Title: Thranduilion

Author: Milliecake

Category: General, Angst, Adventure

Rating: PG

Summary: A set of tales following the life of Legolas Greenleaf, from early birth to his first adventure, through to the War of the Ring.

Disclaimer: Characters contained within this fic belong to Tolkien.

Author's Notes: Just a quick note regarding my choice of Eryn Galen rather than Eryn Lasgalen as some reviewers have kindly pointed out. Eryn Galen, to my knowledge, translates simple as Greenwood, which was how Thranduil's realm was known before it became Mirkwood midway through the Third Age. After the War of the Ring and the razing of Dol Guldur, Thranduil and Celeborn renamed it Wood of Greenleaves, which would be Eryn Lasgalen. Having said all that, I'm sure there are readers out there who have read the books more recently and assiduously than myself and can shed some light on this.

******

Chapter Two – Measures of Wealth

Eryn Galen, Third Age 2321…

By morn a black and fetid cloud had settled over the Greenwood, bringing with it a miserable drizzle that further dampened the spirits of the Imladris contingent as they wandered beneath the stark and dripping canopy. So unlike gentle, tamed Rivendell, Eryn Galen no longer came to mind as an earthy but ultimately merry place, full of wine and song, but more a primitive, perilous and odious abode their fair Silvan kindred were forced to endure.

The wood elves, however, made little of the foul weather, seemingly at ease among the steaming, dank forest as they moved purposefully about, making grim preparation for the waging of a war. A chance remark fell upon Erestor's sharp ears and he made haste to inform his Lord.

"He has bidden his army ride South," he said, as Elrond awaited a final audience with the King. "Every known spider nest from here to the Old Forest Road has already been put to the torch yet I believe the King means to eradicate their entire existence from Middle Earth."

Elrond sighed, somewhat regretfully. "Thranduil intends to exact a hefty price for the slaying of his queen. Long have these abhorrent creatures plagued this land unchecked and not only our woodland brethren, for the woodsmen who have settled East of the Anduin have not the strength and fleetness of the Elves to ward against such a malignancy." He laced his hands behind his back, a frown marring his wise, Elven countenance. "Yet I fear Erestor, for should Thranduil's heart turn wholly to revenge what will be wrought for his people? This mighty labour, to purge Eryn Galen, cannot succeed in any certitude for as one nest falls, two shall spring forth. Mayhap while Dol Guldur remains silent and empty twill be enough only to curb the arachnids.

"But should the Enemy return there to find Thranduil weak, exhausted, consumed by his hatred and grief…"

The thought that had proved so elusive came at last, unbidden, to Elrond's mind, a dark and fearful doom for the Greenwood; a fallen King; a hunted people; all lands East of the Anduin consumed by a black and seething malice risen anew…

"This must not come to pass," Elrond hissed, pressing long fingers to his forehead as if to rid himself of the fell vision. And yet it lingered on, phantom tendrils of foresight refusing to relinquish a dispassionate grip, arrowing with ruthless surety on a dark and ruinous fate for their Silvan kindred.

The Lord of Imladris could feel Erestor's questioning eyes upon him and he sighed, suddenly wearied for the task ahead. "I had intended to petition Thranduil for the guardianship of his child," he said at length.

"To what purpose?" Erestor queried, surprised.

"I fear for the babe," Elrond admitted bluntly. "I have yet to see the King's regard for his son, his heir, and I had hoped that by fostering the child within Imladris he would come to know some measure of tenderness. Yet should I be granted this much, I see a doom for Eryn Galen, full of naught but darkness and despair. He is their hope, this child, this elfling, I can feel it! And I am truly torn."

"If such evil is fated to befall this realm," the Captain began, carefully, "then you cannot think to deprive those who must remain of their salvation."

"Yet how in good conscience can I even conceive of leaving this child to the cold rebuff of his grieving father, knowing the happiness that awaits him within my own household? You have not seen this elfling, this Thranduilion, but he has a bright flame, one I would not see quenched by another's despair. Ai Erestor, I need your council."

"Nay," his friend countered. "You know as well as I what you must do. Seek out the King, learn his regard for his son."

"And if I find it wanting?"

At this Erestor did not reply and they awaited admittance to the King's chamber in a grim and foreboding silence.

*****

The shard of light glinted sharply, sheared off from a polished surface, dazzling and bright.

"How wondrous it is, that it does not tarnish, will not fade though aeons may pass as but a day."

Elrond stood stiffly before the throne of the woodland King as these words were recited with a deliberate air. Thranduil held aloft the bright gem, twisting it this way and that to catch the fickle torch light of his hall, avarice to match even the greediest of the stunted beings within his bearing.

"Where in all of Arda can we find such perfection?" Thranduil lowered the gem, placed it to one side before turning his full regard upon Imladris' Lord.

