Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

The Last Wood Elf	By : Mel99Moe Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 4551 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters or places. No money is being made from this story.

Chapter List
- 40
- 41
- 42
Chapter 41 – Swathed in Green

After the confusion of battle and once things began to settle, Legolas met with Haldir, and a few of his commanders, to discuss the happenings at Dol Guldur. Lothlórien’s plan was well laid and it worked perfectly. Once word reached the dark tower that Legolas and a band of elves were making their way to Mirkwood, the enemy left their hideout to join the rest of the orc army, which was based within close proximity to the destroyed Mirkwood forest. They found themselves ambushed by Haldir’s army, and the majority of them were destroyed. Once Lothlórien overtook the old decrepit tower, they hurried to Mirkwood, arriving just in time.
Haldir also informed Legolas of the victory in Gondor, though the human city suffered a great degree of damage. Legolas asked if he’d heard anything of the Rohirrim, or of Aragorn and Gimli, but he had not, only that Rohan had fought on the Pelennor Fields, helping to defend Minas Tirith. It was thought that those still able to fight had regrouped and were making their way to the very heart of the enemy, Mordor. Legolas felt in his gut that Aragorn and Gimli were amongst those, if not leading the rest to one final battle. But his heart froze to think of Eomer or Théoden within the company. Legolas wasn’t sure what they were planning to do, but it seemed like a one way journey if they were staging an assault against Sauron himself. And then there was that nagging voice in the back of his mind, always saying that he should have been there.
But this was not Legolas’ place anymore, and there had been a lot to do in the first days after the victorious recapture of Mirkwood. Legolas began construction of the burial grounds, the dead rightfully buried with proper ceremony. Within the caves was a burial chamber where the nobles were laid to rest. He had his father’s remains placed there, lain aside Legolas’ mother, Almárëa, and his grandfather, Oropher. The first feast was celebrated in their honor afterwards.
It had been a solemn day for Legolas, and the first time he remembered seeing his mother’s tomb. A stone statue in her likeness stood in memorial of the Noldo Queen of Mirkwood. Legolas studied her features, thinking she must have been beyond beautiful. Calariel had been with him during this solitary moment, and told him that Celeborn was right to be amazed at the semblance between mother and son.
The next day, Haldir and his men, along with his brothers, Rúmil and Orophin, said their farewells and started on their journey back to Lothlórien. A small group of about one hundred elves decided to stay and help begin the cleansing of Mirkwood. Of these, Legolas wondered how many would remain permanently.
The Woodsmen also left to return to their village, but before going, Folvar promised to send back supplies to help the elves accomplish their goals. A few weeks later, a wagon arrived, filled with axes, saws, chain, rope and many other things that would assist the elves in clearing away the burnt section of the forest. Pulling the wagon were two sturdy work mules, who could drag the larger pieces of debris out of the livable section of the city.
Calariel, herself took over this huge feat. They would need to clear away all the dead and decaying foliage and hollowed logs, and bring down the remains of blackened trees that had caught fire and burned to nothing more than great sticks rising from the earth. The layer of ash that covered the ground would be helpful to the new growth in this area, so it would need to be mixed in with the moist soil, the dirt worked and turned until the elves were satisfied with it. Then they would go out and uproot smaller trees and saplings, bring them to the cleansed area, and plant them. It would be no small task, but one that Calariel looked forward to participating in. And with her involvement, it gave Legolas the time and space he needed to explore the caverns, determine its layout, assign housing to the elves, and rummage through those personal things that once belonged to his father.
The first order of business was to have a statue made of his father, which would stand alongside the one of his mother. One of the Lórien elves in the company was trained in the art of masonry and volunteered to do this task. Legolas even learned a thing or two about working stone from a solid mass to something recognizable. When it was finished, Legolas ordered that a fresh berry garland always be upon his father’s head, as well as a single rose be placed within his mother’s hand. He’d found a solitary bush growing in a place that he thought must have been his mother’s private garden at one time. It had somehow survived the raping of the land and had flourished through the years. The roses were a most unusual two-toned color, sun-yellow petals that darkened to a deep orange on the edges. Legolas was reminded of the sun dawning over the pastures of Rohan. As tribute to his adopted home, he named it the Eorlingas Rose.
Often times, Legolas found himself standing within the mausoleum, gazing upon the faces of those whose blood he shared; a father he had barely known and a mother who he did not remember. Yet, he could sometimes feel their presence when he visited their tombs. It gave him strength and courage to see their stone forms standing together, and he hoped their souls had found each other in the ethereal life beyond this one of flesh and bone. His parents were never far from his mind. Their memory encompassed every part of the caverns, with murals and tapestries displayed from the grand throne room to the dining hall. They were his ghostly heritage, and Legolas was all that remained as proof of their existence, and their deep love for each other. Even so, sometimes he couldn’t help feel like a stranger in the place of his birth.
