A/N: Hello. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you to all who have
reviewed. I have greatly enjoyed hearing what you all think of this. I have
missed hearing from you all these past few chapters, but assume you have
still been reading. I had a hard time writing this because of the absence
of feedback. It you have anything to say about how the story will end,
speak now or forever hold your peace for only one more to go! I might just
have to end it very interestingly . . .
Chapter Eleven
Legolas frantically scribbled a note, trying to make it as legible as possible and quickly. He had not held a quill for what seemed like ages and found it hard to hold steady.
". . . been a mistake . . . do not let him leave . . . I will come and sort everything out . . . please, Lord Elrond, you are our only hope. . ." He signed the short letter and rolled it quickly before finding a messenger to deliver it.
Immediately after telling the messenger the urgency of the matter, he returned to his room to pack. He was in the process of folding clothing into his saddle bad when Eyroth knocked and entered.
"My prince, excuse me for asking, but what are you going?"
"I must go to Rivendell," he answered stuffing another tunic in his bag. "I must stop my father from leaving."
"What? But, my prince, you are in no shape to journey to Rivendell. Alone, especially."
"It is no matter. I can make it, but there is not time to delay anyhow. He cannot leave for Valinor and I will risk my health for him." He staggered back to the bureau and shifted through the clothing.
"Valinor? He--"
Legolas motioned to parchment on his bed. Eyroth picked it up and read it silently.
"I received the telegram earlier. My father believes I have left already and is dying of grief. I cannot let him leave, for if he does I may follow."
"Send a message back, he will surely--"
"I already have, but I am afraid it will not arrive in time."
"Legolas," Eyroth stilled the prince's hands, "excuse me for being so informal, but a messenger at perfect health will be able to travel father than you at the moment. Also, you cannot leave if your father does. You cannot leave this realm ruler-less. Look at you! Your hands are shaking! You cannot pack properly let alone ride! I know you want to feel like you are doing something, but it would be better if you just be patient and wait."
"I cannot wait! He cannot leave! I am not ready to be king!" Legolas whispered as tears threatened in his eyes. He withdrew his hands from his father's advisor's and exited the room, shutting the door behind him.
~~~
Days passed and no messages had returned in response. The prince spent many hours of each day pacing, grieving, and taking his anger out by practicing his archery skills. Because of his raging emotions and poor health for the past months, practicing seem to only feed the flames of torment in his for his arrows rarely hit the target, let alone the center, and left him frustrated.
Onlookers would watch from balconies and windows, shaking their heads and thinking how hot-headed the prince had become. They discussed him amongst themselves and readily agreed he was not fit to be a king any longer.
Eyroth heard the discussions take place in the corridors of the palace. The lack of faith in the Mirkwood people troubled him and he hoped a letter from Elrond would arrive to ease the prince's anxiety. The elves seemed to speak to each other only in his presence, yet Legolas was oblivious to their words. Not only did he ignore them, he truly did not know what the people thought of him at this point.
After a week past, Legolas was seldom seen out of the castle. He spent much of his time locked in his father's study, only allowing servants with food to enter briefly. Rumors continued to flourish not only in the castle walls, but around Mirkwood and it would not be surprising if the news would soon spread to Rivendell and Lothlorien of the prince's behavior. It was commonly thought he was grieving once more.
Eyroth was starting to become concerned, so one morning he decided that after his morning meal, he would demand the prince let him enter. He eagerly fetched his breakfast and sat at his desk, quickly eating.
His plans were ruined when there was a rap on the door. Quickly swallowing, he bid the elf entrance and almost chocked when he saw Legolas striding toward him.
"Legolas!" he greeted, pushing his unfinished meal aside. "What a pleasant surprise!"
"Good morn."
"What can I do to---?"
"Eyroth, changes need to be attended to," he interrupted, thrusting scrolls of parchment on the desk before Eyroth. "Our kingdom is no where near flawless and we need to change that."
"Really?" Eyroth asked picking up a scroll and opening it. "What do you pro . . . pose . . .?" His voiced trailed off as he looked at the writing before him. It was covered in detailed notes of changes to the system of palace guards.
"I have written up some of my ideas." He looked down at the desk and lowered his voice, sadness filling his words. "If I am going to be king . . . I want to be a good king. . ." He shook his head and looked back at Eyroth. "Could you look theses over and let me know what you think?"
"Sure. . ." Eyroth looked at the desk where there were over ten, three-foot long scrolls. 'This is going to take awhile,' he thought to himself.
