Post by Admin on Jan 2, 2021 23:43:25 GMT
Author: Wunderkind and Raider-k
The decision had been made in haste and now would be carried out in secret. Legolas left his king’s halls early enough that the dregs of night still lingered, staining the sky as dark as pitch. He slipped out unseen—no fanfare, no entourage, no elaborate farewells—just him and a single guard making the harrowing journey from the Woodland Realm to Rivendell. They traveled swiftly, covering their trails, hoping to remain unseen by the enemy.
In truth, Legolas dreaded the long wait, the days and nights that his journey would take before he reached the Last Homely House and met with Lord Elrond. To bear the weight that had pressed on his chest ever since that disastrous afternoon. Gollum had escaped, had possibly returned to the enemy.
And it was his fault.
He had been the one to oversee the guards. He had given approval for Gollum to make the trip outside.
In the aftermath of the attack, he had also been the one to bear the news of the guards’ deaths to their families, to their loved ones. His father offered to help, and Legolas had staunchly refused.
Now Legolas perched high in a tree bordering the eastern edge of the Misty Mountains. He was supposed to be resting, but his heart could find no quarter here, no ease. They were only a few days out from reaching Imladris.
Imladris.
Usually a trip to the Homely House was a much-anticipated event, one that Legolas would have looked forward to for months. He remembered the first time he had made such a trip, how his much younger self delighted in the thought of leaving the borders of the Woodland Realm…
…Adar never went anywhere...never ever...not even to watch the herds of wild forest elk migrate to the Southern wood.
Well, Legolas wasn't exactly allowed to watch that spectacle either, but sometimes he snuck off with the older elflings and raced back quick before his Adar knew he was missing.
This was as far as the young prince ever journeyed. Not once had he left his father's Woodland Realm...and that is what made the news all the more exciting.
He was going to Imladris!
More specifically his father...the notoriously reclusive ElvenKing...was preparing to depart for a political goodwill visit to the fabled hidden valley. Now, considering Legolas only a youth and not yet old enough to be left without a parent, yet not so young that a journey was too perilous, Thranduil had insisted that his son accompany him.
Legolas was delighted! The excitement was almost unbearable. He was going to see Imladris - the magical place he had read about in his studies.
Not only was the sanctuary an enigma to a relatively naive wood elfling, but it also was home to some of the legendary elven heroes of song and tale. The unsung champions of his overactive imagination, elven warriors and lords who he aspired to be, and they would all be there...maybe even the Balrog Slayer? Oh, he could hardly contain himself!
However, there was one small problem, and it was thus - Thranduil never, ever, went anywhere without an entourage that took weeks (if not months) to assemble.
So young Legolas would have to put into practice a little bit of patience whilst he waited.
This was easier said than done considering the flamboyant spectacle which was the procession of the King.
Thranduil was not one to be sloppy, ill-prepared, or uncivilised - nay - he and his entourage would be magnificent, well-groomed, regimented, and of the highest calibre. Not one soul belonging to the ElvenKing's court would arrive in Imladris without exuding a healthy amount of wealth and Silvan culture. This meant everyone, and everything, had to be ship-shape and polished to perfection; right down to the very boots and buckles of the accompanying guard. Unfortunately this meant a certain young prince had to dragged through the rigorous preening process too.
Legolas dutifully - albeit slightly begrudgingly - trudged after his Adar to every tailors appointment, etiquette lesson, and council meeting that was required in preparation for the big visit.
Legolas had to learn the native dance steps of the Noldor court. He had to brush up on his rough Silvan tongue and refine his Sindarin speech. His Adar was particularly appalled by his lack of proper speech, which led to several prolonged and utterly boring public speaking lessons.
Legolas had to have a whole new wardrobe designed and packed before they left - apparently he'd grown an inch and half and his existing garments were now completely unsuitable in the eyes of the King.
