"Good morning, King Thranduil."
"Good morning, Galion."
He looked, thought the butler, like he might possibly mean it this time. "Are we still doing what we talked about?"
"We are."
Galion sat next to the king, who was finishing his breakfast; the meal had been provided by another servant, since it was Galion's day off. "I thought you'd be sad to see him go?"
"Perhaps a decade ago, when he was small, cute, and uninclined to argue with every word that left my mouth."
The change in the prince's disposition still confused Galion; neither he nor his two sons had ever done that. Even Tathor, not much younger than Legolas, was rather shocked every time his friend talked back to authority figures (especially Thranduil). "When do we start?"
Thranduil drained his mug in one gulp and set it on top of his empty plate. "I was waiting for you to arrive."
. . . . . .
Legolas jolted awake the moment he was touched; he was a light sleeper like his mother, after all. Still, he yawned while wondering why his father and Galion were here so early. "Wha' time is it?"
Thranduil yanked the covers off the young elf and dumped a pile of clothing on him. "Dress quickly; we have half an hour to pack before beginning the ceremony preparations, and unless we are finished by then, you will have to eat breakfast on the way."
"What?" Legolas wondered if he'd overslept, but then he remembered. "Oh, I am fifty today! That ceremony! ...Why are you putting my books in a box?"
"There are elves coming to take your things to your new house during the ceremony," Thranduil said matter-of-factly, shoving the contents of the dresser into a cloth bag.
"My new—"
"Yes. Be thankful I found you one; my parents made me buy my own." Noticing his instructions were not being followed, the king hauled the confused prince out of bed. "Now, unless you would like to be presented to the kingdom in your nightclothes..."
. . . . . .
"CONGRATULATIONS, LEGOLAS!" Tathor barreled into his friend, throwing his arms around him with even more than his typical enthusiasm.
"Thanks!" Legolas (having recovered from the shock of learning he'd suddenly be living on his own) wore a grin that stretched from ear to ear. He returned Tathor's squeeze, then approached the other elves waiting for him on the bridge in front of the underground palace.
"Congratulations," echoed Tathor's more sedate brother; even he had a wide grin. "And I like your outfit." Legolas was wearing Silvan-style formal clothes and a cloak, all in Greenwood's national colors—green and gold.
"Thanks," said the prince again.
Kilvara's hug was even fiercer than Tathor's, though less likely to knock the prince over. "Look at you, all grown up! I'm so proud!"
"Told you he'd end up tall for a Silvan," said Felrion, clapping Legolas on the shoulder.
Silana approached next, Feren trailing after her. "So this is what you're going to look like for the rest of your life," said the former, stroking her chin as she looked over the prince (whom she'd seen a few days ago, of course). "Not bad. Not bad at all."
Legolas bowed.
"Congrats on surviving your first half-century," was Feren's comment, along with a jab at the younger elf's ribs, which was skillfully deflected.
Taensirion and Lanthirel were the last ones there, holding hands as they waited for the others to congratulate the prince. "Your mother would be so proud," Lanthirel whispered after they'd both hugged Legolas.
"As would your grandfather, I believe," said Taensirion, after checking to make sure Thranduil was standing far enough away not to hear him. "And as am I. Of you two, as well," he added as an afterthought, smiling at Firith and Tathor, and then hugging both.
"You can't adopt every young elf you meet, Taensirion," teased Galion, though he sniffled a bit as he regarded Legolas.
"I can and I will. Are you crying?"
"You're crying," was Galion's inaccurate comeback.
"Concentrate, you two," Kilvara scolded, though she was crying more than any of them. "We're gonna be late."
Felrion offered her a much-needed hug.
. . . . . .
A few minutes later, Legolas followed his father up onto the stump of what must have once been a gargantuan tree, now a wide wooden platform, smoothed to make it easy to walk across. Thousands of elves were packed into the clearing in front of them; this had been the place where most Silvan marriages took place until the ancient tree finally fell a little under a half-century ago, and now it was where elves gathered to hear the king's most important announcements. Those elves cheered when they saw the prince.
Thranduil held up his hands for silence. "More than three millennia ago, an elf came to Greenwood with a dream."
Murmurs ran through the crowd, and many of the older elves nodded, remembering the arrival of the Sindar.
"My father was no prince, nor a noble. He was born to a craftsman and his wife, who, though not poor by any means, were rarely given a second glance by anyone important."
