Disclaimer:

The characters, places, and events are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit was or will be made from this story. It was written solely for entertainment.

Author’s note:

As always many, many thanks to my wonderful beta reader Erulisse.

Summary:

When word reaches the great forest of Mirkwood that the Lady of Imladris had been attacked and badly wounded, resulting in her sailing to the Undying Lands, the youngest prince of the forest remembered when an elfling experienced the same horror of losing a mother.

Rating: PG-13

Chapter 1:  grave tidings

The King of Mirkwood and his sons sat relaxed in the family sitting room, each enjoying a glass of wine.

Legolas cherished these rare moments. His father’s duties as the ruler of the great forest realm occupied much of his time. The family took advantage of the times when all of them were home at the same time, taking the opportunity to spent time together whenever it presented itself.

Legolas´s two older brothers were enjoying a game of chess. An occasional look told Legolas that Saeron would again win this match which would leave Galadhion in a grumpy mood.

Legolas smiled. Saeron would not miss teasing his brother mercilessly about his poor strategic skills. Galadhion would argue back but it was always good natured bantering; the atmosphere was much too relaxed for an earnest dispute.

As always on those occasions when the royal family was together, Legolas felt the absence of his mother almost physically. He had known her only a very short time in his life, yet his father and brothers never tired of telling him as much as they could remember; so he had vivid memories of a female elf with raven black hair and a caressing and caring attitude which was firm and demanding when necessary, yet always gentle and loving.

At the last moment he held back an anguished sob, yet his father had caught the small noise already and was looking at him with a frown. Legolas waved the questioning gaze aside and Thranduil let it drop knowing what was on his son’s mind this evening anyway.

Legolas was ripped from his thoughts by a knock on the door. He looked up annoyed but his expression was not as thunderous as that of his father. Every servant knew how the four royals treasured such family gatherings and refrained from disturbing them unless something urgent had happened, requiring the King’s imminent presence.

As quickly as the storm clouds had appeared on the King’s face, they disappeared. He knew, after all, that a ruler never really had time off.

“Enter!” Thranduil called with a calm voice, yet his stance had gone rigid from one moment to the next. A frown had also appeared on the Troop Commander’s face reflecting his fear that something really important must have happened to disturb the King at such a late hour.

Four pairs of eyes were directed at the door when it opened. Dolion, one of the King’s personal servants, entered.

“’My Lords,” he said, acknowledging the gathered elves. His gaze however was directed solely at the King. When his advisor said no more Thranduil only raised an eyebrow while looking pointedly at the parchment the advisor was clutching in his hand.

“Dolion, what is so urgent at this late hour?” Thranduil asked. Legolas cringed. Irritation was clearly colouring his father’s voice.

Outwardly unimpressed and in the King’s service for much too long to be easily intimidated, the king’s assistant bowed and straightened again.

“My Lord, I beg your pardon, but a messenger bird has just arrived carrying a missive with the seal of Imladris.”

While the King’s eyes narrowed, Legolas and his brothers were holding their breaths. Only the most confidential or urgent messages were delivered using the birds. What could possibly have happened in Imladris to warrant this? News was exchanged on a regular basis and nothing in the last missive had indicated that anything was amiss.

“Did the bird wait for an answer?” the King asked while rising to receive the parchment.

“No, my Lord!” was the short reply and Thranduil dismissed the servant with a nod.

After Dolion had closed the door Thranduil broke the seal and quickly opened the little scroll. Three sets of eyes followed his motions.

When all colour drained from the King’s face the brothers refrained from running to his side and reading over his shoulder. They knew from experience how their father disliked that.

For long moments Thranduil only stared ahead, the parchment forgotten in his grasp. The brothers waited patiently, however when no explanation was forthcoming Saeron could not contain his anxiety any longer. “Adar, what is it?” he asked, his voice carefully controlled.

When the King finally looked up Lagolas gasped. His father’s eyes were moist with tears and the sad expression on his face nearly took his breath away. It took a lot to make the King lose his composure. In public such a thing was unthinkable and even in private it was very rare. Legolas swallowed at the implications.

With a thin and far away voice the King begun to speak without looking at his sons. “A year ago the Lady Celebrián was attacked by orcs and kidnapped. Her sons managed to rescue her, at great peril to themselves, yet her wounds in body and spirit are so severe that she has decided to sail.”

All three brothers jumped to their feet in shock. They knew the Lady of Imladris well and she was well liked within the royal family. Many visits between Imladris and Mirkwood had forged a connection between the families as if they were relatives.

To hear this horrible news now left the brothers reeling with the familiar feeling of loss.

Legolas´s sympathy was directed at Lord Elrond’s children, especially his long time friends Elladan and Elrohir. It was cold comfort that he could well sympathize with the helplessness they must be feeling now. Yet sympathy was not empathy and he knew this all too well.

Legolas looked with concern at his father. This bad news had reopened a wound which had never fully healed. The King and his sons had needed years to overcome the shock of losing the centre of their family.

The Half-elves had not lost Celebrían to death, yet she would sail and what would that change in the end for those that remained behind?

A far away look now on his face, Legolas remembered back when a similar tragedy had nearly destroyed his own family………

To be continued……………….

Characters and the name’s meanings:

Thranduil (vigorous spring) - King of Mirkwood

Elarinya (morning star) - Queen of Mirkwood

Galadhion (son of the tree) - Thranduil’s oldest son- Troop Commander of the forest defences

Saeron (wood walker) - Thranduil’s second son – Captain of the warriors defending the realm’s borders

Legolas (green leaf) - Thranduil’s youngest son, novice warrior

Further main characters:

Thalan – advisor and closest confidant of the King

Galion – chief of the royal guards and best friend of Saeron

Dolion – Thranduil´s personal servant

Sinaht – chief of the Home Guard

Thornil – head palace healer

Chapter 2:  a world destroyed

…….roughly 3500 years earlier, about 1000 TA………..

The King looked up, annoyed when a knock sounded on his study door. His mood could only be described as testy. He was highly unsatisfied with how the day was progressing.

From the beginning nothing had turned out as it should have. The daily petitions had taken more time then scheduled and the council meeting had ended with a loud argument that he was forced to interrupt, pushing the remainder of the meeting off for another day.

On top of it all he had sorely missed his wife’s presence and assistance negotiating a trade agreement with the Mayor of Laketown, which had not turned out as he had either expected or hoped. Elarynia had been gone for four weeks now, visiting Lothlórien to see her parents, a trip which was long overdue or so she had argued.

Not able to accompany her for such a long time he had finally given in to her wish even if he was not comfortable letting her go alone. He had never been happy leaving his forest and most certainly not to visit her parents. He knew that her father was not fond of him, having deemed his daughter much too young to marry. Even though he had now been married to her for over one thousand years her father still used this old, dry argument.

Thranduil knew that this was not the real reason, even if Elarynia was very young compared to him. Her father had a personal dislike of him and made no secret of it. This aversion went back to his father Oropher, and he had never bothered to examine the real reason for this animosity.

So he was not really fond of visiting Lothloríen, even if Elarynia´s mother had always welcomed him warmly. But he could not deny his wife permission to visit her parents from time to time.

He had totally forgotten about the trade agreement and now it had turned out as expected; Elarynia was the diplomat not he. He snorted. It couldn’t be changed now.

What bothered him the most however, was the fact that he and Elarynia had nearly parted in anger when she expressed her desire to take their youngest son with her. Thranduil, barely comfortable with her travelling, had categorically refused this request.

Her parents had still to meet their third child. Legolas was only ten years old, much too young to leave the close surroundings of the palace. Even he had not dared to take his son along with him much. He was reluctant to give him into the care of his guards, even if they were part of his royal escort.

He did not deny his wife’s ability to protect their son. Undoubtedly she would do so with her life. But Thranduil knew what foul creatures roamed his woods and he was not willing to take any chances. He could not even think about losing his wife or his son, or at the worst, both of them.

A long and loud argument had finally ended with her tears and his consent. Many days of planning had gone into making sure that everything possible had been arranged to guarantee their safety. Yet from previous experience he knew that fate sometimes laughed in the face of the best laid plans.

Galadhion, his oldest son, along with the royal guards and ten additional warriors had accompanied her and Legolas to the borders of Lothlórien where a contingent of warriors of the Galadhirm had taken over her care and escorted her safely to Caras Galadhon.

A messenger bird had brought the news of their safe arrival and was received with great relief. The same procedure was planned for the return journey. Galadhion had already departed to await them at the meeting point.

Shortly before Elarynia’s departure they had finally reconciled and parted on friendly terms, yet the fierce argument continued to linger between them. Thranduil was still very distressed that he could not convince his wife to at least leave Legolas within the safety of his protection.

The argument had nearly flared up again when she declared that her father and the Lord of the Golden Wood were quite able to protect her son too.

Thranduil had no doubt about that, yet the lands between the two realms were the problem, and with the necessity of crossing it came many unforeseeable dangers.

Even the infectious excitement of his son at the immediate departure could not move the King’s troubled heart. He did not let the elfling feel his worry, of course, yet he could not dampen the disharmony flowing along their bond.

“I will take good care of him, my love,” Elarynia whispered and planted a loving kiss on her husband’s lips although she know that this would not change anything.

She had married this stubborn elf after all, and when he was not comfortable with something then nothing would change that.

“Return home safely, that is all that matters to me,” Thranduil answered with a thin smile. With a supreme effort he swallowed his anguish and returned her kiss earnestly. He did not want to burden her anticipation of visiting with her parent with his sombre mood, even if overwhelming concern was gripping his heart.

She only nodded and Thranduil felt her sudden uncertainty about whether she should have heeded his warning. With a guilty look he glanced at their son, already sitting on her mare chatting animatedly with the groom holding the horse.

The King squeezed her hand and she looked back at him. “Now go before I change my mind. Greet your parents from me. I’m inconsolable about not being able to come along.”

“Liar!” she retorted softly only for his ears to hear. With a last fierce embrace she turned and mounted her horse. “Ada, look I’m flying,” Legolas shouted while flinging his little arms in the air. The wind had caught his golden hair and he looked in awe at the long way down from the back of the tall beast.

The King stepped up to the mare and patted the dangling leg of his youngest. “Yes, my son with Silivrin under you it feels like flying indeed. Keep your hands on her mane and follow your mother’s orders, do you hear me?” Thranduil said softly, yet not without a bit of sternness in his tone.

Legolas laughed and bent down to embrace his father. “I will Ada!” he promised and the King sighed knowing how short-lived his son’s promises usually were.

Leaving the past behind, he concentrated on the strange events of the day.  In the middle of a fervid argument with the Mayor of Esgaroth he was suddenly assaulted through their bond by a surge of emotions coming from his wife. He felt shock, fear, anger and pain all at once.

Startled he had sprung up from his seat and had grown pale seconds later when their connection was interrupted as quickly as it was established. Thalan his chief advisor and closest confidant had stood in alarm when he saw his King sway and stagger.

Immediately Thalan had interrupted the meeting and declared a recess for an hour. The conference would then recommence. He had quickly cleared the audience chamber until only he and the King remained.

Thranduil was now seated again his head resting in his hands, his fingertips massaging his temples. Thalan waited patiently giving his King time to sort out what had just happened.

A short time later Thranduil had lifted his head and looked at his friend with a confused gaze. “Sire?” Thalan asked calmly, unsure what he should make of this.

The King shook his head. “I’m not sure but I fear that something has happened to Elarynia. Now all is quiet and I can get no further contact,” Thranduil answered. Thranduil’s gaze was unfocused, his thoughts seemingly far away.

Thalan narrowed his eyes. The term “something happened” disturbed him greatly, yet the return journey of his Queen was as heavily guarded as her departure had been. Ten of the best warriors including Royal Guards and even the Troop Commander were accompanying her. Thalan could not think of any attack that could not be repelled by these forces, yet something seemed to have happened, otherwise the Queen would not have contacted her husband in such a way.

