Wow! I got reviews! Thanks so much guys! Envinyatar, thank you for the suggestions – I'll go back and make the corrections.
Do I have to make the disclaimer again? Well you know the deal…
A Weary King
"He should be hosting festivals, not hunting spiders."
Aragorn pondered the wizard's earlier words as he weaved his way through the maze of passages, not far behind Legolas and Gandalf. A fiery glow lit the caverns. And perhaps I should be hosting royal tournaments, instead of hiding in exile, he thought to himself. But such are the times and places in which we were born into, and one cannot change that. Alas Mirkwood did not have a ring to fight the darkness, and my ancestors had not the will.
Elvish songs bounced off the walls. Some lamented those who had passed to the Halls of Mandos, while others sang lighthearted tales of romance and adventure. The Mirkwood elves, clad in greens and browns, were all fair creatures with flaxen hair and bright eyes ranging from smoky grey to a deep turquoise. Their lithe forms were well adapted to flitting through the high branches of Mirkwood, and they seemed out of place in the confined caves within which the King dwelled. Aragorn noted that they were all armed with elegant wooden bows and knives – even those who he did not believe to be guards had at least a small knife on their belt or tucked away in their boot. They eyed the unkempt ranger with a mixture of suspicion and condescension. Aragorn did not flinch at this though, but instead stared straight back with steely gray eyes. Gandalf placed a hand on the human's shoulder.
"It has been a long time since a non-elf has ventured into these halls. Do not be disconcerted by their stares."
"I think by now I have become quite used to elvish stares, though I admit these elves are rather more intense than the ones of Imladris," Aragorn replied, not removing his eyes from the elvish eyes that watched him.
"The Mirkwood elves have much to be suspicious of for they have experienced much pain and loss over the years, Aragorn. But when they accept you, you will see, they are actually quite lively and welcoming creatures. I think you will enjoy yourself here. Thranduil and his sons always offer some fine….. amusement."
Aragorn raised an eyebrow at this, wondering what the wizard meant by that, but Gandalf only laughed softly and gazed ahead.
Legolas greeted a few of the guards, who in return would either bow respectfully, or grasp the prince's shoulder.
"Here, here, if it isn't Thranduillion, returning from his hunts. How many spiders did your arrows strike today young elfling warrior of the wood? Or perhaps an unlucky orc has crossed the path of your bow?"
Legolas gave a sidelong glance, and continued on, choosing to ignore this question.
"Such strange guests you bring home these days, Prince Legolas! Soon you will be escorting a dwarf to the King's halls!"
"Listen my friends to the tale of the dwarf
Who met the dwarf king
Who met a great wizard
Who told the dwarf king
Of the two truths of the Valar
'What are these truths?' I asked the dwarf
Who met the dwarf king
'Well, the dwarf king forgot one,' said he,
'And I forgot the other!'"
The guards laughed at this and continued with more songs of dwarfs, wizards, ents, eagles, and the great elven warriors of ages past including Gil-galad and Glorfindel. Aragorn recognized many of them, but his ears would also catch less familiar tales of Mirkwood's own heroes, the most popular being Oropher, the great king of Greenwood and Legolas's own grandfather, slain in the War of the Last Alliance.
"I hope we are not interrupting any… disagreements between you and your father, Legolas," Gandalf called to the elf, as they drew closer to the king's throne room. A smile played on his lips as he remembered a past visit in which Legolas had quite a skirmish with his father. Though the elf was never purposely disrespectful to his father, he did inherit Thranduil's obstinacy, inevitably leading to some heated confrontations.
Legolas slowly faced the wizard and his eyes narrowed. "No… no, we are currently on agreeable terms Mithrandir," he answered carefully as he turned on his heel again to lead them into the throne room of King Thranduil.
"'Tis a shame….But worry not Aragorn, I'm sure a 'misunderstanding' will soon arise between father and son, and you will be in for a treat then," Gandalf happily whispered into Aragorn's ear.
"As when Lord Elrond has a 'misunderstanding' with Elladan or Elrohir?" the ranger grinned at the wizard.
"Aye, or with you."
"Ha! Nay, Gandalf, those are never very amusing… Truly I did not know you could be so sadistic."
