Woodland Realm, 2685 T.A.
The halls of Thranduil's underground palace echoed with a somber silence, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves outside and the soft murmurs of healers attending to the wounded. Thranduil's guards had brought back Legolas, Tauriel, and the rest of the patrol, their bodies battered and their spirits crushed by the trauma of witnessing their queen's abduction by dark forces. Especially for Legolas, the weight of guilt was palpable, a heavy shroud darkening his once-bright spirit.
Thranduil, driven by the desperate need to find Lainathiel, rode as deep as he could into the dark reaches of Dol Guldur. The bond he shared with his queen was his guiding star, but after three days and nights of relentless searching, the connection grew faint. Exhausted and disheartened, he returned to his halls, his heart heavy with the realization that he had not found her. Yet, he did not give up. Every night, he sent his most trusted men to scour the dark corners of Mirkwood, and often he would ride out himself, searching tirelessly.
Back in the halls, a new tragedy began to unfold. Legolas was not recovering. His grief over losing his mother deepened, festering into a persistent darkness that clouded his soul. The memory of that fateful night became an unbearable weight, crushing him with guilt. Thranduil's words of comfort and assurances that it was not his fault fell on deaf ears. Legolas sought isolation, withdrawing from everyone, including his father.
How could he face Thranduil, knowing that his actions had led to his mother's capture and possible death? No words or actions could penetrate the wall of guilt and despair Legolas had bullt around himself. In desperation, Thranduil sought counsel from Elrond, one of the rare times he reached out for help beyond his realm.
Elrond advised patience, reminding Thranduil that Legolas, like himself, needed time to navigate his grief. "Le iôn lín," (He is your son) Elrond said. "Sui le acharnan i dûr lín, boe e maeth i ven lin." (Just as you have endured your own darkness, so too will he find his way.) Reluctantly, Thranduil heeded this advice, granting Legolas the space he needed while grappling with his own sorrow.
As time passed, the forest known as Greenwood the Great fully transformed into the shadowy Mirkwood. The darkness that once crept at the edges now engulfed the entire realm. Orcs, giant spiders, and other foul creatures roamed freely, their presence a constant threat. Thranduil retreated further into his halls, focusing on protecting Legolas and their people from the encroaching darkness. His grief for Lainathiel deepened, casting a long shadow over his kingship and his relationship with his son.
Legolas, once a rebellious and adventurous youth, had changed. His smile was gone, replaced by a steely resolve and a grim determination. The guilt over his mother's fate still weighed heavily on him, but he found a way to channel his anguish. He rode out frequently, patrolling the borders, hunting down orcs, and confronting the dangers that threatened their realm. It was a relentless pursuit, driven by a need to atone for his perceived failure.
In his grief and isolation, Legolas drew inspiration from Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond, who had also known the pain of losing their mother. They coped by hunting orcs and aiding the Rangers of the North. This gave Legolas a sense of purpose: to protect his father and his people, to face the darkness head-on rather than hide from it. He took on more than his share of responsibilities, pushing himself to the brink in his quest for redemption.
Thranduil, though deeply pained by the changes in his son, allowed it. He understood that this was Legolas's way of coping, of finding some semblance of peace amidst the chaos. He hoped that, in time, Legolas would come to terms with what had happened and perhaps, one day, forgive himself.
Yet, unbeknownst to them both, fate had more in store for Legolas. The darkness was rising, and their trials were far from over. As Mirkwood continued to descend into shadow, the bonds of love and loyalty would be tested, and Legolas would face challenges that would shape him into the legendary warrior and prince he was destined to become.
Decades had passed, and the wound within Thranduil's heart festered. Whispers of a dark queen guarding the depths of Gundabad Mountain reached the ears of the elves. The stories spoke of a creature, once fair and noble, now twisted by the dark powers of Sauron. Thranduil knew in his heart that it was Lainathiel, but the connection they once shared was severed, leaving him in an abyss of uncertainty and sorrow.
Thranduil had ridden to Gundabad Mountain on many occasions, dealing with the rising orcs of Gundabad. However, pervasive darkness always lingered, empowering these creatures to rebuild and restore. Yet, the answer to who or what was behind this dark resurgence eluded him. The tale of the dark queen seemed more legend than reality-no one had seen her, and so it remained a myth.
Legolas was no longer the young ellon of his youth. Nearly four hundred years old, he was still young for an elf but had lived through trials that had forged a wisdom beyond his years. The memory of his mother had blurred over time, whether due to the persistent guilt or as some form of self-imposed punishment, Legolas could not say.
His dreams were haunted by the past, the creeping guilt seeping Into his subconscious night after night. But Legolas endured, as his father had, refusing to give in to the pain. Though the sorrow had scarred him deeply, it had also shaped him into the elf he had become.
