Hi, I'm Celebgil Silverstar, major Tolkein fan and hopeless writer. This is
my little contribution to Legolas' past. Ever wondered why Bilbo never
mentions seeing Legolas when he was at the court of Mirkwood? Well with
apologies to Professor Tolkein here is what I think happened. All mistakes
regarding Legolas's age at the time of Bilbo's adventure, and the language
and culture of elves are my own and for those I'm sorry.
Chapter One-A Beginning
In his halls in the deep shade of Northern Mirkwood, King Thranduil was disturbed by reports from scouts near the dominion of the Necromancer. He decided to send his youngest son Prince Legolas to seek the advice of the White Council at Isengard.
L The horse galloped through the forest of Mirkwood. Far from the Necromancer's stronghold of Dol Guldur where evil and darkness still lurked, Mirkwood was a dim and cool place, perfect for riding.
The Elf astride the horse whooped with joy as the horse's hoof beats grew ever more rapid. He was Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil and he was finally given his father's trust. Despite being older than the race of Men could possibly imagine, Legolas was still younger than many of his people and was only just held to have reached adulthood. His fair hair streamed out behind him and the bow on his back was wrought of fine Mallorn wood chased with mithril, Moria silver. At his belt he wore a pair of long handled white knives. He truly looked the son of an Elven King.
His keen ears suddenly caught a light voice calling his name. He recognised the voice and wheeled his horse, glad to see the voice's owner.
She stood on a low branch of a tree wearing a white robe girdled with sliver leaves, her feet were bare and her golden hair shone like a star as it hung about her pale face. She was Nefwathiel, daughter of Thranduil's chief adviser. Her name meant beautiful song and she was true to it. Her voice was like the song of the waters of Nimrodel so it was said, and although Legolas had never seen that fair stream he could well believe it.
"Greetings Legolas, or should it be a farewell?" she said with a smile in her voice.
"Nefwathiel, I am glad to see you before I go. My father sends me to Isengard to speak on his behalf with Saruman and the White Council. I may not return for many days. I was loath to go without seeing you again but my father' business is urgent and you were nowhere to be found." said Legolas as he dismounted and walked over to her. "My Prince, such concern moves me to wonder why!" she laughed and leaped lightly from the tree.
"Why so formal Nefwathiel? Surely we have known each other long enough! I wanted to say goodbye and to give you this in case I do not return." so saying, he pulled a silver chain from around his neck and handed it to her. For a moment it seemed that the light of the stars of Elbereth had appeared in the forest, and then it suddenly dimmed as her hand closed over it.
In her cupped hands lay a pendant, fashioned from clear crystal, in the shape of a teardrop. In the very centre the stone was milky white and shone as brightly as the stars. Nefwathiel gasped in astonishment.
"Why Legolas, is this mission so perilous that you entrust to me your greatest treasure? This pendant has never left your neck since..." she trailed off awkwardly, leaving the phrase hanging.
"Since my mother was slain, it is all right you can say it. The pain is not so near as it was." his voice belied his words however, the gladness seemed to melt away and the forest suddenly felt much colder and darker.
"My quest may be dangerous. We have had reports of Orcs roaming near Isengard so I thought it best to give the pendant to you for safekeeping. If it fell into Orkish hands I could never forgive myself." he took the pendant from her again and placed the chain around her slender neck. Then he leaped astride his horse and with a final "Namárië Nefwathiel!" galloped off towards the edge of Mirkwood. Long after he had gone, she still stood there gazing after him. "Namárië Legolas, you must succeed, for all our sakes."
L He crested a rise and halted the horse to turn and look back over the green fastness of Mirkwood. He was far away now, a day's ride for the horses of men. From here he could see where the realm of Thranduil ended and the darkness began. Smoke rose in a seemingly endless plume over the Tower of Dol Guldur, and Legolas feared for the land of his birth.
He shook the doubt from his mind and turned to ride again. He dug his heels into the horse's smooth flanks and it leapt over the ridge to land on the Old Forest Road at a gallop. He wanted to reach shelter before nightfall. Although he could see as well at night as he could in sunlight, there were orcs roaming the plains of Middle Earth after dark. He did not fear them, they were clumsy and slow, but he feared the hand that created and guided them.
By sunset he had crossed the Anduin, the Great River, by one of the old fords, and reached the Chithaiglir, known as the Misty Mountains in the tongue of men. He sought for a cave in which to pass the night, and before long he had found one. Leaving his horse tethered near a stream to let the animal slake his thirst, he went in search of firewood. When he returned with an armload of wood, he built a fire, to keep away the wargs that roamed the mountains, then rolled himself in his cloak and slept. He was awoken by the sound of fell voices. Even from a distance he recognized the foul, guttural sound of the common speech distorted and mangled by the tongues of orcs. "Yrch!" he said to himself, and silently put out his fire.