So, after weeks of being paraded back and fourth from the tailors, in ever shade of green, brown, silver, and gold, with every imaginable outfit designed and reworked. After hours of studying, learning of culture and speech, and learning the names and professions of all of Lord Elrond's council nobles (including their mates). After enduring days of repetitive dance steps, meal etiquette, and formal discussion of the Eldar elves...he was finally deemed ready.
On the morning of their departure Legolas had leapt out of bed, inhaled his morning meal, and dressed like a whirlwind in his anticipation to get on the road.
He hopped from foot to foot as he watched his Adar gracefully and masterfully make final provisions. How was he so calm and unperturbed? Legolas was baffled, for the excitement was killing him, he just could not wait another moment - he was bursting with curiosity.
Once out on the road his nerves settled, mainly because he had much to occupy his young and insatiable mind.
He rode behind his Adar, who was the picture of all the woodland glory, sat upon his giant elk. His crown decorated in vibrant summer leaves. Legolas tried to imitate the King's same cool and majestic, yet wild, appearances. He tried to sit tall on his horse, but found the rather small, grey, gelding, a tad inadequate and dwarfed by the beautiful elk. So, Legolas moved on to attempting to copy his Adar's intuitive and elegant mannerisms, but mostly he became bored from sitting still or being quiet for so long, and thus reverted back to curious questions or excited babbling.
Thranduil never seemed to mind much, and often chuckled quietly at his son's various attempts to project the image his father and trained him to uphold. It would be essential and paramount for the elfling to demonstrate a level of decorum and nobility when presented to Elrond's court, but all that being said, there was something endearing and incredibly soothing about Legolas' easy going and charming nature. The young prince had a way of making others like him, and so Thranduil did not feel inclined to dissuade his son's innocent inquisitiveness...it would help him learn.
Legolas was learning, he was learning much about the world outside his forest home. He learned that he didn't much like places without trees; these places seemed barren, stark, and left him feeling open and vulnerable. He learned that the lands were wide and the roads long; days turned into weeks and he was soon to appreciate the comforts of home a little more. He learned that the world outside his home was dangerous and that all care had to be taken on the open roads. He also learned that his Adar, though always exuding a level of calm authority, was relaxed with his entourage and spent nights around campfires regaling them of tales of the elder days.
Legolas liked this time of waiting and learning - although it seemed to stretch on without end. He liked spending time with his Adar, listening to his tales and talking about the vast world that the youth had not realised existed until this moment. But as they journeyed onwards, their destination teasingly close, Legolas' impatience flared again.
He couldn't wait to arrive in Imladris; to see the valley, the white cliffs, and the golden vale at sunset. He was practically starry-eyed with excitement at the prospect of an introduction to Lord Glorfindel, and their gracious host Lord Elrond himself. Legolas, though he was loathed to admit it, was even a little eager to show off his well practiced footwork with a young elleth at one of those legendary homely feasts.
Yes, he was utterly through with his long wait. The call of something new to see and do was tantalising close, he could feel it in his young and wildly imaginative spirit. The world had grown in size to the young elf, and now he was eager to learn more of his distant kin beyond the woods. Maybe he would make friends in Imladris? Or perhaps he would impress the fabled Glorfindel with his fledgling skills with a bow?
Legolas also secretly hoped that he would shine proudly for his Adar and people, and that when it was through, he would leave a glowing impression on Elrond and his kin. So much so, that if he ever visited again he would be welcomed and counted as worthy of council...just like his Adar.
Yes, Legolas absolutely could not wait to prove himself worthy of a noble warrior...just like Elrond...just like the Balrog slayer…
…Only now—in this quiet copse of trees, with the wind blowing down from the mountains—Legolas’ heart turned over at the memory of his own naivety. A small part of him yearned for the warm safety of those days so long ago, when dreams of being a mighty warrior were bathed in starlight and the glow of a campfire. He was no great elf lord, no fabled warrior. He was only a few short days from arriving in Rivendell. Without an entourage, without glittering trappings or finery…without his father. Alone.