"A wizard must amuse himself somehow."
Before Aragorn could respond, Legolas led them through a pair of large oak doors into a spacious room, flooded with light. The ranger had seen a lot during his travels including great castles and fortresses built by the men of Gondor and Rohan, the ethereal dwelling of the Lady of the Wood, and elaborate mines, carved into the mountains by the dwarfs. What lay before him now caused Aragorn to catch his breath and mentally add the wood elves' abode to his list of wonders of Middle Earth.
After emerging from the narrow passages, the room seemed to stretch out before him like a field. The elves had painted on the walls colorful murals of Greenwood the Great which were so vivid, one could easily forget there were any walls at all. The high ceiling boasted images of the night sky, with several shades of blue softly blending into one another and myriad celestial objects blazing and flickering gently. The room had no sharp corners, but was rounded, as if it had been carved into the side of a hill, which indeed it was, as large round windows high in the walls of the northern part of the room revealed. A warm, pale glow of natural light flowed through these windows in steady beams, within which tiny particles danced and gleamed. Aragorn wandered into one of these beams, relishing the sunlight on his face. But what impressed him the most were the trees. Birch trees had been planted throughout the room, many reaching up to the ceiling. The white barks glowed in the sunlight and their leaves shaped delicate shadows upon the mossy ground. Clearly, the elves aimed to bring as much of the forest into their home as possible since they could no longer safely reside within the trees outside the palace walls.
"And so the elves have carved a forest out of a cave," Aragorn breathed, in awe of the wood elves' craftsmanship.
Legolas stopped to take a deep breath, savoring the fresh scents provided by the flowers and birches. He placed a hand on one of the trees, feeling the life flow within its trunk. This was by far his favorite room in the palace as it was the one room where he could actually forget he was in a cavern.
"Never call a wood elf's home a cave," he answered lightheartedly. The elf turned and smiled at the ranger to assure him he appreciated the compliment.
"Ah, the Gray Pilgrim arrives. Welcome Mithrandir."
Once again, Aragorn found himself taken by surprise by a wood elf, whose deep voice reverberated throughout the otherwise silent room. He looked down (for he had been holding his head up to the light) and watched as a tall, fair-haired elf emerged from the birch trees' shadows, bowing to Gandalf. Though Legolas could muster a rather imposing stance when he faced an opponent, his father Thranduil was innately authoritative and intimidating, even when he was relaxed and welcoming guests. Intense gray-blue eyes gazed upon the trio, pausing as they fell upon Aragorn. Once again, Aragorn fixed his stare, not wanting to show any weakness by looking away, though he admitted this was a little harder to achieve with the king than with his guards.
"I see you have brought a guest Mithrandir," Thranduil's velvety voice noted with some curiosity. He raised an arched eyebrow at the wizard, who returned his bow respectfully.
"Yes King Thranduil, indeed I have brought a guest of great honor to your halls, though his appearance right now may not attest to it," Gandalf responded, realizing that to the pristine elves, Aragorn must have appeared rather….scruffy for a foster son of Lord Elrond and a future king.
"I do not doubt the honor of any guest of yours Master Wizard," Thranduil continued, waiting patiently for a more specific introduction.
Gandalf smiled. "Well then let me introduce you to Aragorn of Arathorn, lord of the Dunadain and heir to the throne of Gondor, also known as Estel, by his foster father Lord Elrond."
At this, both of Thranduil's eyebrows were raised. "Lord Elrond's son! Well, this is quite a guest indeed! I could sense his nobility, for few humans dare to return a king's stare as he has," he smiled amicably as he gazed at Aragorn once again. "The hope of man…." King Thranduil muttered quietly to himself as he studied the ranger.
"Well, you are most welcome here indeed, Estel. Though we have not the serenity in these woods as can be found in Rivendell, I hope you will find your stay to be comfortable. I think you will find the hospitality of my people most agreeable."
Suddenly, Thranduil frowned slightly, as if remembering something.
"Ah! Forgive me, I have not yet even offered you drink or food, and I do not doubt your journey must have been long and arduous." With that Thranduil motioned to one of his guards, who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere carrying a tray with four goblets of wine.
