The History of Legolas - The Last Green Leaf

Author’s Note: 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.
And of course, since I said that I wouldn’t take long to write this chapter, I did. And I left you with a cliffhanger. I'm terrible!
I would like to apologize to all of my readers who counted on reading this story... I grappled with the original idea for this chapter because it is utterly cliche, and that conflict led to fear of posting it, so I just avoided writing it. I actually finished this chapter a long time ago, but was hesitant to post for the aformentioned reasons, and because I hadn't finished the chapter that comes directly after this, so I waited. But now, with my fears gone and the next chapters well underway, I am happy to post this. My writing is what it is. Cliche or not, I promise the story is not going to get "cheesey" by any means.

God, I hope some of you still want to read this!




The doors of Thranduil’s study burst open, startling the Elvenking. He looked up to see his son, Hérion in the doorway looking particularly winded.

“Ada,” He breathed. “You must come quickly. Legolas is hurt.”

Thranduil felt his heart drop into his stomach and he dropped the feather quill he had been using to draft a letter to Lord Elrond of Imladris onto the desk. He immediately rose from his chair and walked from behind his desk, studying Hérion’s face. His middle child looked terrified. His clothes and face were smudged in dirt and a black liquid. Thranduil immediately recognized the ebon fluid on his son’s garb.

“What happened?” He asked.

“We were attacked.” Hérion said through his panting. Suddenly, he took his father’s hand and dragged him out of the room and down the hall towards the healing houses. He didn’t know how his younger brother fared, but he knew it could not be good. Legolas had lost a lot of blood on the way back from the battle scene. Hérion did not want to not be far if something was happening.

“Hérion! Tell me what happened!” Thranduil demanded, still following his son.

“There is no time.” Hérion said, not looking back.

~

Meanwhile, Arthion was sitting in the houses of healing, rubbing his hands together nervously as he waited outside the room where the healers had taken Legolas. Nestadriel, who had met them at the door when the arrived, had not had a hopeful look on her face when she saw Legolas’ wound. This worried Arthion greatly.

He cast a glance at the wooden door that separated him from his brother and listened to the muffled voices that were coming from it. All of the sounds were madly calm. He could not read what was going on. Frustrated, he put his head in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the ground.

“I should have done something.” He said angrily.

Suddenly, he heard the door click open and he looked up to see Nestadriel walking out, a sober look on her face.

“Lady Nestadriel, how is he?” Arthion asked, jumping out of his seat.

“We’re still not sure.” The healer said, wiping her hands in the apron that was over her pale blue gown. Arthion noticed bloodstains on the apron; Legolas’ blood. “There was no poison in the wound, but it was a deep gash. He was lucky, none of his vital organs were damaged, but he still has lost much blood. His breathing is still shallow and he does not wake.” Nestadriel looked away, a pensive expression on her face.

“Will he live?” Arthion asked softly. Nestadriel looked back at the eldest prince of Mirkwood with sympathetic eyes.

“We will see.” She said.

Just then, Hérion and Thranduil burst into the room, looking flustered and concerned. Nestadriel and Arthion looked at the two newcomers, and the two stared back, grave expressions on their faces.

“Where is my son?” Thranduil asked darkly.

“He is there,” Nestadriel said, motioning to the door behind her. Thranduil’s gaze traveled from the healer to the door, and he suddenly strode forward to the door. Nestadriel stepped in front of him.

“You may not enter, my lord. The other healers are still stitching the wound.” She said.

“I wish to see my son!” The king demanded. Nestadriel did not move.

“You would not even let your king pass?” Thranduil said.

“This is something that a father should not see.” Nestadriel said softly. Thranduil looked at her with a scowl on his face.

“I have seen many things that a father, or a husband, should not see, Nestadriel.” He replied in a low voice. Acknowledging that point, Nestadriel looked away from the king and sighed angrily. Thranduil once again tried to pass her, but the healer stepped in his way again.

“Spare yourself the pain.” She said.

The healer and the king glared at each other for a few silent moments, angry and determined looks on their faces. Behind them, Arthion and Hérion exchanged confused looks and waited for the next words to be spoken. Just when it began to look like the tension would never break, the door behind Nestadriel opened and one of the healers walked out, a timid look on his face.

“My lady,” He said to Nestadriel, “His wounds are wrapped.”