Sure, he travelled with Faeros, the one guard he had chosen to accompany him. Faeros was the quiet type—a great fighter to have on your side in tight combat. Legolas suspected that Faeros pitied him, felt sorry that the Prince of the Realm would be given such a task: to be sent from his homeland on a journey to deliver disappointing news.
Legolas did not want his pity—did not want anyone’s pity for that matter. Of course, he knew what was being said behind closed doors, in half-whispers.
The king doled out this task to his son as a punishment, as a bitter price to be paid for the loss of lives that day. Thranduil’s golden son had erred in judgment, and now he must face the consequences of his mistakes.
Travelling to Imladris to deliver the news of his personal failure was indeed a punishment, but it certainly wasn’t one handed out by his father. Legolas had volunteered. After visiting the families of the fallen warriors, the prince returned to his king’s side. He fell to his knees, head bowed, and asked for this.
His father granted his request, and Legolas left the next day.
Now, after weeks, days, hours, minutes of riding, walking, scouting, traveling, the long journey would end, and with it, Legolas hoped, the dreadful lull of waiting to bear the news of Gollum’s escape to Lord Elrond. The prince of the Woodland Realm was a soldier, a deadly warrior who had learned over centuries what hollow words like sacrifice and duty really meant. He knew the task was his to complete. Even so, he was afraid. Legolas feared what he might see in Lord Elrond’s eyes when he delivered the news. Disappointment?
Yet the Lord of Rivendell was wise, and Legolas implicitly trusted his council. He had to believe that Lord Elrond would understand why Legolas had chosen this task for himself. He had to believe that in his wisdom and insight, Elrond would understand that Legolas searched for atonement, searched for something to ease his guilt.
Perhaps taking this journey would be enough. It had to be enough, Legolas thought. He did not know what else he could do to make things right.
Perhaps then—after arriving in Rivendell, after unburdening himself to Lord Elrond—he would know peace again, and this small act of atonement would prove enough to remove the uncertain stain on his heart.
Legolas swung down from the tree, called to his horse with one quick whistle.
Perhaps.
The decision had been made in haste and now would be carried out in secret. Legolas left his king’s halls early enough that the dregs of night still lingered, staining the sky as dark as pitch. He slipped out unseen—no fanfare, no entourage, no elaborate farewells—just him and a single guard making the harrowing journey from the Woodland Realm to Rivendell. They traveled swiftly, covering their trails, hoping to remain unseen by the enemy.
In truth, Legolas dreaded the long wait, the days and nights that his journey would take before he reached the Last Homely House and met with Lord Elrond. To bear the weight that had pressed on his chest ever since that disastrous afternoon. Gollum had escaped, had possibly returned to the enemy.
And it was his fault.
He had been the one to oversee the guards. He had given approval for Gollum to make the trip outside.
In the aftermath of the attack, he had also been the one to bear the news of the guards’ deaths to their families, to their loved ones. His father offered to help, and Legolas had staunchly refused.
Now Legolas perched high in a tree bordering the eastern edge of the Misty Mountains. He was supposed to be resting, but his heart could find no quarter here, no ease. They were only a few days out from reaching Imladris.
Imladris.
Usually a trip to the Homely House was a much-anticipated event, one that Legolas would have looked forward to for months. He remembered the first time he had made such a trip, how his much younger self delighted in the thought of leaving the borders of the Woodland Realm…
…Adar never went anywhere...never ever...not even to watch the herds of wild forest elk migrate to the Southern wood.
Well, Legolas wasn't exactly allowed to watch that spectacle either, but sometimes he snuck off with the older elflings and raced back quick before his Adar knew he was missing.
This was as far as the young prince ever journeyed. Not once had he left his father's Woodland Realm...and that is what made the news all the more exciting.
He was going to Imladris!
More specifically his father...the notoriously reclusive ElvenKing...was preparing to depart for a political goodwill visit to the fabled hidden valley. Now, considering Legolas only a youth and not yet old enough to be left without a parent, yet not so young that a journey was too perilous, Thranduil had insisted that his son accompany him.
