The History of Legolas - From Light to Shadow

Author’s Note: First off, The Lord of the Rings and all associated characters belong to Tolkien and his estate. I am not making any profit off of this story, save the enjoyment I had making it.



Thranduil stared down at the map of Greenwood the Great before him. There were several black markings dotting the landscape on the eastern side of the forest, and some in the southeast. The king frowned as the captain of his scouts, Bregol, went over the map with him.

“All of the black exes are where we sighted Orc camps. They are multiplying, my lord.” Bregol said, pointing to one of the black marks. “At it appears that they are moving in on Emyn Duir.”

Thranduil sighed. “How many do you think were in each camp?” he asked.

“Anywhere from fifty to one hundred, at least.” Bregol said.

The king counted the black marks on the map and then calculated the number of Orcs in his head. Nearly one thousand, if Bregol’s estimate was correct. Thranduil groaned in frustration.

“This is not good news.” The king said gravely. He was extremely reluctant to fight, especially since he knew how ill prepared the elves of Greenwood would be in case of an attack. Their armor was leather, and those who were trained in the ways of war were few. Thranduil did not think that there would be a need for many warriors after the downfall of Sauron. Apparently, he was wrong.

“There is more, I fear.” Bregol said. Thranduil looked at the captain with a mixture of anger and terror on his face. “My men reported seeing creatures.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrow. “Creatures?”

“They described them as large, and many-legged. Like spiders.” The captain said.

“How large?” the king questioned, sounding skeptical.

“Large enough to devour an elf.”

Thranduil leaned on the table, hovering over the map and letting his bright hair spill over his shoulders as he looked at the map. The king sighed and a troubled look came over his face.

“We cannot stay in Emyn Duir and expect to live quietly.” He said.

“It would not seem that way, my lord.”

Thranduil let out an aggravated grunt and pushed himself off the table. “Have there been any reports of Orcs in the north?” he asked.

“No. The regions north of the Forest Road have reported no signs of Orcs, or any other fell creatures.”

Thranduil nodded and began to think. There was one settlement north of the Forest Road. It was a trading outpost used by the elves of Greenwood and the men of Lake-Town. Thranduil wondered if relocating his people to the settlement north of the Forest Road was a practical idea. There were many elves in Emyn Duir, and several settlements scattered in areas near the mountains. It would be difficult to move the populous of Greenwood away from harm unnoticed. But something had to be done.

“Send word to all of the settlements around Emyn Duir. Warn them of the Orcs and instruct them to move north of the Forest Road, where it is safe. Distribute what soldiers we can among them to ensure some safety.” Thranduil ordered.

“What of the elves here?” the captain asked.

“We will begin to leave in small groups. If the entire population of Emyn Duir moves at once, it will arouse suspicions. I do not want to risk an attack.” Thranduil said. Bregol nodded.

“I shall send out riders immediately.” He said, bowing and leaving the king alone in his study.

Thranduil walked over to his desk and collapsed in his chair and put his forehead in his hand, greatly disturbed by this ill news. He contemplated the danger of the situation as silence settled in the room.

Just as Thranduil had begun to wonder what Oropher might have done in the current situation, the silence was shattered by the sound of feet running down the hall outside. Suddenly, the door to Thranduil’s study burst open, startling the king out of his quiet contemplation.

“Ada! Ada!” A little voice cried. Before he knew it, Thranduil had an elfling in his lap, tugging on the sleeve of his silver tunic.

“Ada! Arthion nearly hit my foot with an arrow! He was shooting at me, Ada!” the small elf said in a distressed manner.

“The arrow landed inches away from his foot, and I would have not done so if I had not been provoked!” an angry voice came from the doorway.

Thranduil looked to the door of his study to seen his adolescent son, Arthion, standing there, his blue eyes glaring daggers at his younger brother, Hérion, who was curled up on Thranduil’s lap cowering.

“What did you do to provoke such a reaction from your older brother?” Thranduil asked, looking down on his younger son.

“Nothing! I was just asking questions!” The elfling said, crossing his arms.

“Only a million questions, even after I asked him to be quiet. All well I was practicing my archery!” Arthion corrected as he walked farther into the room.

