The Silvan (Lord of the Rings-Legolas)[Wattys2016]

Chapter 56: Prophecy

There was a strangeness in the air, for those that dwelled within the Fortress of Greenwood the Great, had never seen the likes. There was a carpet of tents pitched around the outer fortifications, and atop each one, a flag wavered proudly in the afternoon breeze, flags that told stories of great houses and beloved lands.

Every village was represented, every noble house of old, both Silvan and Avarin, and Thranduil found himself wondering if there were any left behind in the forest.

Tilting his crowned head to the waning sun, he closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the new smells that lingered upon the air, smells he had not enjoyed in many years - the years he had spent hibernating inside his self-constructed shell of misery.

Pine and resin, nuts and wet soil. Fragrant herbs and dried leaves smoking over incandescent coals - the smells of the forest, of the Silvan people. It was the aroma that lingered every time she passed him, the same one that came to him in his dreams.

He had failed them, he reckoned, for in his absence he had ignored their needs, waved off their indignant comments, their complaints for what they considered unfair treatment. He had let it all roll with the tide until the wave had become so tall it threatened to engulf them all.

Yet now, he could make it right. If he played his hand with skill, deployed his assets in the best possible way, he could, perhaps, undo the damage, restore this kingdom, restore the forest, resuscitate his own heart...

His wandering eyes were drawn to a small group of elves that walked through the gates far below him. Lord Aradan and his own son, Handir, accompanied by four guards made their way towards the largest tent where Thranduil knew Erthoron and Lorthil would be, waiting for word from the King. They looked so small, he mused, so insignificant and yet their mission was of the utmost importance; gain for them all, the time they would need to gather the council, and then convince them that the Silvans' demand for the return of their Warlord, was viable, would be advantageous, and that Legolas was the elf to fulfil that role; that, if the Inner Circle gave their blessings - something he still had no word on.

Handir was a source of constant pride. He had always been the most steadfast, the most intelligent, at least where his own family was concerned. He knew though, that he had taken his middle son for granted many times, assumed that he would do his duty, that he would endure the grief Thranduil had not been able to shake himself of, indeed he had not shown his love, his admiration, his pride... not since Handir had been a bright-eyed child, still blissfully unaware of the farce that was his parents' marriage.

But then neither had he done it for Rinion, his eldest. He had been old enough to understand, and hence to suffer and yet the consequences had been different, for where Handir was analytical, logical, understanding and practical, Rinion was incandescent, rash, emotional and somewhat - obsessive. Rinion had been close with his mother, and closer still with his sister, Maeneth.

His daughter's lovely face came to him then and he smiled for in his mind she was still a child, not yet come of age. Her cheeks round and full, features not yet fully formed. What would she look like now, he wondered, would she look like her mother? Like Aglareb?