One morning, Legolas found himself standing in the small library that doubled as his father’s study. There were murals depicting his family, and the story of their settlement in Eryn Galen, Greenwood the Great. Another showed the battle of the Last Alliance, when his grandfather lost his life, and the coronation of his father as the new King of the Woodland. And then there was the marriage of Thranduil to Almárëa, and in her arms a small elfling swathed in fine dark green linen.
“That must be you,” said Calariel, as she laid her hand on his back. A head of gold and two sapphire eyes looked back at her from the depiction.
“It’s odd standing here, looking at my family history, knowing I am a part of it, but feeling like an observer. I remember so little my father, and I don’t know my mother at all. Yet, here she is holding me in her arms, and the look of a mother’s great love for her child plainly shown on her face. These were her memories, and those of the wood elves. They are not mine, and I wish that they were.”
“You will make new memories,” she said to comfort him.
Legolas kissed her cheek. “We both will,” he corrected, “And maybe one day it will be your likeness standing there cradling a child.”
“Maybe?” she questioned.
Legolas smiled, “I have not had words with your father yet. I cannot even announce our courtship until I have.”
“You will, eventually,” she said reassuringly.
There was a knock on the door, and Legolas called for whoever it was to enter. One of the elves stood beside a young messenger, dressed in the familiar Rohirrim uniform. His blonde hair was a bit too long and he kept pushing it back from his eyes. The sleeves of his tunic came down past his hands, and the bottom hem ended somewhere mid-shin. Then the pale blue eyes met Legolas’ and the smile upon the young face was undeniably familiar.
“Gellír?” Legolas asked with complete perplexity.
“Legolas!” the boy shouted as he ran to him and threw his lean arms about the elf.
Legolas remembered Gellír as a young child, standing precariously upon a rickety ladder, his face and clothes befouled by dust and dirt. He had been caught stealing from a food stall, and as punishment, he was sent to Eowyn and put to work cleaning the dingy halls of Meduseld. That was the first time Legolas met Gellír, and the boy was instantly drawn to him.
“Gellír, how have you come all this way to Mirkwood?” Legolas asked as he peeled the boy from him.
Gellír straightened his tunic and flipped his head to the side, blonde hair flying out of his face. His happiness faded as he reached into a pouch that hung from his side. He took out several pieces of folded paper and handed them to Legolas. “The Lady Eowyn sent me, and she told me to deliver her letter to you.”
Legolas smiled at the mention of her name, “How is Eowyn, and Edoras? Is all well?”
“Edoras still shines, as well as the Lady Eowyn, but not all is well… no,” Gellír said sounding dismal.
Calariel came to Legolas’ side, and smiled at the boy before her, “Hello, Gellír. I am Calariel.”
“Are you an elf too?” he asked.
“Yes I am.”
“There are so many here. I’ve only ever seen one elf and that’s Legolas, though I never much thought of him as an elf. You seem… different somehow, but I can’t quite put my finger on it,” Gellír explained.
Legolas stood unmoving, gazing at the letters in his hand, heedless of the conversation between Calariel and Gellír. She took notice, thinking that Legolas needed a moment alone, and took a step closer to the boy. “I’m sure you are famished. Oron will take you to the kitchens, and find you something to eat.”
“But Legolas—” Gellír opposed, but he was cut off.
“It’s alright, Gellír. I will be along in a bit and we’ll talk,” Legolas said.
Calariel gestured to the elf, Oron, and he led the boy from the study towards the kitchens. Then Calariel turned back to Legolas, who was still looking at the letters.
Legolas sighed, “I’m almost afraid to read them. Something has happened. What if Eomer—”
“You won’t know until you read,” Calariel interrupted.
Legolas took a seat in his father’s chair, still not able to claim it as his chair now, and brought a lantern closer to where he sat. He started reading, and his expression never faltered from that of worry and concern. Calariel busied herself, straightening manuscripts on shelves, or brushing away patches of dust that had settled here and there. After a long while, Legolas’ hands fell to his lap, the letters still in his grasp. Calariel went to him and laid a gentle hand upon his shoulder.
“Dernhelm,” he said.
“Who?” Calariel asked, never having heard that name before.
“It was an alias that Eowyn came up with. I was the only one who knew, but she kept a set of armor hidden, and she always said that one day she would fight amongst the men. I never thought she would do it,” he said dreamily, as he remembered their conversations beside the fire pit in Meduseld.
