Summary: A hero has to arise or the elves of Eryn Lasgalen will find no peace. Luckily, Legolas is on their side.
Category: Lord of the Rings
Word Count: 591
All was well in Eryn Lasgalen when suddenly a new Shadow fell upon the green woods. Sauron, it seemed, had sent one last emissary; and he came in the most repulsive of shapes, with the most obnoxious of voices, with the most repugnant of manners.
No elf was able to stand his presence, and the firstborn fled him whenever they could. Whole areas of the Wood of the Greenleaves were abandoned when it became apparent that the Shadow had set his foot there. More and more, the elves were driven out of the forest, many resigned themselves to settle at the foot of the Misty Mountain. They suffered, and dearly, for there were no trees to be found on the rocks, and no sparkling brooks. But the new settlement gave them peace from the Shadow, since the evil creature felt most comfortable around trees and brooks. It kept the elves safe from the evil—and that was worth even the deprivation from the trees.
A small group of elves, though, decided to not let themselves be expelled. Led by their prince, the fair Legolas of Greenwood, they affronted the Shadow, defied his evilness. They cavorted in the forest, sang and danced as they pleased, and lived a happy life as if there were nothing that could harm them.
Alas, all good things come to an end if malevolence decides to interfere.
And so one night, when the prince and his merry band of friends frolicked in a field of white flowers, drank wine and were jolly under a canopy of twinkling stars, the Shadow showed its ugly teeth again.
He sneaked upon the unsuspecting revellers, tried to taint them with his tiny, claw-like fore-paws, and screeched gruesomely—as was his wont—when the fair folk shrank back in abhorrence. Then, swishing his fat, flat, fleshy tail, he approached the prince himself, and taunted him by mocking his dearest friends.
The prince, disgusted as he was, stood his ground. Valiantly, he approached the Shadow, bestowed his elven stare upon him; and when the Shadow had the effrontery to speak up again—foul words full of hatred and ill-will—the prince struck out.
One blow only it was; but the horrid creature ducked in cowardice, turned, and fled.
Great was the cheer after the Shadow had taken flight, loud and clear did the rejoicing ring through the forest, and it called back the elves from the Misty Mountain, who returned and resettled in the pacified Wood of Greenleaves.
The Shadow kept clear of Eryn Lasgalen from then on, lurking only in the outskirts of the forest, muttering unintelligibly from time to time, so pathetically even the smallest of elflings would laugh at him.
Eryn Lasgalen, though, grew and thrived, and the firstborn never forgot whom they owed their peace, and they never ceased to sing praise to their brave and gallant prince.
And thus was born the legend of The Prince and the Beaver.
Every legend, moreover, contains its residuum of truth, and the root function of language is to control the universe by describing it. ~ James Arthur Baldwin
A/N: This was, of course, completely uncalled for. But as The Incident (if you don’t know what I’m talking about just google “Orlando Bloom Justin Bieber Ibiza”) happened while I was deep into writing LotR-fanfiction, my brain instantly provided me with this. I know, I should be ashamed of myself. But…what the…I can’t help it…take that, beaver!