#oropher’s wife

[velvet4510]

(Second Kinslaying was in Doriath.)

(Third Kinslaying was at Sirion.)

[ilovetheelves]

Baby Thranduil with his mom Míriel 💜

[meluiloth]

Let's talk about Thranduil (and the Mirkwood Elves)

The Woodland Elves are well known for being a suspicious and reclusive people, Thranduil most of all - but they are also as merry and light-hearted as the other Elven civilizations when it comes to their own people.

So I want to talk about why that is, why Thranduil is so determined to remain isolated. The reason is actually pretty simple: he lost everything in the War of the Last Alliance.

The army of Greenwood joined forces with the Elves and Men against Mordor, though their army was smallest and their people less skilled with open war, led by Oropher, Thranduil's father. Thranduil himself was there as well (and though not much is known about his wife, I headcanon her as fighting alongside her husband and her people).

The Free Peoples won that war, but with a heavy cost - and the Silvan Elves suffered greatest of all. They lost two-thirds of their army and their King, and returned to Greenwood crippled and mourning. (I headcanon that's when Thranduil lost his wife, too). The Prince of Greenwood had to take the burden of the crown while his people were suffering and while his home was rapidly falling into decay, along with struggling through the grief of losing his father (and his wife).

To my knowledge, there is nothing in the lore about the Silvan Elves receiving help from their allies, so I assume that they were left to rebuild alone, and also to contend with the Necromancer who had taken up residence in their home, and who they were not strong enough to exorcize themselves. They were even forced to take refuge underground, which hurt their woodland and tree-loving souls.

Thranduil was alone. Of course he would become bitter and reclusive, wanting to focus on helping his own people while resenting the fact that, though they had sacrificed so much, no one came to their aid. He decided that he would lend no more aid, make no more sacrifices, and suffer no more losses on account of those who would not return the favor. That was the end of that.

And really, who can blame him?

[allbycharles]

Of course Tolkien not mentioning Thranduil ´s wife does not mean that there is not one very much alive elleth by his side

But

Listen

Tolkien says nothing about Thranduil ´s mother and Oropher ´s wife either

Soooooooo

Technically there could be not only wife of Thranduil and mum of Legolas but also Legolas ´s grandma telling everyone in the palace what to do

Which would be hilarious

Mainly if you imagine the cocky movie Thranduil being completely arogant and all

UNTIL HIS MUM COMES TO THE ROOM

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Snort

What if oropher didn’t die in the battle of the last alliance but just used the opportunity to fake his death and escape with his wife and go on an extended honeymoon and leave all the damn paperwork and diplomacy with the noldor/sindar to his poor son.

Thranduil, when his father is finally waking up after getting many fatal injuries during battle: Ada!! Everyone thought you were gonna die!

Oropher, pausing when his son’s words registered: Everyone?

Thranduil, as he watches in disbelief as Oropher bolts away from him with a few supplies: Ada WAIT! DON’T LEAVE ME TO DEEL WITH THEM!

Oropher: don’t worry son, i’m sure you’ll do great!

————————————

Gil-galad: where is king oropher?

Thranduil, a petty lil bitch that will get back at his father: unfortunately, my my father king passed after suffering many grievous injuries during the last battle.

———————————-

Oropher, coming back from his long vacation in the third age: i’m dead? Nobody told me.

Thranduil: that’s what you get for abandoning me to those elves.

Thranduil: suffer

[youmisguidedmartyr]

I am a very big advocate for Legolas looking identical to Oropher

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

Thranduil's mother, Oropher's wife, was a Vanya.

In The Hobbit, it mentions that the Elvenking has golden hair, a trait that is explicitly mentioned to belong only to the Vanyar. (Most Sindar look like Noldor with dark hair; silver is an exception that Þingollo, Míriel, and Círdan are noted with.)

We could say "oh, this was before Jirt had all the world building straightened out", but where's the fun in that?

So picture this: Oropher has brown hair. He either woke up at Cuiviénen, or he was born there. He married a Vanya (or a Minya at the time), and they had Thranduil, who inherited his mother's golden hair, either at Cuiviénen or on the journey westward. Maybe she died, or was captured by orcs, or continued to Valinor when her husband and son decided to stay in Beleriand.

