silken sheet was cast aside, and laying there on the pillow was the gift Legolas had been so long expecting; his father picked it up with sure hands from the spot in which it rested and held it out before him, and Legolas bowed his head. No sooner had he bent it did the helm lay neatly upon his forehead, it's weight next to nothing against him. It fit perfectly, and after a moment Legolas rose and looked at his father, directly in the eyes. He was smiling, and it looked that a tear was threatening his eye. Then he turned to the crowd, and suddenly all the nobility there shouted out once more, this time in celebration.
Legolas smiled, looking out at every elf in the small clearing. Soon he found himself chuckling, and the firm hand of his father touched his shoulder in reassurance from behind. Though Legolas did not see it, his father was crying, but it was not tears of sadness that he shed; they were tears of joy, well reserved for the moment he had been waiting for nearly half his life.
Something hissed in the darkness, away from all prying eyes - and ears. The image of the young elf being crowned burned into the back of his skull, it seemed, and he quickly made his way back towards the darker, thicker woods, wanting to get away from the disturbing scene. Still safely away from the clearing, the sounds of rejoicing came to his ears, nearly making him scream.
"Master will not like this, no, no..." He whispered, curling up into a ball and rolling against a tree trunk. Then, as quick as ever, he jumped up and hurtled away into the darkness, heading for places that elves had not seen since the Elder Days, and were still afraid to venture to.