Chapter One - Telparian and Lissuin

The air hung hot, heavy and humid over Lasgalen.  It was mid summer, and a breathlessly still afternoon when all of Lasgalen seemed to be in suspense.  The atmosphere was oppressive, waiting for the storms that rumbled in the distant mountains to rend the sky and clear the air.

The people were waiting as well, for the heralds to announce the birth of a new princess.  They had rejoiced with the king and queen at their news, and messengers were ready, eager to be the first to carry news of the birth to the villages of men, and the neighbouring Elven realms.

Inside the palace, too, there was anticipation, but mixed with boredom.  Listlessly, Legolas waited outside his mother’s room.  How long did it take for a baby to be born?  He seemed to have been here for a long time.  And they wouldn’t let him in to see his mother, or his father, who was also there.

“Not yet.”

“Wait a moment.”

“You can see her later.”

Every time he had opened the door to their bedroom he had been pushed back, each time with a different refusal.  With a sigh, he went back to his perch on the window sill in the hallway, resigned to waiting.  It was very different to what he had expected.  He had not anticipated the delay, the tedium of it all.  He had looked forward to this day for so long, for very nearly a year, ever since his parents had told him there would be a new baby.  Later they had explained that he would have a sister, and he had helped to pick her name, finally choosing ‘Lissuin’ after a tiny, fragrant flower that bloomed throughout the forest.

Thinking of the preparations reminded him of something he had made for this day, and he returned to his rooms.  He went to a large cupboard, where all his clothing was kept.  Pushing things to one side, he found it, protectively wrapped, carefully stowed at the back of the cupboard where it was out of sight and out of harm’s way.  With great care he drew it out, looking at it critically.

His first bow, now far too small, but still a treasured possession.  Made of seasoned ash, the ends were carved with a pattern of leaves.  His name had been engraved, with gold lettering, at one end.

Over the last few weeks, he had carefully cleaned it, removing the marks of grease, sweat - and tears - that stained it.  Then he had used a fine sandpaper to remove his own name, laboriously carving Lissuin’s instead.  Next he had polished it, using a mixture given to him by Mireth, one of the maids - the same mixture which was used on his father’s throne.  She had also given him a special cloth.  Then he had oiled the wood, and re-strung the bow.  Finally he had ‘borrowed’ some gold leaf from Tionel, to pick out the writing, and then meticulously polished it again.

It would be a fine present to give his new sister.  Legolas knew it would be a long time before she would be able to use it, but it would be there, ready and waiting, for when she was old enough.

Carrying the bow, he went back to his parent’s room, prepared to wait again.  The long, golden afternoon  faded into a glorious evening.  Normally he would have been outside, splashing in the pool or river, climbing trees, or stalking squirrels.  But not today.  Today he was - more or less - content to wait indoors.   He returned to the windowsill, his attention divided between the setting sun and slowly darkening forest, and the door to his parent’s room.

There was more activity now, and he hoped it might not be much longer.  One of the healers brushed past him, hurrying off somewhere.  The door opened and closed again, and two more came out, and began to whisper urgently.  Noticing him watching, they stopped abruptly, and retreated to the far end of the corridor, where they resumed their discussion.  At times they glanced in his direction, as if to make sure he wasn’t listening.

The ebb and flow of hurrying footsteps continued long into the night.  Cold, tired, and beginning to be troubled by some nameless fear, Legolas dozed in his corner.  His stomach rumbled.  No one had mentioned supper.  He realised that no one had come to tell him to go to bed, either.  He appeared to have been forgotten.  But that didn’t matter.  He would stay here as long as he could.

Around midnight, Legolas awoke with a start, as suddenly as if he had been kicked.  He looked round frantically, eyes blurred and sleep fogged.  He felt as though he had awoken from a bad dream, his heart was beating fast, and he was shivering despite the still, warm night, but he could not recall anything of the dream.

Miserably, he sat huddled on the window sill, arms wrapped around his knees.

The frantic activity had stopped.  The hallway was empty now, and quiet but for the muffled sound of sobbing.  Legolas was puzzled.  He had been told that a new baby cried, but it did not sound like that sort of crying.

The door to his parents’ room opened again, and this time Calmacil, his father’s most senior healer, came out.  But he did not rush off anywhere, instead he just leaned against the wall, his face in his hands.  Then two more healers emerged, arms around each other.  One was indeed crying, wracking sobs shaking her.

Legolas watched all this with a growing sense of dread.  Something was wrong, badly wrong.  But what?  Realising there was no one around to stop him now, he slid off the window sill and went to the door.  He felt strangely reluctant to open it, but then gripped the handle and pushed.

“Nana?  Ada?”

The room was very dark inside, and he did not have time to see anything apart from a flurry of movement.  Then his father was in front of him, and guiding him out of the door.  To Legolas’ intense surprise and distress, his father, too, was crying.  He dropped to one knee, more at his son’s level.

“Ada?  What’s wrong?”  Legolas’ voice was a mere whisper, and his heart was pounding.  He was beginning to feel very badly frightened.  His father never cried, never!

Thranduil put both hands on his son’s shoulders, and met his eyes.

“Legolas, there is something I have to tell you.  Something has happened.  Something terrible.  Your mother - your mother died.  She is dead.”

Thranduil had expected sobs, screams, collapse, even hysteria; anything but what did happen.  Legolas laughed.

“Don’t be silly, Ada!  Of course she’s not dead.  She had a baby, that’s all.  Can I go and see her yet?”

“No!  No, not yet.  Legolas, it is true.  I am sorry.  I wish it was not.  But Nana is dead.”

The tears he had expected came now, along with an unanticipated anger. 

“No!  I don’t believe you!  Why would you say such a horrible thing?  It’s not true!  Nana!”  Legolas pounded his fists against Thranduil’s chest, sobbing.  “It isn’t true.  I don’t believe you.  No!”

His father wrapped both arms around him tightly, holding him close, rocking him gently as he gave in to his own grief again.

“Oh, Legolas,”  he said softly, helplessly.

At last Legolas lifted his head from his father’s shoulder and looked up at him.  His eyes were still full of tears.  “Why?” he asked simply.

Thranduil was at a loss.  How could he explain the mechanics and complications of childbirth to a child?  “She was having a baby.  Sometimes, something - goes wrong.  The healers tried very hard, but they could not do anything.  So she died.”

“What about Lissuin?”

Thranduil drew a deep breath.  “Lissuin died too.”

“Oh.”

“Legolas, do you want to come and see Nana?  Come and say goodbye to her, and to Lissuin.”

Legolas looked up at his father, unsure.

“Come with me.”

As Thranduil straightened, his foot brushed against something on the floor.  He looked down.  “What is this?” he asked.

Legolas looked at the object.  He had completely forgotten about the bow.

“It’s my old bow.  I cleaned it, I want - wanted - to give it to Lissuin.  For when she’s older.”  His voice dropped to a mere whisper.  “I thought she would like it,”  he finished.

“Then shall we give it to her now?  Come with me.”

Hand in hand, they walked slowly to the large bed.  The room was not dark, as Legolas had thought, for candles burned at the four corners of the bed.  The window was wide open, the filmy curtains drifting on a tiny breath of breeze.

His mother lay in the centre of the bed, little Lissuin cradled in one arm.  Suddenly frightened, Legolas hung back, not wanting to go any further.

Thranduil’s soft voice reassured him, drew him forward.  “There is nothing to fear.  Come.”

Finally he looked down at his mother.  She could have been asleep, but for the fact that her eyes were closed.  He had never seen her like that before.   Somehow, she did not look like his mother anymore.  And Lissuin, his little sister.  She was cuddled against their mother, warmly wrapped in a blanket, a fluff of pale golden hair showing.

Still clutching the bow with the hand that did not cling to his father’s, he looked up at Thranduil for reassurance.  Then he stepped forward and carefully placed the bow next to Lissuin.  Moving a little closer, and glancing at his father again, he kissed Lissuin, and then his mother’s cheek.

“Goodnight, Nana.  Goodnight, Lissuin.  Goodbye.”

He shivered, feeling tears well up in his eyes again.  Then Thranduil bent down, and picked him up as he had when Legolas was very little, sitting astride his hip.  Legolas, his arms wrapped around his father’s neck, whispered:  “Ada?  I don’t want you to go.  Stay with me.”

“I will,” he promised.  “You need to go to bed.  But I will stay with you tonight.  If you wake, I will be there.”  In truth, Thranduil felt torn.  Custom and tradition - and his own grief - demanded that he stay with his wife and daughter tonight.  But equally, Legolas needed him - and he needed to be with his son, too.  Legolas  was all he had left now.  He would not abandon him.

To be continued

Chapter  Two - Memories

When they finally left Telparian, Thranduil carried Legolas back to his room.  While Legolas was getting ready for bed, Thranduil spoke softly to Calmacil and Tionel.

“I have a great favour to ask of you both.  Would you - would you keep vigil for me tonight?  I know I should be with Telparian and Lissuin.  But I think I should be here more.”  He glanced over his shoulder at Legolas.

Tionel nodded, his eyes full of tears.  “I understand.  Yes, I think you are right.  I would be  - honoured to do so.”

Calmacil was more hesitant.  “My Lord - are you sure you want me?  I - I failed you.  I could not save them, either of them.  Perhaps ...”

Thranduil stopped him.  “I know how hard you tried.  You did everything you could, the blame is not yours.  I doubt if Elrond himself could have done more.  There is no-one I would rather entrust with this, than you both.”

Calmacil bowed his head.  “Thank you, my Lord.  You do us a very great honour.”

They left then for their sad duty, and Thranduil closed the door, shutting out the soft sounds of grief that drifted through the corridors and hallways.  Legolas by now had changed into a nightshirt, but was standing motionless in the centre of the room, staring at nothing in particular.  He started as Thranduil spoke to him.

“Ready?”

“Yes, father.  I was just - thinking.”

“Then into bed.  No more thinking tonight.”

Thranduil sat on the bed as Legolas settled down, his head nestled against his father’s chest.  Thranduil wrapped his arms around his son in reassurance.  From the tremors that shook Legolas occasionally, Thranduil knew he was crying again, silently - as he was himself.  A warm wetness soaked into his chest.  He tightened his embrace, murmuring soft words.  But it was pointless to say ‘Do not cry’;  ‘It will be all right’;  Do not worry’ - all the usual reassurances he normally used.  It would not be all right, not now, not ever again.

Instead he began to sing a soft lullaby, one he could recall his own mother singing to him, long, long ago, in Doriath.

Gradually the sobs lessened, and Legolas’ tight grip on his father slackened.  When he was quite sure that his son was asleep Thranduil gently disentangled himself and moved across to the window.  Here, too, the shutters were open.  He sat on the narrow window seat, gazing up at the stars, aware of the tears coursing down his face.

During the long, silent night, he sat motionless, remembering.   He remembered the first time he had set eyes on Telparian, when she was just one of the entourage who had arrived from the Grey Havens in the days before he, his father, and the host of Greenwood left for battle in Mordor.  He had known then that in her, he had found the other half of his soul.  He recalled the next time he had seen her, on his return to Lasgalen after seven long, exhausting, heartbreaking years; returning as King, leading a tragically depleted army.