When no further explanation was coming from the King, Thalan lightly touched Thranduil´s forearm. Like waking from a bad dream the King focused on him and took a deep breath.

“Nothing! I can sense nothing amiss. Maybe Elarynia is blocking me. Maybe they have encountered something on the way and now she does not want to worry me,” he tried to explain away what had happened, but lacked conviction. Again the ‘something’ was disturbing Thalan.

He did not want to add to his King’s distress. “My Lord Thranduil, I will send a scout ahead to determine what is amiss. Maybe we are worrying over nothing.”

Nodding Thranduil dismissed his advisor. He was as unconvinced as Thalan, yet all of the communication between he and his wife had ceased. Elarynia had occasionally blocked their bond in the past with the goal of not worrying or distracting him. Although he had objected to this she had continued the practice. Hopefully this time it was as harmless as those incidents from the past.

After Thalan had returned, the meeting had reconvened and nothing further had distracted him. Fleetingly an alarming thought stole into his mind. He would know if Elaryina had been killed, wouldn’t he? He prayed that the scout would return soon. His anxiety was growing with the minute.

Another knock at his door ripped the King out of his melancholic thoughts. “Enter!” he called out in an annoyed tone to let the servant know how unwelcome this new interruption was.

The door to the chamber opened and Galion walked in. All of his fears from earlier came back with a vengeance. Only five hours had passed and the scout had not yet returned.

His mood changed from annoyed to worried within seconds. Galion was the captain of his Royal Guard. What was he doing here? He had been assigned to escort Elarynia and Legolas home.

The younger elf was limping badly, a bloody bandage bound tightly around his thigh and his appearance in such disarray that Thranduil already felt numb.

Seeing the open anguish in the captain’s eyes Thranduil stood slowly then rounded his desk until he was standing in front of the injured elf.

“What happened!” the King demanded sternly the dark foreboding from earlier had returned and his restraint was nearly snapping. Having expected nothing less Galion swallowed and involuntarily stepped back a step, quailing under the King’s burning gaze.

Licking his dry lips, the guard mastered all his courage and with a supreme effort he steadied his voice.

“My Lord, our escort was attacked by a large band of orcs. After a furious battle we repelled them, but…” the elf’s voice broke and Thranduil froze, barely able to breathe.

Both elves struggled with their composure but the King recovered his focus first.

“Captain?” he queried his voice not as steady as he had hoped. Raising his eyes it was now on Thranduil to step back a step at the raw grief he saw in the captain’s eyes.

The room was already spinning around him as the King heard the words he dreaded.

“My Lord, I am sorry to inform you that the Queen was killed and your son is missing!”

To be continued……………………

A/N

Silivrin – sparkling – white

Legolas is ten years – that compares to a three-year-old human child.

Chapter 3:  the horrible truth

………….the Queen was killed and your son is missing……..

The eyes of the King held such incredulity that Galion had to lower his gaze. He had dreaded this moment all the way home. But he was not a highly decorated captain and the chief of the royal guard for nothing.

This message, however, he had hoped to never deliver and he had nearly faltered in his duty. His fear of the task lying ahead of him caused him to block the pain in his thigh from the arrow that had wounded him. He had only urged his horse onward rehearsing the words he had to deliver over and over in his mind. Was there any way he could soften the horrible truth?

Thranduil however no longer noticed the captain. The world around him no longer existed to him. Fervently he tried to contact his wife through their bond but every try ended with the same result.

Not as before, when he had felt Elarynia’s block. He now felt…nothing! Every time he reached her, or thought he had, he plunged into nothingness, a black abyss which was stealing his breath.

Nearly frantic now he tried again and again, yet he was always greeted with silence; a black and dead silence, cold and numbing.

The door opened again and Thalan followed by Thornil hastened into the room. Thornil, the palace healer, had already been informed about what had happened; although when he entered he was not sure which elf would need his services first.

Galion was swaying dangerously on his feet still waiting to be dismissed, while the King, looking extremely pale, gripped his desk for support.

With one glance the healer and the advisor agreed and Thornil steadied Galion while Thalan hastened over to grip the King’s elbow.

Thornil led the captain toward a nearby chair and gently but firmly pressed him down onto the cushions. With dismay he looked at the bound thigh, knowing that if the elf would want to use this leg again the wound had to be treated quickly.

Looking between the captain’s face and leg he carefully loosened the cord to see how much the blood vessels were blocked. He then glanced over at his King open worry on his face.

His stomach was still tied in knots after having received the bad news but he could barely imagine how his King must be faring.

Seeing that Thalan had accomplished getting Thranduil to at least sit down Thornil quickly rebound the captain’s thigh and called for two of his apprentice healers. As soon as they arrived he explained the situation and Galion was carried away. Treating an arrow wound, even if neglected for so long, was well within the skills of his assistants and did not need his presence.

He rose and came slowly over where Thalan was quietly speaking to the King. Thornil observed Thranduil intently. Outwardly the King showed no signs of shock but his trained eye clearly saw the indications of the trauma.

The King was waxy pale and his hands were shaking badly, but the worst was the far-away expression on his face. Thornil was sure Thranduil was not hearing a single word that Thalan was saying. That did not matter however. The calm voice of the advisor was important to help anchor his mind. Hopefully this was preventing a complete mental breakdown.

Still fighting his own jumbled thoughts, the healer admired the serene attitude of Thranduil’s advisor. Then he remembered that the two were more then superior and subject. They had known each other for a very long time and could be called friends if nothing else.

Thalan was Thranduil’s councillor, his confidant, his spy master and many other things as needed. He was never in the front but always available when needed. Just now he was the person the King needed.

Just as Thornil was convinced that Thalan had managed to calm the King down and make him stay here until reliable information would come in Thranduil sprang up and looked irritated at Thalan.

“If you are thinking that I will stay here and wait then you are sorely mistaken, Thalan!” the King said and Thornil cringed. What else had he expected?

Thalan, as surprised as the healer at the sudden outburst, grabbed the King’s arm in a futile attempt to hold him back. Thornil stepped closer fearing this would get out of hand now.

Yet again, contrary to their expectations, Thranduil stilled and looked at his advisor with a mixture of annoyance and cold indifference.

“Release me!” he said in a calm voice. “I will go out there and see for myself and no one…” with this he whirled around and fixed the healer with a stern glare…“will stop me!”

Thornil sighed. He had always known the King as a very self-restrained individual and this behaviour surely attested to this, but what should they do? Could they deny him the right to see his wife for a last time?

Before Thornil could come to a decision the door flung open. Saeron, the King’s second son, was standing white faced in the doorway. No one minded the door banging loudly against the wall behind.

“Is it true?” the prince asked barely able to contain his composure. The King faced his son with a look that made the room’s occupants swallow.

“I do not know, Saeron. I have heard nothing irrevocable so far. I will make sure with my own eyes.”

With that the King rushed past his son leaving a stunned Saeron and a frustrated advisor and healer behind.

………………………………..

Thranduil had rushed past his son his heart nearly breaking at the hurt expression in Saeron’s eyes. Yet this was the only chance for him to keep the last bit of his composure. Seeing the open anguish in his child’s face had nearly undone him and he was not willing to show his weakness to anyone, not even his son. Nothing was certain, yet deep down he knew that he was betraying himself.

He was still not able to establish a connection with his wife, an act that was as natural to him as breathing. It was not that it wasn’t working; there was simply nothing to connect with. Yet his heart still denied what his rational mind was telling him. With the last threads of his sanity he clung to the hope that something other then death was preventing Elarynia from getting in touch with him.

While hastening through the great hall toward the main entrance with his only goal to reach the stables and ride out into the woods and confirm or refute his worst fear, Thranduil tried to connect with his little son. His overwhelming grief from his inability to reach his wife caused him to be unable to establish this bond too. His thoughts and his mind were in too much turmoil. He concentrated his efforts towards getting to the place where the tragedy had happened.

When he pulled the heavy door of the fortress open two startled guards whirled around but quickly lowered their swords when seeing their King storm past them, not even acknowledging them. The King had barely cleared the steps when the door was again opened forcefully and Thalan, the King’s advisor and Saeron were storming out, hastening after their King.

By the time Thranduil had reached the stables, startling a groom by pulling open the doors with a jerk, Thalan had caught up with his liege. Quickly he stepped into the furious King’s way.

“Thranduil, listen!” he said not caring about the irritated looks his shout elicited. “You cannot storm off like this. Please wait until at least a few warriors can accompany you!”

Thranduil directed an angry glare at the elf that would have had made any lesser subject falter. “I’m perfectly able to look after myself. Clear the way, Thalan!”

The councillor had no choice but to step aside and let the King pass. When Thalan inhaled to protest again, Saeron touched the other’s arm and shook his head. His father would not listen to any of them now.

Indicating two horses standing in the aisle, Thalan only nodded and the two elves mounted just in time to gallop after the already leaving King.

…………………………………………….

Thranduil urged his horse forward not caring that twigs lashed into his face and more then once he barely avoided a collision with a low-hanging sturdy branch. The trees sensed the anguish of the elf rushing past them and tried to clear their branches out of the way. The horse was hard pressed to follow the shifting directions urged by its rider.

Thranduil´s world had narrowed to a small tunnel. His only goal was to reach the point where his world might have been destroyed. He knew the route he had to take by heart, having designed it himself, deeming it the safest way home. He nearly laughed out loud. It was this very route that had brought death to the other half of his soul. `Please, Belain don’t let it be true` he prayed for the hundredth time.

Thranduil did not even notice the two elves following him close behind. Saeron prayed as fervently as his father did, that someone was mistaken, that his mother was not dead. He could barely breathe around his anguish.

He had always had a very close bond with his mother. As often as he had quarrelled with his father his mother had always seemed to understand him. More then once she had defended him in the face of his father’s wrath and more then once she had declared to her husband that their second son was so much like her. She said that they shared the thrill of excitement that quickly set them aflame.

It was exactly this character trait that Tranduil feared would one day bring either his wife or his son into a dangerous situation. Maybe his fear had been confirmed this day.

With all his heart Saeron hoped it was not so. His mother was adventurous like him but she was also cautious, rational and she loved her family too much to take any risks. What in the name of the Belain had happened, if his worst fear had come to pass?

Nearly too late Thranduil registered that his horse had cleared the trees and was now entering a large clearing. Almost without thought he stopped the panting beast just in time before it trampled an elf standing in its way.

The horse reared up in startled protest. Thranduil used the momentum to leap from its back landing sure-footed on the ground. Several guards were gaping at him open mouthed.

Saeron and Thalan were as hard pressed as the King to stop their mounts in time. Not as spectacularly as Thranduil they also dismounted, quickly trying to assess the situation within the clearing.

Thranduil looked around with narrowed eyes. The ground was littered with orc carcasses and also with the bodies of many elven warriors. In his anguish he even had trouble counting the number of fallen warriors and guards. He only registered that from the ten warriors and the five royal guards, who had accompanied his wife, only a few remained in the clearing.

He didn’t know if all of the missing guards were dead or away chasing surviving orcs. He didn’t care. His gaze was solely fixed on a guard kneeling next to a body.

He swallowed hard when he saw the embroidered hem of a familiar gown next to the guard’s knees. The figure of the elf obscured the rest of her body but he did not need his eyes to see who was lying there in the dirt.

With a barely restrained cry of anguish Thranduil hurried over and fell to his knees beside the warrior who kept his eyes on his hands folded in his lap.

Only now was Thranduil able to fully view his wife. Elarynia was lying on her back her eyes closed. Her face was pale, and her features were relaxed as if in deep sleep. With a questioning gaze the King looked at the guard who he now recognized as the healer of his royal escort.

