Dedication: This story is dedicated to Nina.

Disclaimer: They're not mine, no matter how much I might wish otherwise. I have no claim to them, and make no money from this.

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Thranduil frowned at the elf standing before him. The long golden hair was dirty, disheveled, and the clothes were torn and stained with a mix of blood; black orcish blood mixed with the red of elvish blood. Cuts and scrapes could be seen through the torn clothing, but Thranduil did not know if there were any serious injuries that needed the healer's attention. His frown deepened as he listened to the report being given. Two more elves lost in the ever-increasing battles for their home. Focusing on more than the words spoken, Thranduil heard the pain and sorrow in the voice of the elf before him. The report was given in a monotone voice with eyes downcast, an attempt to hide the pain of losing his friends, his companions. When the report was finished, the golden-haired elf remained still, hands clenched into fists at his sides, eyes focused on the floor.

"Thank you for the report." Approaching the younger elf, Thranduil laid a hand gently on his shoulder. "Do you need to visit the healers, my son?"

Legolas flinched and shrugged off his father's hand, raising his head. "No, Adar, my only injuries are minor. There is no need to trouble the healers. Too many of my patrol are now under their care. I would not take their attention from the others." Still refusing to meet his father's eyes, Legolas stared straight ahead, his body stiff and straight.

Before Thranduil could speak to ask that Legolas see the healers anyway, he turned to meet his father's gaze at last. "If that is all, I would ask to be excused. I wish to retire to my rooms and rid myself of this filth."

Now it was Thranduil's turn to flinch from the look in his son's eyes. It was not physical pain that he saw there, but a deep injury to his fëa. The anguish he saw in the cerulean depths of his son's eyes made him catch his breath and hesitate over his reply. "You are excused," he finally said softly, knowing that if he were to try to push Legolas to speak further at the moment, he would not succeed. His eyes filled with pain as the younger elf bowed stiffly to his father and then practically fled the room, seeking the solitude of his chambers.

Sitting heavily in the chair behind his desk, Thranduil leaned his head back and gazed sadly at the ceiling. The spark and life that normally shone in Legolas' eyes had seemed all but extinguished tonight. The young captain who had stood before him only moments ago had been heartsick and defeated. Though they had won the battle against the orcs, it had come at a high cost. One of the younger elves on the patrol, an ellon by the name of Amargaron, had been lost. He and Legolas had been elflings together, and had been fast friends from the moment they met. This loss had hit his son harder than most, though Legolas felt each loss keenly. As a father, seeing his son's pain brought a deep ache to his heart. If it were in his power, he would have kept Legolas in the palace, safe and protected, away from anything that would hurt him. Were he to admit his deepest desire to himself, however, it would have been that they lived in a time of peace so that none of his people would know the pain of losing those they loved to the forces of darkness. Each year, it became more difficult to hold back the innumerable orcs and spiders infesting the woods. No longer did they live in Greenwood the Great. Mirkwood, it was called now, a place of shadow and darkness. Now, there were few travelers, as the paths through the woods were no longer safe for men or elves. A sigh escaped him as he dwelt upon his melancholy thoughts. As ruler here, he held the responsibility of informing the families of those who fell. There were many who would take that task from him, but he guarded it jealously. Every one of his subjects knew that if they were to fall in battle, it would be the king himself who informed their families. If it were not possible for him to journey to the family of one who fell in battle, he would write a letter, telling them what had happened and expressing his condolences. It was a matter of honor for him, a way of showing that he respected those who gave their lives for their people. It would seem he had two such visits to make this night, as both families lived nearby. Rising from his chair, he made his way to the door, knowing he could not postpone this most sober of tasks. Even as he left the room, however, he could not help but be grateful that his son had returned from his patrol once again. Selfish, the thought might be, but it was one that he would not fight.

After his sad tasks were complete, Thranduil returned to the palace, worn and mournful. Stopping at the door to his study, he realized that he wanted to spend the remainder of the evening in his son's presence. Perhaps they could mourn together and help each other find healing. Closing the door, he turned and strode toward Legolas' chamber. When his knock received no answer, he slowly pushed the door open and peered around the edge to take in the ruined clothing lying on the floor near the bathing chamber, and the absence of his son in the room. Knowing that his son would seek solitude and peace this night, he left the empty room behind, closing the door once more and headed to the garden outside of the palace proper. The garden had belonged to his wife, and it had ever been Legolas' refuge when he needed a place of safety and peace.

As expected, upon entering the garden, he found Legolas seated in the branches of a grand old Oak tree, gazing up through the branches into the night sky beyond. Discarding his outer robe, Thranduil easily moved among the branches until he was seated just to the left and above the branch where his son sat. For a long moment, there was silence between them. The king settled comfortably back against the tree and closed his eyes, letting the peace of the garden sink into his being, soothing his troubled fëa.

When he once again felt calm, he turned his attention back to his son, gazing down at the pale face still staring into the night sky. "Legolas?" he asked softly, hoping to get some response from his silent offspring.

"I do not wish to speak now, Adar." Legolas' voice was faint, weary. "I am tired tonight, so very tired." Turning his head, he met his father's gaze.

From the tone of his voice and the expression on his exhausted face, Thranduil knew that the ellon's tiredness was not solely physical. It seemed as if he carried a burden too heavy for his slender shoulders to bear. "Then perhaps you need to speak, whether you wish it or no."

A soft sigh escaped Legolas as he leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree, breaking his father's gaze. "Of what do you wish to speak?"