Legolas's archery skills had become legendary. He was recognized as one of the finest archers in Middle-earth, perhaps even the best. This reputation was not self-proclaimed but bestowed upon him by others-by the sons of Elrond, by the enemies who fell to his arrows, and by those who lived and remembered him. His precision and deadliness were
unmatched, and he never stepped back until every orc had fallen by his hand.
Despite his deadly prowess, Legolas was not cruel. His connection to nature and his elven heritage remained unbroken. He did not let the darkness consume him, though it threatened to. In the face of severe grief, an elf could elther fade and sail to the Undying Lands or succumb to darkness, becoming a twisted shadow of their former self. But Legolas, proving himself to be Thranduil's son, found a way to cope with the grief and pain, emerging stronger and more resilient.
Yet, the shadows continued to grow. The darkness that enveloped Mirkwood was relentless, and the threat from Dol Guldur persisted. Thranduil's realm was under constant siege from the encroaching evil, and Legolas's skills were in ever-increasing demand. The prince had become a beacon of hope for his people, his arrows a symbol of defiance against the encroaching night.
One evening, as the forest was bathed in the cold light of the moon, Thranduil summoned Legolas to his private chambers. The Elvenking's face was lined with worry, his eyes reflecting the weight of centuries of loss and struggle.
"Legolas," Thranduil began, his voice heavy with unspoken sorrow, "the whispers from Gundabad grow louder. The darkness there is not merely the work of orcs. I fear that the tales of the dark queen are more than just myth.
Legolas listened intently, his heart aching at the thought of his mother. "Sen indil e hain?" (You believe it is her?) he asked, though he already knew the answer.
Thranduil nodded. "I do. And if there is any chance, any hope of freeing her from Sauron's grasp, we must try. But this is not a mission I can undertake alone. I need you, my son. Your skills, your courage they are what we need to face this threat."
Legolas's resolve hardened. He had spent centuries battling orcs, honing his skills, and now, finally, there was a glimmer of hope that he could redeem himself for failing to protect his mother all those years ago. "Rothon," (I will go) he said firmly. "I will face whatever darkness lies in Gundabad and bring her back, or die trying."
Thranduil's eyes softened with a mixture of pride and sorrow. "Then prepare yourself, Legolas. The path ahead is fraught with danger, but together, we shall face it."
As Legolas left his father's chambers, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. The guilt and grief that had haunted him for so long now fueled his determination. He would not let the darkness claim him, nor would he let it keep his mother captive any longer. The shadows of Mirkwood might have deepened, but within Legolas burned a light that would not be extinguished.
The journey to Gundabad was fraught with peril, but Legolas was ready. With his bow in hand and his heart steeled for the battle ahead, he prepared to face the greatest challenge of his life. The fate of his mother, and perhaps the fate of Mirkwood Itself, hung in the balance. Legolas, now a seasoned warrior, led his comrades through this treacherous landscape, their purpose clear: to confront the dark forces threatening their realm.
It was one of those rare occasions when Thranduil himself, accompanied by his best men, rode out in search of the Dark Queen. Thranduil's belief that Lainathiel could be healed, or at the very least sent to the Undying Lands, had never wavered. Despite the countless battles they had fought, the orcs and spiders that relentlessly blocked their way, Thranduil's hope endured.
The inevitable confrontation came during a fierce battle in the depths of Gundabad. Legolas and his comrades fought valiantly against the orc horde, their arrows and blades cutting through the darkness. As the battle raged, a figure emerged from the shadows, her once radiant form now cloaked in a malevolent shroud. Her eyes, glowing with dark magic, locked onto Legolas. He recognized her immediately, his heart wrenching with the cruel irony of their fate.
Drawn to her by an irresistible force-whether it was the dark gaze that fell upon him or his own unending guilt-Legolas moved towards her, his mind clouded with memories of the past. Without informing the rest of the company, he followed the path that led him to her.
"Naneth," (Mother) he breathed, his voice barely audible over the clashing of swords. The creature that was once Lainathiel paused, a flicker of recognition and pain crossing her corrupted features. For a brief moment, the darkness receded, and she spoke his name, "Legolas..."
In that instant, time seemed to stand still. The despair in her eyes was a reflection of the torment she had endured. The darkness around Legolas grew stronger, and his mind was assaulted with visions-memories of what had befallen the queen. The pain was overwhelming, driving him to his knees, but he could not afford to succumb to it.
Legolas endured, standing up to face what his mother had become. The blackness swirled around him, the pain lingering like a tangible presence. He knew what he had to do, but the thought of it was unbearable. He hesitated, unable to bring himself to take the final step until the Dark Queen attacked.
