The training grounds sprawled across a natural platform where three massive trees had grown together, their interlocking roots forming a floor more stable than any construction. Weapon racks lined the edges. Practice dummies stood in rows, their wooden bodies bearing the scars of centuries of abuse. Archery targets clustered at the far end, distances marked in flowing Elvish script.
Legolas had recovered enough to walk normally. Not enough to feel normal—that emptiness at his center remained, a constant reminder of what he'd spent—but enough to perform. The body's muscle memory carried him through the morning drills: sword forms, bow practice, movement patterns that Legolas had perfected over millennia.
The guards watched him. They always watched him now, their attention a weight he felt constantly. But today they seemed to focus elsewhere—on the sparring matches at the platform's center, where candidates for promotion demonstrated their skills.
The red-haired Elf-woman caught his eye immediately.
She moved like water finding cracks in stone—fluid, inevitable, finding every gap in her opponent's defense and exploiting it without hesitation. Her blades were shorter than standard, designed for speed over reach, and she used that advantage ruthlessly. Three opponents had already yielded to her in the time Legolas had been watching.
Tauriel, Legolas's memories supplied. Captain-candidate. Silvan, not Sindar—that matters here, in Thranduil's court. Exceptional skill, limited recognition. The king tolerates her competence without rewarding it.
The memories also supplied something else: she shouldn't have been this good this early. The films had shown her as an accomplished warrior, but that was during the Hobbit timeline—decades from now. Either the movies had understated her abilities, or something about his presence had already begun changing the script.
A fourth opponent stepped forward. Tauriel dispatched him in under thirty seconds, a combination that ended with her blade at his throat and his own weapon spinning across the platform.
The watching guards murmured appreciation. Someone should have promoted her years ago.
Legolas realized he was staring when Tauriel's eyes met his across the training grounds.
She didn't look away. Most subordinates would have—the prince's attention was a dangerous thing in Thranduil's court, capable of elevating or destroying careers with equal ease. But Tauriel held his gaze for a long moment before inclining her head in acknowledgment and turning to her next opponent.
She saw me this morning.
The thought arrived with uncomfortable certainty. The glade wasn't on any patrol route, but Tauriel was captain-candidate—she ranged further than most, checking positions that others overlooked. She'd seen him stumbling back to the palace, barely able to walk.
She knew something was wrong with the prince. The question was what she planned to do about it.
"My prince."
Legolas turned to find her approaching, the sparring matches apparently concluded. Up close, she was taller than he'd expected—nearly his height, which was unusual for a Silvan Elf. Her eyes were green-brown, evaluating him with an intelligence the court hierarchy refused to recognize.
"Tauriel." He pulled the name from memory smoothly. "Your performance was impressive."
"Thank you, my prince." Her voice was carefully neutral. "I have a patrol report, if you would hear it."
Protocol. She was using protocol to justify the approach, giving them both cover for whatever she actually wanted to say. Legolas appreciated the maneuver.
"Report."
"The eastern quadrant remains stable. Spider activity has decreased over the past week—we believe they're consolidating further south, though we haven't confirmed the reason. The corruption's advance has slowed in three sectors, unchanged in four, accelerated in two."
Standard information, delivered with standard efficiency. Nothing that required the prince's personal attention.
"Is that all?"
Tauriel hesitated. The pause lasted less than a heartbeat, but Legolas caught it—and knew she intended him to.
"You were at the eastern glade at dawn, my prince. That area borders corrupted zones. The patrols do not cover it as thoroughly as we should."
Not an accusation. Not a question. A statement of fact, delivered with perfect military neutrality.
She's giving me an opening. Let me explain if I want to, or dismiss her if I don't.
Clever. Too clever for the rank she held.
"I was restless," Legolas said. "Sometimes the palace walls press too close."
"I understand, my prince." Her tone suggested she understood far more than she was saying. "Perhaps in the future, if you intend to visit that area, you might inform the guard. For your safety."
For your safety meant so I know where to find your body if something goes wrong. Or possibly so I can cover for your strange behavior before someone else reports it.
