Thranduil walked purposefully down the shady greenways and narrow forest paths of Greenwood the Great to the sunny hillock where he knew his son would have come to rest after the day's play. It was easy to find him at this hour, sitting alone amidst a cloud of golden buttercups, squinting at a slit in one stalk as he tried to poke the next stalk through. Legolas was well into his sixth summer, and as happy and healthy an elfling as you could wish to find - if rather solitary at times.

"Ah, you are making crowns and bracelets." Thranduil climbed easily up the hill and sat down carefully on the warm grass beside his son and drew him close. He felt warm and dusty and there were grass seeds and streaks of pollen on the dark green cloth of his tunic. Across the meadow he could see a group of older elflings - maybe coming to the end of their fifteenth summer - chattering merrily amongst themselves as they threaded daisies and buttercups together into necklaces and garlands, "Did one of the big girls teach you?"

"No," Legolas grinned proudly at his father, "Naneth once showed me how."

Thranduil's smile faded. "No, no, Legolas."

Legolas turned uncertainly to his father on hearing the dismay in the deeper voice. He supposed that he must have made a mistake again, but he had been so sure that he could remember sitting on someone's lap on a nice fine day such as this and someone making him a circlet of daisies.

"You must be remembering Tuilinn, Legolas." Thranduil shook his head sadly. "You were but a babe when your Naneth last saw you."

"Oh." Legolas spoke in almost a whisper. His father did not often speak about Naneth, and he looked sad whenever Legolas made mistakes or forgot and told him about things that his friends' Naneths had done. Sometimes he wanted to ask questions about her, but it always made his Ada quiet and unhappy and he didn't want Ada to know how little he remembered in case he was angry.

"Tuilinn looked after your Naneth left." Thranduil spoke gently, but a hint of disappointment that neither of them missed tinged his voice. "Do you not remember, little one?"

"I. . . I remember some things. . ." Legolas said eagerly, hoping to ease the frown lines that marked his father's forehead. And he was not lying - he did remember some things, it was just that he was not sure if he was remembering his Naneth or someone else. Deep, deep inside he kept a shameful secret that he could never ever tell his Ada. In truth he could not even remember what his Naneth looked like, or even why she had gone away. He did not even know where he should go to find her.

"You remember Naneth making you your quilt, you remember that do you not?" Thranduil queried eagerly, looking intently at his son. Surely he would remember those long winter's evenings in front of the fire. He would remember choosing the pieces of fabric, and being told tales of the special garments and cloths from which them came. He could not have forgotten the care that had been taken, stitching each patch in threads of gold and silver, and embroidering the edges with leaves of green. "You remember your quilt?"

Legolas bit his lip and looked unhappily at the ground. He remembered his quilt, of course. He had slept under it every night ever since he could remember. It was a bit small for him now, and his toes stuck out one end if he snuggled it up to his chin. Last year Tuilinn had put nice new warm green blankets on his bed - proper grown up blankets - but he had still kept the quilt. Sometimes she would forget to put it out, and Legolas would have to remind her - he was good at remembering the quilt, just not so good at remembering the Naneth that had made it.

"I remember the quilt, Ada." Legolas said softly, not daring to meet his father's eyes.

Thranduil looked at him. "Your Naneth would often take you to the lazy bend of the river, do you remember that? You would paddle and try to catch minnows."

Legolas frowned, trying to remember. He could remember chasing Annach there last summer when they were playing tag in the shade beneath the willows, and he could remember kneeling in the water with Silenlhach and sailing leaf boats. Someone had been with them, someone tall with pale hair. It could almost have been his Naneth.

"I think so, Ada."

Thranduil sighed, then ruffled his son's hair. It was not to be wondered at that the elfling could remember so little. He had been young, so very young, when his mother had left them. It was hardly his fault that he did not know whose eyes smiled back at him whenever he looked in the mirror.

"Come along, impling." The King rose smoothly to his feet and gathered up the little pile of wild strawberries that his son had evidently collected earlier. Scrambling around the woodlands, seeking out clumps of the tiny red fruit was a favourite game of many elflings at this time of summer, and the handful that Legolas had saved were doubtlessly meant to be shared after dinner. "It is time for us to go home."

"'Da!" Legolas hopped after his father, long strings of threaded buttercups trailing after him, and a golden halo falling over one ear. "I am not an impling! I am an elfling!"

Thranduil turned, laughing at the child's indignant protests, and bent down to catch his son neatly with both hands and swing him up onto his shoulders. Squealing with glee, Legolas leant forward and draped a chain of buttercups over his father's ears, pulling carefully until it exactly matched his own.

