The text below  is strictly non-canonical. Legolas never had a twin sister (at least, she is not mentioned in the texts, canonical or otherwise. Neither is his mother, although her presence, at least at the date of his birth is required due to mundane physiological reasons). Legothâr Thranduiriel in her own exquisitely refined person simply visited the author and then disappeared without a trace, save the present text.


Greenweed’s Tale

The Very Secret Diary of Legothâr Thranduiriel

Destroy before reading


2980 T.A.

Received a letter from Arwen. Informs me of her engagement with Aragorn. Eru the Merciful, what has she found in that Mortal? Became amazed. Stopped being amazed and recalled of her being of the line of Luthien. Females of that line tend to be drawn to males of lesser races, or so it seems.

Still being amazed shared news with Legolas (and rued it bitterly). My dear brother became mighty and most inappropriately merry and desired to inform me of the most appalling details of Aragorn’s lifestyle. Asked how he came to know that. Received an answer of him being “told by birds”. Do believe him – my brother is second in command among the windbags in our realm (Daddy being the first). Came to conclusion that vulgar rumours of that kind ought not to be heeded by a refined Elven princess. Retired in style (and rued it bitterly).

3016 T.A.

Mithrandir has arrived to our realm. As is his wont, appeared without warning and immediately closeted himself with Daddy. Of course, Legolas and I were eavesdropping at the door, but obtained no information. They talked in Black Speech, and I do not have enough practice in this tongue. (Take liberty to mention – I had been asking Daddy for ages to catch at least one Nazgul for me for the sake of speech practice; he gave no heed. In all honesty, should I travel to Dol Guldur indeed?) Asked Legolas to make proper use of his bespoken telepathic abilities. He refused saying that Mithrandir had covered the room with a power field, removed it from the circles of the world and stopped time. I do not believe him. Became wrathful and retired in style. Never mind telepathy, I do possess my own powers.

Next day

Ordered some Dorwinion wine to be brought to my quarters (that very wine that is dearer to Daddy’s heart than Silmarilli to Feanor). Found Mithrandir and beseeched him (in my surpassingly courteous manner) to honour me by wise converse and taste some wine with me. He agreed immediately (Of course he would! No one had ever rejected a speech with me.)

Ai, ai! The best plans would eventually go amiss! Mithrandir proved real windbag, yet of what I desired to hear he was silent as a rock. To crown it all, after the fourth jar he tried to grab me. Hard (take liberty to mention – without any encouragement from my side). Became wrathful; as an apology he said that he had taken me for Legolas. Became utterly amazed, knocked him off the chair and retired in style. Called servants and gave orders to collect and withdraw Mithrandir.

Next day

Cornered Legolas and subjected him to cross-examination. He tried to keep silence at first, but having realised that his only way to escape would lie through the Halls of Waiting he vowed by the name of the One, looking straight into my eyes, that he had never get drunk in Mithrandir’s company. Never expected anything like this from him. O Elbereth the Fair, I seem to start respecting him.

Received a letter from Arwen. Narn, a poem to be recited; a tale of her sufferings being sundered from Aragorn. Ten thousand stanzas of delirious rubbish. Became amazed – such rush of emotions (not to mention such waste of paper) as concerned a mortal seemed totally inappropriate. If she believed that I would recite that – she gravely erred. 

April, 3017 T.A.

All that is hidden becomes revealed sooner or later. Yesterday a creature called Gollum was brought to our palace; as it appeared, Mithrandir had been pressing Daddy to keep the wretch in our custody. Gollum was locked in the dungeons, but I care not, for bitter-sweet anguish of love is filling my heart. Gollum was brought to us by Aragorn and as soon as I saw the Ranger… Stay, O moment of bliss! (Unfortunately, I am not a Maia and quite incapable to hold time.) Immediately regretted former offending comments regarding Mortals. O Aragorn! Became ecstatic and retired to my quarters.

Was extremely busy – combed my hair and made a linnod to honour Aragorn. Learned it by heart and deposited the crib sheet on my bosom; at the feast shall amaze the audience with most exquisite extemporaneous poetry.

While rehearsing my linnod being ecstatic broke down my harp. Asked Legolas’ leave to borrow his. Being totally deprived of empathy, he denied. In my usual comprehensive yet exquisite manner promised him certain damage to his fair Elvish face should not my gentle request be granted. He kept enough of his wits to surrender the harp; well he knows that my word cannot be broken, and my nails are long and sharp.  

Donned garments fit for my rank. Made my facial expression exquisitely refined and sad fit for my image. Proceeded to the feast.

