ayusfiction

Title: Son of Doom

Characters: Thranduil. 5 OMCs. Legolas. Estel

Summary: Thranduil had five sons however little did anyone know none of them were called Legolas. Who is he then? He is the son of...doom.

Warnings (if applicable): AU! Slash!

Disclaimer: Not mine. :(

Flames engulfed the nearby trees, licking greedily at unharmed ones. Screams could be heard, desperate cries of plead and screeches through inflicted pain.

“You shall obey my command, my every word,” the roaring voice sent chills down each spine. The voice was icy and dripping with venom.

“Legolas shall be your son. He will live as a Prince of Mirkwood within the walls of your palace. Shall any harm befall him, you shall not see another day,” The once mighty, imposing, King of Mirkwood was on his knees, his fact consorted with fear as he nodded reluctantly. He knew better than to defy the Dark Lord.

“Once he reaches of age, he shall be revealed of his hidden title until then, he shall remain as your youngest son and heir to your throne,” The Dark Lord hissed his last words until the shadow enveloped him as he vanished away from the scene.

Thranduil looked at the wailing Elfling that lay before him. This child who shall be the doom of Middle-Earth.
--

Legolas Greenleaf grew up within the woodland realm, infamous for his cheeky, wicked nature. The fair prince was the bane of the wood-elves. Many would not have guessed that such a fair being could cause such distress. Surely, the Prince may have been one of the most beautiful creatures that had graced the Arda but he might have been the most mischievous Elf that one might seen in their immortal lives.

“Legolas, you are an Orc!” Erudan cried, walking dangerously over to the sniggering Elf. “Was it you who set the kitchen on fire?”

“My lovely brother, how could one suspect an innocent Elf like me?” The young Elda held back a smirk, feigning an innocent look yet his tone of speech was give away. “Your twin, Aradan, was seen sneaking food from the cooks; he might as well have done it,”

“Legolas, you are lying. Aradan would have never done such a deed. Furthermore, I could hear the cooks whispering about a meddling young Greenleaf. You would have thought I will let you get away after almost killing our servants?” Erudan asked, visibly shaking with fury, yanking up his brother to his feet before wanting to drag him towards his father’s chambers to allow him to punish the imp.

“Don’t touch me, you filthy Elf. I will tell Ada on you!” Legolas cried, struggling in his brother’s grasp, wanting to feel himself.

“Such insolence!” Erudan yelled, raising him hand to strike the young Elf for he had finally crossed his limits. Legolas cowered, flinching away from his hand, whimpering even before he was struck.

“Erudan! Stop this madness at once,” The bold voice of the crown prince sounded throughout the gardens. Immediately, Erudan lowered his hand yet defiance was clear in his eyes as his gaze swept over to his brother. Alyan shook his head, signaling to release struggling Elfing in his grip.

Legolas sulkily rubbed his sore arm where Erudan had painfully held him. His angry, defiant eyes moved over from glaring at Erudan to the brave figure of his eldest brother. Not even offering a word of gratitude to Alyan for saving him, he stuck out his tongue towards the Elf before running off and mingling with other elves.

“Why do keep on coddling that disgrace of an Elf. Even sweet Airion is not let off Ada’s wrath when he does something mischievous yet Legolas is let off even when he tried to kill some Elves. It’s hardly fair,” Erudan growled, unable to see the justification done in this matter. All five brothers from oldest Alyan to the second youngest Airion were punished whenever they did something wrong intentionally or otherwise yet the youngest prince had his way through anything even though most of his antics were usually intentional and inflicting harm. Their father always allowed Legolas live filled with roses, including all the thorns being removed. Never had once Legolas been punished despite the innumerous pranks and awful deeds. Yet another peculiar thing was that, despite all this, their father barely spoke to the young Elf, he kept his distance with the prince, only talking to him if necessary. Erudan was glad to know that there was at least something Legolas was missing out on, a father’s love no matter how selfish it sounded.

--

“Get out of my way, foolish Airion,” Legolas shoved the lithe Elf out of his way, almost making him tumble to the floor. Legolas was already filled with rage and seeing Airion made it even worse. He hated Airion with a burning passion. The Elf had everything he wanted. He always had the undivided attention of his brothers and father. They treated him as if he were a rare treasure. They spoke to him with sweet, endearing words yet they turned cold towards Legolas. He hated it. How he hated the foolish Elf. Airion was the only one who spoke to him in a soft, melodic voice, probably mocking him of what he could not have. Redundant Elf, he thought as he cooked up another plan to make his life miserable.

--

“Ai! Valar!” Airion yelped as he broke his fall by pressing his weight against his wrist as he fell, breaking his wrist in the process.

Legolas smirked as he looked at the Elf sprawled across the floor. This was his rightful place, beneath his feet and crying.

“Foolish Elf, you think you can make me feel miserable? I will make you feel miserable!” He roared, his voice filled with menace as he narrowed his eyes at the helpless being.

“What have I done to you?” Airion asked, trying to sit up but cried out in protest when he put too much weight on his injured wrist.

“What is happening here?” a loud voice boomed along the corridors. Herion, second in line to the throne, strode towards the two young Elves, watching the scene unfold. Upon seeing his beloved brother spread helpless on the floor, his strode broke into a swift run as he came up beside his sibling. Helping the young Elf to his feet, he examined his wounded wrist.

“What have you done, you demon?” He exclaimed upon seeing his brother weep tears of pain, his face bleeding into the color of absolute rage. Legolas did not reply but kept his arrogant exterior on, eyes shining with mirth and amusement. He was content in watching his brother breaking down in misery. It was only when Herion took him by his shoulders and started shaking him furiously to spill out answers; he was snapped out of his proud stance.

“Stop! Leave me! Don’t touch me!” Legolas shouted, clenching his eyes close as he futilely tried to grip the arms of his elder brother to stop him from shaking him further. When his efforts failed, Legolas suddenly unleashed a bout of energy from nowhere, managing to push of the other off him. Herion stumbled backwards, almost knocking into the fearful, worried Airion before regaining his balance.
“I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!!” Legolas screamed, covering his ears before running off in the directions of his chamber, seeking comfort in loneliness.

Centuries later...

Legolas smirked to himself, finally his plans could be put to action. It was some years ago when the Dark Lord had made an appearance in Mirkwood and told Legolas of his rightful title as the Son of Sauron. Legolas had been confused at first, refusing to believe a word of what the Dark Lord told him however soon enough, he came to accept it for to him the title of being the son of Sauron was much more appealing than being the son of Thranduil. At least now he knew why his supposed father hated him so much and why his brothers were so cold towards him, not that they knew of his title. The only one aware of this secret was his father, him and Thranduil who was threatened by the Dark Lord to keep the secret.

Foolish creatures, thinking they could rule over Arda with peace and tranquility. They were merely living a dream and once his plans were put to action, they would have a taste of the harsh reality.

He rode into the border of Imladris, heading to the house of Elrond to attend his council. He held his head up high as the elves of the Last homely house looked up at him with awe. Truly, he was a sight to behold. Over the years, he had matured into a sinfully beautiful creature, his beauty rivaling even the Stars of Eldar. Rumors said that the youngest Mirkwood prince was the fairest being that graced the Arda and it was confirmed through the sight that he made before them. Whispers got bolder and louder as he neared his destination. He grinned inwardly in self-satisfaction. He could easily use his beauty to bewitch anyone causing them to fall in his trap, using them for all they were worth.

His smile brightened as he saw who was waiting for him at the gates. Estel. His beloved Estel.