AUTHOR'S NOTES: The complete version of Chapter 4. Enjoy.
Chapter 4- The Last Son of the Eldar
Legolas heart leapt into his throat. He stammered, "I- I think you must be mistaken, my Lord."
"No, indeed. It was you! I was young then, but I remember. Five of you came in the middle of the night, and you stayed with the Rangers and played music for us."
Legolas stole a glance at his father out of the corner of his eye. Thranduil was glaring at him in an extremely venomous way. Bard seemed to notice this. He looked back and forth between the King going pale with rage and the prince wearily with his head in his hand—and laughed.
"I seem to have said something out of place. Let us think nothing of it. We should return to our plan."
Thranduil let out a long breath and slowly wrenched his gaze away from Legolas. In turn, the young Elf swallowed and gazed at the map again.
"We should send an envoy to Erebor made up of both our peoples," the Elven-King said. Fury was still laced in his voice. "A group of Men and of Elves. We will make all necessary efforts to peaceably come to an agreement. If we are still met with resistance after, we'll resort to more…forceful methods." Legolas flinched.
"That will be grievous. I fear that if we must fight them, there will be great losses for all of us. They will have the upper hand first, being able to hit us from above upon the mountain, but they'll be outnumbered. In the end we will probably succeed, but not without loss," said Bard.
"That is a risk we will have to take," said Thranduil.
"Is it?" Legolas asked. His father's eyes turned on him again. How could he be so stupid to be defiant now after his cover had been blown? He was going to get an earful later. "I understand the need of the people of Laketown to have reparations, but not us. We have done nothing to help the Dwarves. They have done everything."
"I do not expect you to understand, Legolas. You are the youngest in our entire kingdom. You have not the wisdom nor the experience to make such decisions as of yet." Legolas felt a wash of color fall across his face. He looked away to hide it.
"Very well," Bard said. He was becoming uncomfortable with the testiness between the Elves. "I say we each select fifteen of our people and tomorrow at dawn we will ride to the Lonely Mountain and seek a compromise."
"Splendid," Thranduil grinned. The three rose and Bard shook hands with the royalty of Mirkwood. He paused when he came face to face with Legolas.
"You are the youngest of your kind?"
"They say I am. There are none in our kingdom born after me as of yet," Legolas said softly.
Bard smiled. "I am glad you came back."
Legolas stiffened. The Man turned and left the tent. Almost immediately a heavy hand came down upon his shoulder.
"Tell me everything, son. Or I will make you regret it."
* * *
Night had fallen with the moon glowing high up in the zenith of the sky by the time Legolas finished his tale. Throughout, his father's expression had gone through several changes: anger, genuine and cold; outrage, like a voiceless din humming through the tent; fear, too, and much of it. Legolas was his only child. And he was slipping through his grasp. It was a fear that Legolas guessed at, but could never fully understand.
A stunned silence now fell between them. Thranduil paced back and forth slowly, glaring hard at the ground, his hands steepled together. His footfalls were hard. Legolas, unsure of what else to do, sat in silence. Through a loose tent flap he could see a piece of the night sky. Blue stars burned against the navy backdrop.
"Tell me, Legolas, do you ever pause to consider the consequences of your actions?" The younger Elf looked up. "Answer truthfully. If you are to be the future king of our people, I must be able to assess your logic. Thus far, you are failing the test miserably."
Legolas felt a wave of shame. For a fleeting moment, he thought tears would come to his eyes, but he swallowed his grief down. Thranduil stood over him, his eyes seeming to be dark, glittering jewels beneath the silver circlet of enameled leaves. He was a tall and imposing figure, and though Legolas was of equal stature and majesty in the eyes of others, he now felt almost naked under the gaze.
"I saw no harm in it, Father."
"How could you? That is my fault. I believed I had taught you well enough about the dangers of the Outside: the deceits of greedy Dwarves, the folly of unsubstantial Men. Yet you are drawn to them. You, born into privilege, have cursed yourself to always seek what you cannot have. I would know why."
"Perhaps I do not see these faults you name. I cannot condemn an entire race or people merely based upon the actions of their ancestors. They might say the same of us."
"What would they say?" Legolas looked at Thranduil, visibly bewildered. "No, you tell me. You seem to have far more experience with being amongst Men."
"Father, don't be this way."
Thranduil's eyes flashed. Legolas immediately regretted his words. How many times had he regretted his words that day?
