Post by Admin on Dec 29, 2020 23:47:02 GMT
Author: LegolasLover2003
Summary: Thranduil's thoughts of the eve of the Battle of Five Armies
Rating: G
Characters: Thranduil, Oropher, OC, mention of Legolas
Warnings: none
The fire burned brightly across the swath known in the common tongue as the Desolation of Smaug. He could see it… the pinpricks of light from its great lit forge glowing between open cuts in the mountain. It teased him… taunting with their invitation for warmth and yet ever was it within his mind that the denizens there would offer no such hospitality. Likely he would be rewarded with a Dwarven arrow in the heart.
Disgusted, lithe fingers raised a thin goblet of Dorwinion to his lips and for a moment, the Elvenking drank, blue gaze fixed on that mountain. He could hear the banners of his own army caught in the night’s wind behind him, a sharp breeze that lifted his own tent flaps just at the entrance. Oh the evening’s earlier conversation had been quite enlightening… a Halfling with the Arkenstone… giving it to Elves and men of all people and not to its true and rightful heir. Thranduil could appreciate the irony of it all of course, for there were heirlooms of his house that he himself desired hidden away in that great mountain hall. A jewel for a jewel. That was why he was here, was it not? To claim the heirlooms of his house?
Was it not?
His heart felt darkened for a brief moment and the Elvenking turned, his gaze moving across the plains and back toward his own forests, shrouded in gloom. They could turn back now… but of course the dragon was dead, the men of the lake had seen to that… which meant that the Dwarves, holed up in their forgotten mountain hall, were ripe for the slaughter… though by who’s hands had yet to be determined.
Seeing those trees… the sickness upon his wood, it pained Thranduil more than he could admit. In the days before the shadow, it had been a place of such beauty. But that shadow had grown more and more, threatening his people… closing them in and forcing their retreat ever northward. In the days of his father… things had been so green.
His father…
Was this the legacy that was to be Thranduil’s?
Oropher had left him a flourishing people who but craved the light and love and beauty of the world… but war had come to all in those days. War had smothered the light in shadow and forced the Wood Elves onto the field of battle… forced them to spill their immortal blood first before any others…
He was forcing his people on the field again… was he not? For what? For jewels and gems? For material desires?
No… this was about something else. He had to convince himself of such a fact.
Thranduil had brought the full strength of Mirkwood to bear even before his messenger had returned with the ill tidings that his son was not coming home. After conversing with Bard it became apparent that Legolas had some other road in mind and so when Thranduil and the might of the Elves had caught up to the humans in Dale, there was no longer any true reason to remain…
Legolas was not here… But why, then, stay?
In Thranduil’s heart he knew the truth… that a shadow was growing in the wood… that certainly that shadow would never allow this mountain to remain unclaimed for long. The Dwarves, wretched as they are, were certainly not agents of the dark. He had tried so desperately hard in the days of Thror to foster peace. Had tried to keep their peoples on good terms… even though the Elvenking had every right to hate the stout beings. But the sins of the fathers are not always the sins of the sons… Thror was not responsible for the sacking of Menegroth… nor was his son nor grandson…
And yet, Thranduil knew all too well the sickness of greed that could fester in the hearts of the Dwarves should it be allowed to endure, for it had taken his mother on that fateful day in the Halls of Thingol long long ago.
This… Arkenstone was one such jewel that, while certainly no Silmaril, was still precious all the same. To let the Dwarves reclaim it… to watch it destroy them once more as it had destroyed them in the past… or perhaps… it was not the stone… perhaps it was something far darker, far more sinister?
Sighing, Thranduil finished his wine and turned to head back inside the tent. Staring at the mountain and the darkening wood would do him no good this night. There were simply too many thoughts going through the Elf’s mind and it was beginning to garner him a most inconvenient headache.
Again he thought to himself that Legolas was not here… perhaps such would be for the best? He could pray that his son was far from the field of battle… safer in the wilds, in the woods, than on this lifeless patch of earth where neither bird nor beast ventured.
“Is this to be it then?”
The voice startled him for a brief moment and blue eyes flickered to the right side of his tent where stood his captain. Thranduil smirked slightly, “To be what, Legede? To be our end? To be our beginning?”
“To be your legacy.”
