"I cannot raise a child!" Thranduil said aghast. "What she needs is a mother and a father- a proper family," he sighed.
"Maybe she has found them in you..."
It was said that after the death of his Queen, the Elven king became bitter and cold. Everyo...
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Those people who were close to him never saw the mask slip. It had always been there since the death of Elerien, Queen of Eryn Galen in the form of a cold and stoic expression on his face. Even his son believed that his once kind and loving father was lost forever. But it wasn't so. Buried deep within those cold stone walls were immeasurable grief and a longing to be his former self which turned each day into a war within him, to either submit to grief or to resist. Besides, he was no ordinary elf, but the Elven-king. He had a duty to his people.
In the end, the sense of duty won as he resolved to remain behind, to keep his people and kingdom safe until there came a time when he is no longer needed to do so. As months and years passed by, this decision became harder to live by. The very air in his chambers felt suffocating. That was when Thranduil Oropherion, King of Eryn Galen, found himself mounting his elk and dashing through the forest like the wild spirit he was in his youth, leaving all the sense of duty and protocol behind.
He closed his eyes and felt the kiss of cold winds on his face. The simple tunic he wore gave little protection from the chilly air. It didn't matter where the elk was carrying him off to as he was a trusted friend for a very long time. Every inch of the former Greenwood was just as familiar to Thranduil as the palm of his hand- thanks to all the adventures of his younger days. As they ventured further into the forest, he felt something in the air give off a sense of foreboding. This place... Why did you take me here?
The elk too, must have felt that something was odd. The rest of the journey was careful. A feeble sound, barely distinguishable even for his trained ears, echoed through the forest. He proceeded, sword drawn. The sound led him to the station of border patrols. Soon he met the small bundle which caused the noise.
"We found the child in the forest this morning, your Majesty. No orcs have been spotted near our borders so far, my lord. But the child's parents were lying dead when we found them, pierced by Orc arrows. We were coming to report this to you," said Findir, their leader.
Thranduil merely nodded. He was led to where the bodies were laid. Both the man and woman were fairly young. But he knew that they were more than that, for their slightly pointed ears screamed peredhil (Half-Elf).
"I didn't know that there were peredhil living in my kingdom", he boomed.
"We believe they are from beyond our borders, my lord."
"And what makes you think so?"
"There are signs of a possible fight at the border, my lord. They were running away with the child."
A deep furrow formed between his brows. Whatever ill thoughts that came rushing into his mind were drained by the child's wailing. Thranduil watched as almost all the guards tried to pacify the child, but to no avail. Even without him realizing it, his arms slowly moved towards the tiny bundle, which earned him an incredulous look from the guard holding her. For a few moments, Thranduil held the child in his arms, fighting the onslaught of memories that rushed in. The day he held his son for the first time... The way his tiny fingers firmly held his own... All the nights he sang Legolas to sleep...
Something cold and frail curled around his fingers. Two little glassy orbs looked up at him expectantly; the silver flecks in the tiny green eyes sparkled. He sang, in his baritone voice, the same song that put the often stubborn Legolas to sleep. The very song that his mother used to sing when he was a child. The song that brought peace and slumber to all the nights when the memories of Doriath haunted his dreams. The tiny eyelids drooped as weariness crept in. As he tried to return her to the guard, something tugged at his hair for the child had a lock of his hair firmly held in one hand, and his forefinger in the other one. Trying to remove her woke her from the nap, which resulted in an even louder cry. Finally, when he returned to the palace, those who saw him gaped at the sight of their king holding a baby clinging onto his hair and tunic.
Notes
Eryn Galen- 'Greenwood'
Doriath - Elven realm of the Sindar elves and was destroyed by Noldor elves in the First Age. Thranduil was born there.
So, that was our first chapter. How was it? Feel free to comment.
