𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘:

Mellon: {Sindarin for} Friend

Ellon: {Sindarin for} Male elf

Istari: A small group of powerful wizards sent to Middle Earth to guide it away from destruction. (ex. Gandalf the Grey, Radagast the Brown, and Saruman the Wise)

Mirkwood: A elven woodland realm. It previously went by the name of Greenwood before the darkness settled in. (ex. King Thranduil and Prince Legolas)

Rivendell: Another elven kingdom, also goes by the name of Imladris and Hidden Valley. (ex. Lord Elrond and his daughter, Lady Arwen)

Lórien/Lothlórien: Oftentimes considered the most important elven kingdom and is home to the highest elves. (ex. Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn)

Clearing of Council: Secluded forest clearing of which the White Council meets in Lothlórien. This was created by me.

White Council: It currently consists of Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond, Saruman the Wise, and Gandalf the Grey, and occasionally Radagast the Brown). They discuss the most demanding matters of Middle Earth.

Siniath: An elf I created. He's a messenger of Lothlórien. His name is Sindarin for "news/tidings".

Ithilóth: A species of flower I created. A picture representing what I have pictured it to be is available at the top of the chapter. It's name is Sindarin for "Moon Flower". They are white in daylight, and glow in moonlight. They are extremely useful in Elvish medicine.

Orcs/Goblins/Overgrown Spiders: These are all evil, kinda stupid monsters.

Elvish appears in bold and italics.

{1} Nomination of the White Council

•∆•∆•∆•∆•∆•

"I was done being left on the shelf...

I wanted a story to tell."

•∆•∆•∆•∆•∆•

    Freedom can be a convoluted concept, especially for those who have never fully experienced it.

    Legolas Thranduillion, prince and sole heir to the elven kingdom of Mirkwood, had finally accepted the fact that he belonged to this category. In his millenniums of living, the ellon had sought out the one thing he truly desired—the one thing he always fell short of obtaining.

    For years, his father's commands and the loyalty Legolas felt that he owed his king had kept him restrained within the confines of Mirkwood. The small, nagging feeling Thranduil had planted in his son urged Legolas to live conscionably, which, in his eyes, was to offer his servitude to his birthplace eternally.

    When his life had encountered a drastic transformation, Legolas foolishly believed that he had finally caught his dreams. The events that had unfolded with the dwarves of Erebor had convinced the Woodland elf to wander beyond the constraints of Mirkwood, which he remained doing for nearly half a century.

    Though, as time wore on, a deeper understanding of freedom and life unraveled before the prince. He still felt binded to his upcoming duties as an elven heir, and never could bring himself to venturing too far away from Mirkwood. His days were spent slaying onslaughts of orcs, goblins, and abnormally sized spiders.

    The dream he always sought after remained just that. A dream, something he would always reach to the stars for but always fall short of. His fantasies of exploring all the lands of Middle Earth and learning more about the nature that surrounded him never came true.

    This ironically brings us to his current activities. The request for his aid in escorting his father to Lothlórien didn't remain unanswered. Obligation overruled anything else he felt. This had brought him to the outskirts of the Lothlórien forests, where he awaited the meeting to finish so he could accompany his father home.

Floral brushed against his kneeling figure, which was visible only to his keen Elven eyesight. What once shone with the radiance of the most luminescent stars was now masked by the very darkness that veiled the stars. Every plant that lasted around the elf reeked of illness.

    And it was the name Ithilóth, of which the delicate glowing flowers were called. They usually grew in bountiful quantities among the reaches of Lothlórien, swaying against crisp spring zephyrs. Only amidst the prolific soils of the elven kingdom would the flora prosper, and even then, when sown upon the richest lands of Middle Earth, would the headstrong herbage's reproduction be erratic. The ill-temper the Ithilóth possessed was commonly perceived as unsavory, even for the most consummate elves tasked with cultivation.

Though, in times of recent, darkness choked them at their stems, singed their petals, and withered their seeds. Their populations dwindled in a fashion much similarly to the surrounding vegetation. The flowers thrived on the light of the moon, which had grown shrouded by the evil that spread across the skies.

Legolas chuckled grimly, gazing at the dying flowers with a bittersweet stare. Both elf and flora longed for freedom, yet it was always dangled just slightly out of their grasp by evils that plagued the lands of Middle Earth.

"Naud bui man estel in cín amarth at i bor -o galadrim, shall cin tul- forth cín progenui a torech its destinui amongst hi ber im am na see trí." (Bound by good faith in your fate at the hand of Elves, shall you bring forth your progeny and lay its destiny amongst this promise I am to see through.)

Another wind stirred in the restless night, and it whisked dainty seed pods away from the flowers and into the prince's palm as he requested. He gazed at them fondly, though he felt slightly weighted by the responsibility he had just bestowed upon himself. It was possible that the seeds he held in his hand would soon be the only remaining Ithilóth.

