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: This is the final chapter chronicling the birth of Legolas. Thank you to all who read and enjoyed. Coming soon: The beginning of the end for the Watchful Peace.
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Chapter Three – Greenleaf
Eryn Galen, Third Age 2321…
Dawn brought new promise and though the air was chill from the bitter autumnal wind and the sky a pale, wrung grey, a sense of peace had at last settled over the Greenwood, a far cry from the seething, unspent rage of earlier days.
Elrond stood amongst his people, their beasts readied for the long return journey over river and range to the safe haven of Imladris in the West. And though Thranduil had bade them remain as his guests a while longer and take their fill of Silvan hospitality, the travellers from Rivendell were already yearning for the more gentle and familiar comforts of their homeland.
"The healing has begun, for Oropher's son and his people," Elrond spoke they awaited the Woodland King beneath the frost laden boughs of Eryn Galen.
"It is a near tangible thing," Erestor agreed, glancing about the fair glade, lit by a cold morning sun. "Even the trees seem the lighter for it."
"That is not to be wondered at. Ever have the Edhil of Eryn Galen been closer to the nature of Arda than any that now dwell within Middle Earth and they hold a deep affinity with these trees that is beyond even our reckoning."
"Their love binds them here, to this place," Erestor said, and with not a little sorrow. "Even should this realm fall into strife and the light of Valinor beckon, they would remain until the very last."
"But they have hope now," Elrond countered and gestured as the King of Eryn Galen approached, the fluttering banners of the Greenwood held aloft by a solemn entourage.
To the Loremaster's surprise, proud Thranduil bore within his own arms his son, dotingly and devotedly wrapped from the biting breeze and coveted with all the paternal might of the ancient Elf Lord.
"Hantanyel herunya," Thranduil greeted Elrond, with utmost formality and graciously inclined his head to Rivendell's Lord. "For the service you have rendered me and mine, I would grant Imladris a boon of the Woodland Realm. Speak only of it and it shall be done."
A mighty gift, Elrond knew, and not one to be lightly nor idly given. Thranduil boasted a vast army, and though his host was poorly equipped compared to those of Imladris and Lorien, the wood elves were fearless and fiercely skilled. A stationed garrison would make safe the passes over the Misty Mountains that separated Rivendell from his beloved wife's people and indeed the range they had so recently crossed.
Or there was the fabled hoard of treasure, large enough for a dragon's covetous gaze and though it was rumoured but a fledgling compared to the vaults of the Elven Kings of old, at its core lay mithril in abundance. A supple metal of incomparable strength, that could be shaped into armour and weaponry of the finest calibre.
Yet neither possibilities held what was most dear and close to Elrond's heart. There was a truth he longed to learn, ere he left Eryn Galen.
"There is but one gift I would ask of you, Thranduil King," he said, gravely, "ere I depart. One that will set my heart to ease and allow our people some measure of joy upon our return to Imladris." He smiled then and gently placed his hand upon the brow of the babe Thranduil held. "A name I would ask of you, son of Oropher. A name to take back with me so that my peoples' hearts may too be gladdened by such joyous news of this prince's birth."
Thranduil considered the humbling request with something akin to wonder. "Much wealth have I, Earendilion, yet this instead you ask of me, though I would freely give it." He looked down with quiet reverence upon his son. "A name you shall have then, Hir nin. One fitting for this new sprung bud upon our aged bough, a leaf of green."
Calenlass, Elrond thought then.
"Legolas," Thranduil intoned instead, much to his surprise. Seeing the Loremaster's silent query, the King elaborated, "A fitting name you asked of me. The blood of our Silvan kindred flows strong in his veins, a gift of my wife queen. I would honour her thusly."
"Legolas," Elrond said, and an echo of the foresight that had so recently troubled his heart returned, though this time there was no burden, only a gladness that was in turns bitter and sweet. "The name Evenstar was bestowed upon my daughter Arwen. Undomiel she is called, for it is in the twilight of our years that she now walks amongst us. Yet now I believe this child is truly the last to be born to Middle Earth. The last, green leaf of Elven kind."
"Our time draws near," Thranduil agreed, somewhat sorrowfully. "My heart is divided and ever since the ancient days does the sea beckon to me, though I shall not hearken to its call and forsake my people until the very last. Yet neither would I see my son bound to this land, confined by heritage to weather the darkness should I fall.
"A prince he shall be in name, yet neither duty not title shall compel him to remain if the Enemy rises anew. Only love shall hold sway and bind him to this land if he so wishes."