As he left the cave, he fitted an arrow to his bow and looked in the direction of the voices. He saw the small bright flames of torches and heard the orcs talking amongst themselves. They used the common speech so he could understand most of what they said.
"Bâzlakh you son of a warg, where's this accursed light you say you saw?" growled one voice.
"It was there before Grimzakh, I swear it was there. Up on the mountain somewhere around here." protested another voice, presumably Bâzlakh.
"Well let's keep searching, if they've put out their fire they must be around here somewhere. Anyway, it might be one of those men, I've heard their flesh tastes better than any, and I'm hungry!" said a third, licking his lips greedily.
"You're always hungry Maughash!" Grimzakh said, pushing his companion into a ditch.
Legolas cursed under his breath, he should have known better than to make fire in orc country. Now they were hunting him.
Creeping forward, still in cover he took aim at the nearest orc and fired. His aim was true and with a gurgling cry an orc fell to the ground, an arrow through its throat. His arrows felled three more of them before they were even aware of his presence. When they realized that they were being attacked, the orcs drew their scimitars and charged towards the spot where the shafts were coming from. Legolas broke cover and ran at them. He drew his long knives as he sprinted towards what seemed to be the leader. His first blow was parried with a force that jarred his arm painfully but he lunged again and felt the blade slice through the tough hide. The foul creature screamed in agony as he withdrew his blade from its belly. It fell forward, almost on top of him; it's black, sticky blood covering his hands. He spun to deal with the others but as he did so he felt burning pain across his back and he screamed. A wild slash of an orc scimitar had found its mark and torn the flesh open in a long ragged cut.
Legolas was badly wounded, but forced himself to remain conscious. They had scented blood now and came at him, baying and shrieking, their eyes glinting with dark malice. He was surrounded but refused to yield to the dark power that commanded the orcs. His knives flashed and gleamed, as fast as lightning. He slew the remaining orcs finally, after a brutal fight that left him weary and hurt.
Seeing the field empty he painfully hauled himself back to the cave and passed out on the floor from pain and exhaustion.
L
When he awoke it was morning, he did not know of which day. His back felt sore but he had been lucky, it was not a poisoned blade or he would have been dead within hours.
The cut had closed over, but he bathed in the stream to cleanse it anyway. He washed the orc's blood from his hands; its acrid smell filled the air as it touched the water, sizzling.
He bound his wound with clean linen and gingerly replaced his garments. Wincing as he slung his bow over his shoulder, he re-mounted his horse and turned towards the plains to continue his journey.
Chapter One-A Beginning
In his halls in the deep shade of Northern Mirkwood, King Thranduil was disturbed by reports from scouts near the dominion of the Necromancer. He decided to send his youngest son Prince Legolas to seek the advice of the White Council at Isengard.
L The horse galloped through the forest of Mirkwood. Far from the Necromancer's stronghold of Dol Guldur where evil and darkness still lurked, Mirkwood was a dim and cool place, perfect for riding.
The Elf astride the horse whooped with joy as the horse's hoof beats grew ever more rapid. He was Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil and he was finally given his father's trust. Despite being older than the race of Men could possibly imagine, Legolas was still younger than many of his people and was only just held to have reached adulthood. His fair hair streamed out behind him and the bow on his back was wrought of fine Mallorn wood chased with mithril, Moria silver. At his belt he wore a pair of long handled white knives. He truly looked the son of an Elven King.
His keen ears suddenly caught a light voice calling his name. He recognised the voice and wheeled his horse, glad to see the voice's owner.
She stood on a low branch of a tree wearing a white robe girdled with sliver leaves, her feet were bare and her golden hair shone like a star as it hung about her pale face. She was Nefwathiel, daughter of Thranduil's chief adviser. Her name meant beautiful song and she was true to it. Her voice was like the song of the waters of Nimrodel so it was said, and although Legolas had never seen that fair stream he could well believe it.
"Greetings Legolas, or should it be a farewell?" she said with a smile in her voice.
"Nefwathiel, I am glad to see you before I go. My father sends me to Isengard to speak on his behalf with Saruman and the White Council. I may not return for many days. I was loath to go without seeing you again but my father' business is urgent and you were nowhere to be found." said Legolas as he dismounted and walked over to her. "My Prince, such concern moves me to wonder why!" she laughed and leaped lightly from the tree.
"Why so formal Nefwathiel? Surely we have known each other long enough! I wanted to say goodbye and to give you this in case I do not return." so saying, he pulled a silver chain from around his neck and handed it to her. For a moment it seemed that the light of the stars of Elbereth had appeared in the forest, and then it suddenly dimmed as her hand closed over it.