Next day

Daddy and his Silvan chauvinism be thrust to the Void! He forced us all to bear green and brown – not very advantageous colour scheme, especially when my complexion is concerned. Have been singing the whole night. Did not loose my voice solely due to the fact that an Elf-maiden cannot loose her voice by definition. Of no avail – Aragorn was but courteous. Curse these Silvan rags of mine! 

Tried to persuade Daddy to change policy – or, at the least, the dress code. In response received a lecture of Noldor being spawns of Morgoth and civilisation being the true and only plight of the Elves. Tried to explain that for us, Sindar of royal blood, such views in the end of the Third Age are ridiculous indeed. Again, of no avail. Became mighty sad and retired to my quarters. 

Next day

Aragorn has left our realm. Ai, ai, woe is me! Still, Arwen shall not count him for her own as yet; daughter of Thranduil is fit for fight! May the most deserving emerge victorious.

July 20, 3018 T.A.

Gollum had escaped! Legolas’ fault, no doubt, and his usual carelessness. Daddy became mighty wrathful and sent my dear brother to chase the wretch. Well, he got but his due; yet, I do not care. My heart is broken.

August, 3018 T.A.

Of course, Legolas and his following failed to recapture Gollum. I never doubted it. And yet – after two months spent tracking Gollum through field and fen my dear brother made his appearance at home with his hair and his garments arranged most exquisitely. I seem to keep respecting him still. (To change one’s views settled during some fifteen hundred years is not very pleasant, yet being fair and just is my wont.)

Daddy became dismayed and sent Legolas to Imladris with apologies and regrets. Wise decision – at such things my brother is very good indeed. My heart is still broken.

November, 3018 T.A.

Legolas returned from Imladris with a company of Elrond’s scouts at his tail. Immediately closeted himself with Daddy. Eavesdropped at the door, and since this time converse was held in Sindarin was able to learn everything I wished. It was as I thought – my dear brother became mighty eager for glorious deeds and Elrond could not find anything better than to concur to his whims. Makes one wonder to what extent Elrond’s wisdom is exaggerated.

Three days after

Elbereth be praised! The one who waits shall receive (troubles, most often…) I am the one to replace my brother on the great Quest. O Aragorn, my heart spoke truly of us being destined to each other! Arwen, beware – another Elf-maiden may become the Queen of Arnor and Gondor

Everything in due order, though… The day before yesterday my brother was waylaid by Orcs. How many they were remained unknown – at any rate, there was greater number than there were arrows in his quiver. As is his wont, he spent all his gear in three minutes giving no heed that there were two archers among those still alive. (I would tell him eleventy-one time that archers should be eliminated first – all of no avail. No wonder, for he inherited his commanding abilities from our grandsire, and Oropher, may Namo the Judge show him mercy, won renown attacking Barad-dur in such a manner that two thirds of his warriors perished there. With him.) And so it happened that Legolas killed these Orcs also, yet not before his own shoulder was pierced by an Orc-arrow. (Take liberty to mention – this turn of events was completely unnecessary, although the arrow was not even poisoned.) The rescue party found him among the carrions and brought home in great sorrow. I rushed to save his life forgetting image, decorum and rank. (The fault was mine, yet since it had taken me fifteen hundred years of great labour to convince everybody in my surpassing telepathic abilities nothing else could possibly be done.) Unfortunately, every time when one of Daddy’s counsellors appears before me in great sorrow and announces with voice full of grief, “Tarry not, lady, your brother is in dire need of you” my heart immediately informs me that this very moment my dear brother is knocking at Namo’s gates. (Take liberty to mention that I never before met an organ providing equally unreliable tidings.) Once I became assured that Legolas despite looking convincingly aswoon was quite far from dying as yet, started acting – ordered everyone to withdraw from his chamber and commenced healing.

In all honesty, my telepathic abilities are second to none, as Elves reckon it, and this fact effectively prevents me from sharing my brother’s feelings. Yet I am versed in anatomy, much better than anyone in our royal family; and I have no peers as far as lore of herbs is concerned. Washed and dressed his wound; my brother immediately awoke (since any possible audience had withdrawn by my orders, there was no one to drool over him in style) and began lamenting the cruel fate of his. (Take liberty to mention that expressions used seemed more fitting for a highly squalid Orc than for a refined Elven prince. Unfortunately, I lacked an opportunity to find out how Legolas had managed to advance his vocabulary to such a degree.) Became amazed and explained to him in my usual comprehensive yet exquisite manner that his so-called wound would heal in two days. He interrupted me most ungraciously (I had long before noticed his pronounced dislike of medical terminology) only to announce that he had suffered one more hurt. Examined him once again. Of course, his ankle was not broken but simply twisted. Relieved his pains, yet for a fortnight at least my brother would be unable to rush in the woods or climb trees.  

