Disclaimer: Once again, I own nothing.
A/N: This is an AU. It tells the stories of Greenwood, Imladris, and Lothlorien, of the troubles found in their relations, and of the bonds formed by their youngest members that will shape the fate of Arda. It is a series, and will eventually explain why some of the characters in The Lord of the Rings are the way they are. Please read and review, but no flames. Your comments will help me to becomea better writer.
Chapter Two- Greenwood
"Legolas, stop fidgeting. It is not appropriate behavior." The young elf stilled instantly under the stern reprimand of his father.
"Sorry adar," he muttered, slumping in his seat once more. A sigh, loud enough to be heard from across the table, issued forth from his corner as he loosed his anxiety and boredom. His three older brothers exchanged amused glances before turning back to their own plates. His father just shook his golden head.
"Thranduil, stop that." His mother's soft, melodious voice, gentle as the wind dancing through new spring leaves, floated across the table. "He is excited. And why should he not be? This is the first time you are allowing him out with only Ôlvaethor as a guardian." Her blue eyes, bright as the polished sapphires treasured so by her husband, glimmered conspicuously as they landed upon her fourth and last child. A worried expression marred the smooth marble of her face, accentuated by waves of midnight dark hair. At the moment, Legolas was moving his uneaten meal about on his plate, painstakingly dividing it into little piles to channel his boredom.
She sighed softly and placed her own fork down upon her own half-finished food, ignoring the concerned looks sent her way by her husband. She was nervous; there was no doubt about that. The forest had grown darker. Greenwood the Great was disappearing, would soon be lost amidst the shadows of the past. The Silvan elves who lived amongst its once unsurpassable beauty now felt and saw the creeping darkness, felt the first fingers of despair touch their souls with chill malice.
Yet no aid came from their kith. The terse relations between Greenwood and the other realms had strained to the breaking point. The final blow from the double-edged sword had arrived with the Last Alliance, severing all ties that once were. The pride of Greenwood's king would not bow to alleviate such bitter animosity, even when it meant the welfare of his realm. This pride would be their downfall. She felt it, heard the trees whisper and the wind moan of the fate of the land. And her child, her golden child, was caught in the center of the gathering dark of a dimming world.
Her precious child, with her own delicate features and brilliant polished eyes, her sweet, gentle temperament mixed with stalwart determination, but the fine spun gold hair of his father as well as the king's impatience and fiery will. They all had fire, these four sons of Thranduil, yet only the older three had also inherited his legendary temper.
Golden-haired green eyed Ôlvaethor, crown prince of the realm, gifted in all aspects of life, the pride and joy of his father and his people.
Good natured Sùlaur was second, dark, with sea green eyes changing to suit his passionate personality, his handsome face a unique combination of his parents.
Aerlind, the third son, had been born a thousand years before Legolas, with ebony hair and flashing blue eyes that more often than not revealed his uncurbed impatience and fiery nature; argumentative and rebellious at the best of times.
They were the hope for the future, the light that guided their people through the dark. And now it was time to let her youngest, her laes, to step forward away from her loving cocoon and take the first strides upon life's road.
Oh, but it was so difficult! So much pain and loss. Her heart could not take anymore. Two she had lost already, their deaths creating an empty void in her heart that none could fill. To let go now, acknowledge that her baby, her laes, was growing up, would only open the road for more grief and despair. But she knew he had to leave eventually. She could not hide him from the world, much as she would like to. It had taken much persuasion to get her husband, who governed the family with an indomitable if loving hand, to allow Ôlvaethor to take his youngest brother deeper into Greenwood. Finally, though, he had relented.
"Ôlvaethor, will you hurry? You are slower than Aerlind's stallion in a race!" Legolas's patience had finally worn thin. His breakfast lay in front of him, forgotten in the face of a thrilling adventure. A delicate flush tinted his fair cheeks, accentuating the brilliance of his blue eyes. Such youthful innocence brought the familiar prickle of tears to gather behind her dark lashes.
The third prince's eyes tightened almost imperceptibly, a sign of his quickly flaring temper. "Laes gwador, you should not insult your elders in such a matter, nor your family. After all, it is I who you shall have to live with for the rest of your noticeably shortened life."
Sùlaur gave an ungainly snort, earning a sharp reprimanding glance from his father. The delicate points of his ears reddened in discomfiture. Realizing that her family was well on its way to destroying the dining hall along with what little of Thranduil's sanity remained, she rose with an innate grace, instantly silencing any arguments. Her family, in respect, followed suit.
"Ôlvaethor, I believe that you have a promise to keep to Legolas." She kissed her eldest upon his golden brow. In turn, he gently kissed her upon her cheek, his emerald gaze missing nothing of the fear imprinted upon her face.
"Worry not, naneth. I will keep him safe. He will live to come home to you. This I swear on my life."
Her smile did not warm the depths of her eyes. "I pray it does not come to that." He bowed to her before turning to bid his father farewell.
"Legolas," she whispered, enfolding her youngest in a tight embrace. He smelled of the forest; of sunshine and mist, hope and promise. She wanted to remember this moment forever, locking it away into an eternity of memories. It would end all too soon. But for now, he was here, her own precious child.
"Naneth," he hissed, his lithe body wriggling within her grasp. Her husband stifled a smile behind a long, fine-boned hand. Her elder sons once more exchanged amused glances amongst themselves.
"Legolas, look at me." He stilled instantly beneath the weight of her firm tone. "You are to listen to Ôlvaethor. Stay close to him, and heed all he says. You are not to endanger yourself recklessly." She lifted his chin with one hand, staring into eyes so like her own. "I love you, lass dithen."
She released him with the greatest of reluctance, watching as he received his father's benediction. She watched as he took leave along with his older brother, gathering their weapons and packs. And she watched, clinging tightly to her husband as a lifeline, as her little leaf took the first steps past the palace gates and onto the path of his destiny.
"What kind of bird is that?" Legolas's curious young voice rang out against the silence of the woods about them.
Ôlvaethor turned from setting up their camp to see where his brother's attention was focused. Not seeing him anywhere, even with his heightened Elven senses, he called out. "Laes, where have you gone?"
A slight rustling of the leaves above his head was the only herald to his younger brother's arrival. The fair haired young elfling alighted upon the ground much like a bird himself, eyes dancing in mischief. The elder Elf knew that this had been an excellent idea. Though extremely young, Legolas already excelled at archery, and was more than capable with the knives strapped upon his back. More than that, he seemed more alive than the crown prince had ever seen his younger brother. He was meant for nature, at one with his surroundings as if it were more a home than the palace.
"What did I say about traveling alone?" The elder prince's stern reprimand did not deter the smile upon the younger Elf's fair features.
"Oh, but I did not travel far. Only up, towards the sky. Oh, it is truly vast up there! I have never seen anything so enormous in all of my life!"
Ôlvaethor could not help but smile at that innocent remark stated in awe. "A Valar, and that would be all of a century?"
Legolas opened his mouth to reply, but was instantly silenced by his older brother, who had gone as still as the trees about them. The forest was strangely hushed. Nothing stirred. Not even the leaves rustled as the wind passed through them.
They had no warning when it struck. Legolas felt a slight stinging on his neck before spiraling downwards into the fearful darkness of oblivion.
Laes-baby, Legolas's nickname
Lass dithen- little leaf
Ôlvaethor- warrior dream,
Sùlaur- morning wind
Aerlind- sea chant