"I will make this clear," the Elven King said in a terrible voice, advancing upon Legolas like an executioner. "From this day forth, you are not to leave the palace without an attendant appointed by me." Legolas' mouth fell open. "Had you been born in happier times, then my lenience would be more substantial. But the shadows left behind by Sauron's malice have grown in strength and number. Need I remind you of what happened to your friends long ago? Are not the spiders evidence of the left over evil of Ungoliant?"
Legolas nodded solemly. He used to often sleep up in the lofty boughs of the great trees of his father's kingdom, but in the recent years such acts were deemed dangerous and he was forbidden. The Spiders had grown in number.
Their strangling webs surrounded the unguarded regions of the Elven kingdom, as though they were slowly netting them in. The night watch was doubled and constituted of many of the best archers for fear of stray Spiders. They could be seen sometimes at night as a glowing cluster of eyes far off in the distance, so faint that even Elven eyes could scarcely make them out. Far off though they seemed, the Spiders were still deadly as they occasionally drank of Elven blood. He thought bitterly of those friends who had been lost to the Spiders: Gilorion, Thalion, Adrolas. Three caught off guard, ambushed by a horde of at least fifteen gargantuan beasts. Slaughtered alive. And he and Arion had found them, or what was left: pale, thin bodies with their eyes torn out, silver threads strangling their necks, resting in vast pools of blood like dark mirrors.
It was no wonder that his Father was now more protective. The woods had become more sinister. Goblins from the mountains crept in at the western borders. Travellers were not stopped and questioned: they were turned away. Suddenly, Legolas' mind flew to his memory of the Dunedain women dancing round the fire, the pulsing drums and the silver stars. Did he envy these mortals who were dangerous and free?
With a defiance he never knew he had, Legolas flew out of his chair and looked his father hard in the eye. "I will not take orders from you as if I were a child of fifty! What have I done to give my judgment a marred name? Has aught ill befallen me, or anyone else, from my sneaking away to Esgaroth? What serious injuries have I ever recived in my life? I took my first spider when I was 120 years old, Father. That is unheard of, and you know it. Everyone in our kingdom besides you regards me as the greatest marksman Mirkwood has ever borne. I can take care of myself, alone in the wild and alone amongst Outsiders. One day, you will have to accept this." He paused, breathing hard. "May the Valar grant you the grace to do so."
Chapter 4- The Last Son of the Eldar
Legolas heart leapt into his throat. He stammered, "I- I think you must be mistaken, my Lord."
"No, indeed. It was you! I was young then, but I remember. Five of you came in the middle of the night, and you stayed with the Rangers and played music for us."
Legolas stole a glance at his father out of the corner of his eye. Thranduil was glaring at him in an extremely venomous way. Bard seemed to notice this. He looked back and forth between the King going pale with rage and the prince wearily with his head in his hand—and laughed.
"I seem to have said something out of place. Let us think nothing of it. We should return to our plan."
Thranduil let out a long breath and slowly wrenched his gaze away from Legolas. In turn, the young Elf swallowed and gazed at the map again.
"We should send an envoy to Erebor made up of both our peoples," the Elven-King said. Fury was still laced in his voice. "A group of Men and of Elves. We will make all necessary efforts to peaceably come to an agreement. If we are still met with resistance after, we'll resort to more…forceful methods." Legolas flinched.
"That will be grievous. I fear that if we must fight them, there will be great losses for all of us. They will have the upper hand first, being able to hit us from above upon the mountain, but they'll be outnumbered. In the end we will probably succeed, but not without loss," said Bard.
"That is a risk we will have to take," said Thranduil.
"Is it?" Legolas asked. His father's eyes turned on him again. How could he be so stupid to be defiant now after his cover had been blown? He was going to get an earful later. "I understand the need of the people of Laketown to have reparations, but not us. We have done nothing to help the Dwarves. They have done everything."
"I do not expect you to understand, Legolas. You are the youngest in our entire kingdom. You have not the wisdom nor the experience to make such decisions as of yet." Legolas felt a wash of color fall across his face. He looked away to hide it.
"Very well," Bard said. He was becoming uncomfortable with the testiness between the Elves. "I say we each select fifteen of our people and tomorrow at dawn we will ride to the Lonely Mountain and seek a compromise."
"Splendid," Thranduil grinned. The three rose and Bard shook hands with the royalty of Mirkwood. He paused when he came face to face with Legolas.
"You are the youngest of your kind?"
"They say I am. There are none in our kingdom born after me as of yet," Legolas said softly.