"Thank you. Now, I will leave you to finish your breakfast."
"Wha—oh, yes. Sure," Eyroth muttered as he continued to look at the parchment in his hands, only to look up when he heard the door snap shut.
He turned to his breakfast, but still looked in awe at the work the prince had brought him. From what he had read, a lot of thought—intelligent thought—had been put into these ideas.
"Looks like the line of great kings has not diminished after all. . ."
~~~
Back in Rivendell, a messenger arrived and knocked on the door of Elrond's private quarters. A muffled acceptance sounded and the elf slipped in.
"My Lord," The messenger bowed and held out the parchment. With a nod of his head, the ruler of Rivendell accepted and waved a hand for the elf to leave.
The letter was untidy and the words hard to make out. The letters rand together and slanted downward on the page. Elrond looked at it curiously and tried to read its contents.
Immediately, he paled, then smiled, "So the prince has finally come to his senses." Smiling once more at the page, he slipped it into his pocket after creasing it, stood and headed into the corridor to find the other king in the palace.
There was no answer to the knock he placed on the door, but clumsy movement could be heard from within. Carefully, he opened the door to find the king packing—obviously for his departure to Valinor.
The wear of the elven king was much more viable now. He seemed only to posses strength to do very small tasks. Elrond hoped the news would renew his strength.
"You will need this," Elrond told the king, holding out a box.
"Elrond." Thranduil muttered in greeting, not turning around. His eyes turned and locked themselves on the object in his hand. "No, I will no longer need that. I am not returning to Mirkwood."
"Your decision might and most likely will change."
"No, Elrond. How many times? I will not listen to you any longer!" The elf's voice was still low and without emotion, but the anger was starting to dwell and could slightly be heard.
The half-elf held up the letter which now resided in his hand. "If you choose not to listen to me, then at least listen to this."
"Elrond---" Thranduil muttered angrily, turning to face him.
He held his hands up. "It was not I who authored this. It was composed by an elf in a desperate attempt to stop you from not returning."
Thranduil eyed the parchment and curiously snatched it. His yes stayed on him until he had the parchment opened to its fullest.
His eyes darted over the page and tears welled in his eyes. A small smile spread across Elrond's face, but it quickly faded when he saw the king's reaction. Thranduil crumpled the parchment with angry, shaking fingers and glared at Elrond, throwing the wad to the floor.
"How dare you forge a letter, pretending to be my son! I thought I knew you; I never thought you'd do such a thing. But I assume you have done it in a last minute attempt to stop me. Legolas is lost. Admit it, Elrond!" He turned swiftly, packing at a more vigorous pace.
"Thranduil," Elrond started.
"I don't want to hear your denies, your excuses, or your pleas anymore. I am leaving. I thought you would understand, you yourself also being a father. But I must have had an entirely wrong outlook about you."
"Yes, and I---"
A knock interrupted the ruler's attempt to reason with the other elf. Still looking in the angry eyes of the one before him, Elrond announced, "Come in."
The door opened. "My Lords." They both broke their glares to see an elf clad in Mirkwood colors, kneeling a few steps in the room. He stood and removed a piece of parchment from his robes. "King of Mirkwood, this has arrived on note of urgency from your homeland."
He snatched the parchment from the elf's hand, sending his stepping back in fright from his ruler. Thranduil opened the letter and after skimming it, looked at Elrond. "You just don't stop, do you? This time you forge the signature of my first advisor?!"
"Um . . . pardon me, My Lord, but I saw him write it himself," the messenger said nervously.
"Ha! Caught!"
"No. I saw Lord Eyroth write it himself and I would not travel over such a distance to aid a foreign ruler. My apologies, My Lord," he said, genuflecting before Lord Elrond.
"Not even to save your own king?" Elrond asked the elf. When he did not respond, Elrond replied, "No offense taken. You are very loyal."
The messenger blushed and stood again, backing even more so away from Thranduil.
Silence spread through the room as the king recognized his first assistant's handwriting. 'What am I thinking? Elrond could not have been this accurate!' Tears welled in his eyes, time out of happiness. "My son lives!" he whispered, letting a few of the tears fall.
Elrond waved a hand, dismissing the messenger with a wink of thanks.
"Forgive me, Lord Elrond. I really did not see this possible."
"All is understood and dismissed, my friend." Unexpectedly, as he muttered these words, he witnessed the other elf throw his arms around him and embrace him tightly while muttering thank yous and apologies. Elrond stood there, uncomfortable and startled to say the least. He gently patted the others back until Thranduil withdrew, wiping his tear stained face with the back of his hand.
