Chapter VI: To Imladris

After he finished holding court, Thranduil brushed off his advisors, mounting a stallion instead and urging it to go as fast as if he were racing with the breeze itself. He needed motion—he craved the wind's whiplash on his face—he yearned to be in the midst of sweet overwhelming wildness. Worries burrowed like worms into the back of his mind. He needed fresh, sharp air and the pure song of the trees to clear his thoughts.

He had immediately sent some of his best trackers back to the dark places of Mirkwood, after Legolas and Ereg had returned with their warriors, to examine the area where the exhausted soldiers had given up the chase. The trackers had merely confirmed the captains' report: Gollum had disappeared, evidently having gone off in the direction of Dol Guldur.

Thranduil would not send his people into that evil place for the sake of Mithrandir's prisoner, no matter what darkness menaced Ennor, no matter what help the Istar and Elrond might be able to lend the Wood.

The aftermath of the creature's escape had been grim. Visions flashed before Thranduil's eyes—of the ashen face of Galendur's wife, who might not long survive her fallen mate; of Bardil's widowed mother who had not even her son's body to mourn over; of the family of Nimlas gathered round his funeral pyre. And of Legolas, pale and dull-eyed, telling Thranduil all that had happened.

Sometimes the Elven-king felt his mind slipping away from him, felt that he would lose it entirely if he heard another Elf keen in anguish, or saw another limp corpse. And yet Thranduil knew he would witness such grief for however long both he and his enemy endured, perhaps longer, for he knew too well that enemies came in all forms. He would see it and he would live on, continuing to shepherd his people, without the merciful blackness of death or insanity.

Not that he had been a very wise shepherd of late. He had agreed to harbor a foreign prisoner, and what happened? An attack on the Wood, disturbingly close to the stronghold, and three of his people dead.

Thranduil shook himself out of his despondent reverie. If he dwelt on every wrong he had done to his subjects he would be of no use to them. He turned his mind back to his immediate problem. Gollum had escaped, and had not been recaptured. Therefore, someone must be sent to Imladris to notify Elrond, and Mithrandir if he was there, of what had happened. Thranduil himself could not go—the everyday business of running a kingdom prevented it, and he was loath to leave his realm in the hands of another so soon after an attack. He knew of only one other person who could be sent, though he inwardly rebelled against the knowledge. It had to be someone who had acted as ambassador to Imladris before, who had spoken with Elrond and would be neither intimidated nor enraged by the peredhel—someone high-ranking enough and close enough to Thranduil to represent the Wood beyond its borders—someone who could be courteous yet dignified while bearing ill news and who would know how to tell the tale of Gollum's escape without making Thranduil's people appear incompetent.

Legolas was best qualified for this task, yet Thranduil balked at sending his son for reasons inexplicable even to himself. The road to Imladris was a dangerous one, but certainly less so than the south of Mirkwood, where Legolas had fought for many years. Still, Thranduil irrationally felt that his son was somehow safer within his borders than without. Foolish, of course, to feel that way. Such silly whims should not—could not—govern a besieged realm. A king could not send a lesser subject where he feared to send his own son. It had to be done, Thranduil knew.

He wheeled round on his horse and set out at a gallop back to the caves, lifting his head to the sky and feeling the wind swirl around his face. Dismounting and striding into the stronghold, he instructed a servant to send for Legolas and went to his study.

When Legolas arrived, Thranduil waved him into a seat and stared searchingly at him. Legolas was still pale, as he had been when he had first returned from the south. He had begun to recover, but having to end Galendur's life had unsurprisingly done him no good. "Are you well, Legolas?" Thranduil's voice was cool and imperious.

"Of course, my lord," said Legolas, meeting Thranduil's inquisitive eyes with an innocent look that the Elven-king had seen too often on the faces of too many warriors to trust. Thranduil inwardly groaned. Legolas had somehow managed to make the Elven-king's title sound like an insult, or an accusation—though of what, Thranduil did not know. Lothwen and Legolas sometimes took that tone with him---that defiant, defensive, resentful tone. Only sometimes, not always or even very often. But Thranduil did not know the best way to handle it, or indeed the reasons behind his children's attitude. Perhaps there was no reason. Perhaps it was merely Thranduil's imagination—when pressed, Lothwen and Legolas unfailingly said that it was. Thranduil thought otherwise, though. He knew it had something to do with the blurring of the lines between the roles of "king" and "father" that he played, though he could never understand more than that.

Thranduil sighed, and decided to avoid badgering Legolas with questions that his son would only avoid and get to the heart of the matter instead. "I am going to have to send you to Imladris, Legolas," he said. "Elrond and Mithrandir need to know what has happened to Gollum—and they also need to know that some of our people were lost in the keeping of their prisoner." Legolas nodded, unsurprised. "Take two or three people with you," Thranduil continued.

"Do you have anyone in particular in mind?"

"No," said Thranduil, "you may bring who you please." He smiled then—a quick-blooming, insolent smile. "Give Elrond my regards," he said.

Legolas grinned wickedly. "Certainly, Adar," he said. "I am sure he will greatly regret your not coming to speak with him in person, given the delight you take in each other's company."

Thranduil snorted. "Oh, yes, I never tire of conversing with Elrond. His attitude is so humble, and his manner so unpretentious."

"I am sure he could say the same of you," said Legolas with a sly glint in his eye.