Legolas was delighted! The excitement was almost unbearable. He was going to see Imladris - the magical place he had read about in his studies.
Not only was the sanctuary an enigma to a relatively naive wood elfling, but it also was home to some of the legendary elven heroes of song and tale. The unsung champions of his overactive imagination, elven warriors and lords who he aspired to be, and they would all be there...maybe even the Balrog Slayer? Oh, he could hardly contain himself!
However, there was one small problem, and it was thus - Thranduil never, ever, went anywhere without an entourage that took weeks (if not months) to assemble.
So young Legolas would have to put into practice a little bit of patience whilst he waited.
This was easier said than done considering the flamboyant spectacle which was the procession of the King.
Thranduil was not one to be sloppy, ill-prepared, or uncivilised - nay - he and his entourage would be magnificent, well-groomed, regimented, and of the highest calibre. Not one soul belonging to the ElvenKing's court would arrive in Imladris without exuding a healthy amount of wealth and Silvan culture. This meant everyone, and everything, had to be ship-shape and polished to perfection; right down to the very boots and buckles of the accompanying guard. Unfortunately this meant a certain young prince had to dragged through the rigorous preening process too.
Legolas dutifully - albeit slightly begrudgingly - trudged after his Adar to every tailors appointment, etiquette lesson, and council meeting that was required in preparation for the big visit.
Legolas had to learn the native dance steps of the Noldor court. He had to brush up on his rough Silvan tongue and refine his Sindarin speech. His Adar was particularly appalled by his lack of proper speech, which led to several prolonged and utterly boring public speaking lessons.
Legolas had to have a whole new wardrobe designed and packed before they left - apparently he'd grown an inch and half and his existing garments were now completely unsuitable in the eyes of the King.
So, after weeks of being paraded back and fourth from the tailors, in ever shade of green, brown, silver, and gold, with every imaginable outfit designed and reworked. After hours of studying, learning of culture and speech, and learning the names and professions of all of Lord Elrond's council nobles (including their mates). After enduring days of repetitive dance steps, meal etiquette, and formal discussion of the Eldar elves...he was finally deemed ready.
On the morning of their departure Legolas had leapt out of bed, inhaled his morning meal, and dressed like a whirlwind in his anticipation to get on the road.
He hopped from foot to foot as he watched his Adar gracefully and masterfully make final provisions. How was he so calm and unperturbed? Legolas was baffled, for the excitement was killing him, he just could not wait another moment - he was bursting with curiosity.
Once out on the road his nerves settled, mainly because he had much to occupy his young and insatiable mind.
He rode behind his Adar, who was the picture of all the woodland glory, sat upon his giant elk. His crown decorated in vibrant summer leaves. Legolas tried to imitate the King's same cool and majestic, yet wild, appearances. He tried to sit tall on his horse, but found the rather small, grey, gelding, a tad inadequate and dwarfed by the beautiful elk. So, Legolas moved on to attempting to copy his Adar's intuitive and elegant mannerisms, but mostly he became bored from sitting still or being quiet for so long, and thus reverted back to curious questions or excited babbling.
Thranduil never seemed to mind much, and often chuckled quietly at his son's various attempts to project the image his father and trained him to uphold. It would be essential and paramount for the elfling to demonstrate a level of decorum and nobility when presented to Elrond's court, but all that being said, there was something endearing and incredibly soothing about Legolas' easy going and charming nature. The young prince had a way of making others like him, and so Thranduil did not feel inclined to dissuade his son's innocent inquisitiveness...it would help him learn.
Legolas was learning, he was learning much about the world outside his forest home. He learned that he didn't much like places without trees; these places seemed barren, stark, and left him feeling open and vulnerable. He learned that the lands were wide and the roads long; days turned into weeks and he was soon to appreciate the comforts of home a little more. He learned that the world outside his home was dangerous and that all care had to be taken on the open roads. He also learned that his Adar, though always exuding a level of calm authority, was relaxed with his entourage and spent nights around campfires regaling them of tales of the elder days.