Nestadriel nodded and the other healer stepped aside to allow the king entrance. No sooner had he stepped away was Thranduil in the room where Legolas slept and at his side. He sat down on a stool next to his son’s bed and took his hand. Nestadriel, Arthion, and Hérion came seconds after the king. Arthion came in behind his father and put his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder while Nestadriel and Hérion stood at the foot of the bed.

Thranduil extended his right hand and stroked Legolas’ silent face. Legolas’ skin was colder than it should have been, and glistening with sweat. Thranduil’s son shuddered as his father touched him, but he did not wake. The king closed his eyes tightly for a moment and then turned to Nestadriel and Hérion with angry eyes.

“How did this happen?” He asked.

“We were attacked.” Arthion said, taking his hand off of his father’s shoulder. “A great spider came at us as we were heading in from the hunting trip.”

Thranduil let out an angry growl and clenched his teeth together. Arthion looked away, feeling guilty that Legolas was injured.

“Legolas saved our lives.” Hérion said quietly. Thranduil shot his middle child a look.

“Are you two not capable of saving your own lives?” he snapped angrily.

“My lord!” Nestadriel said in a scolding voice. “No one can prepare for an attack from one of those foul creatures. Not even your sons.”

Thranduil glared angrily for a moment, then turned his face to look upon his injured son again. Legolas’ eyes were closed and his brow furrowed, as if he were in pain or having a bad dream. His chest barely rose and fell as his breath was shallow, and his skin was pale. The gravity of the situation was rather apparent to Thranduil. A lump rose in his throat as he looked on his youngest son’s face again, remembering when he had held his child for the first time nearly two centuries ago. In his anger and his worry, the king lost track of the words that he spoke.

“Did your mother not give her life so that this one may live? How easily have you let her sacrifice be forgotten!” he said, looking back at his two older sons.

Arthion saw the look on his father’s face and immediately guilt washed over his body like a wave on the ocean. “If I had only been quicker!” he cursed himself inwardly, clenching his fists and staring at the ground. He knew that his father might not have truly meant what he said, but the words had cut at him nonetheless. With an angry growl, he turned on his heel and flew from the room. Hérion watched his elder brother flee, and then glared at his father.

“Her sacrifice has never been forgotten, Adar.” He spat at Thranduil. “It was her sacrifice that not only saved Legolas, but Arthion and I as well. You would do well to remember it!” And with that, Hérion stormed angrily out of the room, off to find his brother.

Nestadriel sighed heavily and shook her head as she walked away through the door on the other wall, going into a room where there were other Healers waiting to meet with her. She knew that there were no words she could say to Thranduil to make him feel better, or to make him leave Legolas’ side and chase after his older sons to apologize for with he had said. What Thranduil needed was time. After dealing with him for all these years, that was something Nestadriel understood very well.

Guilt sat upon Thranduil’s shoulders like a pile of rocks. He knew that his words to his children were uncalled for and that he needed to apologize, but he could not bring himself to leave Legolas’ side. As he looked upon his youngest sons’ face, even more guilt and worry seeped into his heart and he took his son’s hand and pressed it to his forehead.

“Edro hin lín…”* he said softly.

Legolas stirred again in his rest. His mind was in a dream in some far off place that he had never been before, and the touches of the physical world confused the images that played before his closed eyes. He heard a voice, softly singing…

~

Legolas found himself sitting on a rock on the bank of a stream in the middle of a forest. At first, he thought it to be Mirkwood, but he then realized that around him grew fir trees, and he could see mountains looming overhead. Though he knew that there were mountains to the south of his home, he knew that they were dark and full of foul things. He was certain a beautiful place such as this could not be found in the Mountains of Mirkwood.

Suddenly a voice caught his ear. It was so soft that, at first, Legolas believed that he was hearing the voices of the trees whispering to him. But on a second thought, he realized that it was the voice of a maiden. Legolas turned his head in every direction to try and catch sight of the owner of the voice. His eyes darted through the trees behind him, but he caught no sight of her. Then, in the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a glowing object on the opposite shore. He turned his head.

There, walking among the trees he saw an elleth. Her waist-length hair was the color of night and it fell about her face, hiding it from Legolas. As she trod about the forest, she seemed to glow. Legolas did not know if the maiden knew that he was there for she did not acknowledge his presence. He did not wish to disturb her, so he stayed where he was and listened to her sing as the scent of pine filled the air.

“An Elven-maid there was of old,
A shining star by day:
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,
Her shoes of silver-grey.