More sensing then actually seeing his King’s gaze the warrior slowly shook his head. Long before the arrival of his liege he had lost his fight to save a life he had never imagined in his worst nightmare to be forced to fight for.

The simple gesture of the warrior snapped the thin cord of hope that Thranduil was still carrying; the hope that all had been a mistake, that his wife was still alive. Now the whole horror came crashing down upon him. The truth was that Elarynia was dead and there was no denying it. The wet red patch of blood staining her gown could not be overlooked either.

Strangely he was unable to shed a single tear. The grief choking his entire being was too overwhelming. He could barely breathe, could barely grab a coherent thought or any thought in fact.

He could only stare at the still body unable to comprehend that she would never again open her eyes; never direct the infuriating smile at him that had instantly convinced him that this was the woman he wanted to spend his unending life with.

Thranduil had also not noticed that the clearing had fallen completely silent. The warriors and guards stood immobile. They had no idea how to handle the situation. What could they say or do to help assuage the overwhelming grief radiating from the King who was now kneeling beside his dead wife?

Saeron, at first as shocked as his father at the sight of his mother, had slowly walked over, his body already shaking with wracking sobs. He did not hold back his emotions. He did not care that all eyes were directed at him in sympathy or averted in shame for witnessing his anguish.

Saeron had sunk down beside his father resting his head on his mother’s chest while crying openly. Thranduil was unable to comfort his son. No words of solace could leave his mouth. He only felt numb, cold, and dead.

Suddenly however Saeron jerked his head up and looked around with wide eyes. “Where is he?” he whispered and when no guard was answering him he shouted: “WHERE IS HE?”

Startled at the shout the King raised his eyes and looked irritated at his son. “Saeron!” he chided, yet without force in his voice. The King’s second son however did not mind his father’s reproaching tone. “Ada, where is Legolas?” Saeron repeated forcefully while squeezing his father’s shoulders in a bruising grip.

The pain and the shout seemed to have some effect however. Thranduil’s head jerked around and he searched the clearing as if Saeron would have had the chance to overlook something.

If Thranduil had been thinking that his worst nightmare was finding his wife dead, he was mistaken. His heartbeat quickened and his breath caught. Above the shock in finding his wife dead he had nearly overlooked that Legolas was missing.

Slowly he rose when the realization sank in. Not only did he have to suffer the death of his wife, his youngest child was missing, possibly already dead by now since orcs were involved.

Taking deep calming breaths to chase away the dizziness Thranduil strode toward Threlan, Galion’s second-in-command of the royal escort. The warrior straightened and swallowed already anticipating the question his King would ask him. He did not have to wait long. When Thranduil had reached him the guard struggled to not avert his eyes.

“Threlan, what happened here and where in the name of the Belain is Legolas?” the King asked in a tightly controlled tone. Threlan flinched knowing that his answer would not please his liege. His voice far from steady the guard looked straight at his King.

“My Lord, when we arrived, the attack had already happened. We found the Queen wounded. We quickly dispatched the orcs and one warg, yet from the time of our arrival there was no trace of your son. After the battle Prince Galadhion went in search of the elfling.”

The King looked at the guard incredulously. Another fact had until now escaped his notice. Galadhion was also not present and he had not even noticed it until the guard had mentioned his oldest son.

“Are you telling me that the orcs have taken my youngest son?” the King said, barely able to contain his composure now. The guard did not even blink. He could quite imagine how emotionally worn out his King had to be, he himself was not faring any better, yet he had no answer for his liege. The guard was charged with the responsibility of the Queen’s safety, and they had failed.

After the guard had ended his short report Thranduil sank to his knees unable to keep up any pretence. His wife was dead, his youngest son was missing and his oldest had run off after a band of orcs while overwhelmed with grief and guilt. What good could possibly come out of this?

To be continued……………………………

Chapter 4:  a nightmare unfolds

Gladhion´s POV:

The Crown prince held up his hand, signalling the warriors riding behind him to stop. They had set out an hour before to meet with the guards from Lothlórien who were escorting his mother and his youngest brother on their way home.

Galadhion was as unhappy as his father was about allowing Legolas to come with his mother, yet he had refrained from uttering anything after witnessing the heated argument his parents had already held on that matter. In prior years Galadhion had often accompanied his mother when she travelled to Lothlórien – he was always happy to visit his grandparents – yet this year with the increasing orc activities all around the stronghold he could not be spared from the guard.

It wasn’t that he did not trust Galion, he was not the chief of his father’s Royal Guards for nothing, yet he also knew his mother. The guards would be hard pressed to resist her wishes even against their better judgement.

His troops had nearly reached the gathering point now, a little clearing twenty leagues north of the river. There they would relieve the guards of the Golden Wood and travel back the way they had just come. He would only breathe easier when they had accomplished their mission.

When the ten warriors and the six guards of the royal escort had stopped Galadhion tilted his head and listened. He was under the impression he was hearing noises coming from the clearing – noises that had nothing to do with a few guards accompanying the Queen and her son back home.

In seconds he had identified the sounds, he grew pale and the blood in his veins ran cold. A look over to Galion´s face confirmed his fears. What they were hearing were the typical snarls of orcs and the agitated neighing of horses.

There was no need to give the order; the group of elves spurred their horses into a fast gallop, concern and worry speeding their approach.

When Galadhion cleared the trees he stopped his mount sharply. Surprise and horror fought hard for dominance in his mind. He was surprised to see that no guards from Lothlórien were present, and he was horrified to see his mother being attacked by orcs and a warg which were surrounding her horse.

The Queen suddenly cried out in pain, leaving the Crown prince no further time to ponder how what he was witnessing could be possible. Without wasting another second Galadhion accompanied by the guards and warriors raced into the clearing, attacking the orcs as they rode. Before the orcs recognized that new combatants had entered the battle, most were dead or were being chased by enraged elves into the woods. Too surprised and already sure of their victory over their easy prey the orcs had not given much resistance.

After Galadhion ended the life of the final orc in the clearing he heard a thud and whirled around. His mother had fallen from the great horse. The war-trained mare was swaying and already sinking down onto on her knees. Galadhion could clearly see a great wound on her belly.

During the battle Galadhion had made sure that his mother was pushed back to the edge of the clearing. As long as she was atop of the horse she was as safe as she could be in such a situation. His father had personally trained the mare finally given to his wife. A fully trained war horse was a force to reckon with and only death could part such a faithful companion from its owner.

The horse would have never let the Queen tumble from her back, yet the swaying body of the great beast showed clearly that it was gravely wounded. With much greater horror however Galadhion looked at the still body of his mother. The battle noises faded from his consciousness as he ran across the clearing.

With a cry of utter despair he skidded to a halt and knelt down next to his mother. With shaking hands he carefully turned her light body over. His mother moaned and opened her eyes and Galadhion thanked all the Belain he could think of that she was alive.

Yet his joy vanished quickly when he looked into her waxen face and the growing red stain on her gown over her abdomen.

“Do not move, Naneth,” he chocked his voice trembling like his hands. Elarynia however grabbed his frantic hands already trying to tear her gown open.

“Galadhion, stop!” she whispered while still holding his blood stained fingers. “I’m fine; you must search for your brother!”

Galadhion looked at her if she had spoken in a language he had never heard. And it needed moments for him to digest what his mother had told him. With a jerk of his head he looked around the clearing. In all the chaos he had forgotten about Legolas. All blood drained again from his face when he could not glimpse his little brother anywhere.

“Tulus, Calan!” Galadhion cried while he was gently freeing his hand from his mother’s grip. With practiced movements he pressed a patch he had ripped from the gown on the gaping wound in her mother’s belly.

The ordered elves came over at the summons and while Calan, the trained healer of the royal escort, was already kneeling and unpacking his healing supplies, Tulus waited on his Lord’s commands.

Gently prying the fingers of Galadhion away the healer looked briefly at the wound and then pressed a more suitable patch of linen against the injury, trying to ignore the pained-filled moan of his Queen. He forced a reassuring smile onto his face. Elarynia recognized the futile gesture to calm her and she closed her eyes trying to pant through the pain.

Only unconsciously recognizing that the healer had taken over Galadhion rose. “Tulus, my bother Legolas has to be here somewhere….” he informed the guard although this was not necessary. All members of their party knew that the Queen had been in the company of her youngest son and they had already started to search the clearing. The expression on the guard’s face told Galadhion that they had not found his brother so far.

“My Lord!”

The soft, yet anguished call of the healer let Galadhion turn and again kneel at his mother’s side. He grabbed her hand and was shocked at the coldness he felt. He looked first at the healer and then at his mother. Elarynia had her eyes open and was looking at him with a detached expression. This was so out of the ordinary that the implication hit him like a blow. His mother was dying!

“No!” he cried in utter desolation looking at the healer with a partly pleading and partly accusing expression. When Tulus only lowered his eyes Galadhion could no longer hold back his tears.

“Nana, no…” he pleaded his sight blurring with tears. Elarynia reached out her hand and caressed his cheek. “I’m sorry, my son. Please find your brother and look after your father….!”

Overwhelmed with grief Galadhion could not so much do then nod. When she had closed her eyes and her hand had fallen limply to her side Galadhion rose unaware of the many gazes following him in concern. Slowly he passed the great horse of his mother –also dead by now, relieved of its pain by one of the guards.

Before any of the elves could anticipate what he wanted to do he had swung atop his horse and raced from the clearing. He had failed to protect his mother he would not fail in bringing his little brother back.

Tulus only swore under his breath. With as quick a move he mounted his own horse and raced after his prince.

…………………………………..

Earlier, on the Path from Lorien…. (Elarynia´s POV)

Legolas was singing softly and every time when they passed a tree near enough he stretched out his hand to caress the bark or let his fingers trail over the leaves.

Elarynia smiled at her little son. Her third child was so different from her other two sons. Her oldest was always earnest, almost too much for her liking. Galadhion was taking his responsibilities serving his father very seriously, and even if her heart burst with pride, she often wished a less troubled life for him. He was overdue to find a wife and enjoy the happiness of being a husband and a father.

Her second son was the complete opposite of her firstborn. Saeron was as dutiful as Galadhion, yet his blood hummed in rhythm with excitement. He hated ever doing the expected. He loved challenges and grabbed them whenever they presented themselves to him. She loved him so much; he was very like herself.

Legolas, of course, was her sunshine, her baby, his character not yet formed but clear to glimpse. He lived in perfect harmony with nature, loved all living things and had an open and easy nature. He resembled his father greatly, and not only in appearance.

The Queen directed an amused glance at the guards of the Golden Wood flanking her on each side. Legolas was chatting happily pointing out all things his active mind registered and the guards obliged indulgently by answering and listening intently.

She was happy that she had decided to bring her young son with her. Her parents had been overjoyed to finally greet their third grandchild. Legolas had shown no shyness and had been spoiled rotten by his new grandparents.

After six weeks however she had begun to miss the rest of her family and now she was eager to return home. Through their bond Thranduil had more than once made clear how much he missed her. She could happily give back this feeling and had done so.

Now it would not take long to meet with the party of Mirkwood. She could barely wait to finally stretch her aching back and set her excited elfling onto his own feet again. Did this child never tire?

Then a sudden idea struck her. If she relieved the guards of Lothlórien she would be able to travel much faster to the point where Galadhion would be waiting for her.

She appreciated the caution the Galadhirm were displaying but since their departure no creature, beast or otherwise, had shown up and it was the best of weather in the middle of the day. What could possibly happen in the few miles still to go?

“Nana, when do we arrive home?” Legolas asked for the uncounted time and the Queen could only share her youngest´s eagerness to finally arrive.

With a determined tug she stopped her horse, eliciting a few raised eyebrows of the guards. Instantly the warriors formed a protective ring around Mirkwood´s Queen. Elarinya shook her head.

