The council chamber filled slowly with the usual suspects—lords and advisors whose positions had calcified over centuries, faces Legolas recognized from memories but had rarely engaged with directly. The prince's role in these sessions had traditionally been decorative: stand behind the throne, observe, speak only when called upon.
That was about to change.
Legolas had spent the morning preparing. His spiritual reserves had recovered enough to project confidence without trembling. The physical exhaustion from last night's training remained, but he'd learned to hide that kind of weakness years ago—not in this life, but in the one before, where showing fatigue in meetings had been equally dangerous.
Thranduil entered last, ascending to his throne with the deliberate majesty that made every arrival feel like a statement. His eyes found Legolas immediately, assessing, measuring. Whatever truce they'd established in the private chambers remained fragile.
The council's business droned through its usual topics: patrol reports, supply concerns, the endless logistics of maintaining a kingdom under perpetual siege. Legolas waited through all of it, letting the ordinary matters resolve themselves before making his move.
When a pause finally came—the moment between one topic and the next—he stepped forward.
"I would address the council."
Heads turned. The prince rarely spoke in these sessions; when he did, it was usually in response to direct questions about military matters. Initiating discussion was almost unprecedented.
Thranduil's expression revealed nothing. "The prince has the floor."
"I propose the formal promotion of Tauriel to Captain of the Guard."
The murmurs began immediately. Legolas let them wash over him, reading the room the way his past life had taught him to read conference calls—who supported the idea, who opposed it, who was waiting to see which way the wind blew.
"Captain Tauriel has demonstrated exceptional competence in every assignment she's undertaken," he continued. "Her tactical judgment exceeds most officers of twice her experience. Her courage in battle is beyond question. And she has proven herself under circumstances that many here would prefer not to discuss publicly."
A loaded statement. Everyone in this chamber knew about the cleansing—the miracle that shouldn't have been possible. Tauriel had been there. She'd witnessed what the prince had done and maintained professional composure throughout.
"The realm needs capable commanders," Legolas said. "Political considerations have delayed her advancement for too long."
Lord Erynion rose from his seat. He was old even by Elvish standards, his face carrying lines that centuries of immortality couldn't entirely smooth. His family had held positions of authority since before Thranduil's grandfather ruled.
"The prince speaks of competence," Erynion said, his voice carrying the weight of tradition. "He neglects to mention other factors. Captain-candidate Tauriel is Silvan—not of Sindarin blood. The Guard has been commanded by Sindarin nobility since our people first entered these lands. To break that tradition requires more than mere skill."
"Tradition let our forest rot."
The words left Legolas's mouth before wisdom could stop them. The chamber fell silent.
"Propriety hid while corruption spread," he continued, committing to the path now that he'd started down it. "We have retreated for centuries, maintaining proper bloodlines and proper procedures, while Dol Guldur's influence claimed more territory each year. If competence matters less than blood, then perhaps we deserve our decline."
Erynion's face darkened. "The prince forgets himself."
"The prince remembers exactly what's at stake." Legolas met the old lord's glare without flinching. "I've walked in the corrupted zones. I've seen what's happening to our forest. And I've watched the most capable warrior in our ranks be denied advancement because her ancestors were born in the wrong trees."
He turned to face Thranduil directly—a violation of protocol that sent another ripple of murmurs through the chamber.
"The realm needs Tauriel leading the Guard. Not in a decade when tradition permits, but now, when the Shadow presses harder each year. I ask the council to act on necessity rather than habit."
Silence held the chamber like a physical weight.
Thranduil's expression remained unreadable through the long pause that followed. Legolas could feel the calculation happening behind those ancient eyes—weighing the political cost of supporting his changed son against the practical benefit of a better military leader.
The King rose from his throne.
"The prince speaks with... unusual directness," Thranduil said. His voice was neutral, but something in his tone suggested he was noting the political aggression for later examination. "Lord Erynion raises valid concerns about tradition. However, tradition must serve the realm, not rule it."
He descended two steps from the throne—a gesture of magnanimity that carried weight in this chamber's elaborate protocol.
"Tauriel of the Woodland Guard has served with distinction. Her competence is not in question. The precedent her promotion sets is... uncomfortable, but these are uncomfortable times."
Thranduil's gaze swept the council, daring anyone to object further.
"Captain Tauriel. Serve well."
The silence that followed was different from the earlier tension—more stunned than hostile. Lords who had expected the King to side with tradition found themselves on uncertain ground. Those who had privately agreed with Legolas but lacked the courage to speak showed careful relief.
Tauriel herself stood at the chamber's edge, where she'd been positioned as one of several guards providing security. Her face had gone very still—the professional mask that Legolas was learning to read as intense emotion carefully contained.
"My King." Her voice was steady, though something in it trembled at the edges. "I am honored by your trust. I will serve the realm with everything I have."