"No one," said Thranduil with great dignity, "has ever accused me of being pretentious. Not even Elrond, and I have heard an entire litany of complaints from him. He even dared compare me to a mule the last time we spoke."

"Well," said Legolas fairly, "you have said worse about him, you must admit. Perhaps with better reason, and more accuracy, but with no less venom."

"True," said Thranduil with a smile. "But he is so stuffy and pompous and irritating that he truly deserves it."

"I will not argue with that," said Legolas with a laugh. "He looked askance at me the last time I went to Imladris, because I had brought some Dorwinion wine with me and shared it with our kindred there."

"You did not tell me about that." Thranduil drew his eyebrows together in mock severity. "The Imladris Elves cannot be as good at holding their wine as we are, Legolas. I hope you did not create any…disturbances?"

The impish look on Legolas's face left no doubt that 'disturbances' had, indeed, taken place, and Thranduil thought it best not to inquire too closely into their nature. He could not help but regret, however, that he had not been there to watch.


Legolas left his father and headed outside, to the blue glitter of the skies and the clarion song of the trees.

So he was to go to Imladris. Legolas silently cursed his luck.

He had never liked Elrond's little hamlet, truth be told. He had been there three times before, and at the end of each visit he and his mount had torn wildly out of the valley, as fast as the horse could go. Imladris was beautiful, to be sure—exuding a pure, calm intensity, perfectly safe, and possessed of all the comforts in the world. But there was something about it that was…stifling.Everything there seemed painfully slow, still and unchanging.

Given what his father half-knew about the defense of Imladris and the power of its lord, perhaps that was not so unexpected. But that simply made Legolas shudder against it all the more.

Legolas turned his mind to practicalities. Who would he bring with him to Imladris? His father would fret if he went alone, Legolas knew, although any Wood-elven warrior was capable of taking care of himself. Still, it was always wiser to travel with companions. Tathar from his patrol would be a good choice, and would probably jump at the chance of seeing far-off places.

Bardil or Galendur would have been good choices…but Legolas diverted his thoughts immediately. Luinmir, too, could go with him. And Rohiril, who had been to Imladris with him before and who was accustomed to it. Three companions should be enough to soothe even Thranduil's worries.

Legolas caught sight of the flaming colors of the sunset, and turned backwards to the cave to join his family for evening meal.


"When are you leaving for the valley, Legolas?" Queen Alphiel smiled at her son from across the table.

"In a day or two, I hope," said Legolas.

"One of these days I hope to go there," said Alphiel. "I wish to see if the daughter of Elrond truly is the living likeness of Luthien, as your father tells me some claim."

Thranduil scoffed. "I have never seen her since she was but a babe, my love, but I greatly doubt it."

"I have spoken with her once," said Legolas, "and…she is not like the Luthien I have seen in the songs of Linhiril our minstrel. And if she, student of Daeron himself, cannot produce a likeness of Luthien, then no one can. The Lady Arwen is beautiful, certainly, but Luthien Tinuviel was a wild and untended rose, not a sheltered and tame garden flower."

Lothwen snorted. "What he means," she said, "is that Luthien most certainly did not walk about as stiffly as if she had a spear jammed up her backside." Legolas burst out laughing.

"Lothwen," said Alphiel reprovingly, yet obviously suppressing a smile. "You have seen her but once—and I doubt she had a favorable opinion of you, if it comes to that."

"No, indeed," said Lothwen. "How could she have a good opinion of a Mirkwood hoyden who runs about in breeches? The women in Imladris all trail gracefully in long robes—if they ever tried to move quickly they would trip and fall flat on their faces."

"The robes make them look beautiful, though," put in Legolas, mostly to annoy his sister. Lothwen threw him a scornful look, and he responded with a cheeky grin.

"Well," said Thranduil, "do not get too enchanted by their beauty. You will not be staying there long. I hope to see you home again soon."

TBC

OCs:

Bardil, Galendur, Nimlas: Gollum's guards, dead.

Tathar, Luinmir, Rohiril: Mirkwood warriors

Lothwen: daughter of Thranduil, sister of Legolas

Alphiel: wife of Thranduil, mother of Legolas

Linhiril: Mirkwood minstrel, formerly of Doriath, student of Daeron

Responses to Reviewers:

Daw the minstrel: Yeah, it was definitely a grim chapter--tough for me to write since I hatehatehate angst. I kind of wanted to save the guards, too, but stupid canon intervened.

Brazgirl: Thank you! I felt like leaving Thranduil's wife alive for some reason--maybe because everyone seems to kill her off or ship her to Valinor, so I wanted to try something else.

Lamiel: Thanks for reviewing! In the Unfinished Tales there are passages that seem to suggest that the Silvan elves spoke a different language from the Sindarin that would have been spoken in Rivendell, so I was going by that, though it's up for interpretation. And you caught a mistake of mine--I think of wood-elves as not using tack, too, and yet I had Lothwen using it. Um...oops? It's been edited, anyway. Thanks for pointing it out. And we will see Aragorn again in Rivendell.

Ithilien: Thank you! Yep, the penname comes from A Wrinkle in Time. And the story is pretty much going to follow Legolas from now on--it followed the OCs because they were Gollum's guards. I imagine elves are used to family members who are warriors being away for long stretches of time with no explanation, since elves can go for days without sleep or probably food, either.