“Tharan, relax!” she chided with a laugh. “It’s alright. Yet, I do not see any necessity for you and your men to come any further. I’m at home here. I know these woods well.”

She had not even ended her last word when Tharan shook his head. “I’m sorry, my Lady but I have my orders, not only from your Lord father but also from our Lord Celeborn. We must accompany you until the Crown prince has shown up to receive you.”

As soon as the guard had ended he knew that he had made a mistake in phrasing his account. He had not to wait long for the protest.

“Tharan, I’m no child!” Elarynia said exasperated. “I do not need to be `handed over`. We are well inside the inner ring of protection and my son and I want to enjoy racing my horse to the meeting point. We cannot do that while creeping along like this.”

She did appreciate the concern shown around her but sometimes it really unnerved her. She couldn’t make a single step without being watched or reminded to be careful. She had also grown up in these woods and was no helpless elleth. Her father had trained her well in using both bow and sword.

Still angry she did not notice the shocked expressions on the faces of the guards surrounding her. Despite clear orders, when the Queen of Mirkwood ordered them to retreat, they had no right to disobey.

Tharan however did the only thing he deemed right and held his tongue. Maybe the wife of Thranduil would cool down and see reason?

But no such luck. She still looked angry and it was clear that she would not concede any time soon.

Tharan however was not swayed. “My Lady! I cannot allow this. It’s my responsibility to ensure your safety!”

His shoulders rigid now the guard prepared himself for another round of debate, yet the Queen’s eyes softened and she looked at her protector nearly pleading.

“Tharan, I understand your plight, yet I beg you to do me this one favour. Look down the path; we can almost see the gathering point. Please allow me my freedom for this short distance. I promise I will not stray from the path. I will head right toward the meeting point. Nothing will happen and no one will ever learn of our agreement.”

Tharan sighed and looked at his companions. The three other guards kept their mouth. They loved the elleth too much to deny her a wish, yet they were equally concerned about her safety. Maybe the fact that she was also coming from Lothlórin and not from the more dangerous part of this great forest with which the guards were not that familiar tipped the balance or it could have been another reason entirely. Finally, however, they conceded.

“All right, my Lady, but we will remain here for some time until we are sure nothing will follow you. You have but to utter one word and we will be there.”

Elarynia smiled. She almost felt sorry for the guards. They were disobeying a clear order, yet they did it for her. This was one of the reasons for her to regularly visit her home. Although it was the same forest, the part south of the Anduin was more peaceful, serene and the elves there appeared more attuned with the song.

She knew she was not entirely honest and that she was comparing situations that were not identical, yet it did her some good from time to time to get away from the depressing atmosphere further north. Six weeks in the carefree atmosphere of Lothlórien had lulled her senses into a false sense of security.

Taking advantage of the moment she winked at the guards and spurred her horse forward, Legolas cried with joy when the wind whipped his hair into his face.

Soon she was out of sight and earshot. The guards, still unsure about whether or not they had made a mistake, looked down the sunlit path and after waiting long enough they decided to return home. They had not heard any disturbance coming from the trees and hoped that the Queen had enjoyed her short time of freedom.

Had they but waited one moment longer, had they but listened a bit more intensely or had they followed their instincts they would have been able to prevent a tragedy.

………………………………….

Elarynia reined in her horse sharply when the shrieks of her son suddenly changed from delighted into fearful. When the horse had stopped she bent forward to look into her son’s eyes. Legolas´ face was pale and with wide eyes he pointed into the trees.

Before she could even ask what had disturbed him they were surrounded by a great band of orcs climbing down from the trees all around them.

Without so much as a blink the Queen unsheathed the sword at her hip with her right hand, pressing her son against her body with her left. At this short distance her bow was useless anyway.

The first orc that reached her experienced the fact that Mirkwood´s female elves were well trained in defending themselves. Elarynia thrust left and right of her killing the foul beasts that were stupid enough to come within her arm’s range.

Her faithful horse displayed that she was as well trained as her owner. Many a skull or ribcage was cracked by her heavy hooves crashing down forcefully.

Elarynia looked around frantically. She knew that she could not hold on much longer. The number of orcs was too great. One would manage to sneak up on her and with only one hand for fighting she would succumb sooner or later. Had the orcs but one archer with them she would be lost anyway.

Legolas did not make any sound. She could not look into his face, yet she felt the trembling of her babe against her. Already she regretted her decision to send the guards away. Hopefully Galadhion would arrive soon. She had already reached the gathering point. She had only to hold on a bit longer…..

Just then something heavy collided with the horse and the poor beast was pushed to the side; the Queen and her son hard pressed to stay on its back.

Dazed and shocked Elarynia looked down at a big warg readying to attack again. She swallowed. This was a foe even a well trained horse was powerless against.

She hacked at the beast, yet the great wolf eluded her blow. Attacking again, the warg tore the skin of the horse’s belly open with his sharp claws. The mare reared up in pain and shock and Elarynia had difficulty not losing her balance.

At the last moment she grabbed the mane, yet Legolas slipped from her grasp and tumbled to the ground. With panic she hacked again at the warg, turning to attack the much easier pray right before his nose. All her mother’s instincts screamed at her in terror, and this time she was successful. She sank her sword deeply into the neck of the beast killing it instantly.

Suddenly she felt a searing pain in her right side. With a nearly detached manner she looked at the orc, sneering at her while pulling his sword from her side. Her fear for her child however let her push the pain behind her. The sword fell from her numb fingers and she bent down while pressing her right hand over the wound in her side.

“Legolas run!” she cried. The elfling looked up at her with wide frightened eyes. “Run!” She repeated, already feeling how strength was leaving her.

Her heart broke at the uncomprehending expression on her child’s face. Tears were streaming down the elfling´s face and he shook his head fearfully.

Seeing the orcs advancing she looked sternly at her beloved child.

“You must go! NOW! It’s alright!”

The elfling was stumbling back incomprehension and fear still on his face. With relief Elarynia watched as the little one ducked around the orcs, scrambled to the edge of the clearing and disappeared into the trees. This child was really loved by the Belain.

One orc started to follow the fleet footed elfling, but suddenly he changed his mind and turned back again, this charge obviously not worth the effort.

The Queen let out a sigh. Her head however whipped around when hearing hurried hoof beats nearing the clearing. She closed her eyes in gratitude.

Galadhion was coming! Now she could give into the beckoning pain free darkness.

To be continued……………….

Chapter 5:  falling into darkness

The King flung his cloak to the side while rushing through the open hallway giving the servant standing nearby no chance to catch the garment.

He, his sons and all available warriors and guards had searched the area around the glade where his wife had been attacked on her way home for more than a full day. Yet try as they might, and even knowing their forest as no one else could, they had found nothing. There was no trace of his youngest son and no hint of where the boy could have vanished.

Thranduil was desperate beyond any measure and no longer sure that Legolas was still alive. He believed he was still feeling his child through their bond but he feared that he was succumbing to wishful thinking.

It was more realistic that the orcs had captured the elfling or he had fallen prey to another predator in the forest. Thranduil could not even bring himself to think about this possibility. He was in deep sorrow over the loss of his wife. He feared he would be unable to endure the additional loss of his youngest son.

He had after all seen what orcs did when they could capture an elf. What chance did his little son have against such brutes?

After striding into his rooms he forcefully slammed the door shut. He could no longer endure the sympathetic glances directed at him. The body of his wife had been brought home but he just couldn’t face looking at her yet.

He had not even been able to comfort his sons. Saeron had searched with him; mute and angry, he had raced beside him through the trees. For hours and hours they had circled the clearing hoping to find the missing elfling. They had shouted their throats raw, yet the child remained unfound.

Saeron’s barrier of indifference had changed the moment he had spotted Galadhion who was also desperately searching the surroundings for his little brother.

Before Thranduil had a chance to react Saeron had leaped from the tree just above Galadhion, instantly dragging his older brother to the ground. The Crown Prince had been too surprised to deflect the blows Saeron was raining down on him.

“Where were you?” Saeron had cried again and again while punching his brother’s face. “You were supposed to protect her!”

The King’s second son had screamed while tears ran down his face. Too overwrought with grief and anger he had punched and slapped his brother until a strong hand had gripped his shoulder, flinging him off Galadhion. Saeron had hit the ground hard and raised his head, looking dazedly at his father.

“Saeron, are you mad?” the King had shouted. “Pull yourself together or return home!”

With that the King had turned and extended a hand toward a still cowering Galadhion. The Crown Prince had grabbed it and was forcefully pulled to his feet. Staggering slightly he had dragged his sleeve over his bleeding nose and lip.

The warriors surrounding the trio had shifted uneasily. The situation was explosive. Saeron had still looked angrily at his brother and the King had been furious. His eyes had glared and the brothers had been frozen in their places. Thalan, holding the warriors back, had been unsure how any of them including him could ease the tension.

Galadhion had turned away without a word, preparing to run into the trees.

“Galadhion! Stop!”

The sharp command had stopped the younger elf immediately. Yet he had not turned. Narrowing his eyes and exhaling Thranduil had stepped behind his son and pulled him around.

“Galadhion, what is the meaning of this?” he had demanded his voice now low. “I would very much appreciate my sons behaving like adults!”

Galadhion had flinched at the tone and lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, my Lord, but Saeron is right. It is my fault that she is dead!”

He had screamed the last words into his father’s face and before anyone could react he had turned and leaped into a tree.

The King had closed his eyes briefly and started forward again. He did not care if anyone was following him. He had to find his youngest even if he had to search every tree and every hole in his forest! Saeron had followed his father while Thalan had given the signal to depart.

Galadhion had not shown up again; Saeron had remained by his father’s side, yet he had not spoken a single word.

After more than a day of fruitless searching the party had finally returned home.

Thranduil banged his forehead against the doorframe. He welcomed the pain, yet it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

Pushing himself from the door he crossed the room to stand before his desk near the small window. Documents had already been piled there during his absence. With an angry swipe of his hand he cleared the desk. Papers, pencils, the ink pot and other items clattered to the floor. He fell to his knees and rested his forehead against on the cool wood of the desk.

“Why didn’t you wait?” he cried. “WHY IN THE NAME OF THE BELAIN DIDN’T YOU WAIT?” he screamed, exhausted beyond measure.

With a last broken sob the King sank to the floor unconscious.

Thalan, always hovering around his Lord, quietly opened the door. He had managed to send away all of the curious servants who wanted to look into the King’s quarters and he slipped into the room silently. He was one of a few elves allowed to do this unannounced.

His heart sped up at the sight of his friend lying immobile in front of his desk. Before he hastened over he turned and opened the door again right in front of the face of a still hovering servant.

“Fetch Master Thornil, now!” he demanded, startling the elf and sending him running down the corridor. Thalan sighed. The Woodland King was well loved and the tragedy had not only unbalanced their otherwise strong ruler but also affected his subjects.

After crossing the room Thalan knelt down and felt for a pulse. He had been expecting this breakdown. Relieved at finding a strong heartbeat he pulled the unconscious elf into his arms and carried him over to the large bed. He swallowed while he looked at the two neatly made sleeping places. Now one would forever be vacant.

After placing the King on the bedding Thalan sat on the edge of the mattress and slowly removed Thranduil’s outer tunic. He wrinkled his nose. A bath and fresh clothing was in order. He would wait for the healer before continuing. Maybe a good night’s sleep and fresh clothing would bring some relief even if it was only to the King’s body.

He did not have to wait long until the door opened again and Thornil slipped into the room. Looking at the desk area the healer only raised an eyebrow but he did not comment on the mess. Looking around the room he quickly determined the situation.

Thalan had meanwhile managed to remove Thranduil’s clothing. Seeing the pile of dirty garments Thornil moved silently into the bath room and returned with a basin of warm water and some wash cloths.