(But even if Thranduil had blond hair from a Vanya mother, I still think Legolas would have brown hair.)

[sesamenom]

2am face designs for ppl i don't draw as often (plus curufin bc i somehow forgot him on my finwean face page)

[friendlyneighborhoodplebeian]

Remember don’t think about the fact that Thranduil started to mourn Legolas when he found he fell in love with a mortal. Don’t think about the fact that one of the reasons Thranduil was so hesitant to accept Gigolas was because he knew that Gimli would take his son with him when he died. Don’t think about the fact that Legolas died of grief after Gimli died and Thranduil’s worse nightmare came true. Don’t think about the fact that Thranduil lost everyone he loved after Legolas died. Don’t think about the fact that Thranduil is now all alone and the last part of his heart died with Legolas.

[weezlbot]

Tl;dr: Tauriel as a descendant of Feanor

The Feanorian troops are routed from Sirion. Finally. 

Elwing is gone. Earendil is gone. The little princes are taken, and even if they are not dead, they’re lost. Oropher coordinates clean-ups of the dead bodies. So many unmarked graves.

One of the dead is identified as the wife of Amras, the youngest Feanorian. She lies dead in a ditch, her neck crushed by a horse’s hoof, her dress torn and dirty...

... and a tiny screaming bundle still clutched in her rigor mortised arms. 

Oropher takes the infant, frigid, filthy and starving but otherwise unhurt. Against all odds, he finds a wet-nurse for the babe, cleans and warms him, and eventually gets him adopted by a friend of his. The friend names him Athaedil, 

Athaedil grows up into a fine young man. Tall and slim, with fiery red hair, freckles and a noble, extroverted disposition. He is never told about his real parents, and is raised Sindar. When he does eventually discover he’s adopted, he is told that his parentage is unknown--that his parents died nameless. Eventually, he moves with Oropher to the Greenwood and remains a friend of the family, Thranduil’s friend especially.

The Last Alliance happens. Oropher dies. Thranduil takes over as King. 

Athaedil marries a nice girl, a daughter of a powerful Silvan lord. He gives her the epesse of Fainladh, the White Tree, as she is tall and slim with thick, pure white hair. A few years later, she falls pregnant. Eventually, they have a little girl of their own.

Her name is Tauriel.

When Tauriel is still young, Athaedil and Fainladh are ambushed during a routine patrol. Thranduil hears the commotion and arrives, driving off the giant spiders, but he’s too late. Athaedil is critically injured. 

Thranduil orders the healers to focus on him, but Athaedil says it’s too late, and to focus on Fainladh, who is less injured and could still be saved. The healers group onto Fainladh and leave Athaedil with Thranduil.

Thranduil takes Athaedil in his arms, cradling him gently as he struggles for breath. Athaedil manages to creak out a “Take care of Tauriel” before he draws his final breath. 

Thranduil closes Athaedil’s eyes and they bury him snug in the roots of a large tree. Fainladh passes soon after from her own wounds, and she is laid by his side. 

Thranduil raises Tauriel as his own charge. He tells her she is Silvan, like her mother was. Tells her her father was the son of an old friend, adopted and of unknown heritage. He raises her in what he thinks is the “proper” way--Sindar for official business, Silvan for socializing with commoners and having fun at parties. If you asked Tauriel herself, she’d probably call herself Silvan. 

Thranduil’s worst fear is that Tauriel might someday find out who her real grandfather was. The Feanorians hang over Thranduil, specters of childhood fears, and he really, really wants to discourage any connections between his hot-headed, reckless charge and her kinslaying ancestors. 

Anyway, that’s why I think Tauriel is Like That. It’s in her blood. Her impulsivity, her hot-headedness, her willingness to solve problems with violence. Her red hair, when that’s such a rare trait. She’s Feanor’s great-granddaughter!