This evoked an even larger reaction from the elves; the former king's background was not common knowledge. Even Legolas hadn't known it.
"My father lead a band of frightened refugees to Greenwood, where he merged our knowledge and skill in combat with the heart of the elves who became our people, the elves who named him king."
Legolas was beginning to have trouble maintaining his stiff posture. He could sense the elves waiting silently behind him, but he forced himself not to turn and look.
"On that day, as I became your prince, I swore to serve Greenwood to my dying breath, to value my people's lives above my own. And so, when my father was killed in battle many years later, I became your king."
Legolas knew his mother had sworn that same oath after marrying his father, but he knew that wouldn't be mentioned. Ada never talked about Nana.
"Today, my heir comes of age, and it is time for him to swear that same oath. Elves of Greenwood, I present to you my son, Legolas."
Trembling a little, Legolas stepped forward and turned to face his father; they'd practiced this many times over the last few weeks. He knelt on one knee and bowed his head, exhaling slowly to calm his nerves. This was it...
"Legolas," Thranduil began in a voice that carried even to the elves watching under the trees, "do you swear to dedicate your life for the good of the kingdom of Greenwood?"
"I do," Legolas replied in a voice that didn't sound like his own.
"To place the welfare of its people above your own?"
"I do."
"To obey and serve me as your king for as long as Eru shall allow me to live, and to take on the role of king should I be killed?"
"I do."
"To guide your people as shepherd and protector?"
"I do."
"Then you may rise."
Legolas did so.
Thranduil held out his arm, presenting Legolas to the crowd. "Your prince." There was a glint of pride in the king's icy eyes as he stepped back, leaving his son alone at the front of the stump-platform.
The cheering vibrated through Legolas like an earthquake, but knowing his job wasn't done, he turned his attention to Taensirion as the Sinda approached. The older elf's expression wasn't the fatherly smile Legolas was used to getting from him, but rather the attentive, serious look he gave Thranduil when they acted as king and advisor.
Taensirion knelt just as the prince had been doing a few moments before, head bowed, and said, "Prince Legolas, I, Taensirion, pledge to serve and protect you to the best of my ability for all the years of my life, and to obey you as my king, above all others but Eru, in the event of your father's passing."
Those were strange words to hear from an elf who'd been like a second father to Legolas, whom he'd always seen as the wisest elf in the room. "I accept your oath, Lord Taensirion. You may stand."
Taensirion did so, and offered only a respectful nod—not even the wink Legolas had hoped for—before returning to his previous position in the line in the middle of the platform.
Alagon was next, being the only elf besides Taensirion who was both advisor and general. He, too, didn't show a moment's hesitation before kneeling and repeating the same words, though Legolas couldn't remember the imposing elf ever giving him a second glance without obvious disapproval before. "I accept your oath, Lord Alagon. You may stand."
The other two generals, then the other four of the king's primary advisors, took their turns pledging their loyalty. Legolas's discomfort only increased each time he allowed an elf to rise, until it hit its peak when an elf who was definitely not a soldier or bureaucrat walked up to him and knelt gracefully. "If I'd known I'd be pledging loyalty to Sky's son someday..." Felrion muttered good-naturedly under his breath, grinning up at Legolas. "Okay. Prince Legolas, I, Felrion, speaking for the healers of Greenwood, pledge to support and serve you for as long as we hold our titles."
"Um, thanks—I mean, I accept your oath, Felrion. You may stand."
Uncomfortable, isn't it? Felrion's expression seemed to say as he moved away.
After that, various minor officials pledged their service—including Heledir, who finally gave Legolas that conspiratorial wink, and Kilvara—until, mercifully, they were all done and Legolas could finally turn and face the crowd.
So many elves, the young prince mused as they cheered for him. And this was only a fraction of the kingdom he'd sworn to protect. The heavy burden that had been slowly settling onto his shoulders throughout the ceremony now weighed on him in full force as Legolas fully comprehended for the first time the scope of the responsibility he'd been born into. From this day forth, if anything happened to his father—even a debilitating injury—he would have to be ready to take power immediately.
He'd complained often about the extra responsibilities and rules of being a prince, but Legolas had never felt the sheer crushing pressure of his inheritance before.
. . . . . .