“Have you seen the boys?” Thalan asked. Thornil shook his head. He knew that the advisor meant Galadhion and Saeron.

Galadhion had not yet returned from his search and Saeron had been closeted inside his rooms since his return. Someone had to check up on them too.

Even though the message that the Queen had been killed had spread like a wildfire the King’s herald still had to make the official announcement. Thalan had been on his way to consult with his King about how to phrase the official statement when he had heard the commotion in the royal apartment.

“Has she already been brought inside?” Thalan asked and the healer nodded again.

“Yes, I was just preparing her for the funeral.”

The healer looked at the pale figure on the bed. “I do not know how we will get through this ceremony.”

Thalan sighed. They all would be hard pressed to remain unmoved during the official final farewell. Together the two elves washed the King and even managed to comb his long hair. While dressing him in clean sleepwear Thornil looked at Thalan. “Was he unconscious when you arrived?” The advisor looked up startled but nodded.

“That’s alright. At least he will get a few hours of relief,” Thornil replied while making a quick examination. After covering the King with a blanket the healer rose and handed a small vial to Thalan.

“Maybe you can convince him to drink this. It’s a light sedative. It will calm his nerves and encourage him to sleep some more.”

“Thank you,” Thalan answered while accompanying the healer to the door. Knowing that Thalan would remain with the King, Thornil turned before leaving. “I’ll be in my office. You have only to call if you need my help again!”

“I know, thank you,” Thalan replied and closed the door when the healer had left. He bent down and picked up the items that were strewn all around the desk, placing them back on the desktop. With a last look at the still form of his friend he settled himself in an overstuffed chair. This was going to be a long night.

…………………………………….

Thranduil awoke confused and rubbed his eyes, blearily. The sun was streaming through the narrow window on the left wall but the rays did nothing to warm him. He could not even remember going to sleep.

Abruptly his memory returned and the ache in his heart flared up. He let out an anguished cry. Thalan dozing in a nearby chair jerked up at the sound and rushed over to the bed.

“Thranduil, are you alright?” he asked concerned. Seeing the incredulous look in the King’s eyes he chided himself for his stupid question. How could he be alright? How could anything ever be alright again?

“Thalan?” Thranduil asked while directing an annoyed expression at his friend hovering over him. “What happened?”

“You collapsed, my friend, after your return from the search for…” Thalan stopped not wanting to stir up all the raw emotions at once.

The King however, even if deeply grieved had not lost his sharp mind. “Has my son been found?” he asked sharply not further elaborating on his state.

Thalan only shook his head. Galadhion had returned in the morning in no better shape then his father. Thalan and Thornil had been hard pressed to convince the Crown Prince to not disturb his father‘s rest. He had no positive news to report anyway. Only an hour ago a whole troop of warriors and guards had also returned with empty hands.

Despite the healer’s advice Galadhion had not retired but sat near his mother’s body which was lying in state in the throne room. Thalan had at least managed to hold Saeron at bay, keeping the brothers from again confronting each other.

Thalan´s attention refocused when Thranduil began to struggle out of his bed. He looked around in irritation. “Where are my clothes?” he asked while checking the area around the bed.

“Thranduil, maybe you should rest some more…” Thalan started, but he was interrupted when the King whirled around and came face to face with his advisor.

“Maybe it has slipped your notice Thalan, but I have a kingdom to rule. I have neglected my duties for too long already. Please leave me so that I can make myself presentable!”

Thalan, knowing the hot-headed son of Oropher long enough stepped back a step. First he wanted to retort in a similar sharp voice but then he remembered that his friend’s bearing was only a result of his grieving.

“Thranduil, I understand……..”

“LEAVE!”

Without another word Thalan turned. Any further words would be futile until after Thranduil calmed down.

………………………………

When the door to the throne room opened Galadhion looked up. He stiffened when he recognized his father entering the dimmed room. Without looking at him or even acknowledging his presence his father crossed the room and sat beside the bier his mother was lying on.

The healer had prepared her well; she looked like she was only sleeping. She was dressed in a midnight blue gown of velvet, her long black hair combed and dotted with tiny gems that sparkled and glittered. Her hands were crossed over her belly and held a single white rose.

Galadhion shifted uneasily. His father sat with a blank look not even directed at his mother. He wanted so desperately to talk to his father, to tell him that he was sorry, that if he had only arrived a few minutes earlier … but not a single word left his mouth.

Since their meeting in the woods his father had not talked to him, had not spoken a single word of comfort or in sympathy. But he knew the reason well; his father was holding him responsible for his mother’s death! How could he console him when he could not even forgive himself?

Yet he ached for a response, and so Galadhion stepped closer.

“Ada?” he asked his voice sounding weak and tremulous in the great room.

The king did not move, not even to blink. Galadhion closed his eyes. He would not get his absolution. Without another glance or word he turned and left the room. He had not only lost his mother and his little brother but he had lost the respect and love of his father too!

To be continued………………

Chapter 6:  unexpected meeting

Two hunched figures ducked low over the necks of their horses trying to protect their faces. It was raining heavily; the fat drops coming at them nearly horizontally due to the whipping wind.

Master Elrond of Imladris and his Troop Commander Glorfindel were on their way home from visiting Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of the Golden Wood.

Although the healer seldom left his sheltered valley he had travelled this time to deliver a new antidote he had developed. He had also spent some time training the Galadhrim in its use.

His incentive for developing the antidote had been the increasing orc activity at the pass used for travelling between the two realms. The foul creatures were using a new sort of poison making the journey back and forth even more dangerous. Elrond had laboured long to create an antidote, which was not only effective but also almost universally usable against most poisons.

The only difficulties with this new formula were the correct preparation and the necessity for its quick application. Elrond had travelled to Lothlórien to demonstrate the proper use of the new antidote.

He had spent two weeks within the Golden Wood but was now eager to return home to his wife and young daughter. His child was only ten years old and had complained loudly about not being allowed to accompany him.

Celebrían had also been dismayed by being unable to visit with her parents, but travelling with such a small child was out of the question. Only by promising to return soon had the Elf-lord been able to leave.

His sons were on a diplomatic mission to the north of Gondor so Elrond was travelling with only the companionship of Glorfindel. Many guards weren’t of much use in this rocky territory anyway and Elrond felt he couldn’t wish for a better and more effective protector than his long time friend.

Soon after departing but still on the eastern side of the mountains just at the borders of Mirkwood, the weather had changed for the worst and the two elves were hard pressed to even see the path just ahead. The temperature had also dropped, making the stinging rain even more uncomfortable.

Glorfindel who had been riding ahead dropped back until he was alongside the healer. “It makes no sense to go on in this weather. We should try to find some shelter!”

Already soaked to the bone Elrond was happy to agree. More susceptible than his companion to such weather the Elf-lord was eager to get out of the rain. Confident that Glorfindel would find a cave or something suitable Elrond followed the blurred silhouette in front of him praying that orcs did not use the bad visibility to their advantage and attack just yet.

Still it was another hour before Glorfindel held up his hand and pointed ahead. Elrond stopped his stallion but could not make out anything. Glorfindel however rode on and now the healer could perceive a dark opening under an overhanging rock. Relieved, he didn’t need to urge his horse forward; the stallion was as eager as his master to get out of the rain.

Reaching the cave’s mouth Glorfindel bent down and inspected a few prints. Elrond frowned at the smallness of the marks. When Glorfindel motioned him forward Elrond complied grateful to be finally inside. Unexpectedly the cave opened up after they passed through a narrow entrance.

After some steps Glorfindel held up his hand again. Elrond, following closely behind the warrior, stopped immediately. Being Half-elf he could not rival the exceptional hearing of his friend. Glorfindel turned and looked at him his expression turning from concern to surprise.

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. After some moments however he motioned for the healer to follow him. Elrond complied knowing that the warrior would never do that in the face of a threat he could not appraise.

While stepping further into the cave Elrond could now make out a noise. As he identified it, a look of surprise crept over his face too. The sound was unmistakably that of a sobbing child.

What in the Valar´s name was a child doing in that cavern, far away from any decent settlement of men or the Elvenking’s halls and in the dead of night?

Like Glorfindel, Elrond quickened his pace and stopped a moment later after rounding a last boulder that was obscuring his view. There at the far end of the cave sat a little child with his head on his raised knees shaking with sobs.

Despite the overwhelming urge to rush over and comfort the poor little one, Glorfindel held the healer back and the Elf-lords observed their surroundings carefully. It could be a well placed trap.

For long moments they strained their senses. They did not lower their weapons until they were sure nothing would pounce on them the minute they relinquished their guard.

The child seemed to not to have recognized them yet. After a nod from Glorfindel the healer advanced further and knelt in front of the little one being careful not to startle the child.

He was close enough now to recognize that the child was not only a boy but an elfling with long fair hair, not older then ten or twelve years.

While Glorfindel kept standing Elrond reached out a hand and softly touched the knee of the boy. With dismay he realized there was a blood stain on the leggings of the child’s lower leg.

Feeling the touch on his head the elfling straightened up and Elrond was regarded with fearful and frightened blue eyes. The child pushed back against the wall behind him.

“Do not be afraid, little one. We will do you no harm,” the healer said softly. Blue eyes darted from the healer to the warrior and back. The boy did not move an inch, but he had stopped crying.

Seeing the clear evidence that the child had suffered some sort of trauma Elrond sat on the floor next to him. After becoming convinced that nothing else was hiding in the cave Glorfindel also crouched down. He regarded the elfling thoughtfully.

Elrond reached out again but the child shrank back to avoid the touch. The healer sighed and tried another approach.

“What’s your name, little one?” he asked. While the child struggled with whether he wanted to answer or not Elrond continued to smile at the boy. “I’m Elrond and that’s my friend Glorfindel,” he said while pointing at the warrior. Glorfindel inclined his head but said nothing.

Elrond observed the continued struggled of the boy with some concern. Was he that much afraid of them to even answer? Now the healer recognized the quality of the fine clothing the child was wearing. Even though it was dirty and rumpled the exquisite weave was unmistakable. How did this all fit together?

At last the boy took a deep breath: “I’m Legolas Thr…..from Mirkwood.”

Elrond shot Glorfindel a significant look. The stumble had not gone unnoticed. However Elrond did not press it for now. What mystery was behind this lost elfling?

Hoping that his question would finally shed some light Elrond looked again at the boy. “Well met, Legolas. Can you tell me why you are here alone and where your parents are?”

As if hitting a sore spot the boy began sobbing again. “I got lost when the monsters attacked. They hurt Nana and she yelled at me to run away…I didn’t want to…but she cried so bad … and ... and…

Further words were drowned in heavy sobs. Elrond directed a shocked gaze at Glorfindel, who had sprung up again. The little boy could not have gone far and the “monsters”, obviously nothing other then orcs, could still be around. The warrior slipped out of the cave to scout and make sure of that.

Without a conscious thought Elrond reached out to comfort the distressed elfling but again the boy recoiled from him.

“Ada will be mad at me for running away and getting lost…” he sobbed barely able to utter an understandable word.

Elrond sighed. The question of where the child’s father was had now been answered.

Deciding to try another approach, Elrond mover a bit closer. “Legolas, listen to me. Your Ada will be very glad that you are alive, he definitely will not be angry.”

A sceptical gaze was directed at the healer. Elrond only raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure of that, Legolas,” Elrond confirmed still wondering why the child’s father had not been with his family here in the depth of the great wood.

“Will you let me look at your leg?” Elrond asked pointing at the little one’s blood-stained leggings. Glorfindel had just returned and signalled that no orcs were roaming their near surroundings. Elrond acknowledged the information with a thankful nod.

While Elrond looked inquiringly at the elfling Legolas shook his head. Glorfindel raised an amused eyebrow at the irritated expression on the healer’s face. This little one had a strong will. Again some familiarity struck him.