[bodysnatch3r]

wip of a larger project i am working on, inspired by @matrose‘s mirkwood family tree :))

[ilovetheelves]

OK. That's my best idea. I can explain the "Princess of Lindon" in the picture of Thranduil's mother. My headcanon is that she is Gil-Galad's sister and that they (Gil-galad and Míriel) had a Sindarin mother, that's why she has white hair (but their father is Fingon). Anyway... This image is just part of a future fanfic project of mine, anyway, I only decided to post it here because I don't have anyone to put up with my outbreaks 🙃

[meluiloth]

The Life of Thranduil

I've been meaning to write this up for a while (partly inspired by @starlight5cat's request to know more about Thranduil's history!), so here is a narrative of the life of Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood! A lot of this is drawn from canon, but since little is known of him in the grand scheme of things, there will be elements of my own headcanons for him as well. Specifically, the entire relationship between Thranduil and my original character Faecalen is only speculation.

Thranduil was born in the ancient kingdom of Doriath sometime during the First Age; the exact time is unknown, but I imagine it was shortly before the death of Thingol and the sack of Doriath. At that time, his father Oropher was a Doriathrim lord, an emissary and close friend of King Thingol. His mother was Clauriell, a Vanya lady of Finrod's company who decided to remain in Doriath; that was how she met Oropher.

Thranduil's childhood was spent in Doriath, and he lived the rich and comfortable life of a noble, doted on by his mother and trained by his father to be an intelligent diplomat like himself. By his teen years, he traveled with his father's envoy across Beleriand to treat with the peoples of Middle-Earth; they went to Nogrod many times, as by this point Thingol had commissioned the Dwarves to create the Nauglamir, and young Thranduil was awed by their skill in craftsmanship.

However, when the Dwarves betrayed Thingol and launched an attack on Doriath, Thranduil, still not quite an adult, suffered the terror of the assault and lost his mother in the destruction. He managed to escape with his life because of his father, who led him and a group of refugees over the Blue Mountains and into the east, where they were welcomed and sheltered by the Silvan Elves.

This was when Thranduil first met Faecalen, the princess of the Silvan Elves (and his future wife). They grew to be fast friends, and Faecalen taught him the skills of hunting, tracking, and foraging in the forest, often teasing him about his proper upbringing. Thranduil's companionship with her and the rest of her people helped him to heal from the trauma of losing his mother and his home, and he grew to love the forests as much as the Silvan Elves.

His father Oropher, meanwhile, became close in counsel with the King of the Silvan Elves, and helped them to expand their dealings and relations with the other kingdoms, even establishing trade with the Noldor of Lórien (though Oropher still disliked Galadriel and her kin). In fact, it became his will that, should he ever fall in battle, Oropher was to inherit the throne (as he had only one daughter and no other living relatives). Following his death in a battle against the Orcs, this will was enacted and Oropher became King of the Silvan Elves.

Thranduil, to his surprise, found himself to be the Prince of the Silvan Elves, a title he was not entirely pleased with; he had always been content to be an ordinary lord, with little responsibilities except to attend festivals and occasionally speak with emissaries from other kingdoms. Faecalen was also deeply resentful of his sudden inheritance, as she felt that he now had taken what was rightfully hers, and their bond suffered because of it. Thranduil's relationship with his father also became strained during this time.

During Oropher's rule, Thranduil and Faecalen's friendship went through its most turbulent period. Thranduil, now well into adulthood, realized that he loved her romantically, and tried to court her - but Faecalen was too embittered to reciprocate his love. She did, however, see his feelings as a way to weave her way back into the line of succession, so she played along. Their romance proceeded like this even when they became engaged, Thranduil being blissfully unaware of his betrothed's motives and Faecalen becoming more and more guilt-ridden; she realized that her own feelings for him were becoming more genuine and less a ploy for power, and she confessed her initial intentions.

Thranduil, shocked and hurt by the revelation but still understanding Faecalen's reasons, decided to break off the engagement and focus entirely on his duties as prince, but agreed to remain friends with Faecalen; she was, after all, as intelligent and loyal to her people as Thranduil, and he harbored a secret hope that they could rebuild trust on an equal footing. Under his father's tutelage, Thranduil became a rational and charismatic leader; his diplomatic skills honed from a young age became an asset as he learned how to navigate the politics of the world, and he helped Oropher lead the Elves to, and establish, the kingdom of Greenwood the Great. He worked closely with Faecalen during this time, and eventually their partnership blossomed into a relationship founded on real love and respect. When Thranduil married her, they walked forward not as King and Queen, but as husband and wife.