He recalled the joy of their combined wedding and coronation ceremonies, and the unrivalled passion and bliss of their wedding night.  He had never imagined that such

ecstasy was possible.

Also, there had been the night of love beneath the harvest moon at the time of the autumn equinox, which had resulted in Legolas’ birth.  He remembered how very proud he had been, sitting by Telparian with his arm held possessively around her as she cradled their son, both of them looking in wonder at the tiny scrap of life before them.

And then there was the Midsummer feast last year.  At the end of the evening, he had led Telparian away from the celebrations, deep into the forest, to their favourite grove.  With a few whispered words he had set in place this whole terrible chain of events.  “Will you celebrate Midsummer with me, my Lady?”

A soft whimper behind him made Thranduil turn.  But Legolas merely turned over and fell into a deeper sleep again.  He remained at the window for the remainder of the night, looking out blindly at his forest, while the sky gradually lightened with the approach of dawn. 

As Legolas began to stir, Thranduil crossed to the bed and sat on the edge.  Legolas blinked sleepily at his father, surprised to see him when waking up.

“Ada?  I had such a horrible dr - ”  Then the realisation hit him and he took in the deep sorrow in Thranduil’s eyes.  “Oh.  It wasn’t a dream, was it?”

Thranduil shook his head sadly.  “No.  It really happened.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I do not really know.  First, you need to have some breakfast.  Shall I ask Mireth to bring something for us both to eat?”

“I don’t think I’m hungry.”

Thranduil knew he could not eat a thing either.  But he had to try, for Legolas’ sake.  And he felt  he could not possibly face a meal in the main hall, not today.  “We shall see.  Later, there are some things ... I have to do.  Perhaps Mireth will let you help her in the kitchens.”  With the exception of archery practice, Legolas’ favourite occupation was helping the bakers in the great palace kitchens.

A tray arrived with a new loaf of fresh, warm bread, a dish of soft butter, and a pot of sweet-smelling clover honey.  Legolas obediently spread a slice of the bread with honey, then cut the slice into smaller and smaller pieces.  He pushed the plate away, untouched.  “I don’t want anything.”

Thranduil had not even made a pretence of eating.  He moved the tray to one side with a sigh.  When Mireth came in a little later, he spoke to her while Legolas was dressing.

“Will you keep him with you this morning?  Let him help in the kitchens? Just ...”

“Of course I can look after him.  It will be a pleasure.  He’s no trouble.” 

That was a little optimistic, but he blessed her for her tact. “Thank you.”

When Legolas had gone with Mireth, Thranduil sent a messenger to find Lanatus, who could help to make the arrangements for that afternoon.  When he arrived, the steward was as dour as ever.  There was no mistaking his genuine sorrow over the death of the Queen, but somehow, without words, he seemed to convey the sentiment that this would never have happened in Oropher’s time.

Thranduil suppressed a sigh.  He wished he could do without Lanatus, but just now he needed his calmness, his unflappable manner, and his long experience of protocol and tradition.  Thranduil explained briefly what he wanted .  He knew he could rely on Lanatus to see to everything efficiently.  Very efficiently.

When Lanatus departed, Thranduil returned to the rooms he had shared with Telparian.  Calmacil and Tionel still stood in silent vigil over a room that now seemed terribly empty. 

He dismissed them both, then took up Tionel’s position, standing motionless at the foot of the bed, staring down at his wife and daughter.  It still did not seem real.  He recalled Legolas’ words about a ‘horrible dream’.  It was all of that, it was a nightmare; and one from which he would never wake.

He had looked forward to this day for so long, since that Midsummer’s Eve when they knew they had been given another child.  Telparian had known within days that they would have a daughter this time.  When she told him, his joy had been complete.  And now - this.

It would be easy, so easy, to succumb to his grief and loss, to give in to the despair that felt like an agonizing, physical pain cutting deep into his soul.  His own mother had done so.  When she learnt of Oropher’s death she had visibly wilted and faded, according to the messenger. 

That night she had dressed in her finest robes, and gone deep into the forest.  Sitting beneath one of the golden beeches that reminded her of Doriath, she had simply given up her life.

Thranduil had been unable to understand how she could abandon her love of life, her gaiety and laughter like that.  How could she abandon the kingdom, which, while the army was away, she and Lanatus had been charged to care for?  He had not understood, not then.

But now he understood only too well.  How simple it would be to use the dagger sheathed in his boot, how easy to lay down beside Telparian and Lissuin and join them in the sweet oblivion of death.  How simple it would be to return to the grove where both Legolas and Lissuin had started life, and to end his own.

How simple it would be to leave Lasgalen, leave the Greenwood, leave his people, and go far away, away from the memory and heartbreak, away over the sea to the undying lands where he might find some measure of tranquillity.  And if one day they were to be released from the Halls of Mandos, he would be there, waiting for them.  It would be so easy ...

He realised he had removed the knife from his boot and was fingering it absently.  With an abrupt movement he flung it away, across the room, hearing it skittering over the floor. 

No!  What was he thinking of?  It was not just Lasgalen he would betray, it was Legolas as well.  He could never, never, abandon his son.  Legolas was all he had left know.  Together - somehow - they could deal with this.

The door opened quietly, and Thranduil looked up, expecting to see Tionel, or maybe Lanatus.  It was Legolas.  He came into the room hesitantly, looking at his father with a strange mixture of resolve and pleading.

“Mireth told me where you were.  I want to join you.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to protest, that Legolas was too young, that he should not do this.  But then he stopped.  Legolas had inherited all of Thranduil’s - and Oropher’s - stubbornness; as well as Telparian’s sweet nature. He could cope with this.  And it was his right.

“Come, then,” Thranduil said softly.  “We can do this together.”  He moved slightly to one side, from the foot of the bed to one of the corners.  Legolas took up the other position, and copied his father’s stance - feet slightly apart, hands clasped before him.  First, though, he made the gesture of farewell, touching brow and  lips with his fingertips, and his heart with the back of his hand.  They stood in silence, motionless, both lost deep in thought and memory.

After a while, there was a soft tap at the door.  Tionel opened it.  “My Lord - your majesty?  It is time.  Are you ready?”

Thranduil nodded.  He led Legolas out, to a side room where new clothes in the white of mourning had been prepared for them.  “Father?  What happens now?”

Thranduil took a deep breath.  “I have selected a place where - where your mother and sister will be buried this afternoon.  I need you to be strong.  Are you ready?”

Legolas nodded, but his resolve suddenly wavered as he finally voiced a fear that had been lurking all day.  It was something he had never before contemplated in his whole life.  Something that now terrified him more than anything.

“Ada?  I remember something you said once about your mother, when grandfather Oropher died.  You said she was very sad; so sad that she died.”

Thranduil sighed, remembering again.  “Yes, she did.”

Legolas hesitated again.  He didn’t want to say this, in case speaking the words made them true.  But he had to know.

“Ada?  You’re sad, because of  Nana.  Are you going to die too?”

Thranduil brushed at the tears that threatened to fall again, and shook his head wordlessly.  When he could speak again, he hugged Legolas tightly and said fiercely: “No.  Never.  I will always look after you.  Always.”

“Even when I’m grown up?”

“Yes.  Even then.  Though you will probably not want me to then.  I expect you will tell me I worry too much.  Now, are you ready?”

Legolas nodded, very serious.  “Yes.  Yes, I am.”  He slipped his hand into his father’s.  “Let’s go.”

To be continued

Chapter Three – Rituals

The funeral procession left Lasgalen and slowly crossed the open area in front of the entrance.  As they passed beneath the tall posts  that held the banners, Legolas paused and looked upwards.  The banners, one the oak leaf symbol of Lasgalen, the other with an emblem of a beech tree, were both edged with the white of mourning.  Instead of fluttering high among the tree tops, at the top of the poles, the flags now hung lower, hanging limply as they no longer caught the breeze.

Legolas turned towards his father. “Ada?  Why are the banners like that?  Is it because of Nana?”

Thranduil nodded.  “Yes.  Because she was Queen.  And because Lissuin was a princess.  I can remember when the flags were like that once before, when I came back from the war, because my father the King was dead, and my mother.”  He rested one hand gently on his son’s shoulder in a gesture of reassurance.

The procession continued on into the forest.  Four of Thranduil’s highest ranking staff, Calmacil, Tionel, Orionë and Lanatus carried the litter which bore Telparian and Lissuin.  Mother and daughter were wrapped together in a white cloak, richly embroidered in gold and silver thread.  Thranduil and Legolas walked behind, followed, it seemed, by the entire population of Lasgalen.  They halted in a wide clearing where a shallow grave had already been prepared.

The four litter-bearers -  healer, stewards, and army commander; most of them close friends as well; set the litter down.  They bowed, made the gesture of farewell, then stepped back to stand just behind Thranduil and Legolas.

In the utter stillness and silence that followed, Legolas could hear his heart beating loudly.  He glanced at his father, wondering if he could hear it, but Thranduil seemed oblivious, unaware of his surroundings.  His gaze was fixed blankly on Telparian and Lissuin.

Calmacil cleared his throat.  “My Lord?  Your Majesty?  Shall we begin?”

Thranduil blinked, suddenly becoming aware of the expectant silence, as all waited patiently for him to start the proceedings.  He began with a prayer to Elbereth to guide the souls of the dead safely to the Halls of Mandos, and a plea to Mandos to protect and care for them, to return their spirits to the world while those who loved them remained.  All those present joined in the liturgy, prayer and response, chant and counter-chant.

Finally Thranduil began to sing, a slow, mournful song of grief and loss.  For the first part of the lament he sang alone, his voice soft, then gradually others began to blend their voices to the harmony.  Slowly the tone of the sad air changed, the deep, desolate sorrow giving way to a commemoration, a thanksgiving for the joy Telparian had brought to the lives of those she had touched, those she loved.

As the final, uplifting notes faded away, Thranduil found he was smiling through tears, remembering, at least for now, the love he had felt for his wife, rather than feeling the gaping hole she had left in his life.

Before the next part of the ceremony commenced, Thranduil signalled to Mireth.  He had already arranged for her to take Legolas away, back to Lasgalen for this part of the ritual.  For all Legolas’ determination, he should not witness the slow burial of his mother and sister, as a cairn of stones was built over them. When the burial mound was complete, the final, private, act of remembrance would take place.  The next day, Thranduil and Legolas would plant an oak sapling and an acorn on the grave, which would flourish and grow tall.

First, though, Legolas selected two small, fist-sized stones from the mound at one side of the clearing, and laid them beside his mother and Lissuin.  He paused, trying to select just one memory from the thousands he carried of Telparian.

“Goodbye, naneth.  I remember the wonderful stories you used to tell me.  But I’ll never know now what happened in the last story.  You never finished it.” 

He thought about Lissuin, too.  He had no memories for her, there had been no time.  There were only  dreams.  “Goodbye, Lissuin.  I wish I could have shown you how to use that bow.”

He laid the stones down, and waited while Mireth placed her own tributes.  “Farewell.  It was always a pleasure to serve you.  I always thought of you as a friend, rather than the Queen.  Little Lissuin – I wish I could have cared for you, and loved you like I do Legolas.”   Then he was gone, led by Mireth back to Lasgalen, casting a long backward glance behind him.