"Well," he stated, picking up the box. "I now will need this," and the two elves shared a smile.
---
A/N: Please review. Only one more chapter left!
Chapter Eleven
Legolas frantically scribbled a note, trying to make it as legible as possible and quickly. He had not held a quill for what seemed like ages and found it hard to hold steady.
". . . been a mistake . . . do not let him leave . . . I will come and sort everything out . . . please, Lord Elrond, you are our only hope. . ." He signed the short letter and rolled it quickly before finding a messenger to deliver it.
Immediately after telling the messenger the urgency of the matter, he returned to his room to pack. He was in the process of folding clothing into his saddle bad when Eyroth knocked and entered.
"My prince, excuse me for asking, but what are you going?"
"I must go to Rivendell," he answered stuffing another tunic in his bag. "I must stop my father from leaving."
"What? But, my prince, you are in no shape to journey to Rivendell. Alone, especially."
"It is no matter. I can make it, but there is not time to delay anyhow. He cannot leave for Valinor and I will risk my health for him." He staggered back to the bureau and shifted through the clothing.
"Valinor? He--"
Legolas motioned to parchment on his bed. Eyroth picked it up and read it silently.
"I received the telegram earlier. My father believes I have left already and is dying of grief. I cannot let him leave, for if he does I may follow."
"Send a message back, he will surely--"
"I already have, but I am afraid it will not arrive in time."
"Legolas," Eyroth stilled the prince's hands, "excuse me for being so informal, but a messenger at perfect health will be able to travel father than you at the moment. Also, you cannot leave if your father does. You cannot leave this realm ruler-less. Look at you! Your hands are shaking! You cannot pack properly let alone ride! I know you want to feel like you are doing something, but it would be better if you just be patient and wait."
"I cannot wait! He cannot leave! I am not ready to be king!" Legolas whispered as tears threatened in his eyes. He withdrew his hands from his father's advisor's and exited the room, shutting the door behind him.
~~~
Days passed and no messages had returned in response. The prince spent many hours of each day pacing, grieving, and taking his anger out by practicing his archery skills. Because of his raging emotions and poor health for the past months, practicing seem to only feed the flames of torment in his for his arrows rarely hit the target, let alone the center, and left him frustrated.
Onlookers would watch from balconies and windows, shaking their heads and thinking how hot-headed the prince had become. They discussed him amongst themselves and readily agreed he was not fit to be a king any longer.
Eyroth heard the discussions take place in the corridors of the palace. The lack of faith in the Mirkwood people troubled him and he hoped a letter from Elrond would arrive to ease the prince's anxiety. The elves seemed to speak to each other only in his presence, yet Legolas was oblivious to their words. Not only did he ignore them, he truly did not know what the people thought of him at this point.
After a week past, Legolas was seldom seen out of the castle. He spent much of his time locked in his father's study, only allowing servants with food to enter briefly. Rumors continued to flourish not only in the castle walls, but around Mirkwood and it would not be surprising if the news would soon spread to Rivendell and Lothlorien of the prince's behavior. It was commonly thought he was grieving once more.
Eyroth was starting to become concerned, so one morning he decided that after his morning meal, he would demand the prince let him enter. He eagerly fetched his breakfast and sat at his desk, quickly eating.
His plans were ruined when there was a rap on the door. Quickly swallowing, he bid the elf entrance and almost chocked when he saw Legolas striding toward him.
"Legolas!" he greeted, pushing his unfinished meal aside. "What a pleasant surprise!"
"Good morn."
"What can I do to---?"
"Eyroth, changes need to be attended to," he interrupted, thrusting scrolls of parchment on the desk before Eyroth. "Our kingdom is no where near flawless and we need to change that."
"Really?" Eyroth asked picking up a scroll and opening it. "What do you pro . . . pose . . .?" His voiced trailed off as he looked at the writing before him. It was covered in detailed notes of changes to the system of palace guards.
"I have written up some of my ideas." He looked down at the desk and lowered his voice, sadness filling his words. "If I am going to be king . . . I want to be a good king. . ." He shook his head and looked back at Eyroth. "Could you look theses over and let me know what you think?"
"Sure. . ." Eyroth looked at the desk where there were over ten, three-foot long scrolls. 'This is going to take awhile,' he thought to himself.
"Thank you. Now, I will leave you to finish your breakfast."
"Wha—oh, yes. Sure," Eyroth muttered as he continued to look at the parchment in his hands, only to look up when he heard the door snap shut.