“Legolas.“ Elrond tried again and let a bit of sternness flow into his voice. “Your leg needs tending and I’m a healer. I can make it better. May I?”

Instantly recognizing this tone the elfling raised startled eyes at the stranger. This one is used to a commanding tone, Glorfindel thought.

Although Elrond thought that he would be denied again the elfling spoke with a soft voice. “Alright, I permit you to look at it.” Glorfindel turned in an effort to hide his amused smile. The boy had been raised properly.

Carefully Elrond reached out and rolled the leg of the legging up. To his surprise and dismay he revealed a deep bite wound and a few deep scratches.

“It hurts a lot,” Legolas admitted while taking quick shallow breaths.

“That I can imagine, little one,” Elrond said sympathetically while taking a closer look.

“How did you acquire these?” Glorfindel asked pointing at the injuries.

Legolas pondered the question only briefly and answered with a soft voice. “The big wolves lunged at me while sitting on Nana’s horse. They killed the horse and hurt Nana too.” Again the lower lip begun to tremble and the boy stopped.

Gorfindel closed his eyes. This little one had not only witnessed an orc and warg attack but seen how his mother had been attacked and injured too.

While Glorfindel was still distracting the elfling Elrond had managed to clean and bind the wound. When the elfling started crying again Elrond opened his arms and this time the child moved willingly into the comforting embrace.

Rocking back and forth and stroking the fair hair Elrond was quickly able to calm the boy.

“Don’t cry,” Glorfindel said softly while patting the boy’s arm. “We will bring you back home safely, Thranduilion!”

The healer’s head snapped up. Incredulously he looked at his companion. His surprise however lasted only a moment. He gently raised the boy’s chin with his finger and suddenly he knew what familiarity had struck him when he had looked at the elfling.

The boy was unmistakably the youngest son of King Thranduil. How could he have missed it in the first place? The elfling was a perfect copy of his father. Releasing the child’s chin he gently pulled him closer against his chest.

The crying had already stopped. Elrond had never met the Elvenking´s youngest son, yet he could not be mistaken and the smile on Glorfindel´s face confirmed that the warrior was also sure.

Holding the exhausted elfling in his arms Elrond continued to lull the child further into sleep. Glorfindel was sitting opposite of him still regarding the boy with an unreadable expression on his face.

However, the healer didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what thoughts were crossing the warrior’s mind. To find the youngest prince of Mirkwood wounded and confused in the wild was a shock to both of them.

The Lord of Imladris did not know the King of Mirkwood well enough to judge his family affaires but one thing he knew with certainty. The Sindar King was extremely protective of his children and Legolas was much too young to even leave the near surroundings of the palace. So, what was the elfling doing out here alone? The King must be out of his mind with worry.

Yet, the few jumbled words Legolas had spoken had disturbed the healer even more. The elfling said that his mother – the Queen of Mirkwood no less – had been attacked.

Had Legolas and his mother really been victims of an orc attack? What had they been doing deep in the woods? Had the Queen been wounded or, even worse, killed?

Mirkwood and its inhabitants had always borne the heaviest burden of orc activity in their own territory. Elrond felt that since Thranduil was the one ruler without a ring of power to support him the King’s struggles, although valiant would prove futile in the long run.

If he was now forced to fight these battles without the supportive presence of his wife then the house of Oropher would face even darker times ahead.

“I wonder how much time has passed since the attack. What has become of the guards? Has King Thranduil already been informed that his youngest is missing?” Glorfindel asked while he folded his thick clock and placed it next to the fire he had kindled.

Elrond had asked himself those questions already and so only frowned while he placed the now deeply asleep child on the cloak. He checked again on the bandage and was relieved to find no fresh blood on the little one’s lower leg. Gently he placed his own cloak over the boy.

Briefly he closed his eyes and prayed to the Valar that the Queen of Mirkwood had survived the attack. He could not even imagine how his own family would survive losing a beloved wife and mother.

“At least this little one will return home safely,” Glorfindel said while squeezing the arm of the dark haired elf reassuringly. Elrond smiled in gratitude. Even if his return journey would be delayed he would gladly make sure that at least this lost soul was returned back to where it belonged.

This was no idle promise. They already bore grave tidings for the King yet they could at least relieve Thranduil’s fear that his youngest son was lost too.

To be continued……………………

Chapter 7:  sorrow and anger

The King of Mirkwood straightened his shoulders. He only had to step through the door, a simple act he had done so many times before. But never before had it been so hard.

Again he adjusted his formal robes making a futile effort to get his nervousness under control. It had been a long time since he had last attended a funeral for a family member and he had hoped to never have had to do it again.

When he descended the steps and walked onto the green where the funeral pyre was erected he would be forced to accept what his heart still denied; his wife was dead and no power in this world would change that.

With a shuddering breath he wondered how he would find the strength to face this at all. The permanently hovering palace healer was testimony enough that at least one other person feared for his stability. Thranduil laughed a bitter laugh. He had already had one breakdown he would not disgrace himself again.

Yet he was barely able to breathe, his anguish was so painful. As if the death of his beloved wife was not bad enough, fate had deemed it proper to rip his soul further asunder. After three days of searching there was still no trace of his youngest son. Even knowing their forest well the warriors were unable to find the missing prince or determine what had happened to him.

Thranduil was finally losing hope. Even if he would not accept his son’s death until his body was found, it was more then likely that the little child could not have survived this long in Mirkwood. The forest was too dangerous. Even if Thranduil was still clinging to the bond that was connecting him with his child he knew that he was lying to himself.

His inner perceptions were jumbled and confused. He had always been sure of his feelings before but was now in a state of utter mental desolation.

When his herald cleared his throat a third time Thranduil opened the door with a jerk and stepped outside. He took a deep breath, seeing his sons standing to the left and right sides of the entrance. They each had their eyes directed toward the green. He was grateful that he didn’t have to look at the anguish in their eyes.

However his resolve was tested the moment he began to descend the steps. There was not only the pyre looming in his peripheral vision but at the bottom of the steps another trial awaited him, one that he was not sure he was prepared for.

Only half an hour earlier his parents-in-law had arrived to attend the farewell ceremony for their only child. It would already be hard for him to maintain his composure but to be in the presence of Elarynia´s parents was not something he was looking forward to.

Knowing that he would not achieve anything by delaying further he determinedly descended the last steps, his eyes fixed on the pyre. Only when he reached the waiting couple did he look at them with a blank and emotionless expression on his face.

Lady Serinde was leaning heavily on her husband’s arm her red swollen eyes clear testament to her sorrow. Calendur´s expression was as stony and unwelcoming as ever. He had never shown the least bit of sympathy toward the King of Mirkwood.

“I welcome you to Eryn Lasgalen. I hope your journey was uneventful,” Thranduil intoned the traditional greeting. The words sounded as hollow to his ears as they sounded to all the others standing nearby. Calendur glared at him with blatant disgust.

“Blessedly we have arrived alive while travelling through your cursed wood, Thranduil. This sadly could not be said for every traveller.”

Without another glance or word the Lorien elf turned and marched toward the pyre further disregarding any additional protocol. He ignored the indignant gasps and angry glares he received from the others as well as the shocked expression on his wife’s face.

Thranduil did not even blink. He had never much liked this stubborn elf from the other side of the Anduin, and the rejection was mutual.

Calandur had been against his marriage with Elarynia and he had never made a secret of this. Now he was blaming him for his daughter’s and grandson’s death.

Thranduil could not even hold it against Calendur for thinking like this. He knew he should never have allowed Legolas to accompany his mother, yet it was idle to think these thoughts now. Elarynia would also still be alive if she had not disregarded all precautions. But what would this defence for his decisions achieve him? Nothing!

Someone was squeezing his arm and Thranduil looked up, startled. “I apologize for my husband,” Serinde said with a soft voice. “He did not mean it the way that it sounded!”

Thranduil accepted her words, giving her the benefit of the doubt. He knew that Calendur was well aware of his words and that he meant every one of them. Calendur would never forgive him but that was meaningless to him since he could not even forgive himself.

Pushing all disturbing emotions to the back of his mind Thranduil concentrated solely on the ceremony, trying to get it over with without any further incidents.

He had never been one to avoid a challenge before, but now he only wanted to get to his rooms and close the door behind him. Aware that all eyes were directed at him he marched forward until he had reached the pyre. He did not raise his eyes; he could not bring himself to look at the wrapped body of his wife. He had already said his farewell in private.

He sensed the presence of his sons at his back. This gave him some stability, yet he had never felt more distanced from them than now.

When all the murmurs had died down he took a deep breath.

“We have gathered here to bid a final farewell to our beloved Queen, who the Belain deemed necessary to call home.”

Despite a conscious effort he was unable to banish the bitterness from his voice. The sounds of weeping around him let him swallow. Fortunately Calendur, standing with his wife on the opposite side of the still unlit pyre, refrained from making any further comments.

At this point, Thranduil did not care. He was emotionally too worn out to feel any sympathy right now.

A barely restrained sob behind him caused him to turn around. He wondered why the blank expressions on his sons’ faces did not touch him. What was happening to him? These were his children after all. It was his task to comfort them and to talk of courage to them, yet he said nothing. He felt empty, drained and dead inside.

When the torch was lit Thranduil turned again to receive it from the head of the Queen’s personal guard. With a detached manner he bent forward and ignited the pyre in several locations, ending by throwing the torch beneath it. The dry wood caught the flames quickly and soon the whole pyre was aflame.

As was tradition among the wood elves relatives and friends of the Queen stepped forward and each recited something that reminded them of her. These were often small and unimportant things, minor public or private incidents and memories, but every one of the stories was touching.

Thranduil only partially listened. He could not endure hearing how well loved his wife had been and how much everyone would miss her. What about his own loss? Who cared how much he would miss her?

Looking across the pyre he saw that Serinde had again lost the fight with her composure. Calendur had wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder, yet his gaze was blankly directed unblinkingly at the flames.

Thranduil took a deep breath when Saeron touched his forearm. “Let us return back inside, Ada,” he said softly. Thranduil blinked. He had not even noticed that the speakers had ceased and that the ceremony was over. Nodding he followed the gentle tugging of his son’s arm.

Galadhion had already turned and was climbing the steps ahead of them. A ring of warriors was now surrounding the collapsed pyre giving their Queen the final honour.

From the corner of his eye Thranduil realized that Thalan was escorting Elarynia´s parents inside. He made a mental note to thank his friend later.

When he had reached his office Galadhion was already turning into a side corridor. Thranduil looked up.

“Galadhion, Saeron, I want to speak with you two!”

This was not a request but an order and the brothers understood this clearly. While Galadhion followed the invitation reluctantly Saeron slipped into the room the grimness back on his face.

The Crown Prince had barely closed the door when the King whirled around. “Galadhion, Galion told me that you were not in your office today and I have still not received a report about why your escort did not meet your mother’s group!”

While Saeron looked aghast at his father, Galadhion lowered his eyes. There it was again; the unspoken but underlying blame. He had failed to protect his mother.

“You will receive my report shortly, my Lord,” Galadhion replied with a neutral voice his eyes still at the floor.

Saeron bristled. Could his brother not defend himself? Had he nothing to say?

“Report, bah! Nothing will be changed with a stupid report,” Saeron spat glaring at his brother.

Galadhion whirled around and before Saeron could blink only inches separated him from his brother’s angry face.

“And what do you know of this?” Galadhion cried gripping his brother’s tunic by the collar. “You were not even there. So please do me a favour and refrain from commenting on a situation you cannot judge.”

Although surprised, Saeron was not intimidated. “You were supposed to protect her!” he cried forcefully shoving his brother back. “WHERE WERE YOU?”

Irritated Galadhion glared at his brother after he had regained his balance.