Eowyn had written the letters from the healing house of Minas Tirith, while recovering from an almost fatal wound. She’d disguised herself as a soldier, as well as one of the Hobbits, Merry, and they rode out with the Rohirrim army, bound for Gondor. There Eowyn and Merry fought upon the Pelennor Field, and they fought well, until they came face to face with none other than the Witch-king of Angmar, one of the nine Nazgûl, and their captain.
“The black rider attacked King Théoden, and Eowyn witnessed it. She stood before the Nazgûl and her uncle, fought the foul Witch-king and killed him. But she sustained a serious wound, one that could have sent her to the shadow world of the Nazgûl.”
“Then she is alright?” Calariel asked. “She wrote the letters after all.”
“She is still recovering, and her dreams are still dark, but she will be fine.”
“And your friend Eomer? What happened to him?”
Legolas bowed his head, “He had found his sister clinging to life and brought her to the city.” Then a small smile escaped the corner of his mouth, “No doubt she will never hear the end of his berating.”
It dawned on Calariel who was still unaccounted for. “And what of King Théoden?”
Legolas lifted his head, his eyes misting over with tears. “The King is dead. Eomer was with him as he passed. He did not survive the attack by the Nazgûl.”
Calariel brought Legolas’ head against her stomach and held him as though to protect him from this disheartening news. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. After a few moments of silence, she asked, “What of the ones who marched to Mordor?”
“All I know is that Eomer was amongst them. The letters were written on the eve of their leaving, and it probably took a while for them to reach Mirkwood.”
Calariel sighed, feeling Legolas’ sorrow. “It might take the company just as long to reach the Black Gate as it took for word to reach you. They might be there as we speak.”
Legolas stood from the chair, and went to the wall upon which his bow and knives hung. He touched the curved wood of the bow that Folvar had given him after taking him to Rohan as an elfling. “Eomer should not be in Mordor. With Théoden dead, the throne will have passed on to him. He should not have had to risk his life nor his newly appointed position, but I know he went because there was no one else to do so.” He turned to Calariel, his brow furrowed with disappointment. “It should have been me. I should have been there. I should have gone with the Rohirrim to fight, and then maybe none of this would have happened. I would have protected the King. I would not have let Eowyn sneak off with the men, risking her life.”
“You were needed here, Legolas,” Calariel said. “The time had come for you to claim what was rightfully yours.”
“And for what,” he said harshly, “to bury my father… to clean up the mess left behind? Maybe all of this could have waited. Maybe I should have gone to fight with my friends… my brothers in arms, those who protected me when all I had known was lost. And now they have lost their King, as well as many of their kinsmen.”
“And they still have a country to call home,” Calariel answered in a raised tone. “You had none, not until you came back. This is your home now. This has always been your home. Do not forget about those who fought and died aiding you on this quest. They did it because they believed Mirkwood could be taken back, and there was only one who could claim it as theirs… you, Legolas. You gave back to Rohan, but now it is time for you to do something for yourself.” Calariel composed herself and went to Legolas, laying her head on his shoulder, her hand wrapping around his arm. “None of this would have happened if it weren’t for you. You raised an army and righted a wrong. You should be content because you are home.”
Legolas closed his eyes and nuzzled his cheek against the top of her head. “I am sorry. I don’t mean to sound despaired. My heart is aching right now, and I speak out of emotion. Théoden wasn’t’ just the King of Rohan. He was like a father to me. He gave me his home, his teachings. He was there for a lot of important parts of my maturing.”
Calariel lifted her head and kissed his cheek. “I understand Théoden was important to you. Of course you feel slighted. You have every right to grieve his death.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to spend some time with Gellír… alone. I would know all that I can about these events and what led up to them,” he said sweetly.
“Go on. There’s plenty for me to do anyways. I’ll see you for the evening meal then?”
Legolas nodded and smiled. “I love you.”
Calariel cupped her hand behind his ear. “And I love you.”
Legolas went to the kitchens, where he found young Gellír feasting on sweet rolls, stuffing as many as he could fit into his mouth. The elf smiled to himself. The boy was not such a boy any longer. He had grown, perhaps more than he should have for one so young, but wartime had a way of making people age before their time. In just a few short years, Gellír would be of an age when he could begin his training in the Rohirrim army, if he chose to take that path. Legolas remembered his first year. Eomer and Théodred had been his mentors, in more than just fighting, he thought joyfully to himself. Perhaps Gellír would pursue his career as a messenger. Eowyn had used his talents in the past, when the days had grown dark and she needed someone quick and stealthy to run messages to Eomer in Aldburg… when not much got past the ever-watchful eye of Gríma Wormtongue. And here the boy was again, sent upon another mission to deliver important news.
