Author’s Notes: This is possibly the most difficult chapter I have ever tackled, mostly because it can go so many different ways, and is one of the defining points in the story. I think I’ve written about six different versions of the throne room scene, and I owe this depiction of Thranduil to Coriel, who bravely read a draft a year ago and changed my perception of the King of Mirkwood. Many thanks, sweets, and also to Lady Aranel, for that initial feedback.

Thank you to elliska67 and Sulriel of the SoA group for helping me with some particularly tricky phrasing.

Dreamflower, I pray that you and your family remain safe, and thank you for letting me use the titles from ‘A New Reckoning’.

Chapter IV: The Prince and his Dwarf

“In a great cave some miles within the edge of Mirkwood on its eastern side there lived this time their greatest king..”
- Flies and Spiders, The Hobbit

Despite the title that proclaimed my friend as the son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood in all the official records, one would never be able to differentiate him from other Elves at  first sigh. Perhaps a very observant mortal would note a quiet dignity in his carriage, or the promise of strength in his keen eyes, but otherwise he was indistinguishable, fair as the rest of his Fair Folk, but nothing remarkable.

Through the Quest and the ensuing journey, I had come to know this Wood-Elf from besieged Mirkwood. In defense of those he holds dear, he can become a fell warrior, whose fierce gaze can strike fear into the hearts of foes swifter than any Dwarven battle-cry; but oft times he is what a certain Gamgee once described as “light-hearted and merry at the slightest provocation, with a laugh as sweet as a drop of sunlight”. I have seen him in grief, not just after Gandalf’s fall in Khazad-dum but in the wake of every battle, mourning even the black bloodstains. Even before the sea-longing, he suffered spells of reclusive silence, and we let him be.

I thought it was merely his nature. Whereas some figures- Aragorn, to name one- had been destined from birth to claim his heritage; others- and I would know- were not meant to follow in their father’s footsteps. Legolas had never shown any inclination to assume command, nor had I ever witnessed any of that power and charisma that the Elf-lords I encountered in Rivendell and Lorien emanated.  He is the youngest son of Thranduil, and had confessed to being uncomfortable with being addressed with the title ‘Prince’. He is a carefree creature, ever in love with the green and growing world, with no desire for power or wealth.

Perhaps that is why Elrond chose him, above the great lords of his own household. And as thankful as I am to have met him, I wish now that he had been allowed to preserve his unique innocence.

~*~

There were no guards outside the Gate, and Legolas and Gimli crossed the bridge unchallenged. But Legolas pointed out two hidden slits in the stone, and explained that there would be guards within who could see- and, if necessary, shoot- all who approached the Gate. He then whispered something in his native tongue, and the ancient structure swung outwards slowly with barely a creak, for such was the stone-work of the Dwarves that their mechanisms functioned well long after the secret of their building had been lost.

Stationed within were four guards with tall spears, on either side of the entrance. They appeared, at first, surprised that the Gate had opened, then glared suspiciously at the pair and lowered their weapons to bar their way. But three of them recognized Legolas, and their eyes widened in surprise, but they bid their remaining comrade to raise his weapon. Legolas silently nodded his thanks, and strode determinedly onwards, Gimli scurrying in his wake. As they passed, the Dwarf saw one Elven expression- a member of the three who had identified his companion- turn from shock to bitter anger. Suddenly it dawned on him fully that he was entering a wholly Elven dwelling, and doubtless there would be Elves here burdened with the old prejudices against his Race.

As they moved swiftly down the winding passageways, Gimli was puzzled to detect a growing fear in his friend, instead of the relief and elation he had expected. Whatever emotions accosted him from within, however, the Elf led them confidently down the various hallways leading to the heart of Thranduil’s seat of power. Even Gimli was impressed by the size and complexity of the labyrinth of passages carved into the Mountain. He wondered, though, if Legolas had deliberately chosen a less-used route, for they encountered only a dozen Elves along the way, all of whose attention was drawn more to a Dwarf passing through their halls. From the distinctly suspicious and sometimes hostile looks they cast his way, Gimli surmised that perhaps they thought him some prisoner or caught trespasser.

Despite being on the verge of jogging in order to keep up with the longer strides of his companion, Gimli still managed to spare some attention on the architecture of Thranduil’s threshold. Along the outer passages the walls were mostly bare and plain, but the further in they traveled the more detailed the decorations on the stone walls became. There were even carvings on the ceiling; solid rock patiently chiseled and shaped to create a realistic grey canopy overhead. Precious gems that reflected the torchlight along the walls were used in the gaps between the carved stone leaves, so that one could believe that he was gazing up at the night sky through the branches of the forest. Rich tapestries depicted hunts in the forest, the white dear reminding Gimli of his father and Bilbo’s stories.