“Had she waited, then nothing would have happened! But she had to get her way. She was so much like you!”

Before Galadhion had the chance to utter anything further Saeron had leaped at him with an angry cry and knocked him down. Like days before in the woods he balled his fist and was about to punch down. But this time Galadhion was not unprepared. He intercepted Saeron’s fist and landed a hard blow on his brother’s face instead.

Saeron was thrown back, the right side of his face already beginning to swell and glowing red. Stunned for a moment he jumped back to his feet and again launched himself at his brother. Soon both younger elves were rolling over the floor.

Both being equally tall and well trained in hand-to-hand combat, neither one was able to get the upper hand. Saron´s nose was bleeding heavily while Galadhion was fighting with a right eye that was swollen shut.

Saeron was beside himself with fury. Why was his brother always reacting with indifference? Didn’t he feel anything at all? Just when he was about to punch the face before him again a strong hand interrupted him and pulled him forcefully up from the floor.

Galadhion came to his feet without help. Expecting his father Saeron looked at the angry face of Thalan with surprise. He had not even realized his father’s advisor had entered the chamber.

“I’m very disappointed in you two!” the tall elf said in a low tone, yet his voice did not betray his underlying anger.

Saeron snorted, still held tightly in the vice grip of Thalan, while Galadhion lowered his eyes. There it was again - indifference! Saeron was inclined to attack his brother anew when Thalan shoved him back forcefully.

“Saeron, stop!” he cried and this time his fury was clearly visible on his face. “Your father needs your assistance, not this constant quarrelling!”

Something in the tone of the advisor made both brothers quickly turn their heads toward the King. Saeron had already been wondering why his father had said nothing so far.

The sight caused both brothers to swallow. Their father was sitting in a chair with his head bowed surrounded by three healers. Judging from the tense expression on Master Thornil´s face something was very wrong.

Wiping the blood from his nose with his sleeve Saeron started to move forward when Thalan blocked his way again.

“Leave, Saeron. You have wrought enough havoc for today.”

Saeron looked bewildered at Thalan and for a moment it seemed as though he would punch the councillor, but he caught himself in time and only glared at his father’s advisor.

“Thalan, clear the way! I have to look after my Adar!” Saeron said, yet his resolve was already crumbling. Past Thalan he could see that Thornil was quietly speaking to his father.

“I have to apologize,” Saeron added with a soft voice.

Thalan relaxed his stance, yet he did not move. “Not yet, Saeron. He needs to rest!”

Quickly his anger flared up again. How dared Thalan try to deny him speaking with his father?

Yet hadn’t Thalan said that their fight had been the reason for the King’s condition? Saeron swallowed. One more reason for him to apologize.

With pleading eyes he looked up at Thalan. However, the elf did not move.

“Leave, Saeron. Please!” the advisor demanded and Saeron finally conceded. Briskly he turned. Where was Galadhion? His brother had obviously already left the room! Had he expected anything else?

To be continued……………………………

Chapter 8:  much talk and a bit of light

Saeron walked aimlessly down the corridor. This part of the underground palace was reserved for the apartments of the royal family, a few rooms for the King’s closest servants and advisors, and quarters for special guests.

He had still not calmed down and his guilty conscience was not letting him sleep. What had come over him that caused him to attack his own brother? Then again, his brother’s attitude had once again angered him beyond reason.

In Galadhion´s opinion he could do nothing right. His brother was always reprimanding him for minor things and always expressed doubt about his abilities. Yes, he was not as restrained or ambitious, but he served his father’s realm as whole-heartedly as Galadhion. He was impulsive and sometimes hot-headed, but he would never do anything that would disgrace the King or bring any threat to their realm.

While his father often shared his brother’s misgivings his mother had always understood him. She had been the only person who shared his love of life, understanding how his adventurous mind worked. He could barely accept that the very person who loved him totally was no longer alive.

Again anger was rising inside his heart. Galadhion and his father had accused her of being the cause of the attack, as if she had not paid the highest price for her decision. His mother had done nothing wrong. No one would have expected orcs within the short distance she had travelled alone. It was merely a bad coincidence.

In his misguided anger he did not recognize that Galadhion in fact blamed himself for not having been there in time to prevent the tragedy.

Still fuming he marched further down the corridor, grateful that no one was crossing his path at this late hour. He intended to walk alongside the river to slow down his swirling thoughts.

However, when he passed his father’s rooms he stopped abruptly. At first unsure whether he had heard right he stepped closer. He carefully placed his ear against the thick wooden door and nearly gasped when he identified the sound from within.

His father was crying! Saeron stepped back aghast. He could not remember when he had last seen his father cry; in fact he could not remember ever having seen him cry at all.

The sound tore at his heart. In the midst of his own anger and grief he had overlooked the fact that other family members were suffering as much as he, even though they refrained from showing it so publicly.

Now he felt ashamed. Where they should be standing together, instead he had brought more grief to those elves he loved the most. He had not only blamed his brother but also strained his father’s fragile hold on sanity with his flaring temper.

Overwhelmed with the wish to apologize he stepped forward and lifted his fist to knock. Just as his knuckles were about to connect with the door, a hand gripped his arm preventing him from announcing his entry.

Irritated he jerked his head around and looked into the passionate eyes of Thalan.

“Don’t. He needs his time to grieve. Let him be, young one,” the advisor said. He gently steered Saeron away from the door.

Still bewildered about the councillor’s actions Saeron tensed his muscles stopping both he and Thalan.

Remembering his former remorseful thoughts Saeron looked at the advisor pleadingly.

“Thalan, please release me. I have to go to my father and comfort him. I have to tell him that I’m sorry for causing him even more grief!”

Thalan released his hold but did not clear the way.

“Saeron, you will have your time to say what’s necessary but tonight is not the right time. Your father would not appreciate your presence now, believe me. I have known him for much longer then you, child!”

Not really convinced but seeing that the advisor would not be swayed Saeron slowly nodded. To be called a child by this elf did not bother him. Thalan had looked after his father when Thranduil was a youngster and his children had known the calm and serene advisor all their lives. Their father could not have had a better guardian then Thalan.

Saeron lowered his head after Thalan squeezed his arm in sympathy, but he did not return to his rooms. He had one other person to whom he had to apologize. Maybe he could achieve this goal tonight.

……………………………………….

Taking a deep breath Saeron hesitated before he knocked on his brother’s door. He hoped that Galadhion was also still awake. Although it was late at night he would almost bet that Galadhion was as unable as he to find rest.

Making up his mind he took heart and knocked on the door. Shifting from foot to foot Saeron waited impatiently for his brother’s invitation. `Please be there, Gal,` he thought, feeling his resolve already crumbling.

When he felt sure that his brother was neither in his rooms nor asleep Saeron was about to turn away when he heard a soft “enter”. Blowing out his breath he spun around and opened the door.

He crossed the threshold quietly and hovered just inside the doorway. Galadhion was sitting in a cushioned chair his feet resting on the outlying hearthstones of his fireplace, a glass of wine held in one hand. Without turning around he asked: “What is it, Saeron?”

The second son of Thranduil raised an eyebrow. How had his brother known that it was him? Then again, who else would be knocking on the Crown Prince’s door at this hour?

Again anger was rising in his chest. His brother did not even look at him. Yet he was here to apologize and anger was surely not the right beginning.

Since his brother didn’t move Saeron crossed the room after closing the door. Leaning against the wall near his brother’s feet, he grimaced when he looked at his brother’s face. Galadhion´s right eye was swollen shut and had a deep blue halo around it. His fist had struck true.

Still unsure how to begin Saeron again took a deep breath.

When Galadhion cleared his throat Saeron focused his attention back on his brother. “Saeron, if you do not mind I would rather be alone….”

Saeron sighed. His brother was not making it easy for him, but what else could he have expected?

“Gal, I came here to apologize. I don’t know what has come over me, but I’m so angry…so sad about Nana´s death…I…”

Taking a shuddering breath and knowing that he had to say the words now or never have another opportunity; Saeron knelt at his brother’s side. The two brothers looked at each other directly and at eye-level.

“Galadhion please accept my apology. Of course I do not blame you for what has happened. It was not your fault. But can you forgive me?”

The Crown Prince looked with surprise into his younger brother’s eyes seeing only sincerity there. He took a shuddering breath. He knew that he would blame himself for the rest of his life, yet his brother’s words meant a lot to him.

Rising, Galadhion pulled Saeron to his feet and embraced his brother with a strong hug.

“Nothing to forgive, brother. I’m glad you have come.”

Saeron returned the embrace and the two brothers stood in each other’s arms for a long moment. For the first time since the attack, Galadhion felt some of the weight of his guilt lifted from his soul. As they pulled away from each other the brothers looked at one another.

They would need all of their strength in the days to come. If fate was cruel and their little brother was also dead then their father would need all the support they were able provide. They would need each other’s love more then ever before.

When the emotional storm had subsided Galadhion poured another glass of wine and handed it to his brother. Saeron dragged a chair over with the tip of his boot and the brothers clanked the glasses together with a toast.

“Here’s to hoping for another day, one that will have good news,” Galadhion said and raised his glass and Saeron knew that his brother was also still hoping that Legolas could be found alive.

After sitting in companionable silence Galadhion looked up.

“Why are you actually awake? I’m sure you were not wandering the halls just to speak with me,” he said looking at his brother intently.

Saeron sloshed the liquid in his glass around and after some hesitation he looked up.

“No. I felt guilty after our….fight… and seeing Adar so downcast. I could not sleep and wandered down the corridor to go outside, but when I passed by his rooms, I heard…..”

“What?” Galadhion asked alarmed moving to sit on the edge of his seat.

Saeron swallowed.

“He was crying, Gal! I cannot remember ever seeing Adar cry. I felt so helpless and so stupid. I wanted nothing more than to apologize and comfort him, yet….”

“Thalan stopped you.” Galadhion finished the sentence. Saeron only nodded.

“After you left his office I also wanted to speak with him, but Thornil made clear to me that I should choose another time.”

Both brothers sighed in unison agreeing silently that in the morning, after they had changed into something suitable, they would visit their father and attempt to make things right.

They had to support each other. Otherwise this family, or whatever remained of it, would be destroyed.

………………………………..

Thranduil was just finishing his breakfast. His meal had been brought to his rooms, allowing him to dine in private instead of in the public hall. He appreciated the kindness, he wanted the privacy today. He had not slept at all; nightmares about the fate of his youngest haunted him when he slept and even when he was awake. He also felt the absence of his wife much more while lying in the overly large bed.

When a knock came at the door he looked up feeling irritated at the interruption. In half-an-hour court would start, couldn’t it wait that long?

Sighing while at the same time knowing that a King never had time off he called out an impatient “enter”. He was surprised to see his sons walk through the doorway. He was still angry about their behaviour the day before, but again refrained from saying anything, knowing that his grief would cause him to react badly.

Carefully hiding his emotions behind a mask of immobility he saw them coming inside the room, yet they remained near the door. While Saeron looked at him with uncertainty Galadhion was gazing at the floor. Both of them showed the signs of the previous day’s fight.

Thranduil sighed again.

“Is there something you two want to say or are you just going to stand there wasting my time?” the King said in a low tone which caused both brothers to cringe.

However it was Saeron who stepped forward, moving around his older brother. Looking directly at his father he took a deep breath.

“My Lord, we have come here to apologize. Our behaviour was both inappropriate and stupid. In future we will refrain from showing our emotions publicly and will not let our grief again interfere with our duties. We ask for your forgiveness.”

The monotone speech and the voice devoid of all emotions snapped a cord deep within the King’s heart. What had his son just said? Had he said they asked for forgiveness for showing their emotions…that they would refrain from grieving? How could it have come this far? Had he neglected his children to a degree that they felt they could no longer come to him? Had his own grief caused a rift that could no longer be overcome?