Thranduil and Faecalen had a son, Legolas, whose childhood years were spent much like Thranduil's own: in the bliss of a prospering kingdom, where he and his people wanted for nothing. Thranduil was content, and confident that Greenwood Kingdom would remain this way forever - quiet, magical, powerful, wonderful - but the peace was not to last. Though Morgoth had been defeated in the War of Wrath, his servant Sauron strove to be a worthy successor, and began to spread darkness and shadow to the farthest corners of Middle-Earth. Greenwood became darker, and strange Spiders began to breed and attack the Elves.

Eventually, Oropher led his people to war. All the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth united against Sauron, and the Silvan Elves fought with their Eldar kin - but the price they paid for victory nearly broke Thranduil's heart. His father, Oropher, fell in battle, as did his beloved wife Faecalen, leaving Thranduil to face the daunting task of rebuilding his people and raising his son alone. Although Sauron was confirmed to be defeated, the disease in Greenwood only worsened, and soon it became known as Mirkwood; the Spiders became stronger, and Thranduil was forced to move his people northward and into the mountain that soon became known as the Elvenking's Halls; despite his dislike for Dwarves, he enlisted their help to build the fortress, and had to trade a chest of precious jewels that had once belonged to Faecalen.

Thranduil, though a strong leader and beloved king, was not strong enough to combat the forces of evil spreading in his realm (especially since the war that had taken his wife and father also wiped out two-thirds of the Silvan army), so every decision was made out of survival. He completely turned his sights inward and shut off all trade with the other kingdoms (embittered by their abandonment of his people), becoming known as a 'hoarder of treasure' and trading only with the Laketown men nearby. He also focused on making his people as comfortable and merry as they could be in the midst of what he considered to be a losing battle, throwing many feasts and encouraging them to rebuild and support one another.

The first step Thranduil took outside of his kingdom in centuries came when Thorin and his company of Dwarves passed through Mirkwood on their way to the Lonely Mountain; though he imprisoned them for trespassing, his curiosity was piqued at the possibility of having a portion of the gold in the mountain. However, when the Dwarves escaped and Smaug razed Laketown, Thranduil's compassion was sparked, and he brought provisions and allyship to the refugees. His people were forced to take part in the Battle of the Five Armies, but to his surprise, the Silvan Elves prevailed over the Orcs with minimal losses, and Thranduil earned the friendship of both the people of Laketown and a few of the Dwarves of Erebor.

Later, when Aragorn the Ranger and Gandalf brought the creature Gollum to Mirkwood, Thranduil agreed to keep him imprisoned, but treated him kindly - and when he escaped captivity, Thranduil took responsibility for the loss by sending his son Legolas to Imladris to explain the loss. But when Legolas did not return from the council, and Thranduil learned that he had embarked on an impossible quest with the Fellowship of the Ring, his heart was plunged into anxiety and despair. He had already lost so much in trying to combat the darkness, and now he feared he would lose his only son - and that if he did, no one in Middle-Earth would care, since they had not before.

During this final struggle against Mordor, Sauron's forces invaded Mirkwood, something that had never happened before. Thranduil and his subjects were forced to fight for their lives in the Battle under the Trees, and over time many of his people fell and the forest was decimated by the Orcs. Thranduil feared that they would be alone in this war, but Galadriel, Celeborn, and the forces of Lórien came to their aid, and Galadriel cast all the evil out of the fortress Dol Guldur once and for all. On the new year, Thranduil and Celeborn negotiated a treaty between their peoples: Thranduil took the northern region of Mirkwood, renaming it Eryn Lasgalen, while Celeborn took the southern region and called it East Lórien.

Peace came again to Thranduil's realm, and his son Legolas survived the war as well; though many of the Elven realms diminished when their leaders' Rings lost their power, Thranduil had never borne a Ring of Power to begin with, and Eryn Lasgalen remained unchanged. The Silvan Elves entered an age of peace and prosperity, completely free from evil.