For a moment, the Elvenking paused. He walked over to the table in the middle of his tent, pouring himself another glass of wine before moving to the large high backed chair which worked as his throne, for all intensive purposes, here in the wilds. Thranduil said nothing for a long time, mulling over his thoughts.
Was this to be his legacy? War for jewels? The genocide of an entire mountain for bits of sparkle and shine? It certainly did appear that way… did it not?
“You know why I came here.”
Legede nodded, “Yes, I know why… originally. But the reason for your coming is no longer here and our armies should depart. Let the men and the Dwarves argue over gold and riches, mellon nin. We have more of it than we could wish anyway and you know it. This is not our fight.”
Sighing, Thranduil sipped his wine. “Our fight… when is it ever our fight? I brought forth our armies years ago to come to the aid of these Dwarves but when I saw the dragon I knew, Legede… that was not a fight to be won nor even had. Let the Dwarves and men die if it means saving our people. The dragon wanted them… nothing more.”
“Do you honestly believe that?” his captain asked, the white-haired Elf moving across the tent to stand in front of his lord. “You told me days ago that the shadow was haunting your dreams, Thranduil. That each moment you sought rest it was there, looming closer to our borders… as close as in the days of your father. Do you mean to tell me that we did not come here to confirm this? That we did not come here to find your son? Are we here for mere trinkets?”
Thranduil’s gaze hardened slightly, “I would have answers. If war comes from it then so be it but I will not turn a blind eye to these Dwarves. The dragon is dead, Legede. What do you think will come next, hmm? This… shadow that the Orc spoke of to myself and my son… I would not be caught unawares.”
“And yet you move us to the field of battle, just as Oropher. Will you make the same mistake twice?” Legede replied.
The Elvenking froze, his expression a mask of calm. But just at the edge of his left eye, Legede could see it. The skin moving… sinking in pore by pore as the memory forced a slip of illusionary magic on his king’s part. Thranduil however recovered before it reached too far and he shoved his wine glass into the captain’s hands before standing and walking past him, his face pristine once more.
“Legolas is not here, my lord.” Legede continued, hoping to talk reason into his king’s stubborn head.
Thranduil turned, “Then we wait for his return here. I will not pull back my armies when this… this Dwarf…”
“It is not about the Dwarf!”
Startled, the blond shook his head, “Fine!” he answered back angrily. “It is not about the Dwarf or the jewels or… or half of what I told that man out there.” Thranduil hissed moving to his captain’s side and grasping the white-haired captain by the arm suddenly. “It is about my son. About the darkness. They will not strike us in the wood, you know this for we hold the advantage. If our enemy is to wage war out here, on these forsaken lands, then let him come. My legacy, Legede, will not be to cower in fear in my hall. It will not be a remembrance of a miserly king coveting stolen jewels. My legacy is that stubborn son of mine who refuses to return home and on the shores of Laketown, amongst these people HERE, was the last place anyone saw him. If I know Legolas… he will return here, to these people… and if he does so and our enemy has gotten here first, what do you think will happen? What father would I be to let him face such alone?”
“I thought you did not believe Mithrandir.” Legede replied in a whisper.
Thranduil’s blue eyes were dark as he answered. “There are no Orc armies out there… but something will come, and until my son is under my protection once again, our armies will remain. I will act the part of a spoiled king from now until the end of time if I must, but I will not retreat. We are here under pretense of claiming those jewels from Thorin, and it is simply that, Legede… a pretense. If this darkness is false as I pray it to be, then no harm done, but if such is true then we are all that stands in it’s way. Must I explain my whole heart to you?”
Legede smirked slightly, “Well… it helps when you are a bit more honest, mellon nin.”