During the course of the afternoon and evening, everyone present would lay a stone on the mound, and recall a special moment or memory of Telparian, a kindness done, a lasting image.  One by one they stepped forward, from the youngest children - who would also return after their tribute - to the warriors and novices, the servants, the cooks, the healers and apprentices.  There was a visiting healer from Imladris, studying with Calmacil, who had agreed to represent Elrond.

Each had their own particular memory of Telparian, and shared it by speaking aloud as the stones were placed.  Some had not been able to select just one memory, and laid several stones.

Listening to the tributes, Thranduil was amazed anew at the immense love his people held for the Queen, at the range of memories and recollections voiced.

“I remember dancing with you at the mid-winter festival.”

“You told me of the Grey Havens, about your home there.”

“I remember you talking of the sea.”

“I remember all the elflings sitting at your feet while you told them stories.”

“You once gave me your hair clasp because I admired it.  I wear it today in honour of your memory.”

“I remember the day you arrived here.  I think I loved you from that moment.  But by the time I saw you, you had already met Thranduil, and I knew I had no chance.”  The last speaker was Tionel.  Thranduil looked at him questioningly.  He had had no idea about that.

Tionel gave him a wry smile.  “I always wished you well, both of you, but for a long time I was very envious of you!”

As each one placed their stone and shared their memory and accolade, they left.  Finally only Thranduil and Calmacil were left.

Calmacil placed his own tribute - with a memory of attending Telparian when Legolas was born - but instead of leaving, he waited.  He did not want to leave Thranduil alone, or he would probably remain here all night.

The cairn was almost complete.  Thranduil gazed at it sadly, his head bowed, trying to sift from his many memories the most compelling reminiscences.  Slowly he began his own homage.

“Goodbye, my love.  I remember your laughter.  Your kindness.  Your grace.  Your beauty.  I remember the first time I saw you.  I remember returning from the war, when you were waiting for me.  I remember our marriage and coronation.  Thank you for your love.  Thank you for our life together.  And thank you for our son .  He is all I have left of you now.  Namárië.”

He placed a stone on the cairn with each memory and finally stepped back.  Turf would be laid over the stones in the morning, and the final part of the ceremony, the planting, would be conducted in private, just Thranduil and Legolas.

After a long silence, Calmacil touched his arm gently.  “Come.  We should return.  It will be dark soon.”

The long, mid-summer afternoon and evening had slowly faded into dusk.  The sky was not dark enough for stars yet, but Thranduil knew that from the centre of the clearing the stars would eventually be visible in all their glory.  He had lain there with Telparian often enough to know all their  patterns as they slowly wheeled overhead.

Slowly and sadly, he returned to Lasgalen.  Many had gathered in the great hall for the evening meal, but the atmosphere was muted and subdued.  Here and there, though, laughter could be heard, and voices asking “do you remember ... ?”  No one, it seemed, could think of Telparian for long without recalling her laughter and love of life.

Thranduil felt he could still not face the sympathetic looks and condolences, not yet.  Instead, he made his way to his study.  Legolas was already there with Mireth, curled up in a chair while she read to him from one of the heavy volumes of history.  He was perfectly capable of reading the book - an account of the war of the Silmarils, his current fascination - for himself, but Legolas was half asleep, lulled by Mireth’s soothing voice.  He looked up, smiled and yawned.

“Mireth told me to go to bed, but I wanted to wait until you came back.  Do you mind?”

“No, of course not.  But it is time for bed now.  Come along.”

Thranduil returned a little later, having left Legolas reading “just for a few minutes, Ada, please!”  Mireth had stayed with him, but Tionel and Calmacil were there, with a light meal for the three of them.  Calmacil had even found a flask of Dorwinion from the cellars.

When Thranduil started to protest that he was not hungry, Calmacil gave him a stern look.  “When did you last eat, or sleep?”

Thranduil tried to remember.  “I ... yesterday?”

“Try the day before.  Thranduil, Legolas needs you well and rested, not exhausted and foul tempered. He needs his father.   Mireth can stay with him tonight, if he wants it.  You are going to eat, then sleep.”

Thranduil glared at Calmacil.  “Are you ordering me?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” Calmacil replied flatly.  “As the palace healer.  Are you arguing?”

There was a flash of anger in Thranduil’s eyes, but then he capitulated, recognising the sound sense behind Calmacil’s words.  As he began to eat, he realised he was hungry, after all.  By the time they finished their meal, he felt somewhat better, but the strain of exhaustion and grief of the endless day and night were catching up with him.  Thranduil yawned, his eyes heavy.  As he sat in deep chair by the window, he looked at Calmacil accusingly.  “What did you do?”

The healer shrugged unrepentantly.  “I put peles in your wine.  I thought you would need some help to sleep tonight.”

The last thing Thranduil was aware of as he slipped into the mercy of sleep, escaping the pain of loss for a while, was Calmacil placing a thin blanket over him.

“Is he asleep?” Tionel asked.

“Yes, at last.  This probably is not very ethical, but I thought he needed it.  He can shout at me in the morning.”  Calmacil did not seem too worried by the prospect, but he too was pale with weariness and sorrow.

Although most of the previous night’s vigil had passed in silence, Calmacil had spoken briefly of what he still felt to be his failure in being unable to save Telparian or Lissuin.  He clearly still felt responsible.  Tionel looked at Calmacil consideringly, then made up his mind.  He lifted the flask of Dorwinion.  “There is still some of this left.  Shall we finish it?”

Calmacil nodded.  “Yes, why not?  It seems a shame to waste it.”

Thranduil’s cup of drugged wine was still half full.  With some deft sleight of hand, Tionel topped it up to the brim, and handed it to Calmacil without him realising which cup he had taken.  He raised his own goblet.  “To Telparian,” he suggested.

“To Telparian.”  They drank, and began to talk of their own memories, and what the days to come might hold, for Thranduil, for Legolas, for all of them.  After a while, Calmacil blinked, stretching wearily.  He yawned, and rubbed at his eyes.  “I feel so tired, suddenly.”

Tionel affected a look of concern.  “Is it the peles?  Did you drink from Thranduil’s cup in error?”

Calmacil scowled at him, suddenly realising.  “Curse you, Tionel,” he said, without heat.  “Help me get to bed, will you?  I think that the least you can do.  It would scarcely do for us both to be found here in the morning.”

With a chuckle, Tionel helped his friend to his own rooms, guiding his faltering steps.  He deposited Calmacil on the bed, removed his boots, draped a light cover over the healer, and finally blew out the candle.

Before he sought his own bed, there was one more task.  He quietly opened the door to Legolas’ room and peered in.  Mireth sat beside the bed, engrossed in the book she had been reading to Legolas earlier.  She glanced up.  “He fell asleep at last.  He said he did not want anyone with him tonight, but I thought I would stay here for now.  Just in case.”

Tionel nodded.  “If you need anything, come and find me.  Leave the King and Calmacil to sleep.  They need it.”

“Why?  What did you do?”

Tionel grinned tiredly.  “I put peles in their wine.  But it was Calmacil’s idea, not mine!  Get some sleep.  Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Tomorrow would be a long day, and all the days that followed.  But together, they could face it.

To be continued

Chapter Four - Legolas

Slowly, life began to return to some semblance of normality. The training for novices and apprentices resumed, as did weapons practice for the warriors.  Although both Thranduil and Legolas felt as if their world had ended, all around them the minutiae of everyday life continued unabated. 

Thranduil had decided it would be best if Legolas went back to his lessons as soon as possible, rather than have too much free time to dwell on things.   Studying kept him busy, though his tutors, even Lanatus, were rather more lenient with the occasional lapses of attention than they would have been normally.

Envoys bearing messages had been sent out to Esgaroth and Dale, to the villages scattered along the edges of the forest, to the border patrols, and to both Imladris and Lothlorien.  They proved to be the hardest letters Thranduil had ever had to write.  Many, many drafts ended up fuelling the fires that heated the deeper recesses of Lasgalen.  He found it impossible to set the right tone.  The contents were either too raw and emotional, or so casual as to seem uncaring.  In the end, Tionel took over the task.  It was difficult, but he was glad he could shoulder at least part of the burden.

Messages of condolence began to arrive - some merely formal, noting ‘with deep regret’ what had happened, while others were more heartfelt and sincere.  There was a long letter from Celebrían, full of genuine sympathy, enquiring after both Thranduil and Legolas, and asking if Elrond, who was due to travel to Esgaroth and Dale, could stay in Lasgalen for part of the journey.

Elrond arrived in Lasgalen some two months after Telparian’s death, after a long, weary journey.  The long, hot summer had eventually come to an end, in the last week giving way to ferocious storms and heavy rain.  The incessant, driving rain had seeped into everything, even the light, warm, ‘waterproof’ cloaks Elrond and his party wore.  After a hot bath, and a meal together in the great hall -  the feasts had been suspended, but people still had to eat - Elrond joined Thranduil in his study, next to a warm fire.

“I was so very sorry to hear your news.  It is a great tragedy, Telparian was well-loved.  But what of you, my friend?  And Legolas?”

Thranduil shook his head.  “We - manage.  Legolas seems to be coming to terms with it, but he has good days and bad days.  As I do,” he admitted.

Elrond was silent for a moment, trying to put himself in the other’s place.  How would he feel if he ever lost Celebrían?  How would the twins cope, or Arwen?  He shied away from the thought, it was too terrible to contemplate.

“When the news came, I wondered what you would do,” he said instead.  “I half expected you to join them in death, or at least to travel over the sea.  You show great strength in remaining.”

“I was sorely tempted,” Thranduil confessed.  “I think I would, if I could, even now. But how can I follow them?  I have Legolas.  He is all that prevents me  - I could never leave him,” he added simply.

Elrond smiled, thinking of the quiet, solemn child he had met briefly for the first time that day.  “He reminds me much of you both.”

“Yes.  He has Telparian’s gentle nature and sweet temper - most of the time.  He also seems to have inherited my father’s stubbornness and strong will!”

Privately, Elrond though that Legolas had received his obstinate character from a little closer to home than Oropher, but wisely said nothing.

The heavy rains had caused flooding along the Forest River as far as Esgaroth, and the banks were impassable.  Elrond stayed in Lasgalen for several days, in no hurry to continue his journey.  He spoke much with Thranduil, who seemed to be slowly accepting his wife’s death.  However he saw very little of Legolas.  The child was rarely to be seen, even at meal times.  He queried this with Thranduil.

“He has always been out and about in the forest,” the King explained.  “Always.  If he is too late for supper, I think he manages to persuade Mireth to find him something to eat.  He seems to have been out with his friends even more of late, and I think he must be tired.  He forgets to come to say goodnight, and when I go to his room, he is already asleep.” 

Elrond wondered at this behaviour.  In Imladris, Elladan and Elrohir were always underfoot, causing mischief and mayhem, and never went to bed voluntarily.  They never missed a meal, either, and frequently caused chaos in the kitchens when they helped themselves to extra ‘snacks’.  Legolas’s invisibility seemed rather strange.  “Is that - usual?”