Now that he was inside an underground structure, Gimli felt a sudden pang for home, such as he had not felt since he had left the Lonely Mountain to journey to Rivendell with his father. Home was calling him, now only a matter of leagues away.

So engrossed was he in his sudden spate of homesickness that he bumped lightly into Legolas- and risked being pierced in the eye with one end of his Lorien-made bow- when the Elf stopped in front of a particularly grand set of double-doors. The two guards posted on either side of the door scrutinized them, but they did not seem surprised to see them. Doubtless word had gotten ahead from the guards at the Gate, and they were expected.

“I apologise on behalf of my people for not giving you a warmer welcome, Gimli,” Legolas suddenly spoke, his voice quiet as his eyes stared at the door. Once again Gimli wondered at his friend’s anxiety.

“It has hardly been a year filled with warm welcomes, Legolas,” Gimli replied, resisting the urge to reach up and pat the Elf comfortingly on the shoulder. “We have gone through worse. Whatever business transpires here, let it be done with.” For the Dwarf was beginning to suspect that there was more to the situation than he had been made aware of. He thought back to Legolas’ insistence that they wait for spring before setting home, and his discomfort at being addressed with what should be his rightful title.

Legolas nodded. Seeming to interpret this for a signal, the two Guards stepped forwards and pushed the large doors open.

On a dais at the end of the large hall within, Gimli saw first the tall figure seated on a chair of carven wood, his right hand gripping a carven staff of oak. On his head rested a crown of woodland flowers, for it was spring. As the doors opened further, Gimli saw that the throne room was filled with Elves, and a hush fell as all eyes turned towards them. Like before, he seemed to draw more attention than his Elven counter-part, and he sensed that quite a number of the gazes carried some measure of hostility. On the other hand, Thranduil, he noted, had eyes only for his son.

Together Elf and Dwarf strode down the throne room, a great hall will pillars hewn out of the living stone, over a viridian cloth that marked a straight path from the doors to the dais upon which the King sat.  As they approached Thranduil, Gimli’s first impression of the King was that he hardly bore any resemblance to Legolas. He was of a more solid build, whereas Legolas was light and lithe of limb. His eyes were a light blue tinged with grey, and his features spoke more of stone and structures and treasure. For Thranduil was a true Sindar prince, taking after his father Oropher before him; so Legolas must have inherited his mother’s features, with a greater love for the open sky and free woods than any material wealth. Had not Legolas once mentioned that his mother is Silvan?

And so it was that Gimli began to understand a little of the conflict that had plagued his friend all his long life.

After a long heavy silence, in which all that could be heard were their footsteps erratic, the two achieved the foot of the dais. Legolas gazed at his father still sitting on his simple throne, then knelt on one knee on the first step, gesturing for Gimli to do likewise.

“Hail, Thranduil son of Oropher, King of Eryn Lasgalen-” for that was the name the Thranduil had given Mirkwood after the dissolution of the Shadow that darkened it.  “- I bring with me this day a Dwarf from the Lonely Mountain, one Gimli son of Gloin, whose father was once brought into this very hall. ‘Ere aught else happens I would ask that he be granted safe passage through your realm, He intends neither harm nor harbours any ill-will towards the people and the wood, and I vouch for his honour.”

This started a wave of whispering amongst the assembled Elves, but it was silenced by a steely glare from Thranduil that reminded Gimli strongly of his Elven friend. Returning his eyes to Legolas, Thranduil’s expression was strangely sad. “Your request I hereby grant, though on account of his father, whom you mentioned, I would have given Master Gimli safe passage and much hospitality nonetheless. But Legolas-“

“Lord Thranduil.” A loud voice interrupted, and a fair-haired Elf stood from where a line of three Elves were seated along the wall adjacent to the throne. Gimli was surprised that he had not noticed them before, and turned his head to see another three Elves seated along the opposite wall. From their attire and positions he deduced that they must act as advisors for Thranduil. “I believe that your son has rightly assessed his situation in this kingdom. You may recall that I have brought the matter before you several times during the length of his absence.”