Sighing, Thranduil released his hold and then plucked his goblet from Legede’s fingers, taking a long drink. “You should know me better than that.” The Elvenking replied. “That foolish child…” he laughed softly, sitting back down and beckoning for Legede to take the seat beside him. “I can still remember him running through the halls, trying to hide behind everything in sight… hoping against hope that he might pop out and startle me or you or one of the servants. I can see him in my mind’s eye, scaling the tallest tree in the courtyard and leaping from branch to branch, an obvious attempt to give me a heart attack at that young age. He grew up too fast… and in too much shadow. The darkness can not be contained by the Elves should it rise again, Celeborn and I have spoken about this at length. Men and Dwarves though… but the Dwarves are too fractured now, unable to hold any of their strongholds of old east or south of the Bruinen it seems. The Blue Mountains… the Iron Hills… no more helpful than Halflings secluded in their Shire and obviously not coming to Throin’s aid any time soon. And… Celeborn has told me much of the men in Rohan and Gondor and while their strength is sure… their commitment to a common cause is all but a fleeting fancy. You could no sooner gather an army of men than you could count the stars in the sky for they are not a united people… Pockets of Rangers are easier to count on these days than any large force of men… but then again, the Elves are no longer so united as we were in the days of old, hmm?” he asked, leaning his head back against the chair and simply thinking for a time. “You asked if this… battle was to be my legacy and maybe in the annals of history it shall be. Maybe I shall be remembered as a king more interested in riches than in the preservation of life... an Elf bent on a vengeful siege of lowly Dwarves seeking to reclaim their homeland. Mayhap history will see me cruel and cold and unfeeling, in but blind pursuit of what I claim to be my own.” Thranduil sighed slightly before continuing. “But like my father before me, I trust my own legacy and the truth of who I am to the son I love. Oropher trusted me with his people and I would not see them fail, even should I fall to falsely perceived blind hatred and greed. One day, I hope to entrust these people, these lives and this wood, to Legolas… for he is my legacy, not some gold or jewels.”
For a time, neither Elf spoke. The evening drew darker as night closed in and the early morning hours were given way. Finally however, Legede stood, moving to the table and taking a glass of Dorwinion for himself.
“Legolas is a worthy heir.” He spoke softly before turning to look at his king. Thranduil was staring at him silently and so the captain continued. “I see in him many of your qualities… and some of your father’s. But there are other things there as well… like your wife’s compassion. One day, he will make a fine king.”
Thranduil smiled softly at the thought but then shook his head, “No… I think there is more for him yet to do for his people than take my place. Should I die then I fully expect Legolas to bear my crown but… my heart tells me he has some part of play in this world that he has not yet found.” Lifting his goblet, the blond took a long drink. “But you are right… he would make a far better king than I.” Quickly Thranduil lifted his hand, bidding the captain not to speak. “And I would be more than proud of him for it. To be a father and not a king is the best legacy I could ever hope for.”
Summary: Thranduil's thoughts of the eve of the Battle of Five Armies
Rating: G
Characters: Thranduil, Oropher, OC, mention of Legolas
Warnings: none
The fire burned brightly across the swath known in the common tongue as the Desolation of Smaug. He could see it… the pinpricks of light from its great lit forge glowing between open cuts in the mountain. It teased him… taunting with their invitation for warmth and yet ever was it within his mind that the denizens there would offer no such hospitality. Likely he would be rewarded with a Dwarven arrow in the heart.
Disgusted, lithe fingers raised a thin goblet of Dorwinion to his lips and for a moment, the Elvenking drank, blue gaze fixed on that mountain. He could hear the banners of his own army caught in the night’s wind behind him, a sharp breeze that lifted his own tent flaps just at the entrance. Oh the evening’s earlier conversation had been quite enlightening… a Halfling with the Arkenstone… giving it to Elves and men of all people and not to its true and rightful heir. Thranduil could appreciate the irony of it all of course, for there were heirlooms of his house that he himself desired hidden away in that great mountain hall. A jewel for a jewel. That was why he was here, was it not? To claim the heirlooms of his house?
Was it not?
His heart felt darkened for a brief moment and the Elvenking turned, his gaze moving across the plains and back toward his own forests, shrouded in gloom. They could turn back now… but of course the dragon was dead, the men of the lake had seen to that… which meant that the Dwarves, holed up in their forgotten mountain hall, were ripe for the slaughter… though by who’s hands had yet to be determined.
Seeing those trees… the sickness upon his wood, it pained Thranduil more than he could admit. In the days before the shadow, it had been a place of such beauty. But that shadow had grown more and more, threatening his people… closing them in and forcing their retreat ever northward. In the days of his father… things had been so green.
His father…
Was this the legacy that was to be Thranduil’s?
Oropher had left him a flourishing people who but craved the light and love and beauty of the world… but war had come to all in those days. War had smothered the light in shadow and forced the Wood Elves onto the field of battle… forced them to spill their immortal blood first before any others…
He was forcing his people on the field again… was he not? For what? For jewels and gems? For material desires?
