Post by Admin on Jan 2, 2021 18:26:26 GMT
Author: lotrfn
Ranking: Tied for 1st place
Thranduil looked around him, at the remnants of the Woodland Realm’s army. Bruised, battered, dirty, and disheartened, the Elves of the Greenwood marched behind their new King.
No voices were raised in song, as they had been when they set out all those months ago. No murmured conversations reached Thranduil’s ears this time. They looked as bereft as he felt but he could not let them see his heartbreak.
No. He had to put aside his own raging grief for his father, his anguish at the loss of so many friends and companions he had known for over an age. He had to lead these Elves home safely. His people. His responsibility now that his father was gone.
He had the name of every Elf who had fallen at the Battle of Dagorlad written down, faithfully committed to parchment by Galion. Thranduil had gone over the list so many times in the days after the Battle, as they tended the wounded and grieved for their dead, that he had committed each name to his memory. Two-thirds of his army had perished in the quest to overthrow Sauron.
He would speak to every family himself when he reached the Greenwood. Every single one of the Greenwood’s warriors had died to keep those who waited at home safe. Thranduil had nothing to give them in return other than his thanks and regret.
He had parted from Elrond just a day ago, leaving the Lord of Imladris at the Forest Road. Their armies had marched up the Anduin together, from the battle plain. Grief was etched on Elrond’s face as well, for Gil-Galad’s loss weighed heavily on him.
Elrond had tried to help Thranduil. He knew it was meant kindly but he had no wish to share his pain with Elrond.
It wasn’t Elrond’s fault, not directly---even though so many of his forbears had played a role in the events that had led them here. Oropher simply had no desire to be subject to a Noldor King, not even wanting to place himself under Gil-Galad’s command for the battle. That had proved a fateful decision.
They had ultimately defeated Sauron and his forces but his father, Gil-Galad and the Edain King, Elendil, had all paid the price.
Oropher had answered Gil-Galad’s summons reluctantly, but he had still come, bringing all the might of the Greenwood with him. His father had long said there would be no lasting peace unless Sauron was destroyed. His past treacheries had proven that.
Oropher had long isolated himself in the Greenwood, concerning himself with his own people and his own borders. It had bothered Thranduil, long ago, when he was younger. He had resented their isolation—he had longed to see Lindon, the home of his youth, again. He had wanted to explore the marvels of Eregion and Lothlorien, even Elrond’s Imladris itself, for more than just the extremely rare diplomatic missions he was allowed.
But Oropher, remembering his days with Thingol in Doriath, found safety in isolation even if his son did not appreciate it.
It had proven wise when Eregion fell. It had proved wise when Khazad-Dum was overrun. And it would prove wise to continue his father’s policies, Thranduil realized, as he marched beside his weary warriors.
He had declined Elrond’s offer of a horse. He would not have the ease of one while his army marched on foot. He was their King but he was also one of them.
There was no High King of the Noldor now. Gil-Galad had died and left no heirs, other than Elrond, who refused the title. Thranduil did not owe anyone his allegiance. Sauron was defeated and the Alliance was no more.
He would return to his home, to his wife, to his young son. His son. Legolas, still too young to join the ranks of warriors, not yet of age.
He did not want Legolas to ever have to experience what he had. He shuddered at the thought of his son in the shadow of the Black Gate, fighting Orcs and Trolls, Nazgul and the other nightmarish beasts controlled by Sauron surrounding him.
No, he resolved, he would never let his son experience that. Sauron was defeated, although perhaps not destroyed.
Let the men of Gondor keep watch over Mordor and destroy the scattered remnants of Sauron’s hordes. The Greenwood had done its part.
Let Galadriel and Elrond keep their secret counsel. He knew some greater power was channeled by them both—to shroud their realms and protect their borders. His father had always claimed it was the Elven Rings that Celebrimbor created. Thranduil had never seen confirmation but he would not be surprised if it was true.
He had no ring. No talisman to safeguard his realm. All he had was his own resolve and the bodies and hearts of the people he ruled. That would be enough. He would make it be enough.
He would guard his borders, protect his lands, secure his people and give his son a peaceful refuge away from the intrigue and danger of the outside world.
He had no magic like Melian, to encircle his realm for protection. But he could protect it with the loyalty of his people, the strength of his will and the love of his family. He would make it be enough.