“He has been very quiet recently.  I scarcely see him on some days.  I feel at times that he is avoiding me!”  Thranduil smiled, but it seemed forced.  He sighed.  “I worry about him, Elrond.  He is so young for such a thing to have happened.”

When he left Thranduil, Elrond wandered outside to gaze at the stars.  The skies had finally cleared over the last two days, and the evening was still and peaceful.  The area was deserted apart from the guards on the doors, and very quiet.  The only sound was the incessant voice of the forest - the faint movement and rustle of leaves, a breath of soft breeze, the calls of birds and insects, and the murmur of the river behind him.  Faintly he could hear the high-pitched clicks of bats hunting moths and other night-flying insects.

Suddenly there was a louder sound, close behind him, a dull splash as something was thrown into the water.  Startled, Elrond turned, but could see nothing apart from the spreading ripples on the surface of the water.  There was another splash, and he traced the origin to a stone thrown from the other side of the stream - but where from?  There seemed  no room.  The water very nearly met the side of the hill just here.

He moved a little further along the bank, and saw a tiny patch of grass squeezed between the river and the walls of Lasgalen.  A narrow path led to it, then vanished.  Just visible, tucked away in a nearly hidden corner, he saw Legolas, moodily tossing pebbles into the water.  “Hello, there!” he called.

Legolas looked up slowly, staring across the river.  “Hello,” he replied shortly.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Elrond enquired.

Legolas shrugged.  “If you want.”  The curt answer bordered on rudeness.

Elrond was not put off.  “How do I get there?” he persisted.

Legolas sighed, then pointed back to the entrance.  “That way.  Between the doors and the bridge.  There’s a path.”

Elrond retraced his steps, and negotiated his way along the narrow path, squeezed past some bushes, and found himself in Legolas’ tiny enclave.

“I had no idea this was here,” he commented.

“No.  It’s private,” said Legolas pointedly. 

Elrond ignored the hint, wondering at the child’s attitude.  Legolas was staring gloomily into the water, wearing an expression of abject misery.  Concerned, Elrond sat down next to him.  After a while, he commented: “If you jump in, you might scare the fish.  You could drown, you know.”

Legolas started.  It was clear he had forgotten there was anyone there.  He muttered something under his breath.  It sounded as if he had said “No one would care”, but such a comment was so unlike Legolas that Elrond decided he must have misheard.

“Why are you out here, alone, so late at night?  It could be dangerous.  Does your father know where you are?”

There was another mutter, even quieter, but perfectly clear.  “He wouldn’t care either.”

Rather alarmed at the tone of the conversation, Elrond sat quietly, searching for a neutral topic to talk about.  “Lasgalen is a very lovely place,  I had forgotten how beautiful it is.  One day I will bring Elladan and Elrohir to visit - I think you would get on well.”

There was a flicker of interest at this.  “They’re your sons, aren’t they.  Are they twins?”

“Yes, and so alike that even I have difficulty telling them apart sometimes.  Especially when they do it deliberately.”

Legolas gave the ghost of a smile.  “They try to trick you?”

“Yes.  The strange thing is, Arwen always knows who they are.”  Elrond sighed in puzzlement, not for the first time.   “I wish I knew how she does it.”

“Is she their sister?”

Elrond nodded.

“I wish I had a sister.  Then perhaps ...”  he stopped

“Perhaps what?” Elrond prompted.

There was a long sigh, full of sadness.  “Nothing.”

“Legolas?”  Elrond spoke very gently.  “Legolas, what is it?  What worries you so much?  Is it because of your mother, or Lissuin?”

Legolas shook his head each time.  “I said there’s nothing wrong!” he insisted.  The utter misery Elrond could see in his face belied the defiant words.

“Is someone being unkind?  Teasing you?  Bullying you?”

There was another shake of the head.

Elrond sighed, knowing he was getting nowhere. “Well, if you cannot talk to me, why not tell your father about it?” he suggested.  “I know he - ”

“No!  No, I don’t want to tell him anything!”  There was something that sounded very much like fear in Legolas’s voice.

Elrond felt cold.  Surely not ...?

“Legolas?”  he asked softly.  “Is it your father?”  There was little reaction, but Legolas seemed to hunch his shoulders a little more tightly.  He turned his head away.  Elrond was sure he had heard a stifled sob.

“What has happened?  What has he done?  Has he hit you, or - or hurt you in some way?”  Elrond could not believe what he was asking, but the question finally got a reaction.

Legolas raised his head a little, and looked up at Elrond at last.  “I said there’s nothing wrong!  I don’t want to talk about it!”  His eyes were dark with sleeplessness, and his face was pinched-looking.

Elrond did not know whether he was relieved or not.  Was Legolas telling the truth?  He could never believe Thranduil would lay a finger on his son, but he had to consider the possibility.  He had seen such a thing once in a child brought to him for healing, many years ago.  The physical scars from a terrible fall had been nothing compared to the scars Elrond had found on his soul.

“Then what?”  Elrond, for all his experience with his own children, was at a loss.  Legolas denied that there was anything wrong, but that was clearly untrue.  And whatever it was, Legolas did not want to talk about it.

“Nothing’s wrong!” he repeated obstinately.  He got to his feet abruptly.  “I’m going in,” he announced, and began to walk back along the track.

“Legolas!”  Elrond called.

He stopped, his back rigid and stiff with tension, but did not turn around.  “What?”

“I was always told that it was rather rude to say ‘what’,” Elrond commented.

“What is it, Lord Elrond?”  Elrond was stunned to hear the insolent tone.

“When you go to bed, will you come to say goodnight to me?”  He sensed Legolas was about to refuse, so added: “Please?”

Legolas’ shoulders sagged, as he was defeated by kindness.  “All right.”

Elrond watched him go, by now very worried indeed.  One thing was clear.  He had to see Thranduil, now.

To be continued

Chapter 5 -  Resolution

Deep in thought, and extremely concerned, Elrond slowly picked his way along the narrow path.  Some things were clear.  Whatever ailed Legolas was not nearly so simple as grief over his mother and sister; it was far more complex than that.  And whatever it was, Legolas did not want to talk about it, not to anyone - especially not to his father.  What could have caused such a deep rift?  Thranduil himself had realised that something was wrong, but did not appear to appreciate the gravity of the situation, nor how deeply distressed his son was.

Elrond wondered if there was someone else who could shed light on the problem.  But who?  Calmacil?  As a healer, he should have noticed any worries over Legolas’ behaviour, but Elrond realised that he had not seen Calmacil since his arrival. As he passed through the great hall, he noticed Tionel, deep in conversation with someone:  Mireth.  Of course.   He stopped by them.  “Excuse me.  I wondered if I might talk with you for a moment?”

Tionel looked up, startled.  “Of course, Lord Elrond.  How can I help you?”

“Well, it is in fact your companion I wished to speak to.”  He sat down alongside the pair.  “Mireth, I understand from the king that you help to look after Legolas?”

She looked surprised to have been recognised, and nodded.  “Yes, my lord.”

“I wondered if you had noticed anything - different - about him recently?”

Mireth nodded again.  “Oh, yes.  I was just telling Tionel how worried I am.  I want to see Thranduil in the morning and talk to him.  You have seen it too?”

Elron sighed as his fears were confirmed.  But at least those who loved and cared for Legolas were aware of the problem.  “I can see something is wrong.  Very wrong. Do you know what it may be?  Do you have any idea?”

Mireth did not reply immediately, but thought hard.  “I first noticed something a few days ago,” she said slowly.  “Until then, he seemed - as well as any of us expected him to be.   But then -  it was as if he just stopped eating, or sleeping, or talking to anyone.  It was very sudden.  But I have no idea why.”

“Not eating?  But Thranduil said ...”  Elrond stopped, recalling his conversation.  No, Thranduil had assumed that Mireth was feeding Legolas if he missed a meal.  The more he heard, the worse it sounded.  “What about at night?” 

“Like I said, he’s not sleeping properly, if at all.  Oh, if I go in at night, he seems to be asleep - but I feel sure he’s pretending, so he does not have to say anything to me.  And I scarcely see him on some days, he just disappears for hours on end!”

Tionel had been listening in concern.  “I thought he seemed quiet, but I had not realised quite how bad things were with him,” he admitted.

Elrond sighed.  All of this tied in with what Thranduil had said, but it was hardly reassuring.  If Legolas was avoiding Mireth as well ...  “What about Calmacil?”  he asked.  “What does he say?”

But both Tionel and Mireth were shaking their heads.  “Calmacil was called away; a fever in the villages north of Esgaroth,”  Tionel explained.  “He left a few days before you arrived.”

“Then I must talk to Thranduil again. Lady Mireth, will you come with me?”

She thought for a moment.  “No, Lord Elrond.  I will try to find Legolas.  He needs someone with him, I think.”

“Yes.  If you find him, will you remind him that he promised to say goodnight?  I  shall be in the study or the library.”

Mireth nodded.  “Of course, Lord Elrond.  I just hope he listens to me.”

~~*~~

Elrond found Thranduil where he had left him, still in the study, still gazing into the fire. 

“Thranduil?  I met with Legolas a little while ago.  He seems - very disturbed about something.  Do you have any idea what is wrong?”

Thranduil, lost in thought, did not respond at first.  Then he turned to look at Elrond, his eyes shadowed.  “I wish I knew,” he said slowly.  “I was thinking about what you said earlier.  He does not talk to me, he seems to avoid me.  Why?   I think he is not eating, or sleeping either.  Why did I not notice before?”   His voice was full of despair.   “Elrond, I am his father!  Am I making such a bad job of it?”  he pleaded.  “I should have realised!   I wish I knew what was wrong.” 

Elrond was deeply puzzled.  Legolas’ problems seemed to centre on his father, but Thranduil was genuinely bewildered as to what those problems were. There was something very wrong here.  Between them, maybe, they could get to the truth of the matter.

“I wish he was here now,”  Thranduil continued.  “I wish I could talk to him, look at him, ask him what was wrong!  Surely he would tell me?”  He shook his head, and turned back to gaze at the fire again.  “Elrond, I have not seen him all day again.  You say you saw him?  What - what did he say?”  He sounded deeply distressed  at having to ask the question of anyone else.

Elrond was about to reply, but broke off as there was a soft knock at the door.  Legolas came hesitantly into the room.  He gave a slight bow to Elrond, and said courteously:  “Goodnight, Lord Elrond.”  He seemed slightly ashamed of his earlier rudeness, but said nothing more.

Elrond smiled at him.  “Goodnight, young elfling.”

Then Legolas turned to his father.  He did not look at him directly, but keeping his head down, muttered “Goodnight, Sir.”

Thranduil looked at him, astounded.  Where had this awful formality come from?  And since when had his son called him ‘sir’?  As he looked more closely, he saw the signs he should have noticed before.  Legolas, always slender looking,  was painfully thin.  “Legolas?  Look at me.”

Instinctively, Legolas began to raise his head, then stopped, but not before his father had noticed bright tears shining.  The grey eyes were dull, lifeless.  He was unnaturally pale, and looked dreadfully ill. 

He was wasting away.  His light was fading.  Dear Valar, what was the matter with the child?

“Is something wrong?”  It was a foolish question, Thranduil reflected; of course there was something wrong.