Thranduil had thought he would remain in Middle-Earth until he faded, never sailing to Valinor, but after a few centuries Legolas became overcome with the yearning for the Sea and he sailed to Valinor (with Gimli, his Dwarf friend). Thranduil lingered in Greenwood for many years, but soon he, too, succumbed to yearning - not for the Sea, but to be reunited with his family. So, he and a company of loyal followers (mostly Sindarin Elves) left Greenwood behind to the Silvans (who chose to remain in their forests) and sailed to Valinor, where Thranduil was reunited with his father, mother, wife, and son.

So that was a very long post. Let me know what you think of this narrative, and thank you if you read all the way to the end!

[esculentevil]

Ektalas the Sharpest Point, wife/hero of Thranduil and mother of Legolas

Day 5: Elves | Pastels | Grief | Portraits | Archetypes Written for @lotrladiessource​‘s Lord of the Rings Ladies Week!

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆💎AO3/Pillowfort🌲☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆

“Ai, ni dur o--!”

Legolas looks up half guilty and half giggling as his father huffs down at him and the right mess he’s made of the older elf’s inner chamber office--that is: the desk ill-advisedly tucked into the corner of his personal quarters’ drawing room where Thranduil often gets lost in paperwork not suitable for reading in his throne room. It’s hidden behind a half-curtain (currently open because Legolas didn’t close it) designed by the wonderfully talented royal weaver, Legolas’ honorary grandma, Towolain, and the fact that the first thing anyone sees when they enter the room is the opposing wall--or, rather, the lack of one.

His balcony is the other reason Thranduil deals with the more sensitive papers here, in his chambers, where he can just look up and be soothed by his woods.

This is, of course, most likely the reason he’s come to them now (there are, Legolas sees, papers clutched in his hand--the one not holding his staff--and Gelpili, a majestically albino Peregrine Falcon and his father’s messenger bird, perched elegantly upon aforementioned hand’s linked shoulder--meaning that, rarely, something has arisen that both demands his father’s undivided attention and the privacy of his personal rooms); and why, obviously, it should be empty.

(Instead of stolen into by his young son and his... o stars...)

~

“What is all of this, khin nia?”

Gelpili screeches softly in equal confusion, gently fluttering down to peek and peck cautiously at the colorful papers surrounding Thranduil’s son. Legolas grins and giggles at the large bird, shifting so it can more easily see the bright images smeared over the leaflets, before turning his innocent gaze to his irked father, “I’m draw-ing em’g!”

“Emig, gwinig,” Thranduil automatically corrects, his eyes wide and lips round; his entire countenance, in fact, shocked and shook and shallow of color.

He is as pastel as the paints his son has pasted himself with.

(As the ones he, himself, once mourned his home with.)

~

The painting is almost too painful to look at.

~

Petal pink cheeks stare back at him, their rosiness reminding him of laughter and life under the light and love like he fears he will never know again.

Soft sage clothing form forested furrows upon the bottoms of most of the pages, their messy ridges resembling the mountain ranges he played in as a child and reminding him of a time long passed when he and his father still smiled. Meanwhile, gentle gold accents summon the sun’s rays upon those mountains, reminding him of his people’s heartbroken journey to sail beyond the gray and just how GREEN he learned the world can still be if he has a new home within it.

Opalescent orange hair spreads in warm waves across the pages, like faint fire blooming upon the horizon as the sun, itself, arises and bathes the world in love and light and life as fragile and fierce as bloody clouds taking her soul upwind...

Upon the fluttering wings of butterfly blue eyes curled with love and laughter, shining like cold stars in the summer sun--pale, hollow, and lifeless...

~

Nothing like they should be.

~

Not, mind, that the image, itself, is much like she had once been.

His wife was never so pale as to flush so much so needlessly: in truth, ruddiness like this was a rarity for her as she was born and boldened and blossoming millennia before the darkness of Sauron’s shadow encroached upon their lands and so her face--in fact: the entirety of her--was a beautiful, deep, rich tan which, most of the time, held her blood rushing blushes at bay.

She had also preferred much warmer colors than that of their wood’s name: browns were her favorite to wear and she only ever wore green to celebrations--especially, he remembers, his father’s birthday as Oropher was all about green--and to sleep (where in she would actually take a page from him and steal something from their passed father’s closet to curl up and seek comfort in); although, the gold is very much on point as yellow was her favorite color, period.