After such a formal and serious morning, it felt strange to Legolas to remember he'd been kicked out of his father's quarters in the palace. It was evening by the time he was free from all the congratulations and speeches (he was so glad he had his father and others to help him write the latter). His father finally let him escape by pretending they had important official things to talk about; after briefly but sincerely telling the prince how proud he was, Thranduil shooed Legolas away with a servant to take him to his new house.
The servant led the prince a few miles out into the forest; she protested at first when he wanted to travel by trees, since he was still wearing his fancy clothes, but he eventually convinced her. With that mode of travel, they quickly reached a lone house, in the general vicinity of where Taensirion and his family now lived but not too close to any others; it was a very old building, as evidenced by how the tree's branches had grown around it like it was part of the wood, and how there was no staircase or ladder. It had clearly been fixed up recently, though, and there were vines growing along the porch railings. It seemed familiar for some reason.
Legolas thanked the servant as she departed and went inside, feeling like he was trespassing in someone else's home. All his things were there, but they hardly seemed like anything in a medium-sized house. Still... maybe with more plants...
First though, food. He ransacked the kitchen and was relieved to find the cupboards fully stocked, along with a covered pot full of soup, courtesy of Galion, according to the note. He ate greedily—he'd barely had time to eat lunch—and went to start organizing things to his liking.
"Hi there."
Legolas jumped like he'd been burned and whirled toward the source of the sound. "Storm! You're here!"
"Of course I'm here. I know when your birthday is."
Legolas hugged his uncle and then pulled back to arm's length to wrinkle his nose at him. "What happened to your hair?"
"We don't talk about that," said Storm, flicking his significantly shortened hair out of his face.
"Why are there stripes on your face?"
"Reasons." Storm made a mental note to let the blue-gray dye fade on the journey here next time; he was trying halfheartedly to blend in. "Now, if you don't mind, why are you in my house?"
Legolas's mouth fell open slightly. "Your house?"
"My house. Or it was until I ran off; I guess your father decided I'd forfeited it."
"You can have it back if you want."
"Nah, you need it a lot more than I do." Storm looked around thoughtfully. "I was born here, y'know. My parents helped build it before I was born. S—your mother tried to bleed to death on the porch once."
The prince looked around in awe. "I knew it looked familiar, but I couldn't remember why."
"I'm surprised you remembered; you were tiny last time you were here. So, princeling, what's it like to be an adult? You looked awfully uncomfortable during that initiation ceremony, or whatever it was."
"You were there?!"
"About three elves back. I had my hood up, though. You were saying?"
. . . . . .
A while later, after Legolas finally went to bed, Storm climbed out of the window and onto the roof of his former house. The tree remembered him; it was an ancient thing, much older than he was. Orc-hunter return! it greeted him.
Hello, old friend.
Greenleaf take Orc-hunter den, the tree thought with some concern.
Good, Storm replied, sending positive feelings at the tree. It was fitting that Legolas would inherit Storm and Sky's old house. This tree was a good one, too; it would take care of him.
Stranger coming, the tree thought suddenly.
Storm smiled to himself. Not stranger. Friend.
Friend?
Yes. Storm didn't bother to look up at the soft whisper of feet behind him, even when a female form settled beside him, perching on the edge of the roof.
"Enchanting place; and here I thought the trees in Lórien were huge."
"It has charm," Storm agreed, keeping his voice down so he didn't wake the tired prince below him.
"Your nephew sounds like he'd be a good fit for the tribe, if he hadn't just pledged his life to a different cause," the she-elf said.
Storm smirked. "Eavesdropping, were we, Dawn?"
"I was curious," was the only explanation she gave. "I'm surprised you didn't tell him where you've been."
"I meant to ask if that was allowed."
"I don't care. Your mother never told anyone but your father, but that was her choice. Do what you want."
"That isn't all... you saw the crowd today. The kingdom is so happy to have a Silvan prince, and Legolas is proud of his heritage; I'd hate to tell him he's only a quarter Silvan instead of half."
"I don't see why they'd care."
"It matters to the Silvans. Not all that much, but it does." Storm gazed into the darkness, thinking. "I guess I don't have to tell him everything... Still, I don't think I'll call you Avari, just say I found some new friends to run with. I don't know why, but it feels right."
"Ashamed of us?"
"Nah. Still trying to figure out those pesky subconscious motivations."
"Figures."