“No.  Nothing.”  Legolas said defiantly.  “I’m going to bed.”  But there was a distinct quaver in his voice.  He was trying very hard not to cry.  Across the room, Elrond was watching in concern, and went over to the door, which Legolas had left open.  He closed it and stood in front of the doorway.  Legolas began to looked panicked when he realised he was trapped, and could no longer run and hide.

Bewildered, Thranduil tried to recall when he had first noticed the change.  Until a week or so ago, Legolas had seemed fine.  Although subdued at times, which was to be expected, he had seemed to be coming to terms with Telparian’s death.  But this strange stillness and remoteness had seemed to start around the same time as Elrond’s arrival.  What else could have happened then to cause this change?

“I think there is.  Will you tell me about it?”  Thranduil spoke very gently.

“There’s nothing wrong.  I’m all right,”  Legolas insisted. 

“I think not.  Talk to me,  please.  You know you can tell me anything.”

“No!  I don’t want to!” Legolas sounded agitated, and his voice was full of tears.  The fragile wall of indifference he had built around himself was crumbling, eroded by the obvious concern of his father and Elrond.

By now very alarmed, Thranduil rose from his seat and dropped to his knees next to Legolas.  “Look at me,”  he said again.  He tilted his son’s chin up so he could look into his face. 

The tears were still there, and Legolas blinked, still determined not to cry, though he was losing the battle.  “Please, Ada.”  he whispered.

Thranduil brushed away a single stray tear from his son’s face. “Ai, Legolas, why are you so unhappy, little elfling?”

Legolas bit his lip.  The enormity of his burden was getting too great to bear alone.  “It’s because - because ...”

“Yes?”  Thranduil urged.  Maybe, finally, they would find out now.

“Because you don’t want me any more!”  Legolas finished in a rush.

Thunderstruck, Thranduil sat back on his heels.  “What?  What do you mean?  Why ever do you think that?”

“Because I heard you!  You were talking to Elrond;  I didn’t mean to listen, but I couldn’t help hearing!  You said it!”

“Legolas, no!  I would never say such a thing!”  Thranduil protested.

“You did!  I heard you!”

Bewildered, Thranduil exchanged a glance with Elrond.  What on earth could Legolas mean?  What had he heard that could cause this heartbreak?  Across the room, a silent watcher by the door, Elrond shrugged, equally perplexed.

“And what was it I said?”  he spoke very softly, anxious not to further upset the distraught child.

Legolas sniffed and took a deep breath, trying very hard to control himself.  “It was the day Elrond arrived.  You were both in your study.  He asked if you would follow mother.  And you said ...you said you would , if you could, and I - I was, was all that prevented you.”  He faltered to a stop, having lost the fight against tears.

Thranduil gathered his son into his arms, murmuring incoherent reassurances. Legolas continued: 

“So it’s all my fault, and I’m in the way, else you c-could go with mother and Lissuin, and be with them, but I’m stopping you, so you don’t w-w-want me any more.”   His voice was muffled, blurred by tears and because he was crying hard now, sobs shaking his body, his face buried against his father’s chest.

His own heart aching, Thranduil picked up his son and  carried him to a deep chair beside the window.  He settled down, still holding Legolas close. 

“Oh, no.  No, no, no.  That is just not true, will never be true.  You know that, you know you do.”  There was an imperceptible headshake. 

Elrond turned to go, not wanting to intrude.  The father in him hated to see any child so utterly miserable, but there was a relief in the knowledge that it seemed to have been caused by a simple misunderstanding, however devastating the consequences.  He moved towards the two settled by the window to make his farewells.  “I will leave you now.  Send someone for me if you need me.”  He dropped a hand to the top of Legolas’ head gently, but he made no response, still crying.  Then, with a brief, reassuring touch to Thranduil’s shoulder, he left the room, closing the door silently behind him.

Thranduil returned his attention to his son.  He spoke very softly and carefully, fearful of saying the wrong thing, of exacerbating the situation. 

“I remember what I said to Elrond.  I told him that I could never follow your mother because I could not bear to leave you.  That does not mean you  are stopping me.  It means I want to stay.  I want to stay with you.”  Even more softly, scarcely audible, he added:  “You are all I have left to live for now.”

Gradually, the sobs subsided, though an occasional tremor ran through Legolas’ body.

Thranduil continued talking, murmuring reassuringly, soft words of love and comfort.  Finally, to Thranduil’s elation, Legolas finally slipped his arms around his neck and began to relax.  His face was still buried against his father’s shoulder.

“Foolish, foolish child,” he chided.  “Did you really think I no longer cared about you?”

There was a sniff.  “I didn’t want to.  But you said.”

“It was what you thought I said.  What you thought I meant.  Ah, Legolas.  I have been so worried about you.  I knew something was wrong.  I wondered why you were so unhappy.  I love you, you know that.”

There was a shaky nod.  “Yes.”

“Never forget that.  Never.  I love you. I love you more than anything in the world.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,”  Thranduil reassured him with a smile.

Legolas finally raised his head, and looked at his father.  “I love you too, Ada.”

They sat in silence for a time.  Finally Thranduil added:  “If you are ever worried, or think something like that again, talk to me first, yes?  Promise me, little one”

There was another nod, and a sniff.  “All right.  I promise.  But there was something else, too.”

“And what might that be?”

“Well - since Nana died, you never smile any more, or laugh.  I don’t like it.  Why not?”

Thranduil sighed.  It was true, he realised.  He could not remember the last time he had laughed, or even smiled.  Not since  - he stopped that line of thought. “I am sorry.   It made me very sad.  But you are right, I cannot be sad all the time.  Tomorrow, we can go for a ride.  Just the two of us.  Would you like that?  Or would you like to do something else?”

Legolas stirred again, and looked up.  His eyes were red from crying, and his face was flushed and tearstained, but already he looked brighter.  “Do you mean it?  You won’t be too busy?”

“I promise.  Now, you have to go to bed.  Come on.”

He carried Legolas down the hallway to his rooms, and waited while he got ready for bed.  Then Thranduil sat on the edge of the bed, relating a story about an elfling who had befriended a wolf cub, and took it home to his parents.  Legolas pressed close against him, as if to make up for his earlier distance.

Legolas had several questions about the story. “Were his parents cross?” 

Thranduil smiled. “What do you think?  They were, just a bit.”

“What happened next?”

“Wait until tomorrow to find out.  I can see you are nearly asleep.”

There was a huge yawn.  “I’m not sleepy.”

“No, of course not.”

There was silence for a while, and Thranduil thought Legolas had fallen asleep.  But he had been thinking.   “Father?  Do you think Mother will be lonely in Mandos’s halls?”

“No.  She has grandfather Oropher and my mother for company, and she has little Lissuin to look after.  How can she be lonely?”

“I miss her,”  Legolas whispered.

“Yes, I know.  So do I.  And I expect that she misses us, too.”

There was silence again, for even longer this time.   But Legolas, always insatiably curious, had more questions.  “Ada, the bow I gave Lissuin.  Do you think she will ever be able to use it?  Will she grow up in Mandos’ halls, or stay a baby for ever?”

Thranduil had thought he was used to his son’s unending thirst for knowledge.  But this was a question he had never anticipated, and had no answer for.  “I ... really have no idea,”  he said honestly, after a long pause.  “But I think yes, she will be able to use your bow one day.  And it would be better for Naneth if Lissuin grows up.” He smiled slightly.  “Babies can be very hard work, you know.”

Thranduil waited until Legolas was finally asleep, his eyes half-lidded and vacant.  He sat with both arms around his son, his heart torn with anguish at what the child had been thinking.  He had been so wrapped up in his own grief, he had not noticed how Legolas was feeling.  He had known something was wrong, but had never guessed at the depth of his anguish, or dreamt that he was inadvertently the cause.

It was late now, and he should go to see Elrond, to reassure him that matters had been resolved, but he feared to move in case it disturbed the sleeping child.  He would stay here, just for a little longer ...

~~*~~

By the next morning, Elrond was growing a little concerned.  Thranduil had not returned the night before, and his study had been empty, as was the library.  Tionel had said he was not in his chamber, either.

He decided to go to Legolas’ room, to see for himself how the child was.  Opening the door quietly, he went in.  Legolas was still asleep, but he was not alone.  Stretched out behind him on the bed, arms still wrapped around the sleeping elfling, was Thranduil.  He, too, was asleep, his eyes glazed and unfocused. 

By the look of things, Thranduil had convinced Legolas how utterly wrong he was.

Elrond looked at the sight for a moment, giving a slight smile as he remembered soothing one of the twins, or Arwen, after a bad dream.  Then he turned and left, closing the door very quietly behind him.

To be continued

Chapter 6 - Restoration

Legolas awoke, slowly, sleepily, thinking he had heard the door open, but there was no one there.  He lay still for a moment, enjoying the sensation of peace and contentment;  a feeling, he realised, that had been  missing for many weeks now.  There were strong, warm arms around him, and he felt utterly safe and secure.  Suddenly, though, he remembered the events of the night before.  Cautiously he twisted around until he faced his father, being careful not to wake him.  He gazed at the familiar, beloved face, wondering.  How could he have been so foolish as to believe his father no longer loved him, no longer wanted him?

The intensity of his gaze gradually penetrated his father’s dreams, and Thranduil blinked a little, then gave a slow smile.  “Good morning, elfling,” he said softly.  “How do you feel today?”

Legolas put his arms around his father’s neck, hugging him tightly.  “Better,” he smiled, snuggling closer.  “Ada, I’m sorry I was so silly last night.”

“Not silly,” Thranduil reassured him.  He kissed Legolas on the top of his head.  “You were upset.  You heard something you did not understand. What have I told you about listening to half a conversation?  Now, do you still want to ride out into the forest today?”

Legolas looked up doubtfully, and sighed.  “Can we do that?  I have lessons today.  And one is Lanatus’ history lesson, and it’s so boring!  Oh, Ada, I wish I could!”

Thranduil frowned.  “I thought you liked history?”

“Not the way Lanatus does it.”  Legolas sounded subdued.

“Then I shall give you the day off.”

Legolas tilted his head back to look at his father,  his eyes bright.  “The day off?  Can you really do that?”  he asked hopefully.

“Of course I can.  The King can do anything,”  Thranduil replied lightly.

“Can you give yourself the day off too?”  Legolas sounded excited now.

Thranduil smiled.  “I already have.  I just need to tell  Lanatus and Tionel.”

“He won’t like it,”  Legolas stated with certainty.  There was no need to state who ‘he’ was.

“No, maybe not.  Never mind.”  Thranduil did not seem too dismayed at the prospect.  “Now, we have to get up, or the day will be half gone.  What about breakfast?  Are you hungry?”

Legolas’ stomach rumbled in reply.  “Starving,”  he agreed.

“Well, the sooner you get dressed, the sooner you can eat.  Come on.”

Thranduil chivvied Legolas into the bathing room, where he stripped off the crumpled clothes he was wearing from the day before.  Legolas’ bright chatter filled the room as he washed and splashed.  It was a sound Thranduil had sorely missed over the last few months.  Searching through various chests, Thranduil finally found clean clothes for his son and set them ready.  At last Legolas emerged, clean and dressed.