At this Elrond could not help but feel some measure of dismay. Ever had a mighty Sinda led the peoples of Eryn Galen to stand fast against the Shadow. And though their Silvan kin were neither lacking in courage nor strength, they were content to dwell in bright gaiety beneath star and moon, seldom to turn their thoughts to war or peril from without. Bereft of Sindarin born wisdom should proud Thranduil fall, they would be condemned to darkness, consumed by the minions of an Enemy who would not stay his hand or his cruelty upon learning of their innocent ways. Indeed, it was more likely his black malice would fall all the swifter for it!
As if sensing his misgivings, the King's grave countenance softened somewhat. "Do not fear over much, Hir nin, for though my heart ever warns me the Shadow was not vanquished upon that black day when my father King was lost, the time has not yet come for His return.
"For the gift of my son I have given you a name. But for hearkening me to the peril of my grief and folly, I have yet to give thanks. I would therefore give you this pledge." Then Thranduil lifted his voice so that those gathered would bear witness to his proclamation. "Ever have the peoples of the Woodland realm stood against the Shadow though the cost weighs in the blood of our kin. Yet we shall continue to maintain the Watchful Peace and the peoples of Middle Earth will not remain at unawares should the festering scourge of the Enemy once more pollute this land. Neither will we be found weak nor wanting in courage to defend our realm from His foul creatures be they orc, goblin or arachnid.
"And should my life become forfeit, I would command my people to hearken to the wisdom of Imladris lest they close their hearts to peril and succumb in turn."
There was a ripple of some amazement at the last, not least from the Woodland folk themselves whose gazes now turned to those of their equally surprised Imladris brethren. Erestor bowed low to the King in deference of the unexpected vow to yield the might of the Greenwood into their hands should Mandos Halls unequivocally beckon him.
But, ever shrewd, Elrond was not so enthralled by Thranduil's oath. A double-edged sword it would be to guard the Greenwood from a black fate and not from their common Enemy alone. For Oropher had ever doubted Galadriel and her motives, indeed suspected the White Lady of Lorien might one day attempt to claim Eryn Galen for her own, for in his eyes one culpable of kin slaying would not stay her hand in fear of committing the same foul act twice should it gain her a Kingdom.
In consigning the defence of the Greenwood to Elrond, Thranduil as his father's son would not only gift his people with the power of Vilya to ward against the ancient Enemy, but also place the realm far from the reach of Nenya's fair bearer and her doubtful Noldorin ambitions.
Inwardly Elrond sighed, but in truth he could not gainsay Thranduil's desire to guard his child's future. And when the babe beneath his hand stirred at the last, tiny jewel like eyes blinking into awareness, much of his ire at the King's machinations fell away. He could not prevent his smile as one finger was instantly taken captive, no doubt intending to be ransomed and released only upon the elfling's fickle terms.
But the morn was waning and the horses becoming impatient, so it was with some reluctance that Elrond resorted to underhand tactics to win his freedom. With his other hand, he traced the shell of one delicate, petal-shaped ear and the babe gurgled at the gentle teasing and instantly released the Elf Lord's finger from his possessive grasp, a look of something akin to outrage on his diminutive features upon discovering the loss of his prize.
At this Thranduil fairly shook with mirth, shaking his head in wonder. Indulgent smiles had broken out on all who looked on, entranced by the tiny babe and Elrond could not help but feel a measure of regret that Imladris would never again know the joy of elf children running amok down airy hallways and open courtyards. Yet the mischievous, unrelenting curiosity of the human children he fostered would more than fill Imladris' days with the alternating love and worry that came with caring for the impetuous, fearless young.
"Nai i Valar nauvar as elyë," Elrond said formally, to soothe the babe's nettled pride, hoping that the strife that plagued the Woodland Elves would never mar such a fiery spirit. And "Namarie, Herunya," to the child's father and King.
"Nai Anar caluva tielyanna," Thranduil replied, lifting one hand in farewell and the Imladris Elves swiftly mounted their beasts.
As Elrond wheeled his feisty mount and led his people from the clearing, fair Elven voices were raised in beauteous song, yet no longer was there sorrow bound within the sweet music. Upon hearing the joyful sound the riders of Imladris found the weariness of past days lifted from both body and mind, their spirits unburdened and light as the breeze as they passed through the wintry land toward home.
END OF CHAPTER THREE
Quenya Translations (to the best of my knowledge and research):
Hantanyel herunya – Thank you my Lord
Nai i Valar nauvar as elyë,– May the Valar protect you
Namarie, Herunya – Farewell, my Lord
Nai Anar caluva tielyanna – May the sun shine on your path
If you're looking for similar translations, try the excellent www.councilofelrond.com.
