Okay, so before we begin, some background info: most of these chapters take place in Greenwood, as mentioned in the first paragraph. In case you didn't know, Thranduil and his father are actually Sindarin elves, not Silvan elves like most of the wood elves of Greenwood (a.k.a. Mirkwood). They came to Greenwood after leaving their home and maybe wandering around for a while (for the purposes of this story, a long while because that works better for me).

Update 8-6-21: My writing abilities have gotten better since I started this, so I'm rewriting the first few chapters. Will probably do the first 3-4 chapters, but we'll see.

Greenwood, year 2942 T.A.

Mirkwood. They called his home Mirkwood.

The Elvenking bowed his head, taking his eyes from the sea of golden autumn leaves he watched from atop a tree as old as himself and most of fifty times his height. His home had been called Greenwood the Great once, in the days of his father and before, but now it was tainted by evil, and beneath those shining leaves lay darkness and the webs of unnatural spiders.

The forest was no longer what it had once been, he knew, and neither was he. He had changed much from the young elf who had arrived long ago at the border of what he saw as a great mass of green, still recovering from the loss of everything he had known but trusting his father (mostly) to lead him and the others to a new life. That elf had been like Legolas in many ways.

Though not as much like him as someone else at the forest's edge on that day, six thousand years ago...

. . . . . .

The forest showed no signs of being inhabited, with no path winding between the trees that towered hundreds of feet into the air, and stretched equally as far horizontally—but the hundred or so Sindarin elves who had come here as refugees from the fallen kingdom of Doriath knew better. In this wild place, under the deep shadows of the unearthly trees, lived the less civilized and as-yet-unseen Silvan elves.

The Sinda leader was a tall, broad-shouldered elf named Oropher, and he planned to make a home here for his followers, and, since the Silvan elves had no unified leader, he hoped they would accept his guidance and perhaps even a king. He held his head high, making it clear that he was unafraid of the shadows, though his piercing, icy-blue eyes still scanned the trees alertly. The others crowded close to him, attracted to his confidence like moths to a flame, watching every shadow warily. They should have been looking up, where green eyes, the same color as the sun-lit leaves, watched them intently.

The Silvan elf clucked her tongue softly, amused by the intruders' nervousness. She recognized them as Sindar, though she wasn't sure exactly where they were from and had no idea what they might want here, except for a place to rest, judging by how their very-impractical robes and finely crafted armor were now dirty and rusted. Honestly, what had these elves been thinking, going into the wilderness with clothes like that?

"Sky."

This speaker (or rather, whisperer) was another Silvan elf perched on a branch right over where the Sindar would be in a few moments. He was her brother, called Storm by most elves, and his eyes were the same green color, but interrupted by deep brown in a jagged, uneven pattern. "Should we go talk?"

She was about to agree—though wouldn't it be fun to play a few tricks on them first?—when one of the Sindar moved up to the front. This one had the same impressive height and build, silver-blond hair, and pale blue eyes as the leader, but a thinner face; he was really very handsome, but he also appeared very serious, and so Sky's focused stare was mainly to size him up for pranking purposes. That was kind of her thing.

This new elf caught the leader's arm and spoke to him quietly enough that Sky could just barely hear it if she cupped her hand behind one of her pointed ears. "Father, are you certain this is wise?"

So he was the leader's son, Sky thought. It'd been either that or his brother. But what was his name?

The leader seemed not so much annoyed as frustrated that some of their jumpy followers had heard that, and so his answer was somewhat louder. "I assure you, Thranduil, we have nothing to fear here. The Silvan elves are not trained fighters; at most, they may have bows for hunting. They are harmless."

There was a twang and a soft thud, and Oropher pulled up short, suddenly feeling the back end of an arrow against his nose. Trying to move backward, he discovered another against the back of his head, stuck fast in the outer bark of one of the massive trees.

Up above, Storm shook his head as Sky lowered her bow and leapt to another branch before the Sindar could trace the arrow's path. His sister always had to pull that stunt.

Thranduil drew his swords and fell into a practiced stance as Oropher pulled out from between the two arrows. "One archer," he told the others, noting the timing and direction of the arrows.

"One extraordinary archer," Oropher added, holding up a hand to calm his elves, whose readiness to attack had been amplified through too much time spent in the wilds. Then, louder and in the Silvan tongue he had been working on in his every free moment: "We come in peace!"

Then why are your weapons out? Sky thought with a grin. "Oh, I'm sorry," she called down in perfect (if informal) Sindarin. "I thought you were a rabbit. I'm glad you aren't, though; I could never defeat one of those. I should stick to butterflies."

"Stop cringing!" Oropher hissed at his followers. "There is only one!" Of course the first one had to be sarcastic, and unusually skilled. Could they all shoot like that?

"Come down and talk," Thranduil called, watching his father to make sure he was making the right call. "We will not harm you."

"Nice to know," Sky said, jumping down.

Thranduil's eyes widened. The somewhat small, lightly built she-elf's hair was a dark brown, but in the sun it shone like copper, and her eyes...

Oropher wasn't quite sure what to make of it either. He had heard these Silvan elves usually had red or brown hair, but this exotic look was unexpected.

Thranduil shook the thought away; this pretty elf had nearly killed his father. She grinned at him, having noticed his stare, and waved. He raised an eyebrow, then shook his head as another elf, this one male, landed lightly beside the first. This had to be her brother; besides the strange two-color eyes, he had the same hair, though it looked like he had stained parts of it with charcoal in some sort of misguided fashion statement.

"Hi," the second Silvan elf said. "I'm Coryn, and this is my sister, Eithryn, though everyone calls us Storm and Sky." Coryn and Eithryn translated to Stormfire and Skyfire, respectively. "She shot at you, not me."

The she-elf grinned unrepentantly.

They were not from his culture, Oropher reminded himself. Perhaps they did not know any better. "We are Sindar, displaced from our home—"

"And you've generously come to enlighten us?" Coryn interrupted.

Oropher had not known just how generous he was being until moments ago. "That is correct."

"Hey, Sky, they've come to correct our stupidness," Coryn said dryly. "How nice of them."

"Ooh, maybe they can teach us how to cook food and talk goodly!" Eithryn exclaimed, playing along.

Oh, wonderful, Oropher thought. "This is a serious matter!"

Thranduil rolled his eyes, pretending he was not amused just a little by the Silvans' antics. His father deserved that, after all.

"But sister," Coryn continued, ignoring Oropher, "how can we cook the food if we can't find it? Do you think they can teach us that?"

She gasped. "No! No one has that much smartness!"

"But look! Their clothes are shiny! They must have very much power!"

Oropher cleared his throat. "We would be appreciative," he said, somewhat frustrated, "if you would introduce us to some of your friends."

"But great master," Eithryn protested with a bow, "they does not have the smartness to know what you is speaking!"

"Enough," Oropher growled.

The brother nodded with pretend thoughtfulness. "You thinks they has the smartness to know little words of it?" Oropher drew in a breath, and Coryn held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, calm down, we'll see what we can do." He sprang straight upward and caught onto a branch. "C'mon, and try to keep up!"

Eithryn followed in the same manner.

Oropher knew what was coming; he could almost hear it already. Sure enough, Thranduil did not waste a moment in muttering, "Harmless, you said?"

Oropher glared him into silence.

I've already started work on the next chapter and have rough drafts of the first bunch, but I can't promise I'll finish soon. Thanks for reading!