He was awaiting an answer, Elrond knew and he considered the Sindarin King before carefully replying. "There is a treasure far more precious, that even now lies within your walls. A living, breathing jewel of greater import than any mere dwarf-coveted bauble." He took a bold step forward. "I speak of your son, Thranduil, the child your queen sacrificed her time upon Arda for!"

The King flinched slightly at the last, then narrowed his stare upon the Elf Lord before him. "I need you not to catalogue my Kingdom's wealth, peredhel, for if you do so, you must weigh the cost of my queen's immolation against that which I have gained." The King drew his wooden staff into his lap and gazed balefully at Elrond. "I have done so and found the scales tipped against me."

"How can you say such?" Elrond protested, incredulous. "You have an heir, King of Eryn Galen and a greater gift from the Valar I cannot conceive…"

"A gift?" Thranduil demanded, his fingers whitening upon his staff. "The Valar take with one hand while offering a pittance in return and think you that I should be grateful?"

Elrond felt his outrage grow at the King's unyielding intransigence, a scathing chastisement upon his lips and things may have gone sour for relations between Imladris and Greenwood were it not for the timely knock upon the great oak doors.

The harsh criticisms Elrond had been prepared to let fly died ere they were ever birthed as Erestor was permitted entrance, stepping aside to allow a fair elleth to enter the hall. She cradled to her breast the very creature of the Elven Lords' contention, though the babe was deep in slumber and oblivious to the razor sharp anger that scythed the very air between the two mighty Edhil.

"What is this?" Thranduil demanded, coldly, face darkening with displeasure. "I have made it known I did not desire such an introduction. Does my court dare to conspire with Imladris and set itself against my will?"

Seeing the Elf maid trembling in sudden doubt and fear at the levelling of such treasonous charges, Elrond reached out to relieve her of her gentle burden, silently bidding Erestor to take their leave lest they unwittingly bring down the full weight of the King's foul mood upon their blameless heads. The she-elf spared one last, doubtful glance to her sleeping charge, before allowing Rivendell's gallant Captain to guide her from the hall and from under the eye of its resentful ruler.

When once more the hall of the Wood King was emptied, Elrond approached the throne without hesitation though the steely eyes of its recalcitrant occupant were fixed fumingly upon him. Let Thranduil accuse Imladris of meddlesome acts, but Elrond would learn the King's regard for his son afore he even contemplated leaving the Greenwood empty-handed. He lifted the swaddling to reveal the sleeping infant within to its father and King, watching Thranduil's countenance change haltingly from chagrin to some measure of interest.

"He is fair," the King allowed at last, and though his voice was cool, Elrond saw a flicker in the ancient eyes, fuelling his hope.

"He takes much from his Lord father," the Loremaster said, and watched as Thranduil's already abundant pride swelled ever more at the unexpected praise from Imladris' ruler. Though let us pray to the Valar the child bears his naneth's sweet temper, Elrond added ruefully, rather than his adar's bearish disposition.

A time passed as Thranduil regarded the child cradled within Elrond's tireless arms, the torchlight diminishing as untended wicks at last burned low, though but a little time did it seem to the ageless Elf Lords, whose immortal souls had felt the passage of countless millennia. Yet gradually, Elrond began to sense a change within the other, the impenetrable wall of grief beginning to crack as surely as the rock must upon whom the unending sea eventually breaks.

And at last, the King reached out to brush the babe's sleep flushed cheek with a touch so light as to be gossamer. Though gentle beyond measure, the impromptu and unexpected caress disturbed the elfling and a tiny, scrunched face was turned to the meaning of its rude rousing.

It was then that Thranduil at last beheld his son, eyes as blue as a cloudless, midsummer sky regarding the world without with a beguiling innocence and wonder his own had not held for untold years. For the sorrow and strife the High Elves had suffered throughout the ages had long ago dimmed what lightness the Elven King once knew within his heart. And though with the loss of his Queen that grief and despair had arisen anew to batter his already wearied fea, Elrond could sense that cruel darkness within the King waver and wane, fleeing before the bright flame of the child's pure, untouched spirit.

"Mae govannen penneth," Thranduil whispered, proud voice brought low by awe. Then, "Ion nin."

Carefully, Elrond lowered his burden into the welcoming and abruptly possessive arms of its wondering adar and could not help the joy that surged through his heart at witnessing the tender display. His healing gift sensed the sealing of the rift between Thranduil and Thranduilion so keenly that he cast further doubt aside and decided it was time to retreat from the hall to allow the new and tentative bond to flourish in privacy.

As the Lord of Imladris slipped silently and unmarked from the hall, one final glance allowed him to behold the true measure of Thranduil's wealth; a tiny elf hand had curled greedily around its adar's powerful finger, holding on with a stubbornness to match even the fabled obstinacy of its Lord King. But it was the silver tears of joy and grieving that at last coursed silently from proud, fair Thranduil that gave Elrond hope.

He turned then, lest he intrude, and quietly but firmly closed the doors as he departed.

*****

END OF CHAPTER TWO