“Ready?  Off you go and have breakfast, then.  And decide where you want to go today.  I shall meet you later, I have to make arrangements first.”

Legolas scurried down the stairs, leaping over the last steps as he usually did - but had not done for far too long.  Thranduil followed more conventionally.  First he had to find Lanatus and break the news about the change of plans.  As Legolas had predicted, the steward was not best pleased – not about the disruption of his history teaching, nor the King’s dereliction of duty.

“Lanatus, you and Tionel can cope for one day,”  Thranduil said firmly.  “And Legolas can catch up in his next lesson.  In fact, if you let him have the books, he can read it for himself.”  He knew that Legolas much preferred to read the stories about battles, alliances, warriors and heroes for himself, rather than listen to Lanatus’ repetition of names and dates, which Thranduil had to admit was stultifyingly dull.

After finally placating Lanatus, Thranduil headed towards the kitchens to find Mireth.  He gave her instructions for the day, then realised that like Legolas, he still wore the same clothes as the previous day.  He wanted to bathe and change before they left.  As he went back to his own rooms, he passed the guest corridor, and met Elrond emerging.

“Well?!”  Elrond demanded.

“Yes, things are well now.  Thank you.”  Thranduil replied irritatingly.  He knew perfectly well that Elrond wanted to know how things stood with Legolas.  When Elrond had left them the night before, the child had still been distraught.

“How is he?  How are you?  What happened after I left?”  Elrond was asking as many questions as Legolas normally did.

Thranduil briefly explained everything that had taken place after Elrond had left them.  However, he was still worried about Legolas, and his reaction.

“Elrond, why did he think that in the first place?  How could he believe it?  And why did he avoid me like that?  It was as if he was afraid!”

Elrond sighed deeply, compassion in his eyes at Thranduil’s distress.  He had had a long sleepless night to ponder the reason for Legolas’ behaviour, once the cause had been established.  He tried to explain things as he saw them.  “After what happened to Telparian, the thought of losing you as well must be the one thing that terrifies him above all else.  When he overheard our conversation it must have somehow confirmed all his worst fears.”

“So why did he react like that?  Just disappearing.  It was not just me he was avoiding, it was Mireth as well.  Why?”

“It was probably easier for him to deal with.  If he did not see you, he could pretend there was nothing wrong.  I expect it caused less pain that way.”

Thranduil considered Elrond’s words.  In the eyes of a child, grief stricken and confused, it made sense to behave in that way.  He nodded slowly.  “Yes.  Yes, I see.”

“It also explains why he seemed afraid.  When I saw his reaction when I suggested that he talk to you, I thought ...”  Elrond shook his head ruefully.  “You would not believe some of the things I thought,”  he admitted.

Thranduil turned sharply at that.   He could believe it only too well.   There had been an instance he was aware of in Esgaroth, and then there was what he had heard of the last days of Númenor ...   He decided he would rather not know any more.

As Thranduil continued on his way, Elrond went down to the dining hall.  Legolas was still there, holding an animated conversation with some of his friends.  They too looked relieved - they must have wondered what was the matter with their companion.  As he drew near, Elrond overheard one make a protest of disbelief. 

“He’s given you the day off?  No lessons?  That’s not fair!”

The other friend - Tirnan, was it? - said enviously:  “I wish my father was King and could do things like that!  You’re so lucky!”

“I don’t expect it will happen again,” said Legolas glumly.  “And Lanatus is sure to give me extra work to make up for it!”

They were quick to recognise the privileges which Legolas had, Elrond thought, but would not be so envious of the stricter discipline and rules that he lived by.  His own sons’ friends were just the same, and had frequently commiserated at the additional studying Elladan and Elrohir had to do, while their friends roamed the woods of Imladris.  Elflings everywhere were all the same.

He watched Legolas surreptitiously for a moment.  The bright, cheerful, happy child he saw now bore no resemblance to the sullen and withdrawn boy he had met by the stream,  nor to the distressed child he had left sobbing in his father’s arms the night before.  Thranduil had worked a remarkable transformation.

When Legolas finally finished his meal, he rose with his friends to leave.  He saw Elrond then, and came over to where he sat, standing beside the bench.

“Good morning, elfling.  How do you feel today?” Elrond questioned, unconsciously echoing Thranduil’s words.

“Better.  Much better, thank you.”  Legolas seemed hesitant, and dropped his gaze to the stone-flagged floor, tracing the lines between slabs with his foot.  Then he looked up again.  “I’m sorry I was so horribly rude to you last night, Lord Elrond.”

“There is no apology needed.  You were - upset.”

“But I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.  I knew what I was saying, I just couldn’t seem to stop,”  Legolas confessed.

“I told you, there is no apology needed,” explained Elrond.  “I understand.  But I accept your apology.  I am just relieved to see you looking so much happier.”

Legolas nodded, a bright smile lighting his face.  “Father says we can go out today, just the two of us, for the whole day if we want, and I don’t have to do any lessons!  It will be wonderful!”

Elrond returned the smile.  “That sounds like a marvellous idea.  I hope you have a lovely time, both of you.”

Legolas suddenly remembered his manners, and his duties as host.  “Oh - would you like to come as well, Lord Elrond?”  He managed to hide it well, but obviously hoped desperately that Elrond would refuse.

Feigning much regret, Elrond shook his head.  He had absolutely no intention of disrupting the precious time between father and son.  “I wish I could.  But I cannot, I am afraid.  I have many letters to write today.  Perhaps another time?”

Legolas smiled with relief.  “Yes, another time.  Thank you, Lord Elrond.  Goodbye!”  He turned, and hurried out of the hall.  It was time to find his father, and make their plans for the day.

He found Tionel in the hallway.  “Tionel!  Please, have you seen my father?”

“Yes, the last time I saw him he was in his rooms.”  He watched, amused, as Legolas shot past, a sense of urgency replacing the listlessness of the last few days.

Thranduil looked up as Legolas knocked on the door, then immediately opened it.  “Ada?  Are you ready?”

“Yes, I think so.  What about you?  Have you decided where you want to go?”

Legolas nodded enthusiastically.  “Can we go to the Beech Valley?  I know it’s a long way, but it’s my favourite place, and if we go now we can get there by lunch time, and I thought we could ask Mireth for a picnic, and we don’t have to be back too early, do we?”

Thranduil waited for the torrent of words to stop.  He had already asked Mireth if she would prepare a picnic for them, and had also asked her to pack a towel.  No matter where they went, Legolas would want to swim at some time, and even if he did not, he usually managed to fall in a stream or pool somewhere.  Perhaps he should find Legolas a change of clothes as well?

“The Beech Valley?  Are you sure?  Then you had better hurry, if we are to be there before supper!”  Thranduil followed Legolas as he bounded back down the stairs, realising that he was looking forward to this outing very nearly as much as his son.

To be continued

 Chapter 7 - Healing

Thranduil followed, more slowly, as Legolas leapt down the stairs ahead of him.  Legolas suddenly shot down a side corridor, and down some narrow back stairs, that led directly to the kitchens.

“Why did you come this way?”  Thranduil enquired.  He had all but forgotten the existence of these stairs.

“It’s quicker!”  Legolas explained, not wanting to waste a second.  They stopped in the kitchens just long enough to collect a pair of covered baskets.  Thranduil felt the weight disbelievingly.

“Mireth, there are only two of us!  How long do you expect us to be gone?”  he asked her.

“I just put in a few of the cakes and biscuits I know he likes, as a treat,” she explained.  Mireth had been delighted when she had seen Legolas seated at the breakfast table with his friends, his plate piled high, and had not even scolded him for talking with his mouth full.  He had done too little eating or talking in the last few days.  To his great embarrassment,  she had hugged him, in full view of all his companions.  When she learned of the outing, she immediately began baking and preparing the picnic.

Thranduil and Legolas continued through the kitchens, and out through the back doors towards the stables.  While Legolas lead Dorlath out into the yard, Thranduil settled the baskets over Morel’s neck.  As he fastened them in place, Girith approached him. 

“When you two get back, I’ve something the lad might like to see.”  He jerked a thumb at one of the stalls at the back of the stables.  “Come and see me then.”  He turned and ambled off.  Thranduil watched him go, a little surprised at the exchange.  Girith was a man of few words, originally from Esgaroth, but following the deaths of his wife and children from one of the periodic fevers that ravaged the lakeside communities at times, he had shunned the settlement.  Somehow, he had ended up working in the stables at Lasgalen, where his uncanny skill with horses, surpassing even that of most elves, had proved invaluable.  He spoke very little Sindarin, and rarely communicated with anyone other than his beloved horses.  However he seemed to have established a rapport with Legolas, and was apparently teaching him a smattering of Westron. Thranduil wondered idly what the surprise might be.  With Girith, it could be anything.

The rains which had delayed Elrond’s departure had ceased a few days before, and the late summer sun had resulted in a new burst of growth everywhere.  In places the path was still muddy, and the horses moved slowly here.  They came to an area where the trees grew more thinly, and wide, straight tracks had allowed the sun to penetrate to dry the ground. 

Legolas drew Dorlath alongside Morel, then glanced at his father.  “Race you!”  he called suddenly, and took off.  By the time he had gone ten yards down the track, Thranduil was gaining on him, then effortlessly passed him.  Morel could easily outpace Dorlath, but Thranduil whispered softly into his ear.  With a snort, Morel slowed his pace a little, still ahead of Dorlath, but only by a length.  Before the path reached a thicker area of the forest and narrowed, Thranduil whispered again to Morel, who gave another snort of disgust, but obediently slowed still further, allowing Dorlath to edge past him just before the path grew too narrow for the race to continue.

Legolas turned in triumph.  “I won!  I won!”

“You did indeed.  Congratulations.”  Thranduil gave his son a slight bow.  As Legolas moved ahead, Thranduil  patted Morel and spoke soothingly to him.  The great black stallion did not take kindly to defeat.  He knew he was the King’s horse, and seemed to regard it as a matter of pride to always be the best.  Losing deliberately was an alien concept to him.  Thranduil reached down, groping in one of the baskets, and found an apple.  After sniffing at it suspiciously, Morel deigned to accept it.

Their destination, Beech Valley, was a good two-hour ride away, but at the pace Legolas set, they made good time.  Most of the forest was mixed woodland, but here  beech trees grew thickly on both sides of the valley.  One of the many forest streams cascaded down a cliff wall at the far end, and over time the waterfall had hollowed out a wide, deep pool, and a series of caves.  The stream overflowed the pool at on side, and flowed beneath the trees through the valley and eventually joined the Forest River.  A grassy track led beside the stream, and a set of stepping stones had been laid across the stream near the pool to give access to a flat grassed area that caught the full sun for most of the day.

It was very peaceful and lovely here, and Thranduil could well understand why it was Legolas’ favourite place.  They walked the horses through the water to cross the valley, then left them loose to drink and graze.  Legolas dropped onto his back on the grass with a sigh of contentment, looking up through the tracery of leaves to the sky.  He glanced at his father, sitting beside him.  “I love it here.  There’s so much to do.  I want to swim, and explore the caves, and climb up the waterfall.  And have something to eat!  I don’t know what to do first!”