The four helped themselves to the wine and Thranduil invited Gandalf to sit in one of the large oak chairs behind him after waving off the guard. Gandalf sat down gratefully, taking a long sip from his goblet. The wine was an opaque red-purple, with the sweet aromas of plum and blackberries. It was potent and smooth, leaving a sweet lingering flavor. It is always a pleasure to taste the wood elves' wine, Gandalf thought cheerfully.
Aragorn and Legolas chose to stand though seats were offered to each of them. Thranduil seated himself with a weary sigh beside Gandalf. Aragorn noted how tired he looked. Dark circles exacerbated an already drawn face, though the elf did his best to hide his weariness. Clearly the growing shadow on Mirkwood was taking its toll even on the king.
"I see you stumbled upon my son on your way here," Thranduil remarked to the wizard next to him.
"Actually, I believe it was your son who found us. He is quite the skilled tracker Thranduil," Gandalf returned, looking pointedly at Legolas.
Thranduil's brows furrowed slightly at this. "Yes… he certainly is…. I hope he did not give you any trouble, Mithrandir."
"Oh, no, no, no… I was just surprised at how easily he found us. It is quite a skill he has. I believe it rivals that of many elven warriors," Gandalf clarified as he thoughtfully gazed at Legolas.
Thranduil's features relaxed, as did Legolas's who was grateful the wizard had not chosen to take his revenge by informing his father of his actions in the wood. That would have been cruel indeed, and I would have to drop more than an acorn on his head for that!
"So tell me Aragorn, for much time has passed since either Legolas or I have journeyed to Imladris. How fare Lord Elrond and his kin?" Thranduil asked after taking several sips of his wine.
"I'm afraid many years have passed since I have last dwelled in Rivendell as well, my lord, and I have not heard news of them since," Aragorn replied.
"Many years?" Thranduil chuckled at this. "Tell me Master Human, how many years has it been? Five? Ten? Fifty? For I have not journeyed to Imladris for over a hundred years. Many years for you is but a blink of an eye for me."
"In that case, when I left them six years ago, they fared well. Lord Elrond was continuing with his studies, of course, and Elladan and Elrohir were traveling with the Dunadain. Since I have not heard any news from Imladris since then, I assume they are still well, though one must always be wary of assumptions." Aragorn chose not to go into Arwen's visit from Lorien.
"I am glad to hear they are well then," the King said softly, distractedly swirling the wine in his glass. He then looked up at Aragorn, a smile tugging at his features. "You certainly are rather elvish for a human, young ranger. I see Lord Elrond has raised you well."
"Aye, Elladan and Elrohir certainly taught him a lot as well," the wizard added, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
The king chuckled at this. "So they have…" As he looked up at his son however, his laugh died on his lips. Was it there? Aye, of course it was there you fool! A gleam in his eyes. *That* gleam in his eyes that can only mean trouble for me. Thranduil eyed his son closely. Indeed Legolas snapped to attention when Elladan and Elrohir were mentioned, and when he heard Aragorn was taught by the masters of mischief themselves, his eyes lit up with mirth. Thranduil glared at his son and glanced worriedly at Gandalf and Aragorn.
"I hope they did not teach him too much."
Gandalf smiled. "Don't worry. Humans grow up quickly, Thranduil, and any, shall we say, unsavory lessons taught by the twins, I'm sure have been long forgotten."
Thranduil sighed, glancing again at Legolas, a little less harshly this time. "If only elves could grow up so quickly…"
Aragorn frowned slightly, irritated about being the subject of conversation when he was not actually included in the conversation. A glance at Legolas showed the elf to be rather irritated himself as he returned his father's glare. But Legolas chose not to say anything, and instead stood as still as a statue, watching and listening intently, but not reacting outwardly to his father and the wizard.
Gandalf turned to Thranduil and his face grew serious. "Be careful what you wish for my King. There are many parents who regret their children having to grow up too quickly for it is often too soon that young ones must face the darkness of this world when we long to shelter them from such pain and grief. If our children can retain but a bit of their mirth even into their adult years, it is a blessing indeed."
