He was the last born of the great Elven King, brought into the world in the waning hours of dawn, in the full bloom of spring. The rain had drenched the wooded kingdom of Mirkwood for a week; day could hardly be discerned from night as constant dark clouds covered the skies. The Queen feared that perhaps her new son might be born in this gloom, but at the last possible moment the clouds parted revealing the glory of a pink sky and sinking red sun. Droplets of rain fell from thick leaves, patting softly on the dampened ground, bringing forth the exhilarating scent of fallen pine needles. And so the Greenleaf was brought into the world.

The Queen had not conceived in quite some time; indeed most thought that the King did not wish for another child. But wish granted or not, the Queen was with child again. King Thranduil had twelve children. He had his fair share of heirs. They even had two daughters, more than enough to keep the Queen satisfied, or so Thranduil thought. And so Legolas' birth was not the most joyous of all births in Thranduil's eyes. But even so, Thranduil could not help but smile with Legolas' first smile, he could not help but laugh at his son's first and clumsy attempts at walk. And he nearly marveled at the young Prince's ability to pick up speech so quickly, all manners of it as well, Sindarin, Qenya, and Westron. Although Legolas rarely spoke.

It was an odd fate, and perhaps it was truly what the Queen had waited for all these years. All of Thranduil's children were much like himself; social, talkative, active, somewhat hotheaded if the term could be applied to royalty. But Legolas was the only one to take after his mother in so many ways. His stormy blue eyes often spoke more than his mouth did. Legolas listened, not just to his brothers and sisters' constant rambling, but many times Thranduil caught him sitting on a thick branch, acknowledging nothing but the mere presence of the wind with his eyes closed and his ears perked. It frustrated Thranduil, for even though he was by nature a Wood Elf, he was also a leader, and leaders are more ought to lead by example than wait to be taught. Legolas was quite the opposite. Whenever opportunity would present itself for Legolas to take initiative, (and Thranduil saw to it himself that these chances were plentiful) Legolas would study with all attentiveness the way the other Elves fought for leadership, never taking the helm himself. It was during these tiresome childhood years of Legolas, that his father sighed with relief that Legolas would never be heir.

The feeling was mutual. Legolas strayed from his studies, more apt to taking to the trees in the depths of Mirkwood. The childhood of Elves are existentially short, and so all effort was taken to ensure that the young Prince did not stray, but Legolas became quite adept at foiling all potential covert bodyguard attempts, much to the chagrin of the King. Still, the King could not deny an exemplary ability in Legolas, although he'd wish that the stubborn Prince would wait until he were properly trained to defend himself. Mirkwood was still haunted with various creatures, most of which had an acute taste for the powerful elements of Elven blood. When Legolas reached adolescence, his brothers, who were centuries older than him, took it upon themselves to train their youngest in the art of archery.

Now this was indeed a time for Thranduil to rejoice. His aloof son had finally found a sport truly befitting a royal Prince. Legolas had taken to the bow unlike many of his other sons. The naturalness with which Legolas wielded the weapon was both exciting and fearsome. If Lord Elrond were to learn that perhaps Mirkwood had a better archer than Rivendell, what a tournament that would turn out to be!

Although Legolas did relish the strength of the bow, he could never deny the overwhelming influence of his mother. The Queen's quiet soul was instilled in the young prince. The two were often seen in the forest gardens of the Kingdom, strolling side by side with arms clasped behind them, never uttering a word. In the fall they sat underneath the great oaks, inhaling the bittersweet scent of decaying leaves.

Legolas was just reaching manhood, when his mother spoke the words that would forever haunt him.

"Legolas, these times are fated to die."

Legolas turned to his fair mother and stared in question. Her pale eyes bore deep into his, but she smiled sadly at his ever-growing frown. She clasped his hand. "The sky shall once again be dark over Mirkwood. It will not be long."

Of course long was a relative term to ageless immortals, but still, the thought that his forest might be in danger frightened him. "What do you mean?"

The Queen sighed and looked skyward. "I can feel it in my chest, I see the shadows lurking, I smell the death that they shall bring. I have seen what is to become."

It was no secret throughout the Kingdom that the Queen had extraordinary gifts, beyond that borne to all Elves. But it was undeniably rare for her to speak of them.

"What have you seen?"

The Queen now stared at the ground. "Evil. Evil which I cannot name, for I know not what to call it. I fear many of our kind shall perish."

"But surely we are well defended!" Legolas reasoned.

His mother smiled. "You have the ability of you father, and perhaps one day you shall taste of the calling to battle. But I fear for your well-being when I am gone."

Legolas was aghast. He grasped his mother by the shoulders and stared deeply into her eyes. "Say not what you have seen if it is only to cause me grief."

The Queen shook her head. "It is not to cause you grief, my dear son. But heed my warning for yourself. Darkness is coming. No amount of preparation will give the defenders of this land enough practice for what they are to face. And you, my son. I fear that you shall suffer greatly, more so than your brothers and sisters, for you are the last born, and as such you will bear the weight of your doubts and fears in greater depths than they. But do not bury your innocence for the façade of bravery in ignorance. Instead, wield it as a shield of truth, and if you prevail, darkness cannot overcome you."

Legolas could only stare at his mother in confusion.

She quickly rose to her feet, smoothing out the folds of her sweeping gown and extending a hand to the still sitting Legolas. He felt something stir in his chest that he had never permitted himself to feel before. Fear. He shivered in spite of himself.

"Fear not Legolas. Not now. You have much growing to do before you are to undertake any tasks of real importance, and it will be a greater length of time before the Evil truly presents itself. Until then, live in peace under the safety of our forests and your father. Heed his words. And take heed of the forest's words as well. Theirs is an elusive knowledge, but for a patient soul they would not fail in their devotion."

And so it was that Legolas began his first years of Elven existence. It would be many more centuries before he was to encounter the Evil of which his mother predicted.