The look that Thranduil leveled the Elf was so vehement that Gimli was surprised that the Elf was not struck dead by it. “You do not need to be questioning my memory next, Counselor Dînimlad. But can a father not have a moment to rejoice at seeing his son safely home?”

Dînimlad’s smile was lacking in mirth. “But here, my Lord, you stand as King, and before you kneels a warrior who could be charged with mutiny and cowardice, and a subject who has committed treason. See, he does not deny it.”

It was fortunate for the advisor that Legolas had earlier asked Gimli to stow away all of his weapons, for he had the greatest urge at that moment to fling one of his throwing-axes at the Elf. Legolas, instead of defending himself from the accusations, instead turned to Gimli with a sharp whispered, “No!”

This earned a confused glance from Thranduil, but the King’s attention was focused on his advisor. “Dînimlad, I am sure you can recall my stance on the matter, especially considering the circumstances and eventual outcome? It is my judgment that Legolas left his duty to his people in order to taking up a greater and heavier responsibility, to all the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth, at the behest of Lord Elrond of Rivendell. In that task he succeeded, and thus brought much honour to our people and my House.” The proud words caused Legolas to look upon his father with great wonder and surprise, and Gimli was taken aback to see the threat of tears in his friend’s eyes.

“Be that as it may, Thranduil, you know the laws of our land. The fact that he is your son only compounds the severity of his offense.”

In his efforts to prevent himself from cutting in and meddling where he had no business, Gimli distracted himself by looking hard at Dînimlad. There was something very familiar about the Elf, as if he had seen him somewhere before. Perhaps he had journeyed to the Lonely Mountain at one time? He knew that his father often dealt with Thranduil’s advisors in minor matters of trade.

“The Captain of Arms has pardoned him for abandoning his post without leave. I forgive him for disobeying me. These charges are petty in the light of what he has achieved to earn them.” At this point Thranduil had gone to his feet.

“Petty? Would you, my Lord, use that word if you thought your son’s presence here could have averted much of the evil and damage that was inflicted upon our people? Long have you boasted of his prowess with the bow, yet he was not here when his people needed him most! You of all, Thranduil, should understand this grief! On behalf of all who suffered from his absence in the war, I name him a coward!”

An image of the guard at the Gate flashed through Gimli’s mind, and he realized that perhaps it was not only he who was unwelcome in Eryn Lasgalen. But I am stranger, he thought, and Legolas is an Elf returning home. Beside him, the object of his thoughts looked helpless and sad; his slender shoulders seemed to slumped as he watching the exchange. Gimli’s honest eyes saw his friend’s sorrow at bringing conflict to his very home, and a deeper guilt brought to the surface by Dînimlad’s words. But the counselor’s next words indicated that in his spiteful mood he had mistaken the expression for fear and vulnerability,

“Look at him, all of you! He is but a child! Do really believe, Thranduil, that he was thinking of duty when he went on a fool’s errand with Mithrandir and his witless halflings-“

But as much patience as dealing so often with an Elf had given him, Gimli was still a Dwarf, and for all their faults the children of Aulë were fiercely protective of those they considered kin and friends. “You shall address his Majesty as King Thranduil, Master Dînimlad,” Gimli thundered, his voice like a low ominous rumble that warned of an impending avalanche. “And you will ask for pardon for calling Gandalf a fool. I name you now a greater fool, for thinking Legolas a child.” He stamped towards the enraged Elf. Slender fingers brushing his back might have been Legolas reaching out belatedly to restrain him, but the wrath of a Dwarf was as dreadful and inescapable as a rockslide.

“Legolas of the Nine Walkers!” he bellowed, his voice bouncing off the walls. “Legolas of the Three Hunters! Warrior of Helm’s Deep! Warrior of the Pelennor! Warrior of the Morannon! Lord of Ithilien!” That last was a bit of quick improvisation; he almost winced at almost feeling sharp gaze boring through the back of his skull. “Nazgûl’s Bane!” He looked meaningfully at Thranduil. “Once more the House of Oropher stood before the Black Gates of Mordor to challenge Sauron.” The corner of the Elf-king’s lips nearly formed a small proud smile, and he nodded. Gimli turned his attention back to the advisor. “How dare you speak of him as if he were not standing before you!” he ended, wagging a finger at Dînimlad.

The advisor appeared to be so livid that Gimli subconsciously braced himself for an attack. “You insolent naugrim! I will not listen to a traitor’s pet argue on his be-“

“That is enough.”