Thranduil was about to respond when the wizard decided to continue. "Now, I do apologize to Legolas and Aragorn, but there is much I must speak to you about, King Thranduil…"
"Legolas, why don't you show Aragorn around the palace," Thranduil hastily suggested leaving no need for the wizard to elaborate. The ranger and elf quickly took the hint and turned to leave. The elf king watched worriedly as they exited the room. He still was not entirely comforted by Gandalf's remarks about Aragorn being beyond any childish pranks. Perhaps he was when he was out in the wild, in the company of the Dunadain, but what would happen when he spent time with Legolas? Surely the elf would bring out the worst in him. The worst being only Elbereth knows - whatever the twins had taught him.
After several long moments, sitting affably in silence, Gandalf turned to Thranduil.
"I meant what I said about your son. His tracking skills are truly extraordinary. And it seems his talent with the bow and arrow is legendary within your halls." The wizard tried to catch the elf's eye, but Thranduil continued to gaze ahead, gracefully swirling the wine in his glass.
"Aye," the King responded distractedly, "He is well trained. And you have witnessed his archery skills before. They are indeed legendary." Thranduil recalled a tournament a century ago in which Legolas had not only been the victor, but had surpassed every record that had been previously set in speed, accuracy and distance. Since then the prince had developed a reputation of being by far, the finest archer in Mirkwood, perhaps even Middle Earth. The king proudly remembered Legolas as he calmly released his arrows, one by one, in a fluid, rapid sequence so that each hit its respective target like a bolt of lightning. The crowd had gone silent with awe. King Thranduil merely leaned back contentedly in his seat and watched his son impassively. He already knew Legolas was the best of his archers. His achievements in the tournament were no surprise to the king.
"Yes, I remember that very clearly, Thranduil, for never had such a relatively young elf so impressed me." Gandalf paused for a moment, but when no response came from Thranduil, he continued.
"He is clever also. And I can see he has a strong attachment to Middle Earth. A rarity amongst elves…" Though Gandalf turned away in his seat so that he again faced straight ahead, he continued to watch Thranduil out of the corner of his eye.
"Aye, Mithrandir, I sometimes find he is too clever for his own good… or for mine. As for his love for Middle Earth, he has not yet heard the sea, though I admit he does have an uncanny attachment to this world and is not as eager as his siblings and mother were to leave, despite the pain we have faced."
"Yes, yes of course, but it is more than that…" Gandalf mused thoughtfully. Indeed, I did not even think of that! It is odd he does not wish to sail West with the rest of his kin. After all, he is not the crown prince. The Grey Havens could ease his pain of losing his brothers yet he chooses to stay. Perhaps he senses some greater purpose here as well. One's instincts often can sense one's fate.
Now Thranduil turned his gaze sharply at Gandalf, as he gently placed his goblet down on the table next to him.
"Mithrandir, what is it exactly you are trying to say?" Thranduil slowly inquired, narrowing his eyes at the wizard.
"Oh, nothing, nothing... I was merely thinking aloud, that is all. You have much to be proud of, my King. But now I fear, we have much darker matters to discuss." Gandalf hastily changed the subject and forced his mind to settle on more pertinent matters instead of racing ahead to battles yet to come.
"Indeed we do Mithrandir," Thranduil's voice deepened and his face became grim, but he did not hesitate in delivering his dire news to Gandalf. "Three Nazgul have reoccupied Dol Guldur and with them, the shadow upon Mirkwood grows greater than ever. Spiders and orcs march upon our woods and we often feel the chill of the Nazgul upon us. My people are still recovering from the first attack on Dol Gulder and the Battle of the Five Armies. We struggle against the enemy, but he feeds upon our strife. He grows strong as we grow weak. And worse…." Thranduil paused, unable to finish. The elf then looked up at Gandalf, his eyes laden with grief. "I have lost many warriors, Mithrandir. Many fine warriors."
Gandalf sighed wearily, but did not yet respond.
"Mithrandir, many bodies are missing."
Gandalf stiffened and looked sharply at Thranduil. "What do you mean the bodies are missing?"
The grief in Thranduil's eyes gave way to frustration as he described to Gandalf the unsettling events that, since the reoccupation of Dol Guldur, have been troubling him to the point where his mind would not permit his body a moment's rest.