And than, for the first time in my life, Elven foresight came over me. Having permitted the state of events to sink through Legolas’ mind suggested the way out – he would stay at home till recovery and I would travel to Imladris. In his guise.

He agreed immediately. (Apparently even minor loss of blood affects intellectual abilities much more than I used to believe). Yet such is the nature of Arda Marred that moments of bliss are paid high. Legolas, being deprived of customary weeping he apparently counted for, resumed his lamentations this time blaming my unkindness. (Take liberty to mention – when my brother is hurt, everyone in the palace is aswoon. Save me.) Explained that if he preferred being drooled over instead of receiving timely and highly professional treatment, he might as well wed someone. He responded in a series of expletives as emotional as senseless. Became wrathful yet decided to constrain myself this time. Fluffed his pillow (there was little need of it, yet my image ought to be maintained) and retired in style.

Ere I retired found two appropriately young and sensitive Elf-maidens (of Silvan race) and ordered them to install themselves in Prince’s quarters and take good care of his hurts. (Made sure before giving orders that these two are apt to swoon at the mere sight of blood.) Silly ones, quite unable to perceive the depths of my design became ecstatic. Expect with delight to observe the effects produced by this genteel pair on Legolas’ weakened moods. 

Next day

Visited Legolas to observe his progress.  As I failed to see two noble Elf-maidens watching over him and gently tending him, inquired about the reasons of their absence. My question full of sisterly concern was blatantly ignored. (Alas for the lack of telepathic abilities! Verily I would pay gold to know what had happened in his chamber.)

Examined his so-called wound. Everything has healed most wonderfully, tomorrow hardly a trace of a scar can be seen (Elves are unapt to developing scars by definition). Cheered my dear brother with good tidings and became awarded by most wicked ungratefulness in return. Instead of bestowing his most gracious thanks on me, Legolas looked in my eyes and started questioning me (in his most insensitive manner) why I was so eager to replace him on the quest.

Taken at unawares, became dismayed (state of mind I am hardly prone to) and could fare no better than to tell the truth. This ridiculous quest of his bothers me not at all, yet my rightful place is beside Aragorn, and I am determined to take it. My brother became mighty and most insultingly merry; moreover, he was deprived of sensitivity to such a degree as to remind me my own offending comments towards Mortals. Became wrathful and drawing myself to my full height (rather great one as is fit for a royal Elf-maiden) announced to him that Aragorn and I are destined to each other by a high reason of Doom. In return met his blank stare. O Elbereth Gilthoniel, such is my brother’s ignorance that he cannot even recognise a quote from Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth. No wonder, since Legolas’ wont is to waste time on semi-pornographic rubbish (Lay of Entwives, Lay of Nimrodel etcetera), whereas I delight in exquisitely philosophical verse. Became upset and retired in style.

Spent a few blissful hours in Legolas’ dressing chamber. Tried on his garments readying myself for the quest. Became amazed when noticed my brother’s exquisite taste and keen fashion sense. Still respect him.

Donned the most attractive raiment and presented myself before my brother seeking his approval (take liberty to mention – not that his opinion bothers me that much). Became aggrieved when noticed an oversized tunic being apt to conceal all the enchanting curves of my slender Elvish form. Became solaced once having my belt drawn to its uttermost (in order to do that I had to make three extra holes and inhale). However, the strain was worth it; if Arwen believes her waist be narrower than mine, she gravely errs.

Legolas demonstrated his lack of empathy once again. With a most wicked smile he turned my attention to my hair – to pass for him it has to be cut. Became aggrieved and retired to my quarters to mourn in peace and change my hairdo.

Cut my hair by more than two feet; now it barely covers my shoulder-blades. This short male style gives me eerie feeling. O Aragorn! Much is sacrificed by us, the Firstborn, for the sake of Mortals we love…

Next day

The die is cast. Tomorrow we are to set off to Imladris. Elrond’s scouts are genuinely concerned by my brother’s health. Assured them that the Prince of Mirkwood is most eager to set on for the Quest. (Take liberty to mention – my words were nothing but the truth. Silence is not lie, and the fact that the Princess is faring forth instead is no concern of theirs.)