Ranking: Tied for 1st place
Thranduil looked around him, at the remnants of the Woodland Realm’s army. Bruised, battered, dirty, and disheartened, the Elves of the Greenwood marched behind their new King.
No voices were raised in song, as they had been when they set out all those months ago. No murmured conversations reached Thranduil’s ears this time. They looked as bereft as he felt but he could not let them see his heartbreak.
No. He had to put aside his own raging grief for his father, his anguish at the loss of so many friends and companions he had known for over an age. He had to lead these Elves home safely. His people. His responsibility now that his father was gone.
He had the name of every Elf who had fallen at the Battle of Dagorlad written down, faithfully committed to parchment by Galion. Thranduil had gone over the list so many times in the days after the Battle, as they tended the wounded and grieved for their dead, that he had committed each name to his memory. Two-thirds of his army had perished in the quest to overthrow Sauron.
He would speak to every family himself when he reached the Greenwood. Every single one of the Greenwood’s warriors had died to keep those who waited at home safe. Thranduil had nothing to give them in return other than his thanks and regret.
He had parted from Elrond just a day ago, leaving the Lord of Imladris at the Forest Road. Their armies had marched up the Anduin together, from the battle plain. Grief was etched on Elrond’s face as well, for Gil-Galad’s loss weighed heavily on him.
Elrond had tried to help Thranduil. He knew it was meant kindly but he had no wish to share his pain with Elrond.
It wasn’t Elrond’s fault, not directly---even though so many of his forbears had played a role in the events that had led them here. Oropher simply had no desire to be subject to a Noldor King, not even wanting to place himself under Gil-Galad’s command for the battle. That had proved a fateful decision.
They had ultimately defeated Sauron and his forces but his father, Gil-Galad and the Edain King, Elendil, had all paid the price.
Oropher had answered Gil-Galad’s summons reluctantly, but he had still come, bringing all the might of the Greenwood with him. His father had long said there would be no lasting peace unless Sauron was destroyed. His past treacheries had proven that.
Oropher had long isolated himself in the Greenwood, concerning himself with his own people and his own borders. It had bothered Thranduil, long ago, when he was younger. He had resented their isolation—he had longed to see Lindon, the home of his youth, again. He had wanted to explore the marvels of Eregion and Lothlorien, even Elrond’s Imladris itself, for more than just the extremely rare diplomatic missions he was allowed.
But Oropher, remembering his days with Thingol in Doriath, found safety in isolation even if his son did not appreciate it.
It had proven wise when Eregion fell. It had proved wise when Khazad-Dum was overrun. And it would prove wise to continue his father’s policies, Thranduil realized, as he marched beside his weary warriors.
He had declined Elrond’s offer of a horse. He would not have the ease of one while his army marched on foot. He was their King but he was also one of them.
There was no High King of the Noldor now. Gil-Galad had died and left no heirs, other than Elrond, who refused the title. Thranduil did not owe anyone his allegiance. Sauron was defeated and the Alliance was no more.
He would return to his home, to his wife, to his young son. His son. Legolas, still too young to join the ranks of warriors, not yet of age.
He did not want Legolas to ever have to experience what he had. He shuddered at the thought of his son in the shadow of the Black Gate, fighting Orcs and Trolls, Nazgul and the other nightmarish beasts controlled by Sauron surrounding him.
No, he resolved, he would never let his son experience that. Sauron was defeated, although perhaps not destroyed.
Let the men of Gondor keep watch over Mordor and destroy the scattered remnants of Sauron’s hordes. The Greenwood had done its part.
Let Galadriel and Elrond keep their secret counsel. He knew some greater power was channeled by them both—to shroud their realms and protect their borders. His father had always claimed it was the Elven Rings that Celebrimbor created. Thranduil had never seen confirmation but he would not be surprised if it was true.
He had no ring. No talisman to safeguard his realm. All he had was his own resolve and the bodies and hearts of the people he ruled. That would be enough. He would make it be enough.
He would guard his borders, protect his lands, secure his people and give his son a peaceful refuge away from the intrigue and danger of the outside world.
He had no magic like Melian, to encircle his realm for protection. But he could protect it with the loyalty of his people, the strength of his will and the love of his family. He would make it be enough.