“You know there is plenty more where those came from,” Legolas said, announcing his arrival.
Gellír turned to him, eyes wide and cheeks puffed like a chipmunk collecting his winter stores. He quickly chewed and swallowed what he could. “They are just so good. We don’t have anything this tasty in Edoras.”
Legolas ruffled the boy’s hair and took a seat next to Gellír. Then he picked up a roll and took a bite, savoring its buttery sweetness. “Mmm, you’re right. Rohan is not known for its confections. Meat and ale perhaps, but not such delectable treats.”
They ate in silence until they had their fill. Then Legolas started the conversation. “How is it you obtained the letters from Lady Eowyn if she is in Minas Tirith?”
“Oh,” Gellír started eagerly, “she sent many letters of correspondence to Edoras informing them of the happenings in Gondor. These were sent with special instructions to be sent to you, and she asked that I be the one to deliver them.”
“And you came alone?” Legolas asked curiously.
Gellír nodded, still chewing and swallowing the last bite of food, “I always work alone. ‘Tis the life of a messenger.” He took a long drink from his cup, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and set the mug down. His eyes stayed focused on the pewter mug, as though lost in thought, a shadow of mournfulness passing over his boyish face. “We lost so many. A lot of the King’s men are gone now.”
“Yes, I know,” Legolas said softly. “No one has been spared from sorrow in this war.”
“I’m worried about Edoras, Legolas. What will become of our city now that King Théoden is gone… and Théodred? Eomer and Lady Eowyn are in Gondor, and Eomer is marching in the final battle. I’ve heard talk about it. They go to face the ruler of the evil. He has dark magic. How will mortal men survive against something so strong?”
“Because they have hope in their hearts, and love for their country and their people,” Legolas responded quickly. “And you needn’t worry for Edoras. Eomer will come home. He’ll take up the throne, and you will see what a strong and exceptional king he will make.”
Gellír twisted his hands together nervously, “I… I wish you would come back to Rohan.”
“I can’t.”
“I know,” Gellír whispered solemnly. “I just wanted you to know.”
Legolas patted the boys back. “Come on. I’ll show you around my new home. You can meet some more of the elves, and perhaps later we’ll hear their storytelling.”
Gellír stayed for a few more days, until he was well rested and ready to journey back to Rohan. Calariel insisted that the boy have an escort, against Gellír’s insistence that messengers were used to traveling alone. Legolas agreed with Calariel, but he did not let on to Gellír, only saying that women of any race were overly concerned. He would miss the boy. Having him here brought back so many happy memories, and those were precious to him now. But there was work to do, and it was time to get back into focus.
* * *
Time passed on, and word finally reached Mirkwood of the successful battle against Mordor. Sauron had been overthrown and destroyed, as well as his tower, his land, his armies and the Nazgûl. All of Legolas’ friends that marched to the Black Gates, had made it back safely. A new age was approaching quickly, an age that would belong to Men, as more elves decided to sail into the West. Not for Mirkwood, though. It was a land on the verge of rebirth, and it needed the attention of the elves.
Inside the city, much had changed. The elves sent word out to Lake Town that they were interested in resuming trade. The answer was promising, for Lake Town agreed to send a barterer to see what the newly rising Mirkwood had to offer, which wasn’t much to start with. But at least there was a line of communication open again. The cleansing was coming along nicely, and the caverns were coming to life again. The replanting was a success, and Calariel was proud of her work. The newly replanted saplings took well to the soil, and the salvageable plants and trees were looking healthier with every day that passed.
She was with Legolas on this particular morning, standing within the grand throne room. Legolas was looking at the extravagant throne that sat alone upon the dais. It was very large, almost comical in size. Legolas thought that he and Calariel could share the seat comfortably.
“You know it was grown, not carved, this throne,” he commented.
“What do you mean, ‘grown’,” she asked.
“This is a strangler tree. They are common in dark forests where light is scarce. It starts out as a seed and attaches to a host tree. Then the roots grow downward, eventually enveloping its host, while the top of the tree reaches towards the canopy where there is more light. This one had been manipulated by the elves to take the shape of a chair. When it reached its desired shape, it was hewn down, polished, preserved, and placed here.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Calariel said as she looked at the odd throne. It looked as though it could come back to life and start growing again. The seat had been cushioned, and the back had a unique weaving affect. That part resembled a chair, but the rest looked like the tree it had been cut from, its gnarled branches reaching out in unusual directions. It was the only thing on the dais, but it took up most of the space.
“I think I am not ready for this,” Legolas whispered.
“It is a big responsibility, but I can think of no one more than ready for the position,” Calariel insured him.