No… this was about something else. He had to convince himself of such a fact.
Thranduil had brought the full strength of Mirkwood to bear even before his messenger had returned with the ill tidings that his son was not coming home. After conversing with Bard it became apparent that Legolas had some other road in mind and so when Thranduil and the might of the Elves had caught up to the humans in Dale, there was no longer any true reason to remain…
Legolas was not here… But why, then, stay?
In Thranduil’s heart he knew the truth… that a shadow was growing in the wood… that certainly that shadow would never allow this mountain to remain unclaimed for long. The Dwarves, wretched as they are, were certainly not agents of the dark. He had tried so desperately hard in the days of Thror to foster peace. Had tried to keep their peoples on good terms… even though the Elvenking had every right to hate the stout beings. But the sins of the fathers are not always the sins of the sons… Thror was not responsible for the sacking of Menegroth… nor was his son nor grandson…
And yet, Thranduil knew all too well the sickness of greed that could fester in the hearts of the Dwarves should it be allowed to endure, for it had taken his mother on that fateful day in the Halls of Thingol long long ago.
This… Arkenstone was one such jewel that, while certainly no Silmaril, was still precious all the same. To let the Dwarves reclaim it… to watch it destroy them once more as it had destroyed them in the past… or perhaps… it was not the stone… perhaps it was something far darker, far more sinister?
Sighing, Thranduil finished his wine and turned to head back inside the tent. Staring at the mountain and the darkening wood would do him no good this night. There were simply too many thoughts going through the Elf’s mind and it was beginning to garner him a most inconvenient headache.
Again he thought to himself that Legolas was not here… perhaps such would be for the best? He could pray that his son was far from the field of battle… safer in the wilds, in the woods, than on this lifeless patch of earth where neither bird nor beast ventured.
“Is this to be it then?”
The voice startled him for a brief moment and blue eyes flickered to the right side of his tent where stood his captain. Thranduil smirked slightly, “To be what, Legede? To be our end? To be our beginning?”
“To be your legacy.”
For a moment, the Elvenking paused. He walked over to the table in the middle of his tent, pouring himself another glass of wine before moving to the large high backed chair which worked as his throne, for all intensive purposes, here in the wilds. Thranduil said nothing for a long time, mulling over his thoughts.
Was this to be his legacy? War for jewels? The genocide of an entire mountain for bits of sparkle and shine? It certainly did appear that way… did it not?
“You know why I came here.”
Legede nodded, “Yes, I know why… originally. But the reason for your coming is no longer here and our armies should depart. Let the men and the Dwarves argue over gold and riches, mellon nin. We have more of it than we could wish anyway and you know it. This is not our fight.”
Sighing, Thranduil sipped his wine. “Our fight… when is it ever our fight? I brought forth our armies years ago to come to the aid of these Dwarves but when I saw the dragon I knew, Legede… that was not a fight to be won nor even had. Let the Dwarves and men die if it means saving our people. The dragon wanted them… nothing more.”
“Do you honestly believe that?” his captain asked, the white-haired Elf moving across the tent to stand in front of his lord. “You told me days ago that the shadow was haunting your dreams, Thranduil. That each moment you sought rest it was there, looming closer to our borders… as close as in the days of your father. Do you mean to tell me that we did not come here to confirm this? That we did not come here to find your son? Are we here for mere trinkets?”
Thranduil’s gaze hardened slightly, “I would have answers. If war comes from it then so be it but I will not turn a blind eye to these Dwarves. The dragon is dead, Legede. What do you think will come next, hmm? This… shadow that the Orc spoke of to myself and my son… I would not be caught unawares.”
“And yet you move us to the field of battle, just as Oropher. Will you make the same mistake twice?” Legede replied.
The Elvenking froze, his expression a mask of calm. But just at the edge of his left eye, Legede could see it. The skin moving… sinking in pore by pore as the memory forced a slip of illusionary magic on his king’s part. Thranduil however recovered before it reached too far and he shoved his wine glass into the captain’s hands before standing and walking past him, his face pristine once more.
“Legolas is not here, my lord.” Legede continued, hoping to talk reason into his king’s stubborn head.
Thranduil turned, “Then we wait for his return here. I will not pull back my armies when this… this Dwarf…”
“It is not about the Dwarf!”