A star was bound upon her brows,
A light was on her hair
As sun upon the golden boughs
In Lórien the fair.

Her hair was long, her limbs were white,
And fair she was and free;
And in the wind she went as light
As leaf of linden-tree.

Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver fell
Into the shining pool…”

Legolas found it odd that her Sindarin dialect was distinctly that of Mirkwood, yet she sung a song of Nimrodel, found in Lorien. It had been many years since the elves in Mirkwood had had dealings with the elves under the lordship of Celeborn and Galadriel.

Suddenly, the elleth seemed to notice that she was not alone and she turned to face Legolas. Her dark eyes bore straight into his blue ones, and for some reason that he could not discern, Legolas felt himself grow frightened. The maiden smiled, and then stepped into the water and crossed to Legolas’ side. Legolas instinctively slid off of the rock he was sitting on and took a step back.

The maiden walked up on the shore and came up to Legolas, her gaze never leaving his eyes.

“Be not afraid.” She said ethereally. Legolas said nothing as he stared. This elleth seemed horribly familiar to him, but he could not understand why. He had not many dealings with the elven maidens of his father’s court, and he knew he did not recognize her from the lessons he had attended when he was younger.

“Who are you?” he asked softly, the sound of his own voice surprising him.

The maiden smiled and chuckled softly, but did not answer. She approached him and lifted her hand to his face. Legolas stiffened momentarily at her touch.

“What a fine young elf you have grown into.” The elleth said. Legolas raised an eyebrow.

“Did you know me when I was young?” He asked her.

“Yes. I have known you all your life, young Legolas.” She replied. Legolas looked thoroughly confused, and the elleth smiled kindly at him. “Be not troubled. You will understand in time.” The raven-haired girl turned and began to walk along the water. She looked back, beckoning him to follow with her expression.

“My lady, please, where am I? The last thing I knew, I was in my homeland, fighting a fierce creature and I know not where I am, or what I am doing here. I’m beginning to doubt that I will understand with time.” Legolas said, catching up to her. The elleth said nothing. In the silence, a thought came to the young elf.

“Have I died?” He suddenly asked. The maiden looked at him, but kept walking.

“Nay, Legolas. You are meant to live. There is much you have to do.” She said quietly. The blond-haired ellon was still confused, but he kept walking alongside the maid. After a moment of silence, Legolas continued to ask questions.

“Why am I meant to live?” He asked.

“Because it is not your time to die.” The elleth replied, chuckling a little. Legolas let out a frustrated grunt, annoyed at his guide for dodging questions.

“Do not be troubled, Legolas, because you do not understand now. Very soon, your path will become shrouded in darkness and doubt and you will ask the very question you just asked me again. But never forget that you were meant to live.” The raven-haired elf maiden said. Legolas looked deep into her dark eyes and her words rang true in his heart.

“Do you know the story of your birth?” she asked suddenly. Legolas, confused yet again, furrowed his brow but nodded.

“My birth killed my mother.” He said quietly. Even though his father and brothers had explained to him time and time again that his mother’s death was not his fault, Legolas had always had it on his heart. And in his mind, he felt responsible for the death of his mother.

“Nay, Legolas,” the elleth said, taking his hand in hers. “Your mother died because it was her time to die, and it was your time to live. Just because those two events coincided does not mean that you were responsible for it. You have a purpose, Legolas. And that is why you were meant to live then, and why you are meant to live now.”

Legolas kept his gaze in her eyes and familiarity of the elleth struck him deeply. As he was staring at her, he suddenly felt someone touching his hand. Legolas looked down and saw the ground beneath him disappearing. He looked at the elleth, who too was fading into black.

“You are meant to live.” The maiden repeated ethereally.

“Wait! I do not know your name!” Legolas protested as the world around him continued to fade.

“I love you, my son.”

Suddenly, the idea clicked in Legolas’ mind and he reached out his hand and shouted “Mother!”

~

The next thing Legolas knew, he was staring at the ceiling. He felt the pain in his side again, and his vision was blurry. However, he could see that it was dark where he was. There was a blue glow from a window somewhere in the room. It was night. Someone was holding his hand. Legolas turned his head slowly to his right and saw his father leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, asleep. It was Thranduil who was holding his hand.

Legolas’ mind was cloudy, and the pain was quickly returning. He turned his head back to the ceiling and closed his eyes.

“Meant to live…” he whispered as he drifted off to sleep again.