“Well, if we eat first, you will not be able to swim for a while.  You know that.”

“All right, I’ll go swimming first.  Then we can have lunch.”  Legolas immediately began to strip off, then dived into the pool.  Thranduil, feeling somewhat sticky after the ride, decided that the pool looked too inviting to resist.  He stripped off down to his breeches, and found a leather thong so he could tie his hair back.  Diving into the deepest part of the pool, near the waterfall, he surfaced, and swam silently towards Legolas.  He was looking back at the area where they had been sitting. “Ada?  Where are you?”

“Here!”

Legolas nearly jumped out of his skin, and turned in the water.  “Ada, you startled me!  I was wondering where you were.” 

They swam for a while, simply enjoying the pool.  Thranduil relished the feel of the cool, silky water against his skin.   Before long, Legolas’ natural competitiveness resurfaced, and they  raced, swimming one, two, three or more lengths of the pool.  Thranduil again allowed Legolas to win most of their races, but he was startled to find that for the longer races, he did not have to try very hard to lose.  Legolas was developing into an agile swimmer, and could turn very quickly. 

“Ada?  Why have you still got your breeches on?  You always wear them when we swim!”

Thranduil frowned.  “Never you mind.  That is a story for another time.  I may tell you later!”

Legolas shrugged, then peered down to the bottom of the pool, where the gravel and stones could be seen through the crystal clear water.  “Ada?  I’ve got another idea.  Who can dive down and collect the most stones in one go?”

“Very well.  But one at a time.  The other keeps watch.”  Legolas, needless to say, wanted to go first.  Thranduil took the opportunity to regain his breath, finding keeping up with his son rather exhausting. He watched carefully as Legolas dived deeply, searching the pool bed for stones.  This competitiveness and love of games was exactly like Oropher had been.  *If he becomes a warrior, he will make a game of that.  Probably  who can kill the most orcs, I would warrant.*

After what seemed like far too long, Legolas surfaced, gasping for breath.  He had both hands full of stones.  “Now it’s your turn!”

While Legolas swam rather awkwardly to the side of the pool, Thranduil drew a deep breath, and dived.  Rather than competing for quantity, he chose quality, selecting just a few attractively coloured stones and pebbles.  Resurfacing at last, he joined Legolas on the grass, where they compared their haul.

“All right, you win,” Legolas conceded.  “Yours look nicer.”  He sorted through the stones again, selecting a few flat slatey stones.  Turning towards the pool he threw one, skimming it low over the water, counting the splashes as it skipped across the pool.

“Five!”  He gave his father a sideways glance.  “Can you beat that?”  he asked mischievously.

“Let me try.”  Thranduil could equal the throw, but was unable to beat it.  They both tried again, but soon ran out of suitable stones.  Legolas examined the remaining stones.

“Look at this one - it’s got a hole through it!”  He held it up, a smooth, flattish pebble of granite, one or two inches in width.  Some action of the waterfall had scoured a hole in the centre, and Legolas peered through it.

“I have an idea.  Let me have it.”  Thranduil took the stone, and removed the leather strip which held his hair back.   He looped it through the stone, and tied the ends together before placing it over Legolas’ head.  “There.  A memento of today.”

Legolas looked down at it.  “Thank you, Ada.  Can we have something to eat?  I’m hungry!”

“Well, dress first, while I see what Mireth has for us.”  Thranduil investigated the contents of the baskets while Legolas quickly dressed.  The flow of words suddenly ceased, and Thranduil looked up.  Legolas was gazing at him with a stricken expression.  “What is it?”

“I was thinking about the all other times we’ve come here.  That was always Mother’s job,”  Legolas said quietly, indicating the picnic baskets.

The memory caught at Thranduil savagely, and he blinked.  Even now, the smallest action or word could trigger such vivid reminiscences.  He could see Telparian now, as clearly as if she stood before him, laughing at something he or Legolas had said, suggesting that he make himself useful by catching some fish for their picnic.  He smiled.  “Yes.  Yes, it was.  She always said it was the nearest she ever came to making a meal for us.  Do you remember?”

Legolas nodded, remembering, feeling the familiar sadness.   Then he smiled bravely.  “I don’t want to be sad today.   We should be happy!”

Thranduil agreed.  “Would you like me to tell you a story?”  Legolas nodded enthusiastically.

With a very serious expression, Thranduil began his tale. “Once upon a time, there was a King of the Elves.  He was very proud, and hated to think that anyone might be laughing at him.  One day, he went out with his Queen, and someone who he thought was one of his best friends, for a ride.  They were people who he thought loved him dearly.  But they had hatched a wicked plot against him; a conspiracy!”

“What did they do?”  Legolas asked, his attention caught.  His imagination was building vivid pictures of treachery and treason.

“While the King was swimming, they stole his clothes!  All of them!  They took them, and refused to give them back.  So the poor King had to ride back to Las - to his palace,  wearing nothing but a smile!”

Legolas was giggling helplessly now, his melancholy forgotten as swiftly as it had come.  “What happened then?”

“The King of the Elves swore vengeance and retribution on anyone who dared to laugh at him.  But in the end, the Queen and his friend took pity on the poor King, and gave him back his clothes.”  No one but Telparian, Thranduil reflected, would have dared to do what she had done.  No one but Telparian could have defused his anger.

“So that’s why -”

“And that is why the King of the Elves always wears breeches when he swims!”

Legolas laughed again.  “I can’t believe Mother would do something like that!  But Father, who was the friend?”

“Tionel.”

Legolas gaped at his father, his mouth hanging open.  “Tionel?  He and Mother both stole your clothes?”

“Legolas, close your mouth,”  Thranduil reprimanded.  “You look like a stranded fish!  Surely you are not laughing at the poor King’s misfortune?  Besides, what makes you think this sorry tale has anything to do with me?”

“Nothing!  Nothing at all.”  But his eyes were bright, and he giggled again.  “Did anyone laugh at you - I mean, at the King of the Elves?”

“Only one,” said Thranduil absently.  “I believe he is still in the dungeons somewhere.  I forget where, exactly.  Now, I thought you were hungry?”

They both ate with relish, deciding that Mireth had excelled herself.  She had even baked some of Thranduil’s favourite spiced biscuits, as well as the sweet cakes that Legolas loved.  At last Thranduil lay back on the grass, closing his eyes against the glare of the sun above him.  With his concerns over Legolas, he had slept only fitfully for the last few nights. 

A slightly worried voice disturbed his rest.  “Father?  Are there really dungeons?”

Thranduil opened one eye, then propped himself on one elbow to look at Legolas.  “Dungeons?  No, not really, although I expect I could find some if I needed to.  I could always use the caves below Lasgalen.  Have no fear, I have not imprisoned anyone anywhere yet!”

With a smile of relief, Legolas scrambled to his feet.  “Talking of caves, can we go and explore them?  We always do!”

Behind the waterfall a network of caves led back into the cliff.  Edging between the curtain of water and the rock face, they found the narrow entrance and squeezed through.  Their voices echoed oddly in the dank, chilly dimness.

“We cannot go very far, I forgot to bring anything to make light with.”  Thranduil apologised.  They went as far as the second of the caves, but then the darkness became absolute, and neither could see anything at all. 

“Father, can’t we go just a little further?”  Legolas pleaded.

“Not without light.  It becomes too dangerous if we cannot see where we are going.  Remind me next time to bring a torch, or a candle.”  They retraced their steps to the entrance to the caves, and stepped back into the light, blinking at the sudden brightness.

Back outside, Legolas crossed over the stepping stones to the far side of the valley.  Halfway across, he discovered to his delight that one of the stones wobbled.  “Father, look!”  he called.

Thranduil looked.  Legolas stood astride the stone, his feet balanced on the outer edges, rocking it back and forth.  “Legolas, be careful!” he called automatically.  “That stone is loose.”

“It’s all right, Ada, I won’t fall in.  Watch this!”

Thranduil watched, with a sense of resignation and premonition.  He knew only too well how loose that particular stone was, having found out for himself, the hard way, long ago.  He had been much older than Legolas, too, old enough to know better, but had been showing off for Telparian, in the early days of their marriage.  He waited for the inevitable.

It was not long in coming.  Legolas tilted the stone too far to one side and unbalanced it.  The stone upended, and although he tried to jump clear, he was too late.  With a splash and a curse - where had he learnt that expression? - Legolas was thrown into the water. 

He sat there, laughing, an expression of utter surprise on his face.  “How did that happen?  Ada, you’re laughing at me!”  he added indignantly.

Thranduil waded, knee deep, into the water, and hauled Legolas to his feet.  “Yes, I am.  You looked very funny, elfling.  Look how wet you are!”

Legolas looked up at his father, and giggled again.  “So are you, Ada!  You’re soaked!”

Thranduil looked down.  His boots, leggings, and the edge of his cloak, were wet through.  Legolas was soaked to the skin.  And neither one of them had a change of clothes.  It would be a long, wet, ride home.

To be continued

Chapter 8 – Girith’s Surprise

Legolas walked back to the bank, dripping wet.  He was followed by Thranduil, who was still chuckling.  Suddenly, Legolas turned to his father.  “Ada, you’re laughing again!”

“Yes, I am,” Thranduil admitted.  “I apologise.  I should not laugh at you.”

Legolas shook his head in frustration.  “No!  I don’t mean that.  I don’t mind that.  I mean you’re laughing again.  You haven’t, not for so long!”

It was true, Thranduil realised.  Today was the first time he had felt the weight of grief lift from him.  It made him feel slightly guilty, as if he was being somehow disloyal to Telparian’s memory.  Although he knew she would have been the first to tell him to pull himself together, it was not that easy.

When they were both safely on the bank, Thranduil looked at his son.  “We seem to have two choices,” he said.  “We can either ride back like this, or we can stay here for a while longer and dry off a little.  Which would you rather do?”

Legolas glanced at the sky.  The sun was still high overhead, there would be hours of daylight left.  “Can we stay here to dry off in the sun?  If we ride back now, we’ll be in shade for most of the time.”

“That seems to be a good idea.  Shall we see if Mireth thought about some tea?”

Investigating the panniers, Legolas looked up, disappointed.  “There’s some cake, and cheese, and fruit, but nothing to drink!”  He lifted the empty water skin.

‘Nothing to drink.’  Was the child blind?  Thranduil merely raised his arm, pointing towards the waterfall.  “Is that enough?”

“Oh.  Yes, of course!”  Scrambling towards the foot of the waterfall, Legolas carefully held the water skin so that it filled, then drank deeply.

While Legolas splashed and played around the pool and waterfall, Thranduil lay back on the grass wearily.  He was still tired.  He listened for a while to the chatter as Legolas made various comments on his activities, but slowly the sounds faded, as he slid into sleep.

He dreamed, as he always did now, of Telparian.  She stood before him so vividly.  But this time, instead of the intense sorrow he usually felt, he smiled at her.  She was scolding him, as she had done so many times before.

“You have to be strong.  For Lasgalen.  For your people.  For me.  And especially for Legolas.  He needs you, now more than ever.  So stop wallowing in self pity!  What happened cannot be undone.  You and Legolas have to go on. You have to go on without me.  But I know that you can do it – remember, I know how stubborn you both are!  Thranduil, Legolas has already lost his mother.  Do not make him lose his father as well.”