(There is also probably something to be said about her status as a warrior and hunter: someone whom roamed their lands more than their trees and, therefore, would have needed to blend in more with the ground/dirt/EARTH than leaves.)

Her hair was also not actually orange or even red: it was TINGED such colors, especially during sunrises and sunsets, but the true hue of her hair was a deep and dark brown enriched by a warmth that the sun loved to imbue itself in.

~

Her eyes were not blue; period.

~

“They weren’t?”

Thranduil’s eyes blink, his lips having formed the thought into voice and publicity long before he had even been able to realize it, and gasps softly as his knees give out--no longer able to support him--and he ends up sharing his study’s floor with his beloved son, somber bird, and fallen hero; formal documents forgotten.

Thickly, he swallows.

Then, he softly shakes his head, “No, ion, they were not...” before slowly, reaching out and taking hold of a pale yellow color, the somewhat off-white hue of corn, and presents it to his curious and eager son, “They were like the sun.”

~

“Pretty...~!”

Thranduil smiles softly as Legolas gently gasps in delight, tiny fingers touching the slightly damp paint with care and caution. The Elvenking’s own fingers continue as they were: caressing the forever image of his long gone wife, Ektalas, which resides evermore in his mind, and imprinting it on the leaflet before him.

Both the paper and the person.

“Yes, she was...” He speaks so softly and with such affection that Legolas turns and looks up at him with earnestly inquisitive eyes. Thranduil almost laughs: blue her eyes may never have been but that gaze... she often had it, too.

(Especially back when she was still a child and they’d only just met...)

“Is that why you loved 'er?”

Thranduil blinks down at his son and pointedly raises his eyebrow, “Is prettiness any reason to love someone?” He’d meant it to be somewhat rebuking; but, then he realized just how cruel that was when Legolas just purses his lips and brows, confusion clearly evident on his entire person like a beacon.

Legolas had never even known how pretty she was.

So, how could he know there was more to her?

~

“Your mother was a wild one,” he says at last, mottled hands fighting the urge--the NEED--to pet back his young son’s hair, “Just like you.”

Legolas perks up, eyes bright with joy at the idea and comparison for he can, once again, hear the pure affection and warmth in his father’s voice. He loves it.

Thranduil smiles and mixes some more pastels into his painted wife’s hair, making it a flaming brown; “I met her one heated horizon--I remember not which hours it was, set or rise--as your grandfather and I guided our remaining people west towards the last rays of light... the last bits of color in our lives...”

He trails off, eyes far away as he recalls that day. The sun was burning the sky and mountains down--meaning it probably WAS sunset when he had met her--as it floated behind them, bathing their passing party in red, orange, and gold.

Or, at least, that’s what he KNEW was happening.

As an elf suffering grief and hearing the call of the sea... all he really saw was gray.

~

“Until I saw her in the corner of my eye: this little spark of light in the leaves;” Thranduil smiles and kisses his son’s head as he adds more pale yellows--golden corn--to his wife’s hair as haloing highlights: exactly as he met her; “Exactly like you, little leaf.”

Legolas giggles gayly and claps his hands with childish glee, happy to hear that; clearly. His father chuckles at him, enjoying his joy, and ignores the splattering such action incurred. (They’re in their dressing gowns, anyway, so it’s fine.)

“I had thought she was a flame--thought the trees were on fire--flittering through the leaves--I did not think she was a part of the sunlight for, to me, it was...”

“Gray?” his son fills in, half unsure and half understanding. He’s head the stories and knows what sea-longing is; he’s also aware that, generally, his kind of elf (Silvan) doesn’t experience it and, chances are, he never will, too.

Legolas will never understand what it is to see the world gray.

And that honestly makes Thranduil incredibly happy.

~

“She was the first bit of color I saw,” Thranduil confesses, voice quiet and quivering as his elf-soft fingers mix some yellows and oranges and greens thereby making a lovely and warm light brown--perfect for Ektalas’ skin tone; “And I thought I was loosing my mind.”