Visited Legolas to discuss my weapons. Being insensitive as ever, he declared me unable to wield his bow and suggested choosing for me “a more fitting trifle”. Became mighty angry at his insulting doubts; became utterly consumed with wrath once guessing his true concern – he simply feared that my style with the bow would jeopardise his reputation of a peerless archer. Being wrathful committed a deed of renown – bent his bow and aimed at him. Suffered grievous hurt – broke the nail on my little finger (take liberty to mention – the longest and most beloved of all nails). Being afraid of cruel jest refrained from lamenting it fitly. Became aggrieved and retired to my quarters. Cut off my finger-nails.

Before departure had to agree (most unwillingly) to Legolas’ unceasingly watching over me in thought (in other words, spying on me twenty four hours a day). As soon as he is fit for the journey he would follow us, overtake and replace me. (Ha! Sweet dreams, dear brother. My place is beside Aragorn, and no one will replace me there.)

December, 3018 T.A.

March to Imladris successfully accomplished. Yesterday night arrived to the Last Homely House weary, wrathful and famished (two last factors exhibiting causal relationship). Being legitimately worried appeared before Elrond. Became amazed when realised him giving no heed to the replacement. His fabulous wisdom must be very much exaggerated indeed.

In a week we are setting off for the Quest. O Aragorn! The song of love pores from my heart and my lips alike!

December 26, 3018 T.A. Quest, day 1

My ill-bodings were totally in vain – only two in the Fellowship know my brother and can possibly strip me of disguise: Mithrandir and Aragorn. Mithrandir is blatantly ignoring me, and Aragorn suspects nothing. No wonder – Legolas and I are twins and wearing male clothes with my hair cut short I am unrecognisable even to Daddy.  Am spending time in sweet Elven dreams; try to imagine Aragorn’s amazement and delight once I appear before him in the more appropriate guise.

Mithrandir sent me to the rearguard. Nasty old wretch. Wasted half an hour in the rear; then accomplished strategic re-grouping and overtook Aragorn. O those hours of bliss beyond endurance! Am walking beside the most beloved, gazing at the stars and making my narn. (Take liberty to mention – being an Elf I most naturally avoid hinders without looking at my feet. Mortals are completely deprived of this ability). Realised that ten thousand stanzas is not a limit to a highly educated and refined Elf-maiden. Composed seventeen thousand and decided to make a break. Delighted with the results so far.

Do not dare to sing; the pitch of my voice is higher than my brother’s and should I sing it becomes easy to notice even to mere Mortals or the half-deaf Maia. My joy is beyond measure as is my love to Aragorn. I love Middle-earth.

Quest, day 3

Keep loving Middle-earth since it is graced by Aragorn’s high and noble presence. Made twenty three thousand stanzas for Narn-i-Aragorn. Made a break. Sam called us to a meal.

After we had eaten Mithrandir sent me to the rear again. Start hating him in earnest. Am afraid to quarrel with him – we are too close to Imladris still, and should my identity become revealed, I will be sent back immediately.

The young hobbits, being fed and taken care of are very cute indeed, all four of them. Practice to tell them apart.

Quest, day 5

Keep loving Middle-earth and hating Mithrandir. Learned to tell the hobbits apart. Frodo was the first one to remember, mostly due to his face expression. It is very Elvish, full of sweet sadness (take liberty to mention – exactly like mine when circumstances enable me to act according to my image). Experienced motherly feelings. Could not restrain myself and patted the hobbit slightly on his head. Frodo was grateful but Sam looked at me with deep suspicion. Wretched youngster! 

Sam I can tell apart also, mostly due to his manner of speech. His terrible dialect, the lowest and most vulgar variant of Westron verily adds insult to injury of my aesthetic feelings.

Quest, day 8

Keep loving Middle-earth, though much less intensely. Have changed the primeval enemy, appointing Boromir instead. Can it be true as they say and this wretch is indeed the heir to the Steward of Gondor?

Aragorn most beloved, you are perfection incarnate yet could you wash your hands slightly more often? And your hair…

Become either wrathful or aggrieved every single moment. To crown it all cannot retire in style – there is no place to retire…

Halt. Am sitting on a stone with my back towards these low Mortals (Mithrandir excluded). Sam is calling us to a meal. Cannot stomach his cooking any longer. Am not going, let them eat…

January 15, 3019 T.A. Lórien

Cannot believe it is true! Three weeks of cruel suffering have passed and I am among my people again. O Arwen Evenstar, pray accept my warmest sympathy – verily the choice of Lúthien is heavier than one believes.