"I wish to discuss whatever it is that weighs upon your mind, my son. I will not leave this garden until we have done so." He leveled his best kingly glare on his son to indicate that his threat was serious.

"What is there to say?" Legolas asked. "I begin to wonder why we insist on fighting for these lands. Every day they grow darker. The trees that once welcomed us gladly now despise us, their hearts twisted by the evil spreading from Dol Guldur. Too many of our kin have been lost in the defense of our home. I have no desire to leave the lands to which I was born. This is my home, but I begin to question the value of these lands as compared to the lives that have been lost in defense of it. Why do we not just leave this wood to those who would destroy us for it? When I look into the future, I do not see a victory, but only an utter defeat, the last of our people falling under the relentless tide of orcs and other foul creatures which have infested our lands."

Thranduil took a long moment to gather his thoughts. This was hardly the first time one of his people had asked these questions, but he had not thought to hear them from his son. Legolas' love of this land was absolute. He had a connection to the trees and other living creatures like few others. For him to even make such a suggestion showed how badly he was hurting from this latest loss.

"We must hold to hope," Thranduil began slowly. "We fight for our lands in the hope that one day, the shadow will be banished and we can reclaim them and work to cleanse the taint that now lingers here. Legolas, unlike some of our brethren, I do not possess the gift of foreknowledge. I cannot promise that victory will come soon, or at all, but this is our home, and I live in the hope that we will one day see it free again."

Legolas drew his legs to his chest, wrapped his arms about them, and rested his head atop his knees, clearly struggling with his thoughts as he closed his eyes. His heart going out to his son, Thranduil leaned forward and placed his hand on a slender shoulder. "My son, if it were within my power, I would clear out all evil creatures from this place and give you a home filled with light, love and laughter, without fear of losing others we care about. My heart quakes every time you venture out on patrol, but I would not try to stop you, as it has always been so important to you that you be allowed to fight for your people and our home." The king sighed and rubbed the back of Legolas' neck. "If we were to leave these woods, where else do you think we could go? Even if we were to seek refuge with the elves in Imladris or Lothlórien, we would not truly live in complete peace. Both of those realms are harassed by orcs. Their borders are no safer than here. While the lands within may have peace, their people still patrol their borders to protect those within. You have friends in Imladris, you know that even their lives are fraught with danger. As much as we might wish otherwise, all of Arda is suffering from the same evil that stalks these lands. Simply moving elsewhere would accomplish nothing, and would require abandoning the lands we have fought so long to protect."

"You must believe that one day, we will be free of Sauron's dark influence, that our children can run and play in peace, that we will no longer lose our loved ones in battle. That day will come, my son. You simply need to hold onto hope and continue fighting until it does." Letting out a long sigh, Thranduil continued. "You have ever been a light in the darkness for me, my son. I have been able to keep fighting in the hopes that one day our land would be a place where you could live in peace. You are my hope for the future. I will ever hold true to you, and to our lands and people because of you."

"To what should I hold, then?" Legolas questioned softly, turning his head to look his father in the eyes.

Shaking his head, Thranduil could not give a simple answer. "I fear you must find that for yourself. I only urge that you hold to hope. The light of hope has ever shone from your eyes, and I would hate to see it extinguished. You should grieve for those that have been lost, yes, but do not allow your grief to strip you of the very things that have made you an inspiration for so many; your determination, your joy and your love of life." Though he felt it was a tactic beneath a king, Thranduil called on the memory of Amargaron. "Besides, when you meet Amargaron in Valinor, what would you rather be able to say to him? That you kept fighting for the home he gave his life for and was able to see the woods you both love cleansed of the taint of evil, or that you allowed your grief for him to destroy your hope and you gave up?"

Legolas' gaze hardened at that, and he glared at his father, his body tense as a bowstring. "I will not give up and surrender to those heartless orcs!"

Raising a brow, Thranduil simply let Legolas think the matter through, sitting back and relaxing against the tree, holding his son's gaze. After a moment, the tenseness left Legolas' frame, and he eased back against the tree trunk. "Very well played, Adar. Trying to make me angry enough to fight back?"

"If it will work to bring back the spark in your eyes, and touch the love you have for our people and lands, I will use whatever tactics are available to me. I cannot bear to see despair in your eyes, Legolas. Of all of us, you are the last I would expect to suggest leaving our home. I know how much it means to you, and I would see you find your fire and determination to protect it once again. There is nothing I would not do to ease your pain, my Greenleaf."

Taking a deep breath to steady his emotions, Legolas nodded to his father. "I know that, Adar. I thank you for your concern. I believe I need some time to think, and remember. I will return to myself eventually, but not tonight. The grief is far too fresh."

Bowing his head toward his son, Thranduil pressed his hands against the tree as he began to stand. "Very well. Do you wish me to leave me to your thoughts?"

After a moment's pause, Legolas said hesitantly, "No. Please stay."

With an inward smile, Thranduil seated himself comfortably once more. "I can remember when the two of you were elflings…"

For the remainder of the night, they reminisced, sharing their memories of Amargaron and the other friends that had been lost along the way, shedding tears, safe in the comfort and love of the other. As the sun rose, they fell silent, appreciating the beauty of the start of a new day.

Several centuries later, as Legolas stood beside Aragorn watching the fall of Barad-dûr, he thought back to that long-ago conversation with his father. 'You were right, Adar,' he thought to himself, glancing aside at his friends. 'You helped me to hold on to hope long enough so that I could see this day. I believe now that we will indeed see a time of peace, led by one called Estel; my friend.'