He adds the mix to the half-dried base layer of off-white he’d used to form her shining face, allowing what was still wet to lighten as it will while he shades and warms and contours the shapes of her lifted cheeks, the strength of her jaw, and the slope of her pointed nose. He breaths slowly as he falls back into time, remembering long ago when he would lay upon the greens of their meadows, Ektalas stargazing beside him, and trace these solidities with such serenity.

To think that now, after both so long and so little, he would do the same...

In paint and pain and pastel.

~

“Did em’g find it for you?”

Snapping out of his memory ridden trance, Thranduil blinks down at his son and raises an inquiring eyebrow at his question. He almost looses it when Legolas, adorably, raises his own little brow back. (He has the sweetest boy, he swears.)

“Is that why you loved her: she found your mind???”

The Great Elven King really does loose it then.

(So cute!!!)

~

“No, khin nia...”

He pauses as he calms himself and wonders, honestly, what he means by that: what is he really saying no to? Technically, she DID find him his mind, his sanity, as well as his will to live--to REMAIN. She found his reason to stay for she was it.

Still... “That is not why I love her...”

That’s why she’s his best friend.

~

“I had thought I was seeing things,” he finally starts back, tracing the strong brow of his wife’s image with the same color he used for her hair with notes of black; “For the light I was seeing was too pale to be flames and I remember, too well, the red of true fire and the heat of dragon fire--I will never forget these things; nor will I ever forget the pale light of your mother smiling through the leaves.”

“Like she is here?” Legolas asks, pointing his plastered finger at the painting.

Thranduil follows his gesture and smiles back at the memory gazing back at him, “No, khin nia: she had been but a child for this.”

Legolas’ eyes widen comically as he gasps.

~

“Back then, she was a tiny young thing; and, with her hair aflame with the sun resting into the west (the color of which I knew but could no longer see...), Ektalas had looked, for all the world, like a sweet sapling aburn--and I feared.”

“Was she ok?” Legolas asks, eyes wide and worried; and his father quickly nods and kisses his head once again.

“She was fine; it was all a trick of the light; but, the splash of red where I knew there should only be green grays, caused me to panic and, truly, not even see what I was seeing; I could only think: O Stars, she’s on fire!

“And act on it.”

~

“W’at did you do?”

Legolas leans against his father’s broad chest eagerly, eyes peering upwards brightly, and Thranduil smiles as he gazes back down at his little leaf.

Then, quite suddenly, he’s laughing--mostly at himself.

“I threw water on her!”

~

“We’d been collecting rain water, in case we needed it but couldn’t find a river or other such source, and storing it in sealed amphorae which we kept tied in carts--along with other necessities like food and clothes and bedding--and to animals;” Thranduil expanded, well after he’d finished laughing at his son’s scandalized and spluttering gaping; “This is what I removed from my father’s caribou and used.”

“To throw on emig???” Legolas’ face is still affronted, clearly not fathoming how, exactly, his kind and calm and courteous and keen father could ever... “And she... She LIKED it?!?!?!”

Thranduil is certain he hasn’t laughed this hard in at least a hundred years.

Legolas really IS just like his mother...

(She’d be so proud of him...)

~

“No; and, at first, when I realized I hadn’t dosed her--for there was no fire anywhere; just her hair--but simply drenched her, I panicked even more and hastened to apologize.”

“As you should!” Legolas huffs upsetly at his father.

He then huffs even more as Thranduil can’t help but laugh even harder.

The Elvenking is quick to amend himself, however: “Yes; athon; and I did.”

~

“Although, it took me a while to, honestly: as I attempted my apology, she turned suddenly and took off into the forest--THIS forest--” Thranduil gestures around them and smiles at the look of awe and awareness on his young son’s face; then, he continues, “and, in my panic, I blindly followed her into the thicket.”

“Did you... scare her???” Legolas frowns with his whole face, upset but mostly just confused. He’s spent much of his young life asking his older siblings (Mallosnell and Annuigwae, mostly, as they’d been the oldest) about his mother, as she had been killed when he was far too young to be able to remember her, and everything he’d been told up until this point made her seem fearless--because she WAS.

It was one of the things he loves most about her:

She feared nothing; not even dying if it meant protecting their baby.

