*****Mirkwood (Now known as Eryn Lasgalen)*****
Thranduil’s Halls were always slightly damp. If skilled Dwarven craftsmen had been allowed to appraise the situation, they would have solved this problem by re-routing underground streams and providing much-needed ventilation. But no Dwarves had ever been in the underground Halls of the Silvan King - save one group, and they had departed as soon as able.
When Celeborn had visited Thranduil after the Victory, he had suggested that the King might want to relocate his seat to another area. “A new court, to go with the new name. The Kingdom of Eryn Lasgalen should be ruled from above ground, as befits this new Age of Light.” Thranduil thought to himself that Celeborn should go chase after his wife in the West, and leave the ruling of his kingdom to him.
Besides, Thranduil loved the Old Halls, damp as they were. They represented the long fight that he had waged to keep the Darkness at bay. Mirkwood may not have been protected by one of the Three as Lorien had, but against Spiders, Orcs, and Sauron himself, his people had prevailed. They may have been assailed, but they were never routed.
Thranduil picked up the missive that had been delivered to him. He had expected such a summons. King Elessar had wasted no time in attempting to bring the races of Middle-Earth into the Mannish fold. Thranduil did not begrudge Elrond’s fosterling his Rule. The Fourth Age would be the Age of Men. It had been long foretold. But he would see that there was one outpost of the Eldar that would remain for all time. Let the others flee to the Havens. The Silvan Elves of Eryn Lasgalen would abide.
And when the Darkness arose in a new form - as Thranduil knew it would - then the summons from Minas Anor would take an entirely different tone.
The lure of Trade had no appeal to Thranduil. These Others had nothing that his people needed, or wanted. Except for one thing.
It was the second letter that made the King return to his table again and again. The letter from Legolas, the first he had received since he had sent his youngest son to Imladris two years ago. “Letter” some might call it, but it seemed more like a tome. Legolas had written of all that had happened to him since he had left his father’s realm to attend the Council of Elrond. Moria, Helm’s Deep, Fangorn. It was all there. Nivala’s favorite had traveled far, it seemed. He wrote in glowing terms of his companions, both Man and Halfling. (Thranduil smiled to himself as he read Legolas’ descriptions of the Ring-Bearer and his companions. He had always had a sneaking admiration for Thorin’s Halfling squire.)
And he read of Legolas’ sworn friendship with the Dwarf Gimli. The praises of the Dwarf-Kind’s bravery, his devotion to the Lady of the Wood, his skill at arms and craft, even his poetry as he described the “Glittering Caves” of the Rohirrim. Legolas had said all he could to convince his father that , in bonding himself in friendship to one of Durin’s Folk, he had not lost his mind.
But it was the last pages of the letter that drew Thranduil to return to his desk and read again and again. The descriptions of Ithilien. The intention of Legolas to remain there. The humble request to his father that he inform his people of this Garden of the South, and permit such as would choose to come there to live.
The intention of Legolas to remain there. The intention of Legolas to never return home.
“So once again, Men and Dwarves have schemed to take from me my treasure.” Thranduil crumbled the page in his fist. Then he laid it gently on the tabletop and smoothed the wrinkled paper. He took up the letter and laid it in a box of mallorn wood, which he locked with a key held only by him. Finally, with a sigh, he turned his attention once more to the summons of the King.
Thranduil rang for his butler. When the Elf servant appeared, he said “Find Orodan. Send riders to the corners of the kingdom, if need be. Tell him his father has a mission for him.”
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