In her cupped hands lay a pendant, fashioned from clear crystal, in the shape of a teardrop. In the very centre the stone was milky white and shone as brightly as the stars. Nefwathiel gasped in astonishment.
"Why Legolas, is this mission so perilous that you entrust to me your greatest treasure? This pendant has never left your neck since..." she trailed off awkwardly, leaving the phrase hanging.
"Since my mother was slain, it is all right you can say it. The pain is not so near as it was." his voice belied his words however, the gladness seemed to melt away and the forest suddenly felt much colder and darker.
"My quest may be dangerous. We have had reports of Orcs roaming near Isengard so I thought it best to give the pendant to you for safekeeping. If it fell into Orkish hands I could never forgive myself." he took the pendant from her again and placed the chain around her slender neck. Then he leaped astride his horse and with a final "Namárië Nefwathiel!" galloped off towards the edge of Mirkwood. Long after he had gone, she still stood there gazing after him. "Namárië Legolas, you must succeed, for all our sakes."
L He crested a rise and halted the horse to turn and look back over the green fastness of Mirkwood. He was far away now, a day's ride for the horses of men. From here he could see where the realm of Thranduil ended and the darkness began. Smoke rose in a seemingly endless plume over the Tower of Dol Guldur, and Legolas feared for the land of his birth.
He shook the doubt from his mind and turned to ride again. He dug his heels into the horse's smooth flanks and it leapt over the ridge to land on the Old Forest Road at a gallop. He wanted to reach shelter before nightfall. Although he could see as well at night as he could in sunlight, there were orcs roaming the plains of Middle Earth after dark. He did not fear them, they were clumsy and slow, but he feared the hand that created and guided them.
By sunset he had crossed the Anduin, the Great River, by one of the old fords, and reached the Chithaiglir, known as the Misty Mountains in the tongue of men. He sought for a cave in which to pass the night, and before long he had found one. Leaving his horse tethered near a stream to let the animal slake his thirst, he went in search of firewood. When he returned with an armload of wood, he built a fire, to keep away the wargs that roamed the mountains, then rolled himself in his cloak and slept. He was awoken by the sound of fell voices. Even from a distance he recognized the foul, guttural sound of the common speech distorted and mangled by the tongues of orcs. "Yrch!" he said to himself, and silently put out his fire.
As he left the cave, he fitted an arrow to his bow and looked in the direction of the voices. He saw the small bright flames of torches and heard the orcs talking amongst themselves. They used the common speech so he could understand most of what they said.
"Bâzlakh you son of a warg, where's this accursed light you say you saw?" growled one voice.
"It was there before Grimzakh, I swear it was there. Up on the mountain somewhere around here." protested another voice, presumably Bâzlakh.
"Well let's keep searching, if they've put out their fire they must be around here somewhere. Anyway, it might be one of those men, I've heard their flesh tastes better than any, and I'm hungry!" said a third, licking his lips greedily.
"You're always hungry Maughash!" Grimzakh said, pushing his companion into a ditch.
Legolas cursed under his breath, he should have known better than to make fire in orc country. Now they were hunting him.
Creeping forward, still in cover he took aim at the nearest orc and fired. His aim was true and with a gurgling cry an orc fell to the ground, an arrow through its throat. His arrows felled three more of them before they were even aware of his presence. When they realized that they were being attacked, the orcs drew their scimitars and charged towards the spot where the shafts were coming from. Legolas broke cover and ran at them. He drew his long knives as he sprinted towards what seemed to be the leader. His first blow was parried with a force that jarred his arm painfully but he lunged again and felt the blade slice through the tough hide. The foul creature screamed in agony as he withdrew his blade from its belly. It fell forward, almost on top of him; it's black, sticky blood covering his hands. He spun to deal with the others but as he did so he felt burning pain across his back and he screamed. A wild slash of an orc scimitar had found its mark and torn the flesh open in a long ragged cut.
Legolas was badly wounded, but forced himself to remain conscious. They had scented blood now and came at him, baying and shrieking, their eyes glinting with dark malice. He was surrounded but refused to yield to the dark power that commanded the orcs. His knives flashed and gleamed, as fast as lightning. He slew the remaining orcs finally, after a brutal fight that left him weary and hurt.
Seeing the field empty he painfully hauled himself back to the cave and passed out on the floor from pain and exhaustion.
L
When he awoke it was morning, he did not know of which day. His back felt sore but he had been lucky, it was not a poisoned blade or he would have been dead within hours.
The cut had closed over, but he bathed in the stream to cleanse it anyway. He washed the orc's blood from his hands; its acrid smell filled the air as it touched the water, sizzling.
He bound his wound with clean linen and gingerly replaced his garments. Wincing as he slung his bow over his shoulder, he re-mounted his horse and turned towards the plains to continue his journey.