Practicing only the most cautious movements, the Woodland elf rose his palm at a slant and allowed the seeds to cascade into a golden vessel no larger than a seamstress' thimble. His lips moved with the elegant grace he had inherited from his father as he recited an enchantment that would grant the canister a life-bearing seal. Only he that summoned the Elvish magic would be granted access to the contents it possessed. Perhaps, one day, when his boots fell upon a soil whose sediments were free of the clutches of darkness, could he cultivate a parcel of Ithilóth and save them from extinction.

As his thumb grazed against the side of the canister, familiar chills danced down his spine. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but there had been no denying it. A smothering cloak of darkness, the very one that fell over the forest of the Woodland Elves and granted it the name of Mirkwood, was threatening the borders of Lothlorien. His wandering heart had felt much too claustrophobic whilst within the inner borders of the city, so he had allowed himself to venture into the thicket. However, with great dismay, he had come to the realization that it was no longer just Mirkwood that was falling into a disease-ridden state.

"Prince Legolas," a submissive voice echoed behind the blond elf. He gently tucked the vessel into a discrete pocket, then faced the source of the address.

"Siniath," came his acknowledgement. Siniath, the fair Lady Galadriel's messenger, was only required for matters of great prestige. Dismissing the loyal bloke would be a foolhardy mistake, and Legolas had no intentions of making such. His cerulean eyes held firm in a fleeting stare that was shared between the two, displaying the dignified confidence Legolas had from birthright, but yet somehow a shadowed kindness as well that trickled from the cracks. "What news have you come to deliver?"

"Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlórien, Lord Elrond of Rivendell, the Istari, and King Thranduil have requested your presence in their council at once. Extreme haste must be made in your travels," the elf replied, his breath heavy and his gaze troubled. Seeing that elves very rarely grew tired from short jaunts through forests, it could only be reasoned that something was frightening Siniath.

Despite Legolas' attempt at remaining impartial and unreadable, as all Elves should practice, a glimmer of confusion found its way into the arch of his eyebrows. Instances of his father, King Thranduil of the Woodland Elves, being invited to meetings as such were rare on their own. Furthermore, an occurrence of a mere Woodland prince as him being requested to join their council was unheard of.

"You are sure it is I whom they asked for?" Even though the ellon was skeptical, he wasted no time in preparing for his oncoming trek. His fingers found their way down to the leather straps of his boots, which he adjusted accordingly.

"My words hold no doubt," Siniath said with affirmation. "But I shall repeat myself. Your stride must be swift in your expeditions, for the Council will not tolerate an extended absence."

"I shall see to it."

And, as promised, his footsteps fell in a rapid cadence as he pelted across the forest of Lothlórien. The soles of his boots barely grazed against the fallen leaves of the ground before they sprung into their air again. His Elven grace granted him such a silent passage that any bypassers would believe their hearing had failed them. The rare twig that he occasionally couldn't sidestep didn't even snap beneath his weight.

Even if it was unlikely that a band of orcs would grow courageous enough to wander into the borders of Lothórien, Legolas still kept a tight grip on the knife he had clipped to his belt. The boldness—or perhaps sheer lack of intelligence—never ceased to astonish the Woodland prince, so he wasn't going to put a late-night ambush past them. His eyes were ever watchful as he bounded from foot to foot, keeping silent while covering much ground.

•∆•∆•∆•∆•∆•

"... have I become hard of hearing? Or are the words coming from your mouths as ludicrous as I have interpreted them to be?"

Though faint, Legolas determined the masculine voice was unmistakably his father's. The prince was about ten meters out, and, being truthful, was too perplexed by Thranduil's words to enter the standard gateway to the Clearing of Council. With prowling, noiseless movements, the balls of his feet came in contact with an elevated tree root, then used the leverage to spring into the air. His hands left their resting position (of which priorly consisted of the hilts of newly-forged throwing blades) to slice upwards, then firmly find a grip on a low tree branch. Delicately, as to not force a groan and creak from the tree's ancient limb, Legolas swung his weight back and forth. At that point, he had generated enough momentum to tuck his legs up and soar into a somersault, which perfectly landed him on a nearby branch.

From there, he bounced from limb to limb and took cover by the shade of leaves. A warm glow from the Clearing of Council filtered through the green, dusting his pale skin and left iris with scattered light. The Woodland prince tilted his head and stared intently at the scene that unfolded beneath him, then lowered his center of gravity into a crouch and inched closer. From his position, he could see the faces of King Thranduil, Gandalf the Grey, and Lord Elrond. Lord Celeborn, Saruman the Wise and Lady Galadriel, on the other hand, were facing the opposite direction and therefore unreadable beyond the movements of their body.

"Don't be so quick to accusations," Saruman's voice trickled throughout the clearing with a shallow hint of a condescending tone to it. Despite Thranduil's valor and thriving kingdom, he still gained a score of judgement. From this, the King gained a great distaste for the few meetings he was requested to attend, and now often preferred when the others merely left his lands in solitude. "Careful contemplation and sleepless nights has been spent on this subject. We only believe this to be the necessary choice, your highness."

