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December 14th, year 3441 of the Second Age
Master of Imladris,
As the red mists of fury clear from my eyes, I can at last find the words that I have been searching for regarding this...impasse.
Elrond, you wretched excuse for a thinking creature! I ought to pare the points off of your ears, for I cannot bring myself to believe that a single drop of Elven blood runs in your veins! Elendil's heir had the Ring *in his hand*and what did you do? You and Cirdan "counseled" him to throw it into Orodruin. "Counseled"? I have a longsword, a bone to pick, and I'm quite ready to take up your counseling duties if you and that barnacle-faced old salt are having difficulties bringing yourselves to use more than harsh language in correcting this problem. Hello? The young ruler of the most power-hungry race in Arda has *the* artifact of total malignancy hanging around his neck. Can we possibly think that this is a good thing? It cannot be allowed! I'll drop-kick that whelp down into Mount Doom myself if that's what it takes!
Aggrievedly yours,
King Thranduil of Greenwood
~*~
December 16th, 3441 of the Second Age
Thranduil,
Give it up, already. Isildur's a mortal, remember? He'll pop off in a decade or five and we can snatch the Ring then. If we follow your suggestion of tossing him bodily into the Orodruin, we will only start another war. I, for one, am loathe to enter into more conflict at this point; all the gild has been scraped off of my armor as it is.
Get in touch with me once you've calmed down and we'll see what we can do about the situation.
Sincerely,
Lord Elrond
PS: For the love of Thingol, stop with this 'King of Greenwood' business. I'm sorry that your father's dead, but whose fault is it that he went charging up against the forces of Barad-Dur chin first? Face up to it -- your lineage is about as royal as litter of kittens born in the palace kitchens, and the fact that those Silvan yokels were impressed by Oropher's strutting about doesn't make you king of anything. I mean, honestly, I could declare myself King of that Anthill by the Relief Trenches and no one could refute it, but I have the good taste not to.
~*~
December 17th, 3441 of the Second Age
All right, that's the final straw. Enjoy finishing the clean-up here without us ignorant rustics to provide the labor. May you and your mortal cronies come to fully enjoy the fruits of your folly.
Very sincerely,
King Thranduil of Greenwood
PS: If you ever come East of the Great Forest River, I will be sure to introduce your backside to the toe of my exceptionally kingly boot, you arrogant, Noldor-reared pup!
November 23rd, 04 of the Third Age
Thranduil Oropherion,
I believe that I may have been a bit hasty with my words in our last correspondence. I was hoping that we two might meet in Imladris and speak of things that ought to have been put to rights on the slopes of Orodruin. I hear that Isildur is easy prey for the "Look over there!" trick, and has a chin of glass.
Sincerely,
Lord Elrond of Imladris
~*~
December 6th, 04 of the Third Age
Elrond,
I must conclude that your message-carriers are just as unreliable as you are if you have not gotten the news by this time. It seems that The Last Alliance's attempts at clean-up were as laughable as its "victory" over Sauron; less than two months gone, Isildur was mugged by a band of Orcs less than four days from my kingdom, and now the Ring is missing. I have no doubt that we shall recover it soon and finish what was started in Mordor but, in the meantime, I believe you are far overdue an "I told you so".
As to our meeting to work out our differences, do not suppose that my messengers are as inept as yours. It has reached my ears that my father's shade has forsaken Mandos' halls for yours, and spends a great portion of the time explaining to you that Eärendil shines so bright solely because your father is flushing with shame.
Feel honored that he's being so kind to you.
Truly amused,
Thranduil, King of Greenwood
July 17th, 142 of the Third Age
Many happy returns, O Eldest Offspring of a Jewelry-Obsessed Feather Duster!
It was with great joy that I heard that your twin boys had reached their twelfth year. I can recall when my own children were so young, full of boundless energy, always underfoot, and never quiet for a moment. It is a very special age indeed, so I put as much thought as I could into choosing their presents.
In the end, I came to the conclusion that only a selection of percussion instruments from the merchants of Esgaroth would do, as I've heard that your folk have a great love of music and song. I'm sure boys as talented as your own will learn to play them correctly in only a few decades.