Bard smiled. "I am glad you came back."
Legolas stiffened. The Man turned and left the tent. Almost immediately a heavy hand came down upon his shoulder.
"Tell me everything, son. Or I will make you regret it."
* * *
Night had fallen with the moon glowing high up in the zenith of the sky by the time Legolas finished his tale. Throughout, his father's expression had gone through several changes: anger, genuine and cold; outrage, like a voiceless din humming through the tent; fear, too, and much of it. Legolas was his only child. And he was slipping through his grasp. It was a fear that Legolas guessed at, but could never fully understand.
A stunned silence now fell between them. Thranduil paced back and forth slowly, glaring hard at the ground, his hands steepled together. His footfalls were hard. Legolas, unsure of what else to do, sat in silence. Through a loose tent flap he could see a piece of the night sky. Blue stars burned against the navy backdrop.
"Tell me, Legolas, do you ever pause to consider the consequences of your actions?" The younger Elf looked up. "Answer truthfully. If you are to be the future king of our people, I must be able to assess your logic. Thus far, you are failing the test miserably."
Legolas felt a wave of shame. For a fleeting moment, he thought tears would come to his eyes, but he swallowed his grief down. Thranduil stood over him, his eyes seeming to be dark, glittering jewels beneath the silver circlet of enameled leaves. He was a tall and imposing figure, and though Legolas was of equal stature and majesty in the eyes of others, he now felt almost naked under the gaze.
"I saw no harm in it, Father."
"How could you? That is my fault. I believed I had taught you well enough about the dangers of the Outside: the deceits of greedy Dwarves, the folly of unsubstantial Men. Yet you are drawn to them. You, born into privilege, have cursed yourself to always seek what you cannot have. I would know why."
"Perhaps I do not see these faults you name. I cannot condemn an entire race or people merely based upon the actions of their ancestors. They might say the same of us."
"What would they say?" Legolas looked at Thranduil, visibly bewildered. "No, you tell me. You seem to have far more experience with being amongst Men."
"Father, don't be this way."
Thranduil's eyes flashed. Legolas immediately regretted his words. How many times had he regretted his words that day?
"I will make this clear," the Elven King said in a terrible voice, advancing upon Legolas like an executioner. "From this day forth, you are not to leave the palace without an attendant appointed by me." Legolas' mouth fell open. "Had you been born in happier times, then my lenience would be more substantial. But the shadows left behind by Sauron's malice have grown in strength and number. Need I remind you of what happened to your friends long ago? Are not the spiders evidence of the left over evil of Ungoliant?"
Legolas nodded solemly. He used to often sleep up in the lofty boughs of the great trees of his father's kingdom, but in the recent years such acts were deemed dangerous and he was forbidden. The Spiders had grown in number.
Their strangling webs surrounded the unguarded regions of the Elven kingdom, as though they were slowly netting them in. The night watch was doubled and constituted of many of the best archers for fear of stray Spiders. They could be seen sometimes at night as a glowing cluster of eyes far off in the distance, so faint that even Elven eyes could scarcely make them out. Far off though they seemed, the Spiders were still deadly as they occasionally drank of Elven blood. He thought bitterly of those friends who had been lost to the Spiders: Gilorion, Thalion, Adrolas. Three caught off guard, ambushed by a horde of at least fifteen gargantuan beasts. Slaughtered alive. And he and Arion had found them, or what was left: pale, thin bodies with their eyes torn out, silver threads strangling their necks, resting in vast pools of blood like dark mirrors.
It was no wonder that his Father was now more protective. The woods had become more sinister. Goblins from the mountains crept in at the western borders. Travellers were not stopped and questioned: they were turned away. Suddenly, Legolas' mind flew to his memory of the Dunedain women dancing round the fire, the pulsing drums and the silver stars. Did he envy these mortals who were dangerous and free?
With a defiance he never knew he had, Legolas flew out of his chair and looked his father hard in the eye. "I will not take orders from you as if I were a child of fifty! What have I done to give my judgment a marred name? Has aught ill befallen me, or anyone else, from my sneaking away to Esgaroth? What serious injuries have I ever recived in my life? I took my first spider when I was 120 years old, Father. That is unheard of, and you know it. Everyone in our kingdom besides you regards me as the greatest marksman Mirkwood has ever borne. I can take care of myself, alone in the wild and alone amongst Outsiders. One day, you will have to accept this." He paused, breathing hard. "May the Valar grant you the grace to do so."