A Celebration in the Greenwood

.

.

Holding the torch high, its flickering light casting unreal shadows on the rough stone walls Thranduil walked ever deeper into the cavern's interior. It was an age since he had been this way and he wondered briefly how he could have left it so long. Reaching a junction in the passage he turned left without hesitation and gently wiped the thin, silken tendrils of the spider's web he had walked into away from his face with a grimace. Although he tolerated the small ones that lived within the rocky fortress, they reminded him of the huge beasts that were beginning to thrive out in the southern reaches of the forest and those he abhorred intensely.

.

.

His pace increased slightly as he moved forward nearing his goal, absently noting the slight downward slope to the floor which was becoming more uneven the further he went. His heartbeat began to speed as memories flooded back and for a moment his step faltered as if his feet were questioning his mind as to its certainty. Not for the first time he wished that the twisting corridor was shorter, that he had not hidden things so far away from the royal suites yet at the time of doing so he could not bear to see them and thought he would never wish to again.

.

.

Finally he found himself faced with a sturdy oaken door and realised he had come at last to the end of his journey. For a moment he stood staring at the plain façade of the heavy portal then lifting his chatelaine from its usual place at his hip he unclipped an unremarkable key, slotted it into the hole beneath a heavy bronze ring and slowly turned it until he felt the lock give. Then, taking a deep breath, he took hold of the ring, twisted it and pushed the door open. It was heavy but moved silently on well-oiled hinges leading Thranduil to assume that Galion had taken it upon himself to maintain it or, more likely, had delegated the task to someone else.

.

.

Stepping into the room now laying open before him he quickly strode over to light the torches nestled into sconces spaced about the walls, finally placing his own into one beside the door left empty for this purpose. It was only at this point that he allowed his eyes to roam over the objects haphazardly scattered about the large space. There was so much. He had forgotten just how much had been brought down here when he first ordered the royal apartments to be emptied. When he could not bear to look upon the things that reminded him of just what he had lost. Staring out over the abundance of possessions he had thought to consign to obscurity, memories long suppressed began to bubble to the surface, releasing pain undiminished over the long years since he had inherited the crown. Inside his mind pictures began to form. The chair his mother had sat in to read him bedtime stories and held him on her knee when he was upset, or unable to sleep. Singing soft lullabies and gently stroking his head. The majestic desk from his father's study that was always covered in papers he was never to touch, yet made such a glorious hiding place from friends to in awe of the king to search. His sister's old rocking horse, that should have been passed to him but that she would not relinquish even when she out grew it and moved into adulthood. It had remained in her bedroom until the day they had marched out to battle. Its painted eyes now seemed to bore into him, asking how it was he had survived yet she had not. A question he had pondered over and over since that fateful day. She who was so bright and full of life, so skilled, a captain of the guard, tried and tested in warfare. To be brought down by a single stray arrow in a skirmish with a group of rag tag orcs unhoused by war was unwarrantable after she had survived the mess that took both of their parent's lives.

.

.

Thranduil tore his eyes away with an effort, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the melancholy threatening to swallow him up once more. There was a good reason he had not been to this place for so long. He began to move slowly through the room, not allowing himself to fixate on any more of the objects. Trying to keep his mind firmly anchored upon the thing he had come for, searching out a particular shape amongst the many illuminated by the flickering torchlight. At last he came to where his father's personal belongings had been placed and on a shelf beside the beautiful, unstrung bow his father had made, as tradition dictated, for hunting when a youth, was the thing he sought. A long, oilcloth wrapped parcel, nothing special to look at yet containing a treasure beyond compare. He picked it up reverently, smoothing a hand over its length before pulling at the binding cord holding the wrapping in place. He held his breath and gently folded back the greased material, gradually revealing his prize in all its glory as it glittered in the torchlight.

.

.

A slender blade, about a forearms length in size, engraved with sigils and signs that evoked a long past era and finished with a handle carved from pure white ivory and embellished with the symbol of his father's house, a six pointed star set in the middle of a beech leaf. The oilcloth dropped to the floor as Thranduil held the long knife out before him in his right hand then with an exhaled snarl whirled it about his head, turned on the spot, thrust it up, then down bending his knees, turned around once more flicking the blade to his left hand then straightened to pull the weapon up before him, leaving him standing still, knife pointing to the ceiling with his right palm resting flat upon its blade. The weight felt wrong. He was used to a heavier, longer piece than this. His favoured weapon was the sword and he had been the youngest to gain mastery of it in a century. Oropher had been so proud he had commissioned a special piece from the Noldor which still stood him in good stead after all these years. This blade was lighter, more subtle and it was perfect.