“There is something I must do before I take this throne.” He turned to her, slipping his arms around her waist, and kissed her. “I need to speak with your father… about us. I’ll not take up the seat of Mirkwood until I have his permission. What do you think he will do?”
“He’ll be reluctant. He’ll think that history repeats itself, and relive those days he shared with your mother… and the day that he lost her to your father. He’ll think that he is losing his daughter to another arrogant king.”
“Perhaps honesty is not what I need at the moment,” Legolas replied, and Calariel laughed.
“But no matter what he says or does, it was my decision to come to Mirkwood. It is my heart to give, and I have given it to you.”
“As well, I have given mine to you,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.
“So tell me this, if you meet with my father and he refuses, will you give my heart back? Will you take yours from me?”
“That I cannot do,” he answered.
“And neither can I.” Calariel fondled his blond braid between her fingers.
“No matter what happens, you will be mine.” He kissed her thoroughly, holding her against him, feeling their oneness.
Legolas released her, and they looked longingly into each other’s eyes. Then Calariel reached into the pocket of her skirt and revealed a roll of parchment, handing it to him. “This came for you early this morning, by messenger… from Lothlórien.”
Legolas took the small scroll, but he did not open it right away. Instead, he pondered what it contained, and whom it was from. “Only a few months since the reclaiming, and already Lothlórien calls.” He breathed a heavy sigh and unrolled the note, reading the simple message. Then he walked to a nearby table, smiled cynically, and dropped the parchment into an empty vase.
“What is it?” Calariel asked curiously.
“A visit from Lord Celeborn, no doubt coming to berate me about something, and I’ve not even accepted the crown yet,” Legolas complained.
“He probably comes to see how we fare,” Calariel guessed.
“He probably comes to take all the elves back to Lothlórien and leave me with no one.”
“You have me,” she smiled.
He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Maybe that is all I need.”
She kissed him and unwrapped herself from his hold. “Lord Celeborn, no matter how you perceive him, is fair and just. He’ll not dismiss anyone, especially if they want to be here in the first place. He knows that you need settlers who will work the land, and although we have made many accomplishments, so much was damaged that I’m not sure we will see it fully restored before the last ship sails for Valinor.”
“I promise you that we will see some part of the forest put right, bursting with green leaves and ferns, and smelling of fresh air like that of a clean spring day,” he said dreamily.
“Do you think we will always live in the caverns as we do now?” she asked.
“I hadn’t given it much thought, but I guess we don’t have to. There is no reason to hide underground any longer. And you probably prefer to live within the trees, though that might be difficult here. Most of the older trees that could have supported a colony were destroyed.”
“It’s alright, Legolas. I don’t care where we live, but I do miss sitting in the boughs of a great mallorn and watching the stars pass in the night.”
“Then you shall have your loft, my lady,” Legolas said with a formal bow. His eye caught sight of the rolled parchment sticking out of the top of the vase, and his contentment turned to apprehension. “Just as soon as I find out the meaning of Lord Celeborn’s visit.”
* * *
The next few weeks were hectic, to say the least, as everyone prepared for Lord Celeborn’s visit. The elves were proud of what they accomplished so far, and no one was more excited than Calariel. She was anxious to show Lord Celeborn all that they had done to begin rejuvenating the forest, and she played a major role in those achievements. She hoped that Celeborn would share with her father, all of the ways she had been helpful and resourceful. It just might soften him up a bit when the time came for Legolas to speak to him. Túrdir was known for holding his grudges, even for those who were not directly involved.
Legolas had made sure accommodations were favorable for someone of Celeborn’s standing. Used to the comforts of the trees, he wasn’t sure how the Noldo would feel in a cave. Legolas didn’t like to think of his home as such, but there was no other way to describe Thranduil’s halls.
Gimli had told Legolas how uncomfortable Lothlórien was to receive a dwarf among their community, even temporarily. The caverns had been constructed by the skillful hands of the dwarfs, and they themselves lived in very much the same conditions as the Mirkwood elves. Celeborn might find it offensive that no other means of living would be offered, but the forest was not accommodating for tree dwelling just yet. And why did it matter so much, Legolas asked himself. Celeborn hadn’t gone out of his way to see that arrangements were made for Legolas to live underground or under thatched roof — as he was accustomed to. But he did not want to be unwelcoming, and that’s what he strived for. Anyways, how could Celeborn feel unwelcomed in a place that was inhabited by his own people?