"I mean, there are not enough dead bodies to account for all those presumed dead by the orcs' and Nazguls' swords. I mean, there are many who are not necessarily dead, but they are missing from my realm. The finest warriors, Mithrandir! And there is not a trace of them anywhere." Thranduil leaned in closer to Gandalf, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mithrandir, it is my belief that these warriors, some of the strongest Mirkwood has to offer, are being taken alive….or physically alive at least, for who knows what torture has been wreaked upon their souls. That is what I mean when I say Sauron is feeding off of us. He is quite literally growing stronger with my own warriors."
Gandalf leaned back in his chair, staring intently at Thranduil, and then turned his gaze aside.
"You believe he is using your elves to breed more orcs?" Gandalf's question was barely audible.
"Yes. How else can you explain their disappearance? Hostages? I think not Mithrandir." Thranduil leaned back in his chair and reached for his goblet to resume swirling its contents.*
"The Nazgul have returned to Dol Guldur… but the ring… the ring has passed down to the sea…" Gandalf muttered under his breath.
Thranduil raised his eyebrows. "What was that Mithrandir?"
"And you believe he is breeding even more orcs," Gandalf went on, ignoring Thranduil's question.
"Are you truly surprised that this is so, Mithrandir? That Sauron is preparing another attack?"
"But he will not find the ring here. Saruman has discovered that the ring has passed down the Anduin to the sea. It is no longer within the borders of these lands. Does Sauron not know this? Why send the Nazgul back to Dol Guldur, when the ring is no where near here? And to breed more orcs… Why would he do this unless he thought he had a chance at retrieving the ring? For only with the One Ring can he really hope to prevail… Thranduil, you are sure of all this?"
"Do you doubt me, Master Wizard?" Thranduil nearly bellowed, his eyes flashing angrily, as he arose from his seat, slamming his wine on the table so that much of it spilled, the red liquid quickly staining the table's surface. The woodland king was notorious for his quick temper and no one, not a dwarf nor elf nor wizard, was exempt from feeling his wrath.
"Peace Thranduil! Peace! Forgive me… No, I do not doubt your word." Gandalf assured the king, as he gently pushed him back down to his seat. "Yes I suppose it is possible Sauron does not know about the ring's passing… Thus he continues his search," Gandalf mused, though a tinge of doubt colored his voice. "But when he does discover the ring is not within the bounds of Mirkwood, or even Middle Earth, he will send the Nazgul elsewhere." Gandalf tried to reason, though he knew this did not explain the fate of the missing elves.
Thranduil shook his head, but calmed down considerably. "Nay, Mithrandir," he whispered softly. "Something is amiss. Sauron is rebuilding Barad-dur. His Nazgul are sent to my wood and the darkness grows fiercer and my warriors are disappearing. He is planning something mellonin…I fear he is one step ahead of us."
"He has been planning his return ever since his first retreat. But as long as he does not have the One Ring…"
"Whether he has the One Ring or not, he is gaining power," the king's voice rose again. "Alas, Mirkwood does not have a ring to protect it and thus we must witness how the shadow grows." Thranduil grabbed Gandalf's arm and articulated each word, "I do not know how much longer we can fight this. The elves are fading. We control but a fraction of Mirkwood, and it shrinks every day, little by little. We cannot hold out much longer and we will not be ready for whatever it is Sauron is planning."
Gandalf held the King's stare. Thranduil's eyes revealed much pain and grief, and something new to Gandalf. Fear. Thranduil was an exceedingly proud elf, and would never openly admit his weaknesses, nor allow his features to betray even a hint of fear. This unsettled Gandalf greatly. Knowing not what else to do, the wizard placed his hand upon the King's.
"You must keep fighting Thranduil. Should Mirkwood fall, much hope will be lost. I do not doubt the strength of your people, nor should you."
"I do not doubt their strength, but I do doubt their will to save Middle Earth. Most are not like Legolas. They wish to leave Middle Earth and sail West, and they do. Every day more leave for the Grey Havens, for the shadow has become too much for them to bear." Again Thranduil lifted his goblet and swirled what little liquid was left in it, ignoring the stickiness of the spilled wine on his fingers.
"And you, Thranduil? Do you wish to sail West?"