He turned to his breakfast, but still looked in awe at the work the prince had brought him. From what he had read, a lot of thought—intelligent thought—had been put into these ideas.
"Looks like the line of great kings has not diminished after all. . ."
~~~
Back in Rivendell, a messenger arrived and knocked on the door of Elrond's private quarters. A muffled acceptance sounded and the elf slipped in.
"My Lord," The messenger bowed and held out the parchment. With a nod of his head, the ruler of Rivendell accepted and waved a hand for the elf to leave.
The letter was untidy and the words hard to make out. The letters rand together and slanted downward on the page. Elrond looked at it curiously and tried to read its contents.
Immediately, he paled, then smiled, "So the prince has finally come to his senses." Smiling once more at the page, he slipped it into his pocket after creasing it, stood and headed into the corridor to find the other king in the palace.
There was no answer to the knock he placed on the door, but clumsy movement could be heard from within. Carefully, he opened the door to find the king packing—obviously for his departure to Valinor.
The wear of the elven king was much more viable now. He seemed only to posses strength to do very small tasks. Elrond hoped the news would renew his strength.
"You will need this," Elrond told the king, holding out a box.
"Elrond." Thranduil muttered in greeting, not turning around. His eyes turned and locked themselves on the object in his hand. "No, I will no longer need that. I am not returning to Mirkwood."
"Your decision might and most likely will change."
"No, Elrond. How many times? I will not listen to you any longer!" The elf's voice was still low and without emotion, but the anger was starting to dwell and could slightly be heard.
The half-elf held up the letter which now resided in his hand. "If you choose not to listen to me, then at least listen to this."
"Elrond---" Thranduil muttered angrily, turning to face him.
He held his hands up. "It was not I who authored this. It was composed by an elf in a desperate attempt to stop you from not returning."
Thranduil eyed the parchment and curiously snatched it. His yes stayed on him until he had the parchment opened to its fullest.
His eyes darted over the page and tears welled in his eyes. A small smile spread across Elrond's face, but it quickly faded when he saw the king's reaction. Thranduil crumpled the parchment with angry, shaking fingers and glared at Elrond, throwing the wad to the floor.
"How dare you forge a letter, pretending to be my son! I thought I knew you; I never thought you'd do such a thing. But I assume you have done it in a last minute attempt to stop me. Legolas is lost. Admit it, Elrond!" He turned swiftly, packing at a more vigorous pace.
"Thranduil," Elrond started.
"I don't want to hear your denies, your excuses, or your pleas anymore. I am leaving. I thought you would understand, you yourself also being a father. But I must have had an entirely wrong outlook about you."
"Yes, and I---"
A knock interrupted the ruler's attempt to reason with the other elf. Still looking in the angry eyes of the one before him, Elrond announced, "Come in."
The door opened. "My Lords." They both broke their glares to see an elf clad in Mirkwood colors, kneeling a few steps in the room. He stood and removed a piece of parchment from his robes. "King of Mirkwood, this has arrived on note of urgency from your homeland."
He snatched the parchment from the elf's hand, sending his stepping back in fright from his ruler. Thranduil opened the letter and after skimming it, looked at Elrond. "You just don't stop, do you? This time you forge the signature of my first advisor?!"
"Um . . . pardon me, My Lord, but I saw him write it himself," the messenger said nervously.
"Ha! Caught!"
"No. I saw Lord Eyroth write it himself and I would not travel over such a distance to aid a foreign ruler. My apologies, My Lord," he said, genuflecting before Lord Elrond.
"Not even to save your own king?" Elrond asked the elf. When he did not respond, Elrond replied, "No offense taken. You are very loyal."
The messenger blushed and stood again, backing even more so away from Thranduil.
Silence spread through the room as the king recognized his first assistant's handwriting. 'What am I thinking? Elrond could not have been this accurate!' Tears welled in his eyes, time out of happiness. "My son lives!" he whispered, letting a few of the tears fall.
Elrond waved a hand, dismissing the messenger with a wink of thanks.
"Forgive me, Lord Elrond. I really did not see this possible."
"All is understood and dismissed, my friend." Unexpectedly, as he muttered these words, he witnessed the other elf throw his arms around him and embrace him tightly while muttering thank yous and apologies. Elrond stood there, uncomfortable and startled to say the least. He gently patted the others back until Thranduil withdrew, wiping his tear stained face with the back of his hand.
"Well," he stated, picking up the box. "I now will need this," and the two elves shared a smile.
---
A/N: Please review. Only one more chapter left!