~*~

Thranduil strode briskly back to the palace, keeping a firm grip on the child's dusty little feet as he hurried down steps or ducked beneath the branches. Legolas trusted him to keep him safe, perhaps a little too much - for when the one that you carried insisted on wriggling and squirming to spy every single interesting thing it was difficult to ensure that they remained steady. While the evening sun was still warm and bright, the shadows were lengthening, and soon it would be time for tea. Legolas would need to be washed and tidied before that of course, and later there would be a book to read and most likely some fuzzy caterpillars to admire. His son had recently discovered the many joys of the blackcurrant bushes, and insisted on running back and forwards in the evening half-light to share every new discovery.

As they left the path and began wandering up the green path through the beech trees, Thranduil placed his little bundle back on the ground, allowing Legolas to race ahead and weave between the smooth grey tree trunks, arms held wide and chirruping like a bird in spring. Eventually, as they approached the elegant gardens of their home, Legolas dropped back to walk beside his father. The King could tell instantly that there was something on the elfling's mind, for Legolas was rubbing his nose in the way that he always did when there was something bothering him. However there was little point pressing the child, for Thranduil knew from experience that his son would only speak when he was ready. Much like his father in fact.

"Once I remember Midsummer," Legolas said slowly, screwing up his face in thought as he tried to picture a time from so long ago. "It was busy and I was frightened. I had a garland but when I turned round everyone was gone. But then someone came and got me and carried me on their shoulders so that I could see everything. It was not Naneth though. . . but I think she was there."

Thranduil smiled suddenly and took Legolas' small hand in his as they went through the little green gate and strolled slowly through the orchards, kicking hard green under-ripe apples ahead of them and then skipping to catch up. "Legolas, that was me."

Legolas walked slowly back along the wide avenue that led to the palace. It might not have been as beautiful a day as they had become accustomed to during the previous weeks, and there might be storm clouds on the horizon, but that was no reason for anyone to stay inside to play.

The meadows were enticingly empty and the wind pushed green ripples across the long grass. More of the crab apples on the gnarled old trees by the river had ripened during the last few days and there would be frogs to try and catch in the ponds. But he could not stop to play today, because he was not allowed to play alone and there was nobody to play with him.

He had picked up a big stick when he was in the woods and he swung it now as he walked, giving each tree trunk a hearty thunk as he passed by.

Silenlhach was making honey cakes with his Naneth and older sister. They had been showing him how to shape butterflies and swallows from the spiced dough.

Thunk.

Annach was untangling coloured threads for his Naneth. When Legolas had visited Annachs Naneth had been letting him decide what he wanted embroidered on the cuffs of his new shirt.

Thunk.

Thilion was helping his Naneth make beads. Thilion's Naneth made glass in all the colours of the rainbow, and Thilion often had bracelets or belts that he had made himself.

Thunk.

Even Nimsil who they did not let play with them often was busy. She was sitting on the table next to her Naneth and weaving straw dollies with the scraps that were not needed to make baskets. Nimsil's Naneth had told Legolas that perhaps he better go back home before the storm came.

Thunk.

Legolas reached the last of the trees and walked slowly to the gate through the orchards, trailing the stick miserably behind him. It had not even begun to rain yet, but it might as well have done for all the fun everybody else was.

~*~

"Tuilinn?" Legolas tugged impatiently at the elf's long skirts. "Nobody will play with me."

Tuilinn placed her armful of sheets and blankets into the cupboard then knelt down to greet the young prince, "Will they not, little one?"

"No." Legolas stuck his lower lip out and spoke petulantly. "It is not raining yet."

Tuilinn brushed a lock of dark hair behind her ear and bent to kiss the child's forehead. "But soon it will. You can play inside today."

"I do not want to." Legolas grouched. "There is nothing to do."

"What about painting a picture?" Tuilinn got to her feet again and stacked some towels into a tidy pile. "Did you not get some new pots yesterday?"

"I do not feel like painting." Legolas reached up to hook his fingers around the top of the table and bounced to look at what Tuilinn was doing. "What can I do?"

"You could build a city from your blocks." Tuilinn suggested. "You could take your horses for a ride up the stairs."

There was no shortage of treats or toys in the nursery. Few visitors to the palace forgot an exciting parcel for Thranduil's son.

"Play with me?" Legolas pleaded, reaching for the hem of Tuilinn's skirts and tugging as hard as he could. "Please?"

"I cannot, Legolas." Tuilinn spoke kindly, folding more pillowcases as she spoke. "I must finish in the linen cupboard. You do not like sitting still."