.

.

Picking up the discarded cloth he proceeded to re wrap the knife carefully, then snuffing the flames around the walls he finally retrieved his torch and exited the room, carefully locking the door and leaving a multitude of memories behind.

.

.

Out in the fresh air Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief. The narrow passages of the fortress did not often cause him to feel their presence so acutely any more but the trip to the past had brought back thoughts and feelings he did not wish to dwell upon. He moved swiftly through the gardens that his mother had cultivated and that now thrived under the care of other, more youthful fingers, marvelling in the changes that had been wrought by his son. He could not linger however, he needed to seek out the master carpenter in order for him to create the perfect housing for his new found treasure.

.

.

~.~

.

.

Legolas stared at the formal robes which Galion had laid out in his room and sighed. How he hated them. Thick and heavy they made him feel uncomfortably sluggish and weighted down. He was unable to walk properly in them, let alone dance and he did so wish to dance this evening. It was after all a celebration, a joint celebration in fact and as such must be enjoyed to the full. He eyed the clothing once more then, with a twinkle in his eye walked over to the desk tucked away in one corner, picked up the bottle of ink sitting upon its scratched surface and carefully carried it over to the abhorred clothing. He smiled slowly then upended the bottle and watched as the dark fluid flowed out, creating a growing stain on the brightly coloured fabric. He nodded in satisfaction then turned to replace the now empty bottle back on the desk. There was nothing for it. The robes were ruined. He would just have to attend the gathering in his usual soft tunic and breeches. With a tinkling laugh he swiftly left the room, growing excitement lending lightness and speed to his feet as he hurried along the corridor to exit the halls, take to the trees and make his way to the clearing in which the festivities were to be held telling himself that he couldn't have run through the canopy in those robes leastways and his father would not countenance him being late.

.

.

Thranduil sat upon the wooden seat that had been crafted from a fallen beech into a simple throne may years before and surveyed the scene before him. The fire was burning brightly and all around were happy smiling faces. There were musicians playing softly at the moment although that would change once the formalities were over and the dancing could begin. Food was plentiful and the wine was flowing freely. The only thing lacking was the guest of honour. He smiled as he sipped dorwinion from his goblet, eyed the long wooden box at his feet and waited for his son to arrive wondering how he would explain the lack of formal robes this time.

.

.

Saluting the sentries on the lookout flets Legolas dropped down from the trees just outside the familiar clearing from which emanated the soft sounds of music and happy voices. He brushed his hands down his tunic to remove a couple of errant twigs then took a deep breath before moving forward towards the pleasant sounds. A slight tingle through his body told him that he had passed through the circle of magic guarding the revellers and which he knew would also alert his father to his presence. This was affirmed when he entered the clearing itself and spotted his father's piercing eyes staring directly into his own. A loud cheer went up as he crossed over to the kings throne, bowed deeply to its incumbent then rushed into a loving embrace as Thranduil stood, opening his arms wide for this very purpose. From the level of the noise it felt as if the whole of the Greenwood were in attendance and ready to enjoy the festivities planned to last throughout the night.

.

.

As the accolades died down Thranduil stepped back, holding his son at arm's length and scanning his form from head to toe. With an arching of the eyebrow he reached out to pluck a leaf from where it had insinuated itself into no longer pristine golden braids and twirled it between his long, slender fingers.

.

.

"And what happened to your robes this time Ion Nin?" Thranduil whispered with a sly grin then continued quickly "No. I don't think I want to know" as he spotted Galion pushing through the crowd, his face twisted into an angry grimace.

.

.

"My friends!" The king turned his face to the assembled throng before his retainer could get any closer.

.

.

"My friends" he continued in a voice that carried out regally without being forceful.

.

.

"As you all know we have come together this eve in celebration and thanksgiving." There followed another loud cheer and Thranduil held up his hands to quieten the gathered elves once more.

.

.

"Yet before the celebrations get under way and we all become too merry for formalities." This drew chuckles and nods of agreement all around.

.

.

"Needs must that formalities are indeed followed." A few mock groans of disappointment rippled through the crowd. "I will keep this part of the evening as brief as is possible. For all of our sakes." Thranduil continued with a knowing smile which garnered more chuckles.