At the voice of command, all the eyes in the room automatically swung back to Thranduil. But the Elvenking had not spoken, and instead stood staring at his youngest son, who had moved to stand behind Gimli.

The Dwarf forgot his ire as he looked upon the Elf that had accompanied him through all the perils of the Quest. It was as if Legolas had shed an outer guise, finally revealing the true form that he had kept hidden all this time. Gimli now realized that his friend actually stood taller than his father, and his eyes had deepened to the blue of the deep Sea that they both had come to dread. His glance openly carried the weight of his years on Middle-Earth, and though the count was less than that of most of the Elves present, Gimli knew that Legolas felt the passage of time far more keenly than others of his kind, and it marked him with much sorrow. Yet the sorrow, in turn, belied a hidden wisdom worthy of one of the Wise.  In body he still resembled a young Man in the prime of his youth, but with his great heritage now openly worn. His ageless countenance was noble and stern, and proud was his bearing without arrogance. Thus in that hour it seemed to Gimli that Legolas the Wood-Elf removed his humble mask to reveal beneath an Elf-lord out of the Eldar Days. For though Legolas was only the youngest son of Thranduil, in his veins ran still the blood of the ancient House of Elwë, once the High King of all the Sindar.

Such was his unwillingness before to lay claim to this heritage that it was only then, in order to defend a Dwarf he had come to befriend, that he finally allowed himself to grow to the full measure of his strength and power.

“Gimli of the Nine Walkers,” his gentle voice resonated through the hall, and coupled with his familiar tones was an underlying power that the Dwarf had never heard before. “Gimli of the Three Hunters. Warrior of Helm’s Deep. Warrior of the Pelennor. Warrior of the Morannon. Lord of the Glittering Caves of Aglarond.” Eyes twinkling, he laid a deceptively slender hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder. “Lockbearer. Never before have I stood with a brother-at-arms more faithful and fierce. Douse now your ire, mellon nin, lest you provoke these good Elves further.” His expression hardened, and he walked towards Dînimlad, who for the first time looked uncertain.

“You may besmirch my name as much as you wish, Counselor. But utter any word against my kin or friends, and I shall remove what pity I have left for thee.” In a quieter, but no less deadly voice that only those near the dais could have heard, Legolas added, “Remember that your grievance lies with me, and me alone.”

It was at that moment that Gimli remembered where he had seen the Counselor before. As if sensing the sudden change of his mood, Legolas returned to his side. “It is over, Gimli. Forgive him,” the Elf’s voice, soft once more, drifted down to his ears, though his lips did not appear to be moving. “He cannot let go of his anger and envy; for that I have only pity for him.”

Perhaps Thranduil had picked up his words, for his expression changed from disbelieving wonder to a confused frown. But he strode forth and clasped his son’s shoulder. “Legolas my youngest son has returned to us beyond hope,” he announced to the throne hall. “Our laws were written to ensure our protection from the Shadow in the time of Mirkwood. But now the darkness has passed, and if it took a slight breaking of that law to bring about Eryn Lasgalen, free as in the days of Greenwood, I give my pardon full willing. We have witnessed Counselor Dînimlad’s objections. Do any others oppose my judgement?”

A number of scattered hands rose into the air, and Gimli saw a shadow cross his friend’s fair face. But it seemed that a greater majority supported Thranduil, or else did not dare speak against him, and in the records it was stated that Legolas son of Thranduil was pardoned for his abandonment of duty and disobedience of the King’s orders, with only a minor contention against the sentence.

~*~

Legolas finally explained the situation to me later on, when we were alone in his chambers. As the bedrooms of the children of Thranduil had been ordered according to birth, the one after Legolas’ was a guestroom, and was naturally the one I was assigned.

It seems that Legolas had been sent to Rivendell because he was the ranking officer at the event of Gollum’s escape, and thus had the responsibility of reporting it to Lord Elrond. He had been ordered by Thranduil to finish this task as quickly as possible and return home to take up a command post, as the Elves of Mirkwood believed that the forces at Dol Guldur were growing stronger and preparing for an offensive against them. However, when Lord Elrond privately asked him if he was interested in representing the Elves in the Quest, he had accepted without asking leave of the Captain of Arms or his king, or even informing them of it, as the law required. As a son of the King he held the highest rank amongst the Mirkwood party that had journeyed to Rivendell, and thus none could gainsay his decision, though he kept it secret for as long as he could in case they tarried in Imladris long enough for a messenger to travel to and fro his home. Fortunately for the Fellowship, they departed long before the missive from Thranduil could arrive.