"And an ill-favored one of mine, to be sure," Thranduil quipped. His standard, stone-cold features had warped into that of disbelief. "If it would be your own kin, Lord Elrond, to be chosen without your consent, would you not react as I would? Would you not defy the perils that perhaps your daughter, Arwen, would be subjected to?"

Lord Elrond remained silent in the face of Thranduil's question, but it was of no doubt that the king had been answered. A grim, guilt-ridden frown could be seen now across the half-elf's face, which was enough to aid Legolas in his conclusions.

The debates at hand were over that of his own fate.

"It is not the face of danger that your son will encounter," Galadriel assured Thranduil, "but an enlightening journey in which he shall uncover his true purposes to life. All he shall need to fulfill is a mere scout to the west of the Blue Mountains."

"Mere scout? That's half-across the lands of Middle Earth, my lady," Thranduil scoffed with the last two words leaving his tongue with a more mocking than respectful manner. His eyes narrowed at the other members of the White Council before he continued. "If it so appears in the blinded side of your eye to be a frivolous task, then send the soldiers of Lórien to do your bidding."

Legolas' eyes, on the other hand, widened in bewilderment. Regardless of the lengthy, hazardous expedition that traveling to the westward-lying lands entailed, the honor that went with being entrusted with an order of the White Council was insurmountable. Then, to even go to the extent of having the members so vehemently insist on their nomination of Legolas was astounding.

"Perhaps you haven't realized the magnitude of this task. Darkness is plaguing our lands, sickening our people, and it will not be long before the elves fall from weakness and the perils to come. Mirkwood, Rivendell, Lothlórien-- we will all collapse. If this scout turns awry, then our last chance will slip from our grasp. Pray tell, is there another you invest your uttermost faith in? A compliment to your fine upbringing of your kin is truly what you should perceive this as," Lord Elrond finally spoke. Thranduil's frustration faltered at the half-elf's reasoning and his gaze lightened.

"And come what of my people? If death bades my kin no mercy, shall they fall leaderless? The very darkness you broach burdens me as well. Am I to willingly turn a vulnerable side for beasts to strike me down?" The elvenking's voice bore an uncharacteristically tranquil tone. In any similar circumstance that easily came forth to Legolas' memory, Thranduil would riposte rashly with a snide glare. Yet, contrasting to the past, the ellon held understanding within his words. Thranduil had begun to interpret these matters as dire, though he still believed it fit to protect his people beyond anything.

"Prince Legolas? Have my communication skills failed me in this hour? Or might it be the definition of an open invitation that needs clarification?"

With his engrossment in the conversation unfolding below, Legolas' grasp on his environment had faded. An opportunity arose from this for an ellon to approach unnoticed, furthermore incidentally startling Legolas. Siniath's voice scared the living daylights from Legolas, causing panic to take control of his muscles. In shock, he lurched forward, ultimately throwing his weight off balance and tipping his boots off of the tree branch.

The beginning moments of his incidental flight were undoubtedly the least graceful of his entire life. Limbs flailing, internal voice screeching — overall, they were not of his finest feats. Saving what was left of his dignity, as well as his body from potential injuries, he used his inherited elven grace to right his balance. With his feet securely tucked beneath him, he was able to land near the center of the Council of Clearing in a beautiful, athletic stance.

Running his palms alongside the cloth of his tunic and trousers, the Woodland Elf merely acted as though his escapade had been his intention. To his belief, he had every member fooled. That is, except Galadriel, who could not hide her faint smirk well enough from Legolas' sight. Pink dusted his cheeks as the past moments vividly replayed in his mind, though he forced them to the back of his mind.

"I am of my own mind," Legolas's voice was dignified and even slighted by his father speaking on his behalf. His posture held strong and tall, and his shoulders were rolled back to further enunciate his poised confidence. "So I shall be treated as such. Even if I bear my ada, my king, no disrespect, it is only the influence of my own thoughts that can dictate my future.."

Lady Galadriel had perfect knowledge of Legolas' prior eavesdropping. She knew, without a shadow of doubt crossing her mind, that the prince had already recognized the topic they spoke of and had made his choice. With amused twinkling upon her gaze, she asked, "If it is so, then please enlighten us of your decision."

The Woodland ellon opened his mouth to immediately spout his answer, though a cautioning look from his ada caused him to contemplate his impulsive decision. Would going on a journey as such outweigh the risks? Would Mirkwood fare well if they were abandoned by their only heir? Thranduil was expected to remain the ruler of the Woodland kingdom for many, many years to come, though it wouldn't be wise to not prepare for the unexpected. Death was improbable, but certainly not impossible.

Tension had grown from the silence Legolas created. Impatient gazes were passed amongst the White Council, and perhaps even telepathic betting could be recognized. Galadriel's eyes bore into his as she tilted her head in curiousity. An assuring smile gradually unraveled across her features, seemingly bringing a comforting glow to the Clearing of Council. Her encouraging, kind gesture created an imbalance in the scale Legolas weighed his decisions with.

"With pleasure, I accept your appeal. My services are at the expense of the people of Middle Earth."