.

.

"Tonight we celebrate and give thanks for the birth of our son. He who gave life back to our realm, he whom without the King now standing before you would not exist. Many of you were here on the fateful day that the Valar blessed us, many of you will remember the bleakness during the time between the great war and his coming. We had lost all we held dear and felt as if there were no coming back from it until we were granted a miracle in this very place."

.

.

Thranduil's eyes were bright with unshed tears as his gaze swept around the clearing then alighted on his beloved son.

.

.

"The miracle that has grown from a small babe in arms to the brave and talented adult we now see before us." His smile widened. "We do not know the exact time or place of his begetting and probably never will." He swallowed briefly. "Yet that detail is of no matter. To us the date of his arrival is the only one of import and we have celebrated that anniversary ever since."

.

.

Picking up the goblet he had abandoned to the arm of the throne whilst greeting his son he held it high before declaiming.

.

.

"To Legolas on his coming of age, bringer of light, laughter and hope and Prince of Greenwood the Great."

.

.

A huge roar went up as everyone raised their voices in accord then their drinking vessels to toast the occasion.

.

.

Thranduil caught hold of his sons sleeve before he had the chance to disappear into the crowd, knowing that Legolas hated to be the centre of attention and waited patiently for the noise levels to reduce once more.

.

.

"My son is eager to begin the celebrations I know." The king smirked. "Yet there is one more thing to be done before we can allow the dancing to begin."

.

.

Bending down to retrieve the box he had placed at the foot of the throne earlier Thranduil lifted it, turned to Legolas and held it out for him to take. With a small frown the younger elf accepted the offering and looked down at it in wonder. The dark brown colour of highly polished oak perfectly complemented the simple inlay of mithril leaves and made it shine in the twilight.

.

.

"Open it mel nin." Thranduil said softly before raising his voice once more to address the gathering.

.

.

"As I have already stated." He continued with one eye on Legolas who was staring down into the now open box with his mouth agape.

.

.

"There is one more thing to be done this eve and it fills my heart with pride to be able to announce that we have a new blade master amongst us. The youngest master of the long knife to ever grace the Greenwood with his presence." His heart nearly bust with emotion as he watched Legolas lift the long, white handled knife from the box as reverentially as if it were a gift from Yavanna herself.

.

.

"I give you Legolas Thranduilion, Blade Master and newly minted Lieutenant of the forest guard!"

.

.

The cheers this time were loud enough to shake the birds from the trees and the sentinels from their flets as Thranduil sank onto his throne, his eyes fixed upon his son who was still transfixed by the blade he now held in his hand.

.

.

"Ada!" The young elf slowly closed the space between them. "Ada, it is beautiful." He slowly hefted it from hand to hand, testing its weight and balance. The noise and bustle of the throng around them forgotten.

.

.

"It was your grandfather's muin." Thranduil replied quietly as Legolas' eyes widened with shock at the words.

.

.

"But I, I thought his armoury lost."

.

.

"Nay, not lost." The king stated slowly. "Just hidden." He took a long draught and emptied his goblet before holding it out towards a maiden waiting nearby with a full carafe of ruby coloured wine.

.

.

"Go now." He waved his fingers in dismissal. "Go and have some fun. Dance, laugh, flirt and jump the fire. Tonight is your night Ion Nin. Make merry whilst you can for I fear it will not be long before the darkness threatening to claim the forest will leave us no time for celebrations but instead will have us mourning our dead."

.

.

Legolas felt a chill run down his spine at his father's words and knew them for the truth. There were many more questions that he wanted to ask but now was not the time. He watched as Thranduil drained the second goblet of wine and motioned for another, understanding that his father would not stop until the pain of his own fathers passing had been driven out once more.

.

.

"Come!" He called out to the musicians and began to make his way through the crowd to the fire after returning his gift to its box and placing it back by the throne to be examined more closely at his leisure.

.

.

"I am in the mood for a joyous reel!"

A/N

This fits with the Last Green leaf universe and if you have read that then you will know what Thranduil means in his speech about Legolas' birth. If you have not read it then I invite you to do so if you wish.

I have had this idea going around my head for a while and it was the Teitho challenge that finally made me write it down. I am just so sorry that there were no more entries this month. I am contemplating turning this into a longer story so there may be more chapters to come.

All that remains is for me to say thank you so much for reading and I would love to receive any comments to would like to make.

Nyx