"I do!" Legolas insisted, hopping up and down on one foot. "After that? Will you play with me?"

"I cannot, Legolas." Tuilinn repeated patiently. "It is my dinnertime."

"But you are not doing anything!" Legolas folded his arms firmly across his chest. "Play with me!"

"I have promised to take someone sandwiches." Tuilinn said, her cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. "I shall be busy."

Legolas pouted at her, and then, on seeing that it would not change her mind kicked out at the basket of clothes pegs that had been left on the floor. "But I'm bored!"

"You can paint a picture." Tuilinn leant down to retrieve the basket before its contents ended up all over the floor. "You can play with your blocks."

Legolas scowled at her a moment, then set off stomping down the corridor, shouting behind him, "I do not want to!"

~*~

Thranduil looked briefly from his discussion with his advisors as the door to the throne-room was opened, and gave Legolas a quick smile before returning to his work. He allowed his son to enter his chambers as often as he wished as long as he sat quietly, and during the last few months there had hardly been a week in which they had not spent at least a handful of hours in quiet companionship. Legolas would bring his favourite book - at present a thick volume with many illustrations of birds and butterflies - or his wooden animals and sprawl on his stomach as he played in silence, and his father would look up occasionally from his papers or conversations to share a secret smile or a few quiet words.

Today though, Legolas carried no toys or books with him, and his expression was more than a little sulky. He dragged his feet across the floor, making as much noise as was possible with bare toes, and did not sit down on the rug beside the throne as he usually did.

"Ada!" Legolas spoke crossly and he tugged on his father's sleeve, quite spoiling the tidy document that Thranduil had been preparing. "Ada!"

"Legolas!" Thranduil frowned down at his son as spoke severely. "Do not do that!"

Legolas' face fell at his father's sharp tone, and his crossness turned into a whine. "Let me be King with you."

"I am working, Legolas." Thranduil said firmly, looking sternly at his son. He had decided long ago that he must make a clear divide between royal duties and leisure to be fair to both his people and his family, and he had little intention of breaking that pattern now. "You may sit quietly, or you may play elsewhere."

Legolas looked unhappily at his father for a moment.

"Let me be with you!" he tried to clamber onto his father's chair to share in what his father was doing, and when the King made no effort to help him whinged, "Nobody will play with me."

"Legolas!" Thranduil snapped, and immediately felt guilty when he saw the shocked look on his son's face. "I cannot play with you, little one. I am your Ada, not one of your little friends, and I have work to do."

Legolas' chin began to wobble and tears started flooding down his cheeks.

"But it is not fair." The young prince's voice rose to a wail and he turned on his heel and dashed to the doorway. "Everyone else has a Naneth to love them them."

~*~

A number of hours later, Thranduil paused at the doorway to his son's chambers, admiring the scene of devastation inside. An entire legion of soldiers were scattered across the floor, marching bravely through a wasteland of marbles, jacks and what looked like an entire set of dominos. Pots of paint were open on the table and a large pool of purple liquid had trickled to the floor. The rainstorm had soaked some stuffed animals left under the open window and a broken spinning top was rocking gently on the chair. The creator of this chaos was sprawled on a cushion in the middle of the floor, thumping his feet rhythmically against the floor and piecing a wooden puzzle together with a wooden mallet from his building set.

Biting back the large number of reprimands that had sprung to mind at this sight, Thranduil picked his way across the room, trying not to drag his gowns in the paint, and knelt down at his son's side.

"Legolas," the King placed a hand on his son's arm and tried not to mind when it was shaken off.

"I am doing a puzzle." Legolas scowled as he smashed a piece into place with his mallet, each thump in time with his kicks. When his father failed to take the hint he added loudly, "by myself."

Thranduil picked up a piece of the puzzle and slotted it neatly into place - something that Legolas had missed in his hammer-happy approach to solving the game. "Puzzles are more fun with two."

"I do not want to play with you." Legolas said vehemently, the weight of emphasis on the 'you' making it evident that he was still far from forgiving his father. "I want to play with someone who likes me."

"Legolas," Thranduil could not keep the dismay from his voice, "I do like you. You know that."

Legolas bashed a piece of puzzle into a place where it did not fit. "You are not my friend."

"Legolas," the King pulled his son into a rough hug, ignoring the stiffness of the child's limbs. "I can be your Ada and your friend."

Legolas hammered another piece in place, the reduced force in this action letting his father know that he was pleased. Finally he glanced slyly up at his father. "Will you be my Naneth too?"

Thranduil sighed a deep and longsuffering sigh then ruffled his son's hair. "I can try, little one. I can try."