Thranduil could not help but chuckle as he set Hérion on the ground and stood up. “If your brother asked you to be silent while he was practicing, you should have honored his request.” He said to his youngest. Hérion’s bottom lip protruded, protesting the scolding. Thranduil shook his head and smiled as he ruffled his son’s hair.

“Nonetheless, that does not excuse careless behavior with the bow, Arthion. An arrow is a weapon, and weapons are meant to kill. If you had miscalculated your aim, things could have turned out much worse.” Thranduil lectured. Arthion sighed and rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms, also protesting.

“Do not do it again, or you will not attend archery lessons for two weeks.” His father warned.

“Yes, Ada.” Arthion muttered angrily.

Thranduil walked out from behind his desk and patted his eldest son on the shoulder, assuring him that he was not being punished – yet, anyway. Arthion was difficult to provoke, but when he was, he was quick to anger and did not always think through things before he did them. But Thranduil knew that his firstborn would not harm his younger brother intentionally.

Hérion, on the other hand, was a ball of fire. He was only three hundred and fifty years old, the equivalent of a mortal ten-year-old. Hérion was the exact opposite of his older brother: curious, hyper active, and impatient. Though, Thranduil marked that he looked nearly identical to Arthion, despite the age difference. Both of his children possessed ebony hair and bright blue eyes. The only divergence between the two was their facial builds – Arthion’s face was similar to Thranduil’s and Hérion’s was like that of Almwen’s.

Besides their physical features, one trait both of Thranduil’s sons had was their knack for getting into trouble. Whether it was for fighting with each other or exploring places they were forbidden to enter, both princes often found themselves at the receiving end of a lecture.

Thranduil looked out of the door of his study and out of the opposite wall’s window and saw the sun was nearing the horizon, ready to set.

“Well, my sons, we’d best be off and readying ourselves for the evening meal. Your mother does not like it when we’re late.” The king said, motioning for his sons to go ahead of him out of the door.

“Ada, when you’re late to dinner, does Naneth punish you?” Hérion asked innocently. Arthion snorted and rolled his eyes at his younger brother. Thranduil laughed, thinking of the disappointed stare that his wife gave him when he returned from his duties late. That was punishment enough.

“Yes, Hérion. I suppose she does.” The king chuckled.

Hérion’s eyes grew wide, suddenly having a new respect for his mother and the things she said. Arthion gave his father a skeptical look. Thranduil just smiled and put his hand on his son’s shoulder as the three walked down the hallway to the dining hall.

~

Almwen was sitting in a chair, stitching something when Thranduil came in to get ready for dinner. She could tell just by the way his fingers were curled up into fists that there was something wrong. She hoped that whatever had put him in a worrisome mood would melt away once she told him her good news.

“Good evening, meleth nîn.” The queen said, rising from her chair and giving him a hug.

Thranduil kissed her cheek in greeting. “Good evening.” He responded quietly.

“You are so quiet. Is there something wrong?” Almwen asked. Thranduil sighed. He was not particularly looking forward to telling his beloved wife that they had to vacate Emyn Duir – her home – to move to safety. To be honest, Thranduil didn’t want to have to tell her at all. He did not want to think about it right now. But he had no choice.

“A shadow has fallen on Greenwood. It is not safe here any longer.”

Almwen’s face fell into confusion and despair. “What…?”

“Bands of Orcs have come into the forest, and are gathering on the eastern border. They are surrounding Emyn Duir. We must leave this place.” Her husband said sadly.

“To where?” Almwen asked desperately.

“A place north of the Forest Road. There are no Orcs in the north. We will leave gradually so as not to arouse the Orcs’ suspicions and encourage an attack.”

“How long will it take to completely empty Emyn Duir, do you think?”

“A year. Perhaps more.”

Almwen suddenly looked very worried and she sat back down in her chair. Thranduil looked down at her, confused. Of course he had expected her to be worried, but she had not appeared especially fretful until he had said that they might not depart until a year had gone by. He kneeled down and took his wife’s hand, feeling the tension in her body.

“What is wrong?” he asked her.

Almwen looked at him with a very grave look on her face and took his hand and touched it to her middle.

“I am with child, Thranduil.”

~

Just FYI – the reason Almwen’s concerned is because instead of nine months, it takes an elven child a year to be born.