Startled, the blond shook his head, “Fine!” he answered back angrily. “It is not about the Dwarf or the jewels or… or half of what I told that man out there.” Thranduil hissed moving to his captain’s side and grasping the white-haired captain by the arm suddenly. “It is about my son. About the darkness. They will not strike us in the wood, you know this for we hold the advantage. If our enemy is to wage war out here, on these forsaken lands, then let him come. My legacy, Legede, will not be to cower in fear in my hall. It will not be a remembrance of a miserly king coveting stolen jewels. My legacy is that stubborn son of mine who refuses to return home and on the shores of Laketown, amongst these people HERE, was the last place anyone saw him. If I know Legolas… he will return here, to these people… and if he does so and our enemy has gotten here first, what do you think will happen? What father would I be to let him face such alone?”
“I thought you did not believe Mithrandir.” Legede replied in a whisper.
Thranduil’s blue eyes were dark as he answered. “There are no Orc armies out there… but something will come, and until my son is under my protection once again, our armies will remain. I will act the part of a spoiled king from now until the end of time if I must, but I will not retreat. We are here under pretense of claiming those jewels from Thorin, and it is simply that, Legede… a pretense. If this darkness is false as I pray it to be, then no harm done, but if such is true then we are all that stands in it’s way. Must I explain my whole heart to you?”
Legede smirked slightly, “Well… it helps when you are a bit more honest, mellon nin.”
Sighing, Thranduil released his hold and then plucked his goblet from Legede’s fingers, taking a long drink. “You should know me better than that.” The Elvenking replied. “That foolish child…” he laughed softly, sitting back down and beckoning for Legede to take the seat beside him. “I can still remember him running through the halls, trying to hide behind everything in sight… hoping against hope that he might pop out and startle me or you or one of the servants. I can see him in my mind’s eye, scaling the tallest tree in the courtyard and leaping from branch to branch, an obvious attempt to give me a heart attack at that young age. He grew up too fast… and in too much shadow. The darkness can not be contained by the Elves should it rise again, Celeborn and I have spoken about this at length. Men and Dwarves though… but the Dwarves are too fractured now, unable to hold any of their strongholds of old east or south of the Bruinen it seems. The Blue Mountains… the Iron Hills… no more helpful than Halflings secluded in their Shire and obviously not coming to Throin’s aid any time soon. And… Celeborn has told me much of the men in Rohan and Gondor and while their strength is sure… their commitment to a common cause is all but a fleeting fancy. You could no sooner gather an army of men than you could count the stars in the sky for they are not a united people… Pockets of Rangers are easier to count on these days than any large force of men… but then again, the Elves are no longer so united as we were in the days of old, hmm?” he asked, leaning his head back against the chair and simply thinking for a time. “You asked if this… battle was to be my legacy and maybe in the annals of history it shall be. Maybe I shall be remembered as a king more interested in riches than in the preservation of life... an Elf bent on a vengeful siege of lowly Dwarves seeking to reclaim their homeland. Mayhap history will see me cruel and cold and unfeeling, in but blind pursuit of what I claim to be my own.” Thranduil sighed slightly before continuing. “But like my father before me, I trust my own legacy and the truth of who I am to the son I love. Oropher trusted me with his people and I would not see them fail, even should I fall to falsely perceived blind hatred and greed. One day, I hope to entrust these people, these lives and this wood, to Legolas… for he is my legacy, not some gold or jewels.”
For a time, neither Elf spoke. The evening drew darker as night closed in and the early morning hours were given way. Finally however, Legede stood, moving to the table and taking a glass of Dorwinion for himself.
“Legolas is a worthy heir.” He spoke softly before turning to look at his king. Thranduil was staring at him silently and so the captain continued. “I see in him many of your qualities… and some of your father’s. But there are other things there as well… like your wife’s compassion. One day, he will make a fine king.”
Thranduil smiled softly at the thought but then shook his head, “No… I think there is more for him yet to do for his people than take my place. Should I die then I fully expect Legolas to bear my crown but… my heart tells me he has some part of play in this world that he has not yet found.” Lifting his goblet, the blond took a long drink. “But you are right… he would make a far better king than I.” Quickly Thranduil lifted his hand, bidding the captain not to speak. “And I would be more than proud of him for it. To be a father and not a king is the best legacy I could ever hope for.”