Sincerely yours,
Thranduil, King of Greenwood
PS: You needn't bother writing back; I'm sure I'll be able to hear the grinding of your teeth in the deepest chambers of my keep.
~*~
April 01, 1100 of the Third Age
Squatter 'Neath the Green Eaves of the East,
The most extraordinary thing happened just this evening. Upon the outskirts of Imladris, I met a man dressed all in black, smelling of sulphur, and muttering about werewolf hair on his robes. We struck up a conversation which I will not recount to you, as finding sufficient words of few syllables might well take another age and have other matters to attend to. The gist of it, however, was that he was looking for suitable land for a summer dwelling. I pointed him towards Greenwood.
Pray, let me know how the new neighbor works out.
Smirking at you from afar,
Lord Elrond of Imladris
PS: Your "royal" father has commanded me to pass along his greetings under pain of something called "The Barrel Song" should I refuse. I don't want to know, I truly don't.
~*~
August 5th, 2003 of the Third Age
Thranduil,
I cannot say how much I enjoyed the trade negotiations and my stay in Mirkwood -- oh, excuse me: Greenwood; I have no idea how that name could have found its way onto all of the maps in this region. I regret to inform you, however, that there was a small incident with Vilya as we left your fair kingdom. That little stream you like to fish in is now the best cure for insomnia in all of Arda...but I'm sure you'll have discovered that for yourself by the time this letter finds you. No need to thank me; I wish I could have done more.
Laughing all the way back to Imladris,
Lord Elrond
May 13th, 2510 of the Third Age
King Thranduil,
I have had just about enough of this...this insanity! As if the all-night drum solos my sons insist upon were not enough, your sire's running commentary on my family tree threatens to drive me into madness! I did *not* need to know that Fëanor had a fetish for my mother's hair! Either cease this pointless feud with my family, or the consequences shall be on your head.
Sincerely,
Lady Celebrian of Imladris
~*~
September 12th, 2510 of the Third Age
Elrond,
I hear Celebrian went so far as to conjure up some thin tale about being abducted by Orcs before she set out for the Grey Havens. Such a good woman to try and save face for her husband!
So let us look at the scorecard. In my column, one wife set off for Valinor of her own accord. In yours, my father and two-thirds of my army dead for no true victory. Hmm. No, I can't say that looks balanced at all.
Breaking open the old vintage as I write,
Thranduil, King of Greenwood
~*~
January 17th, 2511 of the Third Age
Dear Uncle Thrandy,
Elrohir and I have been thinking about what you said, and you're right! We should be following our dreams, not languishing here in Rivendell. My brother and I have no interest in the politics of Middle-Earth, and father's a total prude about the pipeweed. Is it our fault that we inherited some of great-great-grandfather Beren's mortal tastes?
At any rate, we're taking our music on the road. I'm sure if we spew some nonsense about chasing Orcs and avenging mother, no one will ask father any awkward questions.
Thanks for the advice, and we'll pass through Mirkwood when we get the chance!
Party on!
Yours truly,
Elladan, Middle-Earth's premier drummer
PS: Is what they say about curing pipeweed with water from the Enchanted River true?
~*~
Thranduil,
Prepare yourself for the Fourth Kinslaying.
Elrond
~*~
Elrond,
You couldn't find your arse in a dark room if you used both hands. Just *try* negotiating your way around Greenwood, Noldor-boy. I'll be sure to return your desiccated remains to your advisers after the spiders have had their way with them.
Thranduil
~*~
April 17th, 2770 of the Third Age
To King Thranduil of Mirkwood,
In the interests of wildlife conservation and at the urging of your dear friend Lord Elrond, we have decided to accept your generous offer and declared the lands of eastern Mirkwood a protected reserve for one of the few remaining dragons in Middle Earth. Rest assured that this contribution shall not go unrewarded; we have included your complementary Middle Earth Sierra Club tote-bag and tea-cozy.
Sincerely,
Radagast the Brown
~*~
May 3rd, 2770 of the Third Age
My dear Elrond! Didn't you realize that dragons have a lousy sense of direction? I believe the folk of Erebor and Esgaroth would like a word with you.
