“You climbed this tree quickly for one so young, Legolas,” Father stated with pride twinkling in his eyes after we had scampered up the largest of the beech trees growing near the pond. I beamed back at him, happy to have pleased the person I most loved and respected, for at that time, I thought him the strongest and wisest creature in all Middle Earth.

We perched upon a sturdy branch, and I rested my back contentedly against Father’s chest, snuggling into his warm embrace as his arms encircled me. While the wind whispered soothing sounds of love and nudged silky strands of my hair toward my face, Father and I relaxed in comfortable silence. My fingers idly caressed the tender, smooth, greenish-gray bark, and I noticed that the burnished-red, springtime buds of the majestic tree had taken on a subtle glossiness as they celebrated their imminent transformation into true leaves.

Spotting a newly sprouted leaf bursting forth like a polished gem, its arrival a proclamation that spring had begun in earnest, I exclaimed, “Look, Father! A little, green leaf—just like me!”

I reached out to pluck the leaf from its branch, but Father gently stopped my hand, a faint smile warming his face.

“Let us leave it, shall we, Legolas? The branch loves its young leaf and wants to hang on to it—just like me.”

“Legolas, you did a fine job handling the trade negotiations with the Men of Lake-town,” Father announced, a broad smile gracing his face, after he had surveyed the lawn outside his Great Hall. The expansive enclosure was dotted with tables that had been made ready to accommodate the forthcoming midsummer banquet.

“Thank you, Father. I was pleased to have had the opportunity to prove myself to you.”

“Ah, Legolas, you are certainly a responsible and worthy heir. A father could ask for no more. For that matter, nor could a king!” Father chuckled before continuing: “Our trade with Esgaroth goes well, and we are blessed that the northern realm of our glorious Wood, though her southern regions grow ever darker, remains relatively unscathed by both the looming evil and the interference of the seditious Noldor. With the help of the Valar, may our simple ways be preserved!”

I nodded my head in eager agreement. How blessed we were, indeed! Not only were we, until that point, left unharmed by the increasing darkness, but we were also endowed with such a wise and noble king. How proud I was to be his son!

Father and I simply stood for a moment, enjoying the opportunity to bask in radiant sunlight. I breathed in the sweet smell of the lush grass, allowing my mind to drift as my eyes beheld the beech tree growing beside the nearby pond, its leaves a glorious explosion of dazzling green.

“Shall we, Legolas?” Father’s voice called me back gently, and together, his hand resting upon my back, we strode toward the Hall.

“You have responsibilities, Legolas! There is more to life than having fun!” Father roared at me after having discovered that I had taken a moment to escape my duties in the armory to sit by the pond with friends.  Such duties nibbled away much of my time as the darkness began to encroach more upon our once-fair Wood.

“Yes, Father, I realize that there is more to life than having fun,” I mumbled in resignation.

I would have said more had I not believed that my words would only increase his anger.  In truth, I wished to tell him all that was in my heart, and as I headed back to the armory, I composed the speech that would never be uttered:

“I kill spiders; I hunt orcs; I do everything to try to please you, yet you accuse me of wanting nothing more than fun! Is nothing ever good enough for you? Can I never be good enough? And just what is so wrong with a bit of fun? Does it not occur to you that you are too serious? Perhaps you would do a better job of ruling this realm if you would learn to relax!”

But I could never have said those words to him. I can only imagine his response!

As I glanced at the large beech tree growing beside the pond, my eyes landed on a golden leaf beginning its fall. The beech had released its grip, and the leaf, caught in the breeze, hung for a moment as if deciding whether and how far to stray. It made up its mind and allowed itself to be carried across the pond and out of view.

Putting my head down against the strengthening wind, I quickened my pace and continued to the armory.

“You wish to leave the Wood?” Father asked me incredulously.

My decision to relocate with some of our people to Ithilien was yet another one of my choices that he simply could not comprehend. I had already received his scorn when he learned that I had befriended a dwarf: “Dwarves! What next, Legolas? Orcs?”

But how could I simply return to my previous life when I had seen so much of the world? I admit that I had taken his beliefs with me when leaving Rivendell with the Fellowship, yet somewhere along the way, I had begun to see things in a different light and to question whether Father’s policies were right . . . or at least if they were right for me. By the time the One Ring had finally been destroyed, I knew that I could never go back and simply resume my former way of life. Too much had changed; I had changed.

As I left my home for Ithilien, my eyes landed upon the old beech tree growing beside the pond. Its limbs stood bare, none of the leaves it once held so close and dear in sight. A twig snapped beneath my foot, drawing my attention downward where a single leaf, crisp, brown, and wrinkled, lay lifeless on the dirt.

Without a backward glance, I mounted my steed and rode southward.

And now, years later, as I stand here in the Grey Havens lamenting our estrangement, I realize that although I cannot go back and repair what was, I can choose to look forward to our reunion on a distant shore where words, though they come easily, are unnecessary. For on that shore, understanding is complete, relationships are restored, and the tree, proud and strong, clings tightly to its leaf in an eternal summer.

Like many LOTR fans, I find the relationship between Thranduil and Legolas intriguing. Perhaps my curiosity stems from the fact that so much that pertains to the King and the Prince of Mirkwood has been left to our imaginations. Certain questions tend to flit about in the back of my mind: Would Thranduil have once possessed a light-heartedness that faded as the threats to his realm increased? Would Legolas’ respect for his father’s ability to rule have diminished as Mirkwood grew darker? Such questions prompted me to write this collection, which present merely one possible interpretation of this father-son relationship.

In “Winter’s Frost”, I have Legolas standing in the Grey Havens. I was intentionally vague about why he was there; perhaps a friend was sailing or perhaps even his father. Because Legolas supposedly sailed down the Anduin when he left Middle Earth, I in no way wished to imply that he himself was leaving from the Grey Havens.