A few days later, there was excitement radiating from Mirkwood, as Lord Celeborn and his small entourage of courtiers arrived promptly as expected. The gates were thrown wide, welcoming the silver haired Noldo, decked in raiment of white and gold. He and his company illuminated the forest with their presence. Legolas, even as soon to be king of Mirkwood, couldn’t help but feel beneath the nobility of this Eldar of Arda. This was not just the Lord of Lothlórien. Celeborn was family, he reminded himself, linked by the blood of his mother. There should not be such separation between them, but there had been, and Legolas was sure that there still was.
Legolas was standing next to the grand throne when Celeborn entered. He bowed, hand over heart as was appropriate, as the elf lord advanced. Celeborn nodded and then bowed, but his vision instantly went to the greatness of the large room.
“Have you not been within Thranduil’s halls before?” Legolas asked, his voice a smooth echo.
“I’m afraid I was never invited,” Celeborn said, his hand reaching out of his white robe to feel the smooth coolness of a stone column.
Neither were you invited this time, Legolas thought to himself, but he smiled nonetheless. “This was… is,” he corrected himself, “the Great Throne Room where my father greeted his visitors.”
Celeborn continued to look around the room, noting the fact that everything within was overly large or brightly colored, from vases to murals to the king’s throne itself. “Your father was a bit of an eccentric.”
Legolas wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult, but he made no answering remarks, and continued with the greetings. “We are honored to have you with us, Lord Celeborn. Many of the elves have been anxiously awaiting your arrival. I hope you find the rebuilding satisfactory. We have worked hard, and still there is much to do, but what we have accomplished so far has been overwhelmingly time consuming.”
“I imagine it has been,” Celeborn agreed, “Which is partly the reason for my visit.”
“My lord?” Legolas inquired.
Celeborn smiled, thin lipped, and continued, “We’ll speak of that later. First, I would have you give me a tour of the caverns. I have always wanted to see your father’s home in all its splendor.”
Legolas noted how he called it his father’s home. “It is my home now, and that of the elves who wish to reside here. We’ll be making changes in the future, changes that will bring Mirkwood into the light of the new age.
“Very good,” Celeborn said, and he walked to one of the many hallways that led from the grand room. “Tell me, for I am curious. Did you find your father’s treasure room? And has it been deprived of its wealth?”
“I don’t see why that is of your concern,” Legolas responded a bit defensively.
“My wife would like to know,” Celeborn said dryly.
Legolas hesitated before he answered. “Come see for yourself, if you’d like.”
Celeborn nodded and Legolas led the way to the well hidden room. They walked through the corridors, turning this way and that, rounding one corner and staying straight at the next crossway. It was meant to be difficult to find and it was. Celeborn had lost all meaning of direction in the underground world of Mirkwood. Legolas knew his way by instinct and he silently relished the advantage he held over his uncle.
Finally, they came to a dead end, and Legolas traced his finger over an invisible rune on the stone wall. It was not a wall at all, but a door that lifted upwards like the iron gate of a portcullis. Celeborn watched with amazement. “Ingenious design,” he remarked.
“You should see the wine cellars, or better yet, the dungeons,” said Legolas, raising a quizzical brow.
Celeborn’s eyes narrowed, but relaxed when he saw the humor on his nephew’s countenance. “I think I’ll not venture too far from the surface.”
“Wise choice,” Legolas smiled. Then he gestured for Celeborn to enter the treasure room.
Inside were wooden chests with elvish runes engraved upon them. Shelves lined the walls, housing a multitude of gold and silver plates and goblets, jeweled daggers, mithril brooches, rings, necklaces and other pieces of jewelry. There was so much to see, the eye could not take it all in. And in the middle of the extravagant room, was a stone pedestal with a single silver circlet, designed very much like the wreath of berries. The leaves and vines were made of the precious metal, mithril, and the berries were rubies.
Celeborn observed it with awe, “I am surprised to find the king’s crown. I thought surely it would have been stolen.”
“My father did not usually wear it, only for gallant affairs and such. He considered himself one of the people, not ruler of the people,” Legolas informed him.
“Galadriel said I would find it here, but I was doubtful. This was the reason I wanted to see the room. Your coronation depended upon whether the circlet was still here or whether a new one should be made.”
“Coronation?” Legolas asked.
“You do want to be crowned King, do you not?” Celeborn asked.
“Yes, but I thought—”
“Usually, the outgoing King would crown the new, but since your father is no longer with us, that privilege goes to the next surviving kinsman.” Celeborn paused and watched Legolas’ face turn to that of concern. “That would be me, it seems.”
“Oh,” Legolas said. He had no other response to the news.
“I must also make the determination whether or not the chosen king is worthy of his new title.”
More tests to be put to, Legolas thought uneasily. What would Celeborn have in mind for him?
“Legolas, I would like to spend a few days amongst the others, seeing what has been done and what has yet to be accomplished. Then, I would like to take a ride out to a certain place.”
