— ༻ ☽𐬿 𖢻 ༄ 𐬾✽ ༺ —

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑

" if you can 't trust in anything else ,
then trust us . trust this heart that
beats for you , my stars "

" there is good in him, mithrandir. "

" he is not his father. "

" he is not sauron. "

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐓.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐈 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

    𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 since the defeat of the Dark Lord in the War of the Last Alliance. 

   Beyond the northern coast of the fallen kingdom of Angmar, Mórëedur fled and has lived in solitary on the volcanic island at the mouth of the Icebay of Forochel—revered amongst the fell things of the world, feared by all that is good.

   For over a thousand years, history faded into legend, legend faded into myth, and things that should not have been forgotten, were lost.

   But every kingdom of the continent told stories of Mórëedur.

   For the race of Men, he was a scary story to tell around the campfire or a figure of nightmares to frighten children into behaving. To the Dwarves, he was merely a stitch in the tapestries, a carving in the stones of their history. But the Elves...the Elves never forgot. Those who lived in the Second Age and fought in the war, telling their future generations of  "the Heir"—the son of Sauron.

   That in his lust for power, Sauron desired an heir to his mighty prowess—the key to true immorality: a child. For what are children but legacy, through them one cheats the great mortality of life.

   In the Sammath Naur of Orodruin—known as Mount Doom—Sauron used the power of the One Ring to bring forth his heir from that fiery chasm. Imbued with the immortality of the Maiar, of whom Sauron was among the most powerful, this child of darkness were forever bound to the fate of the Dark Lord.

   But Mórëedur was not the only one to emerge from the Cracks of Doom on that dark day, with him Ancalagon the Black was reborn, and raised alongside the Dark Lord's Heir for a thousand years as he grew into the great size he held upon his death.

   A dragon of Morgoth was not his only power, for Sauron had forged another ring—Nahta, the Black Ring. The Ring of War. Aside from the One Ring, Nahta was the most powerful of the twenty Great Rings given to the three races for it possed the power to enhance ones abilities, turning its bearer into a brutal weapon on the battlefield. The perfect warrior.

   At all times, Nahta called to its master, begging to be worn, for it desired to fulfill its purpose to bathe the world in blood and fire. But like all the others, every ring came with it's curse, for when he wore Nahta, Mórëedur knew neither friend from foe and only the One could command the Heir to remove it.

   For centuries, shadows overtook Middle-Earth as Sauron dominated its kingdoms with legions of Orcs and all manor of foul beings, whilst Mórëedur rained down fire from the sky with Ancalagon. But even the One and Nahta were no match for the forces of Men and Elves combined. With his father's demise, Mórëedur fled to Vanimóre, a fortress, off the northern coast of Middle-Earth, protected by Ancalagon the Black.

   But the spirit of Sauron endured. And darkness would rise once again.

The Greenleaf of northern Greenwood, Legolas, were born to King Thranduil few centuries into the beginning of the Third Age. The elfling was the light of the Woodland Realm since the moment he came into the world. Feet stepping on his father's long royal robes. Leaves in his silver hair. And sleeping in his father's room whenever frightened by the shadows, for Legolas grew up on the dark history of the Dark Lord and his heir with the fire-drake "as tall as a mountain".

The Prince lived a sheltered youth, his father never allowing Legolas beyond the borders of his forestry kingdom. For Thranduil feared to loose him to the darkness as he lost his beloved wife—his great love—whose name none dare utter for fear of invoking the king's grief-filled wrath.

But as the years turned and Legolas matured into the most beautiful among his kin and a master archer, a sickness fell over the Greenwood. Darkness swept over the forest. Neither did the trees nor the flowers grow or bloom. The air having grown foul with decay. Webs combing through the twisting branches as giant spiders, spawn of Ungoliant, took nest. Coming from Dol Guldur, an old abandoned fortress.

With a cloistered upbringing, Legolas did not see the signs, but his father did. The darkness was returning. And he knew it would spread to every corner of the land if it went unchallenged.

Although fear stayed the Woodland King's hand, the same would not be told of his son. Whom would be written into legend as the elf who battled against the darkness of the Heir and stole that black heart of his—bathing it in his light. For Legolas was starlight coiled into being, and Mórëedur was the darkness of the night—yearning for a light.

And now, the final destiny of Middle-Earth is upon them. In the end...who will prevail?

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐍𝐎 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑

𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄.

( lotr / legolas x male!oc )
— " the forest beats inside like a second heart "
Ⓒ𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 2024
_____________________________
" he's the stars / and he's the darkness
of night "

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐄𝐍𝐃

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐍

𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑;

This is a work of fanfiction. i do not own the Hobbit/Lord of the Rings nor Tolkien's universe/lore, only my original characters, their dialogue, and plot lines. All rights belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson. i will not condone plagiarism. if you copy this on any platform, you will be confronted and reported.

𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓;

All Rights Reserved.
©️ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 _𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒;

This book will contain and mention mature themes and possible triggering content such as death, descriptive gore, violence, mentions of trauma/grief, minor explicit sexual content, etc ⚠︎︎

Please read at your own risk.