~

“No, khin nia, I could never make her afraid.”

He says it soothingly, at first; but, then, he chuckles as a thought occurs: that, truly, it’s too true!

“Not even when I wanted to: not even when I was the one whom was afraid and wanted, so badly, for her see that--see sense--and stay home where it is safe...

“She was never about that... She was about making it safe for everyone else.”

~

“She was a war’ior!”

Thranduil laughs lovingly and nods, using his pastel covered nail to detail lashes onto his lost love’s face in the same paint as her brows, “Yes, naed, she was.

“She was the greatest warrior I’ve ever known; strong, steadfast, a bit stubborn, but... she always made me feel safe and secure; her strength made me sound.

“And that, khin nia, is why I love her.”

~

Legolas is frowning.

Thranduil watches him for a moment, worried, as butterfly blue eyes stare down at Ektalas’ grinning visage with an expression the Elfking cannot quite see. There’s a pensiveness to the elfling that his father knows is too big for his age--

But, then, their son is looking up at him with such sorrowful sadness that, immediately and without question (and with no regard for the paint on either), Thranduil embraces his child--his baby--and holds him close to his heart.

Legolas’ voice is small but strong, just like hers: “Are you scared now, atheg?”

~

“La, ndilakhin nia; ni eʒallu thossui pi ʒar de.”*

~

“So, why’d she run away--” Legolas suddenly asks, little pastel-smeared form tucked safely into the hollow of his father’s body as though he’s hiding in a tree; “If she wasn’ afraid?”

“Ah...” Thranduil chuckles, his deep voice reverberating against his son’s back, as he carefully adds gold flecks and white highlights to the pale corn yellow orbs that are Ektalas’ painted eyes. They stare back at them with the warmth and light of the very stars and their own people’s souls when filled with healing love.

How fitting.

“She thought it was a game: I drenched her so she had to drench me; in fact, she led me straight into a lake with her run--literally: she pushed me right in!”

~

Gelpili’s feathers rustle gently as it rests in Thranduil’s (ignored) office throne.

The official papers the Elfking came in with rest (just as ignored) right under it, their papyrus bodies making a perfectly pleasant nest for its long snoozing form. Before it, upon the ground, sit--still--the set of woodland royals: The Spring King, Thranduil, and The Sweet Leaf, Legolas, and The Sharpest Point, Ektalas. Laughter fills the air as all three paint gayly together, well into the late evening, with a mix of the elfling’s pastels, his father ink wells, his grandfather’s quills, and his mother’s smiling stills; all three learning and grieving and HEALING.

Just as the Elfking once did with his father (whom always encouraged his art, even before The Fall; but even more so after realizing it helped him cope).

Just as Thranduil once did with HER (whom always saved him; still does).

☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆💎🌲☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ☆

*Hi; yea; I tried really hard; but, I’m sure I still failed even harder; so... that one all Elvish line: “No, child I’m devoted to (who’s) mine; I (am) to be never afraid if I have you.”

Also, I have been writing this for two whole folk dancing months and STILL I only just finished and I can’t even tell if this is any good or not; I think everything but the ending is fine; literally everything but the last bit is exactly(-ish... Little Legolas interrupted so much so often UGH! Dx lol Love the lil sod tho) how I wanted it--full cathartic crushing and everything--but UGH... Forever dissatisfied with myself =/ Still, this took so much more out of me than I expected... Please excuse me as I go curl up and die around my Thranduil’s sword, thanks. Thoughts?

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Legolas: *about the last alliance* *sigh* i feel bad for Grandfather Oropher.

Elladan: it must have sucked having your grandpa die in battle when you were young.

Legolas: Hm?

Legolas: Oh, not that.

Legolas: Grandfather stole the last slice of Grandmother Cloudryad’s favorite pie before he left for the war.

Elladan:

Legolas: *mutters* when they meet again, Grandma’s gonna murder him.

[youmisguidedmartyr]

Headcanon that Oropher's wife/Thranduil's mother is still kicking around Greenwood/Mirkwood

Like the imladris gang just pull up for some reason or another and are greated by this random ass Lady dressed in the fashion of Doriath