Legolas liked this time of waiting and learning - although it seemed to stretch on without end. He liked spending time with his Adar, listening to his tales and talking about the vast world that the youth had not realised existed until this moment. But as they journeyed onwards, their destination teasingly close, Legolas' impatience flared again.
He couldn't wait to arrive in Imladris; to see the valley, the white cliffs, and the golden vale at sunset. He was practically starry-eyed with excitement at the prospect of an introduction to Lord Glorfindel, and their gracious host Lord Elrond himself. Legolas, though he was loathed to admit it, was even a little eager to show off his well practiced footwork with a young elleth at one of those legendary homely feasts.
Yes, he was utterly through with his long wait. The call of something new to see and do was tantalising close, he could feel it in his young and wildly imaginative spirit. The world had grown in size to the young elf, and now he was eager to learn more of his distant kin beyond the woods. Maybe he would make friends in Imladris? Or perhaps he would impress the fabled Glorfindel with his fledgling skills with a bow?
Legolas also secretly hoped that he would shine proudly for his Adar and people, and that when it was through, he would leave a glowing impression on Elrond and his kin. So much so, that if he ever visited again he would be welcomed and counted as worthy of council...just like his Adar.
Yes, Legolas absolutely could not wait to prove himself worthy of a noble warrior...just like Elrond...just like the Balrog slayer…
…Only now—in this quiet copse of trees, with the wind blowing down from the mountains—Legolas’ heart turned over at the memory of his own naivety. A small part of him yearned for the warm safety of those days so long ago, when dreams of being a mighty warrior were bathed in starlight and the glow of a campfire. He was no great elf lord, no fabled warrior. He was only a few short days from arriving in Rivendell. Without an entourage, without glittering trappings or finery…without his father. Alone.
Sure, he travelled with Faeros, the one guard he had chosen to accompany him. Faeros was the quiet type—a great fighter to have on your side in tight combat. Legolas suspected that Faeros pitied him, felt sorry that the Prince of the Realm would be given such a task: to be sent from his homeland on a journey to deliver disappointing news.
Legolas did not want his pity—did not want anyone’s pity for that matter. Of course, he knew what was being said behind closed doors, in half-whispers.
The king doled out this task to his son as a punishment, as a bitter price to be paid for the loss of lives that day. Thranduil’s golden son had erred in judgment, and now he must face the consequences of his mistakes.
Travelling to Imladris to deliver the news of his personal failure was indeed a punishment, but it certainly wasn’t one handed out by his father. Legolas had volunteered. After visiting the families of the fallen warriors, the prince returned to his king’s side. He fell to his knees, head bowed, and asked for this.
His father granted his request, and Legolas left the next day.
Now, after weeks, days, hours, minutes of riding, walking, scouting, traveling, the long journey would end, and with it, Legolas hoped, the dreadful lull of waiting to bear the news of Gollum’s escape to Lord Elrond. The prince of the Woodland Realm was a soldier, a deadly warrior who had learned over centuries what hollow words like sacrifice and duty really meant. He knew the task was his to complete. Even so, he was afraid. Legolas feared what he might see in Lord Elrond’s eyes when he delivered the news. Disappointment?
Yet the Lord of Rivendell was wise, and Legolas implicitly trusted his council. He had to believe that Lord Elrond would understand why Legolas had chosen this task for himself. He had to believe that in his wisdom and insight, Elrond would understand that Legolas searched for atonement, searched for something to ease his guilt.
Perhaps taking this journey would be enough. It had to be enough, Legolas thought. He did not know what else he could do to make things right.
Perhaps then—after arriving in Rivendell, after unburdening himself to Lord Elrond—he would know peace again, and this small act of atonement would prove enough to remove the uncertain stain on his heart.
Legolas swung down from the tree, called to his horse with one quick whistle.
Perhaps.