Thank you for the tea-cozy, though. My children are using it for target practice.
Thranduil
PS: Your sons have gone on their way after entirely too brief a stay in my realm, but I insisted that they visit their dear father as soon as they were able. As is befitting their station, I bestowed upon them many gifts, including the sheet music to "The Barrel Song", a little ditty about Rivendell that seems to consist of an endless chorus of "tra-la-la-lally", and something called "Tom Bombadil's Greatest Disco Hits". They also carry with them a good supply of specially prepared pipeweed.
Mandos himself shall weep for thee.
June 21rd, 2941 of the Third Age
Dear Thorin Oakenshield,
Again, please accept my most sincere apologies for the actions of my household. When my sons visit things tend to get rather...unseemly.
My purpose in sending this letter with you is to advise you of how to best deal with Gandalf. He's an excellent fellow to have watching your back, but a bit stodgy. I understand that your journey will take you through Mirkwood, and Gandalf has undoubtedly warned you against straying from the plainly marked, safe path through what seems to be obviously dangerous territory. Take it as a suggestion only, my friend! Wander about and explore! Mirkwood is a very dull place, and I'm sure its King would be delighted with the company of Dwarves. Just be careful what you say about your quest; he tends to be a bit grabby with other people's jewels.
Ever your friend,
Lord Elrond of Rivendell
February 17th, 3018 of the Third Age
Thranduil,
I have pressing concerns, so I will make this brief. My foster-son will be making his way through your kingdom with a guest, and I'd suggest that you play nicely. This is one of those "fate of the world rests on this" sort of things. Put out the good linens.
Elrond
~*~
March 01, 3018 of the Third Age
Elrond,
Both your foster-son and his...companion made their way safely to my realm. I confess, I had some trouble distinguishing which of these unkempt, muck-covered persons you'd claimed as your own, but in the end decided that it had to be "Strider". Only someone who named his children "elf-man" and "elf-rider" could foster a person who would take up a by-name that corny (though I suppose Elrohir's name would explain his reputation among his groupies).
At any rate, we'll do our best by Gollum, but Strider has to go. If he keeps whining about his ancestry, I'll feed him to the spiders myself.
Thranduil, King of Greenwood
~*~
October 20th, 3018 of the Third Age
Thanks ever so, peredhil. Your foster son's "guest" managed to get more of my people killed; I'm sure they'll be queued up with the others waiting to have words with you in Valinor. If you're reading this, know it's too late to stop my son from delivering the sheet-music to "Top 10 Orcish Make-Out Tunes" to your twins, and a copy of the Silvan Karma Sutra to your lovely daughter. Fear not, I've included a copy for you so you can imagine just what your Evenstar will be setting on come her wedding night.
Thranduil, King of Greenwood
~*~
December 26th, 3018 of the Third Age
King of Mirkwood,
Though I had to scrub my eyeballs with lye to get rid of the images you planted in my brain, I want you to know that I bear you no ill will. To prove how high I hold you in my esteem, I have sent your son off on a very important mission. To Mount Doom. With a Dwarf.
Sleep well.
Yours truly,
Lord Elrond of Imladris
April 10th, 3019 of the Third Age
Elrond,
Thanks in part to your assigning him to the Fellowship, my son now has power, prestige, the love of men and women, and a small settlement all his own in Ithilien. While us woodland folk spend the last of the time of Elves in Arda living it up on the Dorwinion vintage, you get to watch your adopted son marry his sister and try to live down the fact that Elladan and Elrohir have gone east to slay Orcs with disco music. The Valar hate you. Just admit it.
Thranduil, King of Greenwood
September 24th, 3019
Elrond,
I am very disappointed in you! Trying to sneak off to the Grey Havens without even allowing me a parting gift! Fear not! I have spoken to Cirdan and have managed to procure you passage to Valinor on the same ship as your mother-in-law.
Anyway, I must be off; ruling Eryn Laesgalen is going to be taking up a good portion of my time, I'm afraid.
And, Master Elrond? The next time your elder and more experienced kin tell you something is a bad idea, take it to heart!
Sincerely,
Thranduil, King of Eryn Laesgalen