The Ranger And The Prince.

The Elevenking.

I had visited the Greenwood of old a few times in my life, though it soon came to be known as Mirkwood as over the centuries it had growl foul with decay.

I was only a young elf when I passed through the Greenwood for the first time. I had just left the Mines of Moria after my father's death and was rearing for an adventure.

The Greenwood had been beautiful, lushious leaves and fresh pines. It was one of the oldest forests in Middle-Earth, perhaps besides Fangorn.

I had taken the elven road as instructed and true enough, within the week, I was standing tall and proud in front of the doors of the Woodland Realm.

The woodland elves were not like the ones from Rivendell of Lothlórien. Legend has it that the woodland elves never graced the lands of Valinor and so there lies the difference between them and the others.

Lothlórien was the most peaceful of the elven settlements, the heart of Elvendom on earth. Graced by the Lady of Light, they tried their best to keep the peace. Their warriors were deadly as any warrior should be but they knew when to stay their hand.

Rivendell was the most cultured of the elven cities, home to scholars and proteges of the arts. As far as elven cities go, Rivendell was the most free, open to all. While Mirkwood and Lothlórien disliked strangers, Rivendell was home to all, not just elves.

Mirkwood was the wild card, the most unpredictable. The woodland elves were not particularly peacefully nor where they particularly sophisticated. The woodland elves were the deadliest warriors and often the most arrogant. They could be graceful, all elves could, but when it came to war, they were cut-throats and would ride to war in the thousands.

Mirkwood was the largest of the elven cities and was the only one to have a monarchy. But that was actually why many held respect for King Thranduil.

All rings of power held the ability to rule over the kingdoms of Middle-Earth. Galadriel wielded Nenya, the Ring of Adamant. Elrond wielded Vilya, the Ring of Air.

Thranduil, nor any previous royals of Mirkwood, did not own a Ring of Power. He didn't need one, even without a ring to govern his kingdom, he managed to rule without one. He didn't need a ring of power to demand respect and loyalty in his Kingdom.

When first I graced the halls of Mirkwood, I was surprised to see how different these elves were compared to the ones in Lothlórien.

I was considered a guest of Thranduil's back then. He and his queen were just and fair rulers and since I was a close relation to Galadriel, they didn't protest to my presence though I knew strangers were usually not welcome. As coincidence would have it, I did not meet Legolas, the king's son, he was off training with the royal guard.

That was the first and only time I had met the queen of Mirkwood. I can't remember what she looked like but I could remember that she was probably the only one who was able to console Thranduil. I was saddened to hear of her untimely death on the battlefield.

When next I visited Mirkwood, I noticed a few differences. The trees seemed less bright, almost glum. The King was more ill-tempered than I remembered, without his wife to stop him from acting on a whim.

When the dwarves of Erebor stole something precious to him, he was outraged. They had stolen white gems from him, not just any trinkets, they had been his late wife's jewelry, the only thing he had left of her.

I felt sympathy for him, truly I did. But now, whenever I visited, I knew he held more and more distain for me because of my constant praise of the dwarves.

He couldn't stop me from traveling to his Kingdom but I could tell he hated me for it.

He couldn't simply turn me away because he dare not enrage Galadriel so he was forced to have me as a guest. He hated that I defended the dwarves but he was forced to hold his tongue and simply wait for me to leave. It was a mutual, passive-agresive understanding.