Unspoken ( A Legolas Love Story )

1: Go North

A sudden movement from behind snapped the traveler from his reverie. He reached for his bow and a shaft, his hands moving faster than an onlooker would have thought possible, as he spun to face the perpetrator. A hooded figure stood but fifteen yards away, an arrow was already notched on their own bow. An arrow that pointed directly towards him.  

A strong, clear voice called out, warning him.

"Please do not make me shoot you elf-lord, it would be somewhat difficult to have to justify your death to your liege."

The traveler could hardly believe the situation he found himself in. He had never been caught off-guard, threatened and mocked simultaneously. The audacity and identity of the opponent who faced him, both irritated and intrigued him.

Before the traveler had been interrupted, he had been making his way on foot through an ancient forest in the north of Middle Earth, near Fornost. There had been a chill in the breeze, but the pale golden light of a late winter sun had told those who cared to notice that spring would not be long in coming, although the snow still lay in patches and drifts. Gnarled, grey-barked trees crouched over the path from either side of the old forest track. But they were not threatening as some parts of the Greenwood had grown to be since the shadow of the Dark Lord had fallen upon the ancient forest in the first half of the third age, latterly giving rise to the name of Mirkwood among men.

Having passed through bare and quiet lands alone, the presence of trees had once again brought a sense of companionship to the traveler as he passed. The hills between Weathertop and Rivendell had seemed empty, the orcs who only recently prowled these parts had been largely spent in the war in the east. Even the journey across the Misty Mountains had been uneventful, the goblins having retreated far into the underground tunnels in the wake of defeat.

The quiet had been both cathartic and oppressive. In the depths of the Greenwood, there were usually always a handful of elves present at his side when out on patrol. If not a patrol, then at very least his red-haired elf captain, Tauriel, had always been with him.

Tauriel. Her name came unbidden to the traveler's mind once again. The traveler, Legolas, the Elf-Prince of Woodland Realm, did not shy away from the pain it brought in its wake. Even if he had been alone on the road these past several weeks, she had rarely left his mind. For years, the Sindarin prince had let his feelings of friendship toward the Silvan elf, silently grow into something more. Duty and nobility had however stood in the way, as well as first-hand knowledge of lost love. He had seen how his mother's death, had all but destroyed his father, King Thranduil. Consequently, Legolas had held back from speaking his heart, until it had been too late. The dwarf had been dropped into their lives like a stone in a pond, the ripples he created spreading ever outward. Even though Killi, the son of Durin now lay dead, slain at the ruins of Ravenhill. Watching Tauriel mourn the dwarf, had been enough to tell Legolas all he needed to know, the heart of the Silvan elf was not his to claim.

Tauriel had been banished by the elevenking, and in the events that followed Legolas had openly defied his Father. Legolas was unable to bear her grief, as well as his own sorrow and frustration; he had no choice but to leave. He had however taken Thranduil's advice and headed north, there to seek out a Dúnedain Ranger by the name of Strider. Stopping in Mirkwood only long enough to pack some travel necessities, the prince of the Woodland Realm had left his homeland behind.

Even though he had traveled many hundreds of leagues from his father, from Erebor and from Tauriel, Legolas had struggled to free himself from their presence. His pace was unhurried when the track began to incline as he entered the foothills of the land of Fornost. The Shire was not far from here, and Legolas had momentarily wondered at the country of the Halfling* who had been so instrumental in the events leading to the Battle of Five Armies. However, he had a task to accomplish, here in the north, to find this Strider, and perhaps in time uncover his true identity. In truth, he had been glad of his Father's suggestion, because at the time Legolas had no ready alternative. Thranduil's words had reverberated in his thoughts, 'His father, Arathorn, was a good man. His son might turn out to be a great one...'