Disclaimer: His. Not mine. Don't sue.
Legolas fidgeted as his father seemed to drone on and on. The royal robes he wore were heavy and extremely warm.
Ahead of him, his older brother, Levagion, stood preparing to take his place as the next king of Greenwood.
The youngest prince of Greenwood knew he should be excited for his brother at this regal occasion, yet something was unsettling him. It was a nagging worry in the back of his mind that he could not ignore.
Tharundil finished his speech with a flourish and the gathered elves broke into loud cheers and applause.
Legolas clapped along with the rest, but his eyes were distant and worried. A haunted feeling was in his heart and it was going stronger by the minute. He could no longer ignore it.
As everyone began to file out of the amphitheater, Legolas turned and slipped through one of the open windows and into the long field of grass behind the amphitheater. Sliding down to sit resting against the smooth stone, he dropped his head into his hands.
The breeze gently lifted his blonde hair, tossing it about. In the distance, the sound of merry-making could be heard, intermingled with the gentle rushing of a pristine waterfall.
He lifted his head to look past the rolling green hills and trees, towards Gondor. His mind settled on that name as the edgy feeling became more intense. There was something wrong in Gondor. He could feel it in his bones.
"Ai, Elbereth," he murmured. "Keep Aragorn safe."
Raising gracefully to his feet, he strode in the direction of the party. Legolas could do nothing about Gondor now. It was time for him to congratulate his brother on being crowned the new king.
Gondor was burning. Smoke and flames were rising from the once quaint little houses and into the early dawn sky.
Men, women, and children were fleeing on foot, clutching whatever belongings they had managed to salvage before they were forced from their homes.
Some of the more cool-headed men were trying to form a bucket brigade to douse the infernos. But it did no good. There were not enough buckets to even make a dent in the fiery hell they found themselves trapped in.
Chaos was everywhere. Mothers were calling for children that had been lost in the melee. Children were crying for their parents whom they had been separated from. Fathers stood staring grim-faced as all they had worked for disappeared into the sunrise, never to return.
One of the members of Gondor's Royal Guard stood resolutely in front of the palace, sword in hand. Somehow it had escaped the fire, but that did not stop looters from trying to take advantage of the chaos.
No one seemed to know where the king was. Some said he had fled to the country-side when the fire had fist come. Others claimed he was still in the city, hiding. Even others still, murmured that he had been murdered along with the queen.
Forty miles away, a young man was galloping furiously on a beautiful brown horse across the rough terrain. His horse was obviously nearing the point of collapse, but still he pushed onwards.
Behind him, one could still see the smoke rising from Gondor and smell the soot and ash. The sky had long since become dark with it.
His dark cloak flapped behind him and his young face was set with determination. Rhilan had commanded him to fetch the Prince Legolas and deliver him safely to the king's side.
Other messengers had been sent to Rohan, Rivendell, and Ithillen. The all had the same task. Bring back help for Gondor. The race of men was once again under attack.
So he rode, until the sun once again set in the west. His pace did not lessen as the stars begin to shine, nor as once again the sun shone down on Middle earth. He had a journey to complete.