Legolas studied her face, trying to read which interpretation was correct. Tauriel's expression remained professionally blank, but something in her eyes—some glint of... what? Curiosity? Calculation? Solidarity?—suggested depths the surface didn't reveal.
"I'll consider your suggestion."
"Thank you, my prince." She stepped back, preparing to withdraw. Protocol satisfied. Nothing suspicious spoken.
"Tauriel." He caught her before she could turn away. "When is your next promotion review?"
The question surprised her—he saw it in the slight widening of her eyes, quickly controlled. "Not for another decade, my prince. Perhaps longer."
"That seems... inefficient."
Her almost-smile was the first crack in her professional mask. "The court has its traditions."
Traditions that waste talent, Legolas thought but didn't say. Thranduil's court was ossified, ancient hierarchies maintained long past their usefulness. Tauriel should have been a captain years ago. She should have had command, not candidacy.
"Traditions can be reevaluated," he said instead. "When circumstances warrant."
The almost-smile became almost real. "As my prince says."
She withdrew with proper formality, rejoining her subordinates at the sparring platform. But Legolas caught her glancing back once—a quick assessment that confirmed what he'd already suspected.
She was watching him. Not for Thranduil, not for the court, but for her own reasons. She'd seen something strange in his behavior, and instead of reporting it, she was gathering information.
That made her either the most dangerous observer in the realm, or the closest thing to an ally he might find.
Legolas turned back to his own training, working through sword forms that his body knew without thought. The emptiness at his center ached with each movement, reminding him of the morning's cost. But the training continued regardless, because princes didn't show weakness.
The afternoon brought more drills, more observation, more careful performance of the role he'd inherited. By sunset, the exhaustion had spread from spiritual to physical—muscles that shouldn't tire complaining about effort they'd handled effortlessly for centuries.
He made it back to his chambers before the shaking became obvious.
The chair by the window had become his thinking spot. Legolas collapsed into it and stared at the corrupted canopy, watching the light fade from poisoned green to full darkness.
His hands still felt empty. The light-weaving had drained something he didn't know how to replenish, and the recovery was slower than he'd hoped. Days, maybe. A week or more before he could risk another attempt.
But the knowledge remained. And the Inheritance Space remained. And somewhere in the ruins of that impossible library, more power waited to be claimed.
What else is in there?
The question burned. He'd barely scratched the surface—one scroll, one technique, and most of the archive had been sealed or destroyed. If he could find more... if he could unlock the closed doors... what other lost arts might he reclaim?
Light-weaving was just the beginning. The theory he'd absorbed mentioned other disciplines: craft-magic, earth-song, healing arts, combat techniques that had been lost when the great warriors fell. All of it potentially accessible to someone whose soul existed outside the normal categories.
All of it potentially costly enough to kill him if he wasn't careful.
Legolas closed his eyes and felt for the boundary he'd crossed last night. The Inheritance Space was there, waiting, a presence at the edge of consciousness he could reach if he wanted to.
Not tonight. He was too drained, too tired, too aware of the risks. But soon.
The corruption at the edge of his new senses pulsed in the darkness—closer than he'd realized, or maybe just more apparent now that he could feel it properly. Dol Guldur's influence spreading through the forest his people called home, patient and inexorable and utterly beyond his current ability to fight.
He would change that. Given time, given training, given the resources the Inheritance Space might provide—he would learn to push back the Shadow.
Because that was why he was here. Not just to survive, not just to play Legolas until the story reached its crisis, but to change things. To use his impossible existence for something beyond mere preservation.
The darkness pressed against the windows. Legolas sat in his borrowed chambers, spiritually empty and physically exhausted, and planned.
A knock came at the door. Soft, almost hesitant.
"My prince?" A servant's voice. "There is a visitor requesting audience. The captain-candidate Tauriel, bearing additional patrol intelligence."
Legolas's eyes opened. In the darkness of his chambers, a smile touched his borrowed face.
"Send her in."
The game was changing. Allies were gathering. And somewhere in the corrupted forest, the Shadow stirred in its southern fortress, not yet aware that something new had entered its domain.
Something that didn't belong to any category it recognized.
Something that was learning to fight back.
Note:
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.