I suggested then that we should send Lord Elrond a small gift for leaving him to handle Thranduil’s response.

None can doubt that Legolas’ involvement in the Quest had been invaluable. But in the aftermath of war those who had suffered often seek a way to cast blame on others for their pain. The Elves earn their wisdom through their long years, but sometimes wisdom causes self-doubt, and with the tendency of the First-born to cling to the unchanging past, they easily become plagued with might-have-beens.

I doubt that Legolas will ever forgive himself for what he did in Rivendell. That is his way, to wish that he could rid the world of darkness and grief even beyond the scope of the Valar. He knows that his part in the Quest, whilst small, was necessary for its eventual success, yet in his heart he himself believes that he betrayed his people.

Perhaps that is what the Ring preyed upon in the shadows of his mind, and the thorn has imbedded itself too deeply into core of his very being. If this is so, then fear there will be no cure for him in Middle-Earth, even in the woods from whence he came.

~*~

“This audience is dismissed for the day.” Thrandui’s words caused the main doors to be opened, and the Elves filed out of the Hall, most talking in hushed whispers between small groups of twos and threes. The King turned to face Legolas, and for a long silent moment they stood gazing at each other, father and son. Legolas’ face had settled into that inscrutable mask Gimli had come to know well, appearing when the Elf wished to appear distant and detached; whilst Thranduil’s piercing eyes seemed to be attempting to see through it. Gimli stood quietly to one side of his friend, fighting the urge to fidget.

Now that he had time to process events, he felt a stab of annoyance that Legolas had withheld information from him. Again. Surely his friend had not expected Gimli to condemn him? At least the Dwarf would have been better prepared. Though he admitted that Legolas might have hoped that his deeds in the south would clear his name. Now he understood why his friend had been reluctant to reveal himself to any of his people before learning his father’s judgment.

The incident by itself was minor enough that Gimli could have shrugged it off. But it was only the latest in a series of small revelations which mounted up to one unavoidable fact: Legolas still did not trust him. In battle he trusted the Dwarf to guard his back, and he allowed Gimli to see his vulnerability when afflicted by the Sea-Longing because he had no other choice. Yet the Dwarf felt that, given the choice, Legolas would choose to keep information from him, especially when it concerned private matters.

Gimli understood that the Elf was not comfortable with being known too well by another, but it still stung that the Elf did not consider him worthy of his complete and unconditional trust, though he was not sure why the Elf’s trust had become so important to him.

That is what friendship entails, is it not? his mind asked. Trust.

Deciding that thinking too much on this at the moment would only fuel his anger, the Dwarf turned his attention to examining Thranduil as intently as the Elvenking was examining Legolas. Thranduil’s initial treatment of Gloin had given Gimli the impression that the Elf would be arrogant and suspicious, even though Gloin himself always spoke well of him. Gimli’s experience with Elves was still very limited, and Thranduil had had centuries to school his features so as not to betray his thoughts. But if Legolas was any reference, the Dwarf knew that his friend’s sire would be as equally complex as his son. Yet he detected a deep sorrow beneath the controlled exterior, and felt a pang in his heart at the thought of more grief awaiting his friend.

As If he finally gleaned something from his perusal of Legolas’ visage, Thranduil’s eyes softened, and some of the sadness that Gimli had sensed came to the surface. “You have much to tell me, my little one.” Gimli raised a bushy eyebrow whilst Legolas stiffened, but Thranduil appeared not notice their reactions. “But now, ‘ere you hear it from others, there is are some things you must know.” He faltered then, and glanced uncertainly at Gimli.

The Dwarf was more than willing to give them some time alone, but Legolas forestalled his departure by shaking his head and saying, “If he does not hear it, I shall tell him later. Better he stays and learns it also. I had not warned him of what might occur here, yet he spoke in my defense when I could not. I fear I have not been as forthcoming as I should be, and now I must make amends.” At the last statement he bowed his head towards the Dwarf. Gimli was pleasantly surprised by his words, and what burgeoning irritation he felt towards his friend faded.

Thranduil blinked, but said nothing, though something indefinable came to his eyes. With a gesture, he bade them to follow him through a back door of the throne room.

* underlined text has been copied from Barrels out of Bond, The Hobbit.

I know I’m taking some liberties with Legolas’ origins here, but seeing as Thranduil is a Sindar Elf, I hope that it’s not too large an assumption to make that they were related to Thingol in at least some distant way.