In his dream, Thranduil smiled and nodded.  “Yes.  You are right.  I did not think it would be possible.  But now, after today – yes, I think perhaps we can go on.  As long as we have each other.  But we will still think of you, often.  I will never forget you.”

Telparian smiled at him. “I never asked you to.  I will think of you and Legolas, as well.  Goodbye, my love.”

He could feel her love showering all around him, as real as petals falling.  “Goodbye,” he whispered.  “I love you.”

“Ada?  Ada! Wake up, you were dreaming!  Who were you talking to?”

Thranduil blinked, slightly confused, as he awoke.  Legolas stood over him.  “Who were you talking to?”  he asked again.  “I heard you say ‘goodbye’.”

“It was a dream.  Just – just a dream.”  As he sat up, a few petals fell from his clothes and hair, drifting gently to the ground.  He gathered them in his hand, looking up at the trees above him.  There was the bright green of the beech leaves, but no flowers of any sort.  “Where did these come from?”  he asked his son.

Legolas shrugged.  “I don’t know.  There was a gust of wind, and they just fluttered down from somewhere, all over you.  What are they?”

Thranduil sniffed.  The petals held a sweet, delicate scent.  “Lissuin,”  he said softly.  “Can you find out where they came from?”

Leaving the grassy bank by the pool, both Thranduil and Legolas walked the short distance to the slope where the trees started, exploring the area.  Legolas had only been gone a few minutes when he stopped, calling out in excitement.  “Ada!  Look at this!”

Thranduil moved through the trees to where Legolas stood at the top of a small dell.  He was gazing down at something below him.  “Look!”  he repeated.  At their feet the dell was filled, it seemed, with a carpet of lissuin.  The sweet fragrance of the small white flowers filled the air. 

Thranduil stared at the blanket of flowers.  Their heady scent was overpowering.  Memories suddenly swept over him.  Both he and Telparian had worn flowers of lissuin and elanor in their wedding garlands: lissuin for its scent, elanor for its beautiful golden petals.  The sight and scent of the lissuin was so evocative of that time.  He knelt and caressed the petals gently, barely touching them. 

Behind him, Legolas spoke.  “Ada?  I know we shouldn’t pick the flowers we find, or dig them up.  But there are so many here!  Look, they’re choking each other!  Would it matter, just this once, if we dug up some of them?  I’d like to plant them on – on the grave.”

Thranduil looked at Legolas’ pleading expression.  It was true, the plants grew so closely together they were overwhelmed and crowded.  If any were removed, it would allow the others room to breathe and grow.  And Legolas’ need to do something to honour his mother and sister was more important even than the plants.

“I think you are right.  It will not matter, this time, if we do take some plants.”  Taking his belt knife, Thranduil dug down between the roots of one of the densest clumps.  He murmured a brief prayer to Yavanna as he did so, asking her forgiveness for his desecration of Arda.  Carefully lifting a clump of the plants, he held the root ball tenderly in his hands, and passed it to Legolas who transferred it to one of the pannier baskets that had held their picnic.  Tomorrow, they would plant it on Telparian’s grave, beneath the oak sapling and the acorn, which had already sprouted and was showing a few leaves.

Thranduil looked at the sky.  He must have slept for longer than he realised, as the sun was far lower in the sky than he had expected.

“Legolas!”  he called sharply.  “We should leave soon.  It will be dark before long.”  Swiftly they packed up all the debris from their picnic, and loaded it back into Morel’s baskets, then began the long ride back home. 

They were perhaps halfway back to Lasgalen when full dark fell.  Quite suddenly, it seemed, Thranduil had difficulty in seeing more than a few hundred yards in front of him through the trees.  He rode on, aware that Legolas was riding more and more closely beside him, casting frequent glances up at the trees.  “Legolas?  What is it?”

“Nothing.  It’s just -”

“The spiders?  Legolas, have you been talking to your friends again?  Have you been listening to their stories?  You know that the spiders do not come this close to Lasgalen.  Are you afraid of them?”

Legolas responded indignantly.  “No!  No, I’m not afraid of anything!”  He held his head high, and looked straight ahead.

Thranduil watched him carefully through the gloom.  “No, of course not.”  He waited a few minutes.  “Legolas?  I think Dorlath looks rather tired.  Do you think it would be a good idea if you came on Morel instead?  So you could give Dorlath a rest.”

“Tired?  Do you think so?  I don’t want to strain him.  Perhaps it was our race this morning.  It could have tired him out.” 

Without waiting for a further  answer, Thranduil leaned across, wrapped a long arm around Legolas’ waist, and pulled him across onto Morel.  Legolas gave a faint squeak of surprise as he was pulled off Dorlath’s back, but then settled onto Morel, leaning back against his father, relaxing against him. 

“Ada?  Thank you for today.  It’s been a happy day.  I didn’t think there could be any more, not now.”

Thranduil tended to agree.  It had been a happy day, something which had seemed impossible only the day before.  Now, for the first time, he felt that perhaps it would be possible to continue without Telparian.  And it was not just because Legolas needed him, either.  It was what he wanted to do for himself.

Legolas had not mentioned the misery of the last few days.  Neither of them had.  It was a matter best put behind them both.  But the misunderstanding had strengthened Thranduil’s love for his son, and he vowed never to jeopardise that again.  He was about to reply when he became aware of something approaching through the forest.  Instinctively he reached out with his senses, but knew immediately that there was no threat.

Within the protective circle of his arms Legolas had tensed.  “Ada?  I can hear something,” he whispered.

Thranduil spoke reassuringly. “There is nothing to fear.  It is just Orionë.   He is probably coming to see where we are.  We are rather late back, you know.”

“Orionë?  How can you tell?”

“I just can.  Wait and see if I am right.”

Some five minutes later, Orionë came into sight, accompanied by a few of the palace guards.  He breathed an audible sigh of relief as he caught sight of the King and his son.  “My Lord!  I am glad to see you!   When you did not return by nightfall, we were concerned.  Is everything well?”

“All is well.  You have my apologies.  We would have returned earlier, but seemed to lose track of the time.”

Orionë and the guards immediately spread out, riding at the front and rear, and on either side of Thranduil and Legolas.  Legolas twisted round to stare at his father, his eyes wide with astonishment.  “How did you know?”  he asked.

Thranduil did not answer immediately.  He had found he had an instinctive awareness of the forest, knowing intuitively when danger threatened, and where.  Over the years, he had been able to hone the ability, and when necessary, could tell much of what occurred in Greenwood.  It took a conscious effort though, and was not something he did on a daily basis.  Legolas had rarely seen him use this awareness, and seemed rather awed.

“It is just something I have learnt to do.  One day, I will try to show you,”  Thranduil explained, aware of the lameness of the answer, and Legolas’ dissatisfaction with it.  He could give no better answer, as it was something he did not fully understand himself.

By the time they reached Lasgalen, it was very dark, especially beneath the trees.  There was no moon, and the stars showed brightly in the black sky.  As they approached the stable area, Orionë turned to the King.  “Would you like the guards to take Morel and Dorlath to the stables and have the grooms see to them?  Then you could go straight in.”

“Thank you, but no,”  Thranduil replied.  “I prefer to care for Morel myself, and it is good for Legolas to have the responsibility.  Besides, I want to see Girith.  He said he had something for Legolas.”

Ignoring Orionë’s look of surprise, Thranduil turned towards the stables.  After tending to Morel, he caught sight of Girith hovering in the shadows.

“Back, are you?  ‘Tis a bit late.  Get lost, did you?  Come on.”  Without waiting for an answer, Girith wandered off to the back of the stables.  Intrigued, Thranduil followed him, accompanied by Legolas.  They reached a stall in a dark corner, and Girith turned around.  “Shh!  Don’t disturb ‘em!”

Peering over the wooden partition, Thranduil saw one of the wolfhound bitches lying in the straw, nursing several puppies.  So that was Girith’s great secret.  He smiled at the sight, listening to the contented squeaking and snuffling of the puppies, who appeared to be about ten weeks old. 

Legolas was absolutely entranced.   “Oh, they’re lovely!  Ada, can I have one?  When they’re old enough to leave their mother?  Please?”

Thranduil hardened his heart, rehearsing all the reasons why it was not a good idea.  They were the very same reasons his own parents had used when he had taken home a pet, pleading that he would look after it.  In his case, though, it had not been a wolfhound puppy, but a wolf cub, found orphaned in the forests of Doriath.

“But Legolas ...”  he bagan.

“I’d look after him, and feed him, and take him for walks, and clean up after him - or her - and please, Ada, can I have one?”  By this time, Legolas was inside the stall, kneeling in the straw next to the puppies, stroking them gently.  Amazingly, the bitch did not so much as twitch an ear at this invasion.

“Legolas, no,” said Thranduil firmly.  “These are working animals.  They help us in the hunts, you know that.  They are not pets.”

One of the puppies had staggered over to Legolas, placed its front paws on his leg, and wagged its stumpy tail. “Look, he likes me!  He’s so small, he could sleep on my bed, he’d be no trouble!”

“He would not stay that size for long.  Look over there!”  Thranduil indicated a huge, shaggy, grey shape in the shadows.  “That must be his father.  Would you really want a creature that size on your bed?  There would be no room for you!”

By now the puppy had clambered onto Legolas’ lap, and was licking his face.  Legolas laughed, stroking the tiny creature.  “I want to call him Huan!”   He had clearly not heard a word of Thranduil’s protestations.

Thranduil sensed he was losing the battle.  He tried again.  “Legolas, he would not be happy in the palace with us.  He needs to be with his moth – with his friends,” he amended hastily.  He hated being so heartless, but the wolfhounds were most unsuitable as pets - nearly as unsuitable as his wolf cub had been.  If Legolas ever found out about that, he would never be talked out of keeping Huan!  Instead, he tried to negotiate a compromise.

“I am sure Girith would let you come and see Huan whenever you want to.  That way, you can still see him, and Huan can stay with his friends, and can learn how to be a proper wolfhound.  Do you think that is a good idea?”

Instead of replying, Legolas turned to Girith.  “Could I?  Come to see him, I mean.  Whenever I want?”

“Aye, I suppose you could.   And maybe you could help me train ‘em, too.  Do you think you could do that?”

“Oh, yes!  Girith, thank you!”  Legolas scrambled to his feet,  picked Huan up in one hand, and flung the other arm around Girith.  Over his head, Thranduil caught Girith’s eye. 

“Thank you,” he said silently.  This – gift – would give Legolas something to care for, something to think about other than his loss.  Thranduil realised he owed Girith a great deal.

Once the puppy was settled again with his mother, Thranduil and Legolas left the stables, and crossed the field to the rear of Lasgalen.  They entered through the kitchen, where the cooks were finishing preparations for their meal.  Work stopped momentarily as they came in, and Legolas’ clear voice carried throughout the room.  “Ada, that story you told me last night about the wolf cub.   What did you call him?”

A sound that had not been heard for a long time caused all the staff to turn and stare, as Thranduil’s laughter echoed through the great kitchen. 

It seemed this day had been a day of healing for the King as well as the prince.

The End