Legolas regarded him curiously, but asked no questions, “That can be arranged, I’m sure. If you tell me where you plan to go–”
“I know exactly where I am going,” Celeborn interjected with his usual haughtiness. Then he turned to Legolas. “And you shall go with me on this excursion.”
“Very well, I’ll have the guards prepared to join us whenever you are ready.” Legolas always took his two main guards with him whenever he traveled outside of Mirkwood. Though most of the enemy had been killed or had escaped to places unknown, there was always the chance that trouble was lurking.
“I’ll have it be just you and I this time… if you don’t mind. I have… business to discuss.”
“Can we not discuss business here, over a glass of wine?” Legolas asked.
“No,” Celeborn answered tersely.
He wasn’t sure what the elf lord had in store, but he could see there was no choice about it. “Very well. Then I shall be ready to leave in a few days.”
“Excellent,” Celeborn grinned.
* * *
As they rode out to Celeborn’s desired meeting place, Legolas explained the eventual layout for the plans of additional homes outside of the gates. It was further from the city where the forest hadn’t been erased. Building materials were abundant, as well as fresh water supplied by a nearby stream. Plans for gardens were in place, and some of the canopy would be thinned to allow light to reach the forest floor. Legolas explained how they hoped to become as self-sufficient as possible, much more than Mirkwood had been before its destruction.
“And we already have a place prepared for a vineyard, where we will grow grapes to make the finest wine in the northern regions of Middle-earth. It will be a new vintage of Rhovanion wine, one we hope will become our main resource for trade. Whatever we can’t make, grow or hunt, we will obtain from the outside. Connections have already been renewed with Lake Town, and the Beornings and Woodsmen have already made long term agreements with Mirkwood.”
They’d been riding for a while, Legolas noticed, and he had kept the conversation going on his own. Celeborn did not say much, and he wondered why. “Do you not agree with the work or the changes we have made?”
“Not at all. I think what you have accomplished in such a short amount of time is astounding,” Celeborn answered.
“You have given no input, good or bad, and I cannot help but feel you still question my abilities.”
They rode side by side, and Celeborn gave Legolas a sidelong glance, “I question everything. That is my duty.”
“But you do not trust me, is that it?” Legolas had tried over the past few days not to get himself involved in an argument with his uncle. After all, it was Celeborn’s final say whether there would be a coronation soon, and it would not do to complicate things. Legolas thought that might have been the reason for his visit, and the other elves were anxious to see him crowned as well. But he could feel the tension building ever since Celeborn’s arrival, and an altercation seemed unavoidable. This was their usual habit, anyways.
“Perhaps the reason for my hesitation is because I do not know you very well, and you are so young yet, Legolas. Do you realize that no one prior to their majority has held such a high office? And your background is so… eclectic; Mirkwood, Woodsmen, Beornings and Rohirrim. You have lived amongst humans for most of your life. You have adapted to their customs to the point that you forget your elvish heritage.”
“I have never forgotten my elvish heritage,” Legolas interrupted.
“The Atani and the Eldar abide by different rules. You have somehow merged the two and have lived by your own standards. You cannot expect others to do the same,” Celeborn countered.
“I never said I wanted to enforce the customs or laws of Men upon the elves. And if my rearing has been an assimilation of the two different cultures, then I am better for it.”
Celeborn obviously did not like confrontation, but neither was he willing to back down. His usually fair skin was tinging red with anger. “These are my people that have come to help you, who have decided to settle and make Mirkwood their home.”
“If they come to live in Mirkwood, then they are not your people any longer. You have no claim over them.” Legolas argued.
“They are my kinsmen,” Celeborn said in a raised tone of voice. “I will feel responsible for them until they sail.”
Legolas glared at Celeborn from Arod’s back, “That’s it, isn’t it. Once they leave Lothlórien and settle in Mirkwood you are no longer their lord, and it eats away at your conscience to know that some of your kinsmen, the Noldor, will be under my rule, a Sinda, a descendant of the Teleri, those who never stepped foot in Valinor… Elves of the Twilight, isn’t that what you called us?”
Celeborn stopped his horse. “You are Thranduil’s son, and whether you know it or not, you are a lot like him… reckless, quick to judgment.” He looked Legolas square in the eyes. “Taking something precious from another.” He jumped down and looked out over the land, for they had stopped upon a hill that was high enough to break free of the trees. His eyes narrowed against the breeze that struck his face, silver hair flowing out behind him, robes flapping like the wings of a bird.
Legolas was irritated by that last sentence, and he knew Celeborn spoke of Calariel. “I did not force her to do anything she hadn’t already set her mind to doing.”