Thranduil nodded, the gesture dismissive and final. "See that you do."
The council session resumed, but the energy had shifted. Lords who had ignored Legolas for centuries now watched him with new attention—some hostile, some calculating, all recognizing that the prince had become a political actor in ways he'd never been before.
Legolas endured the remainder of the session with what patience he could muster. His arms still ached from last night's training. His mind kept drifting to the implications of what he'd just done—not just for Tauriel, but for his own position in the realm's complex hierarchy.
You just picked a fight with the traditional nobility, he thought. In front of everyone. On behalf of someone they already resent.
The political consequences would unfold over weeks and months. New enemies, new allies, new dynamics to navigate. He'd learned in his previous life that corporate politics could destroy careers over smaller provocations than publicly challenging entrenched interests.
But Tauriel would command the Guard. She'd have authority commensurate with her abilities. And in the battles to come—battles he knew were approaching even if the specifics remained unclear—that competence might make the difference between survival and disaster.
Worth it. Every cost was worth it.
The session finally ended. Lords filed out in clusters, conversations resuming in lowered voices. Legolas moved toward the exit, eager to escape before anyone could corner him for political maneuvering.
Tauriel intercepted him in the corridor outside.
"My prince." Her voice was formal, aware of potential observers, but her eyes held something warmer. "May I have a moment?"
"Of course."
They walked together, putting distance between themselves and the council chamber's lingering audience. When they'd reached a section of corridor empty enough for private speech, Tauriel stopped.
"Why?"
The question was simple but carried weight. Why had the prince—isolated, strange, newly possessed of impossible powers—spent political capital advocating for a Silvan warrior's promotion?
Legolas considered several answers. The strategic truth: he needed allies, and Tauriel was capable. The calculated truth: elevating her created obligation, which could be leveraged later. The cynical truth: her promotion served his interests more than hers.
He said none of them.
"Because you deserve it."
Tauriel's expression shifted—surprise giving way to something harder to read. "That's not how politics works."
"No," Legolas agreed. "It's not."
"So why?"
He held her gaze, letting her see whatever she was looking for. "The realm needs people who deserve their positions. Competence matters more than bloodline. And I've watched you long enough to know that you're the best choice available."
"You've watched me." Her tone carried a note of amusement. "The prince who barely noticed the Guard's existence a month ago has been watching me."
"Things have changed."
"So I've gathered." She stepped closer, lowering her voice further. "You're not who you were before. Everyone can see it, even if they can't name what's different. Your father certainly knows—I watched his face during that session. He's afraid of what you're becoming."
"Are you?"
The question was genuine. Tauriel had every reason to be cautious—she'd witnessed his power and his deception, seen him collapse from exertions that shouldn't have been possible. A wise subordinate would keep her distance from whatever strangeness had claimed the prince.
Tauriel was silent for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was careful but honest.
"I don't know what you are. I don't know where you learned the things you can do, or why you've suddenly started caring about people you ignored for centuries. But I know what I saw in that glade. I know that the forest breathes again where you worked your magic."
She met his eyes directly—a boldness that would have been inappropriate from a guard to a prince, but somehow felt right coming from her.
"Whatever you're becoming, it's something that fights the Shadow. That's enough for now."
"And later?"
"Later, we'll see." Her almost-smile appeared again—that crack in the professional mask that he was starting to treasure. "Captain Tauriel, reporting for duty. What would my prince have me do?"
A messenger appeared at the corridor's end before Legolas could respond. The servant moved with the barely controlled haste that indicated important news.
"My prince." The messenger bowed quickly. "Word from the eastern borders. A company of Dwarves has been sighted approaching the realm's boundaries."
Legolas felt time snap into focus.
Thorin. The name rose from memory that belonged to another world. Thorin Oakenshield, beginning the quest that would reclaim Erebor.
The Hobbit timeline had arrived.
"How many Dwarves?" Tauriel asked, her voice shifting into the crisp tones of command.
"Thirteen, Captain. Traveling with a wizard in grey robes."
Gandalf. Of course. The Grey Pilgrim, beginning the chain of events that would eventually lead to the Ring's discovery.
Legolas kept his expression neutral even as his mind raced through implications. He knew this story. He knew how it would end—the dragon, the battle, the gold that would consume Thorin before Bilbo's courage could reach him.
He knew, and he couldn't reveal how he knew, and the knowledge pressed against his skull like a physical weight.
"I'll join the patrol," he heard himself say. "These Dwarves may be significant."
Tauriel nodded, already calculating logistics. "I'll assemble a team. If they enter our territory, we should be there to receive them."
The corridor buzzed with new energy—servants dispatched, messages sent, the machinery of response engaging. And Legolas stood at the center of it, watching the story he'd consumed as entertainment begin to unfold around him.
The game was changing again. New players entering the board.
Let's see how much I can change, he thought. Let's see what this knowledge is worth.
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.