The King sighed. Several moments passed before he answered. "Nay, Mithrandir. My love for Greenwood is still great and I wish to see her restored. Though my heart aches to join my wife, son and daughter, I cannot abandon this wood so easily. As long as there is hope, I must remain. And even if there is none, I believe I would rather fade with Mirkwood than abandon her."
"Then you concede that there is hope, Thranduil."
The king sighed again and the two sat quietly for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Gandalf watched a beam of light fall on a cluster of leaves. Though there was no breeze, they seemed to tremble slightly, causing the light to bounce and scatter against their glossy surface. Thranduil stared into his wine, entranced by its circular motion, as it lapped against the sides of the glass.
At last, Gandalf spoke. "I do not doubt a great battle will fall upon us. I am not denying that, Thranduil. I do not know when or how it will begin, but I do know it will be the greatest battle Middle Earth has ever known as all the races will have no other choice but to join together against Sauron. You are not alone, and you will not be alone."
"It does not often feel that way."
"Dwarves and men have been witnessing this evil as well. Moria has suffered gravely.."
"Dwarves! Ha! They suffer due to their greed. They will not fight with us. They will bury themselves away in their mountains, perhaps waking a few more dragons while they're at it."
"Do not be so sure of that Thranduil. They too know they cannot fight this alone, or hide from the darkness forever."
Thranduil snorted and Gandalf decided not to press the issue further.
"I see great hope in your son, Thranduil," Gandalf carefully began. "He is a great warrior, with a great devotion to Middle Earth…"
"Back to my son again? Why, Mithrandir? What have you got planned?" Thranduil queried, setting his glass down for the last time. The wizard sat silently. Thranduil again grabbed his arm and gazed penetratingly into his eyes.
"You wish to take him away from me. That is what you wish to ask, but do not know how. Yes, you see something in Legolas, and you think he can serve some greater purpose, outside of the safety of this palace, outside of Mirkwood even. Aye, Mithrandir, you will take him from me then," Thranduil fought back the anguish growing in his eyes. He was a powerful and commanding king, awe-inspiring to those who encountered him, but he was also a father and the thought of losing yet another child, pained him deeply. This he could not hide from Gandalf. The wizard's eyes softened and he spoke softly.
"No, mellonin. I would not take him from you. Legolas will choose his fate with his own free will."
"But you will request it of him. And Legolas would never refuse a request from you Mithrandir."
Gandalf looked up at Thranduil. "A great fate awaits your son, but he will not encounter it within the confines of Mirkwood. His heart yearns to travel, and his talent and soul will be stifled if he remains here. I cannot explain to you how I know these things, but I do. I see it in his eyes. I do not wish to cause you grief by forcing you to part with yet another of your kin, though as I said, I would never force anything. But remember Thranduil, leaving home, does not mean leaving forever. You may find that you must part with him, but that does not mean he will not return."
Thranduil rubbed his pounding head with his elegantly jeweled hands and slowly closed his eyes. Rest would not find the troubled king anytime soon.
"When? When will it be Mithrandir?"
"I do not know Thranduil."
"You do not come to request his services now then?"
"I do not know what to request now. This news you bring me of the Nazgul and your missing warriors is grim indeed and I must reflect on it for now, in light of the last White Council."
Thranduil dropped his hands. "'Tis dark days we live in."
"Aye, but hope remains. The world can turn on a single act. Indeed, every deed has the capacity to alter fate. Now is not the time to yield."
TBC
I think I'll stop there and save Legolas's & Aragorn's adventures in the palace for the next chapter… I can see now how these stories can end up being so long!
*All right, so here I may be making an erroneous assumption, making this slightly AU. Orcs were said to be originally bred from corrupted elves. So, I guess that probably means they were only used once to breed orcs & from then on orcs could be reproduced from other orcs and then the Uruk hai were bred from that… but I don't recall anything specific about how these guys were reproduced, so for the purposes of my little story here, I'm going to assume that though orcs could be bred from other orcs, perhaps Saruman & Sauron, especially when making the Uruk-hai folk, decided to get some shiny new elves….(geez, here I am nit-picking the science of reproducing orcs…Perhaps I should get some sleep now…)
