Book II: The Saga of Thranduil
Chapter I: I am Thranduil (Part I)
“Tall, with the broad shoulders of the high elves of the Teleri—of the Sindar—with the finest and longest of golden hair. Upon a face that seemed to trace every joy and every pain over many millennia yet it found upon it the eternal youth of the elven soul through soft grey eyes with specks of blue variants that seemed as minnows in shallow waters whenever something came to disturb them.
With a mouth that formed a perfect distraction beneath a nose that was as delicate as the face upon which they found themselves, this creature stood looking out toward the vast autumn colors of the trees that made up his kingdom. He was waiting for something—it would come to him as requested for he was an elf of immense importance.
Into the room came a figure clad in a grey cloak carrying with him his bow. He kneeled down. The figure did not move nor was it to be expected as all knew he would not think twice to take anyone to task for insolence.
“You come a great distance.” The voice was deep and resonant. Whenever it demanded to be heard and it would be, for no one ever forgot it once it was heard. “Tell me, what news do you bring to me?”
“It is from Celeborn of Lothlórien, Your Majesty,” the messenger said weakly. He had never met this King before. Many rumors whispered across the lands of Middle Earth put fear in the hearts of elves and men alike. This young elf was not prepared for what he saw as the figure slowly turned around and faced him. The celebrated beauty was true—as was the fear the eyes could bring to all that saw them. The messenger began to shake fiercely as the figure walked with such grace, and seemed to glide rather than walk; stopping before the kneeling messenger.
“Fear not. I know well what news you bring to me from my kin in the West. I know what they say of me and my people here in the Woodland Realm and I do not hold you responsible for things spoken in whispers. Stand before me.”
Trembling in mortal fear, the messenger stood, never looking into the face of the one to which he was sent.
The messenger slowly raised his head and when he saw the face in all its glory he was taken by how far from rumor it truly was.
“Yes, I am the mighty and feared elven king. I know well what message you bring to me. Why Celeborn and Galadriel dared to send anyone beyond their borders to tell me what I already know is not my concern. Perhaps they wanted to see what has became of us after the war. Now you know. Rest tonight and you will return to Lothlórien and tell them what you have seen.”
“What should I say, Your Majesty,” he stammered in fear. “What shall I tell those beyond these borders?” A smile came across the face of magnificence as perfect as the rest.
“Tell them I am more than the elven king. I have a name as they well know. They may not want to hear it nor say it, but you will tell them that I am Thranduil, elven king of Mirkwood.”
I made a gesture and the messenger bowed and two guards escorted him away. “I am Thranduil,” I whispered to myself. I began to walk down to my throne room thinking to myself all things that had been and were no more.
Time had always been the enemy I could not defeat, thus I became its unrelenting shadow. Far behind me was the past—painful memories that would remain with me for eternity.
Unspeakable grief that sent many of my kin to their deaths by grief or to the Undying Lands in fear somehow became the very strength that turned me into Mirkwood’s greatest king and the last of all elven kings to remain far beyond the time of the elves had ended—or so men thought us all diminished. The sun had yet to set on the Woodland Realm and I would decide when that time would come.
My life did not begin at my birth; rather it began when I fell in love with my beloved late wife Êlúriel Nenluin of Ossiriand. To speak her name brings indescribable pain, I shall begin my story at my beginning–over 7000 years ago.
It was the elven month of Gwaeron on Orithil–our Moonsday in the year 182 of the Second Age. I was born to rule for on that day there was much fanfare in the kingdom of Eryn Galen. The great and noble King Oropher and his queen Nimeithel were blessed with an heir.
I entered into a world that was vibrant; surrounded by the most beautiful forests in all of Arda in the Northeast of the Rhovanion. Vivid and crisp did all seasons come to our kingdom long before the darkness came. There were no colors more pure than those found in the Woodland Realm. Our elves were great in number then and upon my arrival, all were joyous for a son was born.
My very first memory was of my mother. She was the fairest of all the Sindar in the North. She was far smaller than my father, but still stood the height of grey-elves. Her skin was flawless and was a crisp as the winter snow. Unlike most of our kin, her eyes were the palest blue. Her hair, straight and flowing like a waterfall to the hem of her gowns was a symphonic combination of silver and white gold.
My father of the purist of High Elf—eyes as grey as a summer storm filled with flecks of gold that whenever anger found him would appear to flash like lightening. He towered over everyone; broad shouldered and strapping he never failed to intimidate anyone, even in kindness.
His silky hair was fine as muslin and the color of the finest gold and it took its course liberally past his shoulders—coming to a stopping short at the small of his back. Strong features set upon the smoothest and lightest gold skin, the color as the halo of sunlight that failed to wrinkle even during one of his tirades.
Often at my mother’s side was her sister Valdúril. As my mother, her skin was flawless. Her hair was as long, but to it was a color far more golden. Her eyes shone of with a gentle grey, like wisps of smoke with a hint of blue.
Valdúril was wedded to Eldôr. Like my father, he was tall and fair; with the palest grey eyes of any Sindar. Long and fine was his fair like that of King Oropher, the color the purest gold. So yellow it was that often when he would wander into the sun, it seemed to sparkle as a thousand stars.
Eldôr and Valdúril had a son before my birth. His name was Elranduil and he was young when I was born. Had I not arrived, my parents were prepared to name him heir to the throne of Eryn Galen. But my birth did not diminish the closeness of the royal household.”–KWR:BII The Saga of Thranduil by J.M.Miller 12-17-15
Images: © 2012, 2013, 2014. Warner Brothers Pictures. The Hobbit: The Unexpected Journey, The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug, The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies. All Rights Reserved.