Celeborn ignored him. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, calming himself. Then he raised his hands, gesturing to the landscape surrounding them. “We are here,” he said calmly, as though they had never been arguing.
Legolas was not as quick to allay his irritability. He glared at Celeborn before he looked around at the vast forest, reluctantly giving up the dispute. “And where is here?”
“This is the point of the tri-realms. From here, you can see how much of the forest is yours. It is a lot of land to govern, don’t you think?”
Legolas stared out over the land in amazement. “I never realized how much there was.”
“Which is why I have come with an offer.” Celeborn turned to Legolas, gaining his attention. “I propose that the Rhovanion be divided more evenly, giving more land to the Woodsmen and the Beornings, and in the meantime, reducing the amount of land that you must tend.”
It was actually a good offer. Legolas had often wondered how the elves would be able to monitor the vacant sections of Mirkwood. The last thing he wanted was for the enemy to regroup and fortify in his own land. But by dividing the three realms more evenly, it could be patrolled much easier.
“I am fine with that offer. I would gladly give the Woodsmen and Beornings more land and take less for myself,” he replied honestly.
“Good,” Celeborn said, but Legolas felt there was more. He’d noticed in the past, especially while immersed in an argument, the thinning of the elf lord’s lips, and a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth when he had more to say… just as he was effectively doing now.
“And you brought me all the way out here to make me an offer that you undoubtedly knew I would accept?” Legolas asked suspiciously.
Celeborn looked like he was struggling with himself, as though he knew something that he was trying to avoid telling Legolas about.
“Is there something more, Lord Celeborn?” he asked.
Celeborn sighed, “As you know, Aragorn is heir of Gondor. He has accepted his role, and his coronation is to commence.”
“That is good news, is it not?”
Celeborn nodded, “All the realms are asked to send representatives to the celebration. You will need to choose a small party to make the long journey to Gondor.”
“I will go myself,” Legolas said happily. He would not miss a chance to see his friends again, or Eomer and Eowyn. Celeborn was still confusing him though. “Why does it seem that this is a problem?”
“It would not be a problem had I not had a message for you from the Lady Galadriel. It’s not so much a message, but a warning, and you should think long and hard before you decide to go to Gondor,” Celeborn said seriously. “There is a lot at stake, and others will be affected by your choices.”
If Galadriel was sending a message/warning, or whatever it was, then it could only mean that she had seen something in her mirror. “What is it?” Legolas asked cautiously. “What does she foresee?”
“If you go to Gondor, you will have a restless heart upon your return home. You will not sit easily upon your throne. Because of this, I am delaying your own coronation until you return to Mirkwood.”
“I don’t understand,” Legolas replied to the warning. “Why would I not feel comfortable in my own home? And what does Gondor have to do with it?”
“I cannot answer these questions. All I can do is give you her advice. The decision is yours, whether you will go or send someone in your place.” Celeborn returned to his horse, and took something from his bag. It was a wooden box, about the size of a book, but deeper. It was carved from white wood and had the symbol of the Two Trees engraved into the lid. Celeborn came back to Legolas, and handed him the box. “This is Galadriel’s gift to you.”
Legolas opened it, finding soil inside that smelled fresh like dirt newly touched by rain.
Celeborn explained, “This is soil from Galadriel’s garden, moistened by water from Lothlórien’s healing pools. The water and the earth is the reason why the mallorn trees thrive there and nowhere else in Middle-earth. Use it sparingly, and your own forest will rapidly become lush and green once again, as it was in years past. And along with the soil and the expedited growth of the trees comes a new name for your woodland. From this point on, Mirkwood is no more. It will now be known as Eryn Lasgalen, the Wood of Greenleaves.”
Legolas closed the lid and bowed his head, “Thank you, Lord Celeborn, and to Lady Galadriel also.” He looked out over the forest, his eyes moistening. “My father and mother are no doubt hearing this too. They would be relieved to know that the shadow has finally lifted. I know it’s what they wanted most of all, to live in the light and love each other eternally.”
Celeborn stood beside Legolas. “I may not have agreed with your father, but I know he loved my sister. And I know she was happy with him.” He gave Legolas his attention. “I hope you find something just as true and pure with Calariel as your parents found within each other.”
“I love her and she loves me,” Legolas simply said. “For us, that’s all that matters.”
Celeborn turned to the landscape again, “Remember what you have just said, and take it into consideration when you make your choice about going to Gondor.”
Legolas furrowed his brow as he regarded Celeborn, still unsure of his meaning or of the warning from Galadriel. “I will,” he agreed.
- 40
- 41
- 42
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Last Wood Elf