With a heavy heart, he raised his bow, his hands trembling. The arrow flew true, plercing her heart. As she fell, the dark magic dissipated, and her eyes, clear for the first time in years, gazed upon him with a mother's love.
"Goheno nin, ion nin," (Forgive me, my son) she whispered with her dying breath. Legolas cradled her as she faded away, the enormity of his actions crashing down upon him. He had freed her from her torment but at a price that would forever scar his soul.
The forest fell silent, the echoes of the battle fading into the night. Legolas stood there, his mother's lifeless body in his arms, the weight of his guilt and sorrow almost too much to bear. Slowly, her body began to turn to ashes, disappearing from his grasp. The darkness had claimed yet another victim, leaving behind only a shattered son and a kingdom in mourning.
He paused, finding the broch, his fingers closing around the small brooch, Lasgalen-the Little Leaf. It had been his mother's gift to him, lovingly crafted when he was no older than seven. She had made it herself, pouring her care and devotion into every delicate detail. It wasn't just a token; it was a talisman of protection, a piece of her heart meant to shield him wherever he wandered. The only token he had from her.
The battle raged around them, but Thranduil's focus was on his son. Amidst the chaos, he realized Legolas was no longer by his side. Panic gripped him as he scanned the battlefield, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and urgency. The guards continued to fend off the orcs, their determination unwavering, but Thranduil broke away, driven by an instinctual need to find Legolas.
He pushed through the darkness, the sounds of battle fading behind him. Guided by a father's intuition, he soon found Legolas. The sight that met him was heart-wrenching: Legolas sat on the ground, broken, cradling the fading body of the Dark Queen who had once been their beloved Lainathiel. Her form was dissipating, becoming one with the wind, leaving nothing behind.
"Legolas, man le carnen?" (Legolas, what have you done?) Thranduil murmured, his voice thick with grief as he fell to his knees beside his son. He reached out to touch his wife's disappearing form but could not grasp anything solid. She became one with the wind, leaving no trace, no connection. The moment was more devastating than any Thranduil had ever faced. It wasn't the act of Legolas that filled him with such sorrow, for he knew he would have done the same if he had been there. The Queen had been long lost to them, her true self consumed by darkness.
But in his grief, Thrandull's words carried a weight that deepened Legolas's gullt. The unintended Implication that it was Legolas's fault his mother was dead scarred Thranduil deeply. He saw the pain in his son's eyes and knew that he had, without meaning to, added to the burden Legolas already carried.
They returned to Mirkwood, but the journey home was a silent one, heavy with unspoken sorrow. Thranduil retreated deeper into his halls, consumed by his own grief and the realization that he had failed both his wife and his son. Legolas, meanwhile, resumed his patrols, his sense of duty now intertwined with an overwhelming sense of guilt and loss.
Their once-strong bond was shattered. The weight of his mother's death and the role he played in it made Legolas avold his father. Nights became torture for him, haunted by the memories of his mother's pain and suffering. The visions he had seen in that final confrontation replayed in his dreams, turning sleep into a relentless nightmare. Legolas believed it was all his fault-not only for his mother's fate but also for being the one to end her torment.
He could not understand why his father did not judge him, why Thranduil did not lock him in prison or punish him. This lack of retribution only intensified Legolas's self-loathing. He felt he deserved the torment, the endless nightmares, and the isolation. He believed his father's silence was a form of punishment in itself, a reflection of the broken relationship between them.
Thranduil, on the other hand, was tormented by his inability to bridge the gap between them. He wanted to comfort his son, to tell him that he understood, that he did not blame him, but the words never came. His own grief kept him locked away, both physically and emotionally, leaving Legolas to fight his demons alone.
The darkness within Mirkwood grew, mirroring the darkness within the hearts of its king and prince. Orcs, spiders, and other foul creatures roamed the forest, their presence a constant reminder of the shadow that had fallen over their land. Thranduil's isolation only deepened, his efforts to protect his people marred by his inability to protect his own family from sorrow.
Legolas threw himself into his patrols with relentless fervor, hunting down the dark creatures with a deadly precision that had become his hallmark. Yet, despite his prowess, he could not escape the shadow of guilt that loomed over him. Each night, as he lay in restless slumber, the memories of his mother's last moments tormented him, a never-ending reminder of his perceived failure.
In the depths of their sorrow, both Thranduil and Legolas struggled to find a way forward. The forest around them grew darker, the creatures of Sauron becoming bolder. But even in the darkest of times, there remained a flicker of hope-a hope that, in time, they would find a way to heal the wounds that had been inflicted upon their hearts. And perhaps, through their shared grief, they would rediscover the bond that had once made them strong.