Well, all in due order. O no, I cannot bring to paper the terror forever imprinted in my heart (since Elves are unable to forget). At a closer look Mortals proved incredibly filthy race, and Aragorn – my Aragorn (no, thank you, not my any more) - was not better than others. (Take liberty to mention – I say “filthy” solely meaning personal hygiene; but what is worth of the so-called heroic deeds and noble heart if the person in question is showing off greasy hair, filthy stubble and mournfully black fingernails?) I was unfair towards my own race to the point of indecency. Too late did I perceive the import of every Elf’s habit of keeping one’s hair and hands tidy any time and under any circumstances. Not to speak of teeth… My brother may be a walking bunch of bad habits (and this I know all too well), yet as far as personal hygiene is concerned Legolas is a model.

Mithrandir had fallen into shadow. Most nobly. Became utterly aggrieved and lamented him fitly. Lamented also that half of the Fellowship had not perished with him on the bridge.

Arrived to Lórien. March wardens received us quite coldly. Had to play a peace-maker quite against my innermost desires. Nevertheless, became solaced by a half-an-hour communion with the Elves of Lórien. 

Two days after

Arrived to Caras Galadhon. Appeared before the Lord and the Lady. Never again shall I trust the hearsay! My kinsman Celeborn is generally regarded a hen-pecked husband, almost a fool. Yet he, the only one among the Wise and the Wizards could penetrate my disguise at the first sight and he was considerate enough not to show it. As soon as I climbed on to the talan I heard him say, “Welcome, son of Thranduil.” The Lord’s face was quite serene yet his glance told me everything. Galadriel was merry none the less; in truth, the first ten minutes she did not utter a word – not to burst in laughter, I presume. However, her silence made the Mortals tremble and the reception was most successful.

As soon as the Fellowship had retired for the night, I was called to the Lord and the Lady again. Galadriel, calling me my real name, started questioning me. Told the truth (take liberty to mention – only the truth though not all the truth. Since Arwen is Celeborn’s and Galadriel’s granddaughter mentioning my stupid, brief and utterly unworthy love to Aragorn would be politically incorrect.)

The Lord and the Lady were quite satisfied to hear my version of events and expressed their benevolent sympathy to me as a kinswoman. I was also permitted to visit them and stay among Galadhrim as much as I wish. Celeborn would give orders to his march wardens; my brother will be waited for and admitted to the land. Expressed my gratitude in exquisite speech; extemporaneous, of course.

Three days after

Spend time among Galadhrim relaxed by body and soul. Try to see as little of my companions as possible.

Next night

O joy beyond measure! Fail to remember when I last felt like this. At dawn, when I just fell in slumber, someone grabbed my shoulder and shook me – not too gentle, take liberty to mention. Awoke and beheld wickedly smiling face of an Elf leaning over me – a face, most improperly alike my own.

My brother has overtaken us at last! (Sailed down Anduin, much as I guessed.) We were brought to the Lord and the Lady directly. Legolas expressed his strongest desire to replace me immediately (poor darling! Incredible, yet true – for the first time in my life experienced genuine sisterly feelings towards him). Galadriel was so kind as to offer me stay in Lórien – lonely road home had already become too perilous. Accepted her offer with gratitude.

February 16, 3019 T.A.

In the guise of one of Galadriel’s handmaids saw my former companions off. (Take liberty to mention – the Mortals are completely deprived of any power of observation. They totally failed to understand how much one of the Lady’s maidens resembled Legolas.) Deepest grief laid hold on me. Was making a linnod and wept surrounded by gentle sympathy of Lórien Elves and my royal relatives. Brother, my dear brother, shall I ever see you again?

Continue my ethnographic and linguistic observations commenced after arriving in Lórien. There are a few Noldor among the Galadhrim. They are spawns of evil indeed, Daddy was utterly correct, yet they are incredibly interest provoking. What a temperament! (Take liberty to mention – we, Sindar, are not prone to such extremes, yet this moodiness is strangely enchanting.) Lack of telepathic abilities holds the future completely dark for me; maybe the Shadow shall indeed cover Middle-earth. However, am not going to interrupt my studies as yet.


Editor’s note: “Legothâr Thranduiriel” has nothing to do with Quenya tar- (high, lofty). Second element –thâr (Quenya sarё) really means “stiff grass”; therefore, the name of the Princess of Mirkwood can be translated as ”Greenweed”. It is not strange that Thranduil desired to give his twin children names similar in sound form and meaning. It should be noted that daughter of Thranduil became also known under her epesse Marijuana - Silvan dialect pun impossible to translate. (Gorhendad Took XXIII, Ph.D. thesis “Greenweed or Evenstar”. University of Fornost, department of Classical Philology and Eldarin History.)