Swallowing and realizing how their family ties had been strained lately, Thranduil rose and stepped toward his sons. While Saeron looked defiantly at him Galadhion had still not raised his eyes from the floor. They both stood there immobile as if they were afraid of him. Belain! Buried in his own self-pity he had nearly pushed away that which was most dear to him the remnants of his family.

His eloquence always deserted him while talking to family members, yet he knew he must respond to his son’s words.

“Galadhion, Saeron, stop this nonsense. Of course you are forgiven. I do not want sons who will not show their emotions; even through there are some behavioural expectations of members of the royal family. Yet it would break my heart if you two would no longer confide in me. No, it is I who has to apologize to you!”

Both brothers looked at their father, shock clearly exhibited on their faces. Never before had the King admitted his faults, yet this situation was nothing they had ever experienced before.

Not knowing what to say anyway Saeron stepped closer to his father and pulled him into a fierce embrace. It had been a long time since he had last done so and he savoured it now. After releasing his second-born Thranduil extended his arms again and Galadhion moved all too willingly into the embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Adar, “Galadhion sobbed. Had I been but a few moments earlier…”

Thranduil only tightened his hold on his oldest until the sobs had subsided. How could Galadhion blame himself? He had done nothing wrong. Elarynia had not waited and the orcs had seized their chance. It was as simple as that. Yet Thranduil would still have a word with the guards from Lothlórien. How could they have allowed his wife to travel alone?

But what would this achieve? Nothing! They had already answered to Elarynia´s parents and would also have to make a full report to Lord Celeborn. No reprimand or punishment could undo what happened.

“It was not your fault, Galadhion. No one will blame you, least of all I. Do you hear me?” Thranduil asked. He waited and held his son close to him until he felt a slight nod at his shoulder.

For long moments the three elves gathered strength from one another. Grief and fear, hope and love were exchanged through their family bond. All of them relished the short moment where no pretence and no restraints were put upon their hearts.

After father and sons had composed themselves another knock sounded at the door. Thranduil closed his eyes briefly. Not a moment’s respite was granted them.

Wordlessly Galadhion turned and opened the door to see Thalan standing looking at him. If the advisor was surprised to see the royal family gathered together then he did not show it. A barely noticeable smile flittered quickly across his face as he recognized the more relaxed atmosphere.

Knowing that Thalan would never disturb him unless something really important had happened Thranduil’s stance became rigid. He was in no mood to receive more bad news. Although the talk with his sons had done him some good he still needed some time to regain some of his former stability.

The smile on Thalan´s face did not disappear. Thranduil looked at his friend irritated at his cheerful demeanour. Before he could utter his displeasure Thalan stepped into the room.

“Thranduil, boys,” he exclaimed. “I have good news. Legolas has been found. And he is alive!”

Thranduil stared at Thalan as if he had not understood what the advisor had said. Even Saeron and Galadhion needed a few moments to digest the words. Thalan waited patiently.

He had been as sceptical as the three royal elves standing before him when the warrior had stormed into his office not ten minutes earlier. The warrior had spilled out the words and Thalan had heard them and then had him repeat them again. He had wondered whether or not he had really heard correctly. Had the youngest prince truly been found - after more then four days of searching?

Thalan´s mouth had gone dry with the one question he could barely ask, yet the shining eyes of the young warrior almost made the question unnecessary.

“Is he alive?” Thalan asked with a hushed tone and the warrior nodded firmly.

“Yes, my Lord!” was the answer. “I have not seen him myself, yet the messenger reported that the Master of Imladris had already treated the prince’s wounds and that they were minor, mere surface scratches accompanied by general fright and loneliness.”

Thalan´s eyes widened. The Master of Imladris? What was Lord Elrond doing in the forest realm and how had it happened that he had found the young prince when the whole population of Mirkwood had been unable to find him for days?

Quickly gathering what sparse information he could, Thalan dismissed the warrior and immediately left his office for the king’s chambers. He knew that his King would undoubtedly ask for any news he had.

He hastened down the corridor toward the King’s apartments without delay. He wanted nothing more then to deliver the good news as quickly as he could.

Now he stood there almost looking amused as he viewed the shocked expressions on the faces of the King and his sons.

Thranduil was the first to recover. He stepped in front of Thalan. “Is it true? Where is he? I want to see him!”

Thalan held up his hand laughing.

“Thanduil I have very little information. As far as I know he is already on his way here. Lord Elrond will arrive within an hour.”

His last words he had to shout. Thranduil and his sons had already left the room. Thalan shook his head, yet his heart rejoiced. There was some light at the end of the tunnel after all.

To be continued………………………

Chapter 9:  reunion

Thranduil stood on the top step of the great entrance to his fortress and waited impatiently. A sentry had announced that the guards escorting Lord Elrond were due to arrive any minute.

Thranduil could barely restrain himself from storming out of the gates and running down the path just to save a few minutes and finally gather his youngest son into his arms again.

A brief sideways glance at Galadhion and Saeron standing beside him showed him that his older sons were just as eager to be reunited with their little brother. Galadhion was shifting from one foot to the other while Saeron tugged at his perfectly fitted tunic one more time.

Many questions raced through his mind, yet they could be answered later. The important thing was to bring his little son back into familiar surroundings and help him cope with what had happened.

Thranduil shuddered at the thought that the boy had maybe been a witness to Elarynia’s death. What damage had his little soul taken and how much changed would he be by having experienced this horror?

Hearing a whistle Thranduil redirected his gaze at the path. He had already released the spell on the great gates. Warriors, guards, citizens and servants were gathered around the entrance; word of the King’s youngest son’s return had spread quickly.

And then Thranduil could see the first riders; two warriors of the Home guard riding behind two from his royal escort. Behind them rode Elrond and next to the Lord of Imladris, an elf he would recognize among thousands - Glorfindel!

When the elves had cleared the path and were just entering the courtyard Thranduil narrowed his eyes. Elrond was clutching Legolas to his chest and the boy had his eyes closed. Thranduil´s gaze travelled to a thick bandage wound around his son’s leg. Thalan had said the injury was not severe so why were Legolas´ eyes closed?

Before the group of elves had come to a standstill, Thranduil, Galadhion and Saeron had descended the steps. Thranduil inclined his head toward the elves from Imladris.

“Lord Elrond, Lord Glorfindel, I welcome you to Eryn Lasgalen. A star shines on the hour of our meeting. My heart sings to see thee.”

The Imladris elves accepted the traditional greeting with a nod of their heads. Seeing that the King’s eyes never left the elfing in his arms Elrond made it short.

“Hail, King Thranduil. Well met.”

Thranduil stepped closer and Elrond transferred the little boy carefully into the outstretched arms of his father.

The guards meeting them halfway had already told them what had happened to the Queen and that the youngest prince had been missing until the Elves from Imladris had found him. Elrond could make a fairly good guess about the feelings that were coursing through Thranduil just now and, as always, he admired the King’s self-restraint.

Surrounded by his older sons Thranduil gently caressed his son’s cheek. The elfling slowly opened his eyes and gazed at his father. It actually needed moments until the child registered who was holding him.

“Ada?” he asked tentatively. The King’s composure snapped as he carefully hugged the lithe body to his chest. “Yes, little one, it’s me!” he breathed. Tears were falling down his cheek, soaking into the fair hair of the boy. Legolas flung his arms around his father’s neck.

A soft cheer could be heard in the formerly silent courtyard and no one minded the emotional display. The elves rejoiced along with their King.

Galadhion and Saeron also had trouble holding in their tears, yet they stood back granting their father this moment of joy.

Elrond and Glorfindel had dismounted and while Thalan ordered a stable hand and a servant to take care of their horses and baggage the two elves looked indulgently at the reunion.

As glad as they were to be able to bring the young prince home, they were equally troubled by what the tragic death of the Queen would mean for the wood elves.

Thranduil had always been a force to be reckoned with and for many centuries he had put the dark powers at Dol Guldûr at bay. Would this change now? Would the King give up his resistance? Would grief claim his will to continue standing strong against the darkness? Elrond looked at Glorfindel and saw the same thoughts mirrored in his friend’s eyes. The answer to these questions would only be known in the future.

After Thranduil had transferred the sleepy elfling into the hands of Thornil he turned back toward his still waiting guests, but not without a last look at the retreating back of the healer.

Smiling Elrond place a hand on the wood elf’s forearm. “Do not worry too much. The injury is not severe, Thranduil. He’s only tired from days of wandering.”

Thranduil nodded absentmindedly and looked at the two elves frowning. “Elrond, Glorfindel, I want to thank you for bringing Legolas back to me. I have many questions but they should wait until after you have rested. Please join me for an informal dinner tonight after you have refreshed yourselves. As glad as I am to have him back we are still in mourning and in no mood for a formal feast.”

Elrond swallowed hard. He could still barely believe that Thranduil´s wife had been killed. He did not know how the King could hold himself upright. He was not sure if he would find this strength if the roles had been reversed.

“We gladly accept your offer,” Glorfindel replied seeing how Elrond was fighting to maintain his composure. There would be time for condolences later. Thranduil nodded curtly and again looked back towards the entrance.

“Now go to your son,” Glorfindel said softly. Thranduil took a deep breath and squeezed Elrond’s and then Glorfindel’s forearm in gratitude before swiftly leaving the courtyard.

After warmly greeting the elves from the other side of the Misty Mountains Galadhion and Saeron excused themselves and hurried after their father. Elrond and Glorfindel did not mind. They understood the brothers’ desire to see their younger sibling and assure themselves that he would be alright.

The courtyard was emptying and the elves from Imladris followed Thalan inside. At least some hope had been restored to the inhabitants of Mirkwood.

…………………………………….

Thranduil looked impatiently at Thornil while the healer was examining his youngest son. He had only reluctantly handed the elfling over because Legolas had started crying the moment he had entered the palace and had not stopped since.

Despite the best efforts of a lovely young healer’s apprentice whom Legolas had liked very much in the past, he continued sobbing. Thornil had reassured him he was fairly sure that it was not pain that was making the boy cry.

The wound on his leg, while still looking red and inflamed, had been treated with skill. There had to be other reasons for the boy’s distress. Thranduil grimaced. Of course Legolas was as traumatized as everyone else and the child was using the only means available to him to release his sorrow.

Apart from the bite wound and the scratches on his lower leg the elfling had no other injuries, yet the bruises on his soul were invisible and would surely be revealed later.

After giving him a light sleeping draught Thornil handed the drowsy boy back into his father’s arms. Thranduil clutched his son to his chest and left the infirmary after thanking the healers for their efforts.

Wandering down the hallway gently holding his son to him he realized that Legolas had quieted and was now almost asleep. Thranduil felt both joy and sorrow simultaneously. The overwhelming joy at having his youngest son back in his arms was balanced by the deep sorrow that it was now his sole responsibility to raise him. His son was young and at just the age when young elves needed both parents the most.

When he reached his room he silently opened the door and smiled at the sight. Galadhion, Saeron or both had already uncovered his bed and started a fire. They had all agreed that Legolas would not be left alone until he had settled back into his home comfortably. Tonight his son would sleep with him.

After stripping off the filthy clothes he wrapped the elfling in his night pyjamas and carefully tucked him in. Legolas did not stir once. After making sure that he was sleeping soundly, he lit a candle and walked toward the door. Before he could leave, the door opened and Saeron slipped inside.

“I will sit with him until you return, Ada. I think Elrond will not mind me missing dinner.” Thranduil smiled at his son and squeezed the younger elf’s arm in gratitude before leaving the room.

…………………………………..

Thranduil pored two glasses of wine for his guests. Galadhion had already opened a new bottle and helped himself. The dinner was over and Thranduil had invited his visitors to accompany him to his private rooms.

As much as Elrond wanted to know what tragedy had befallen the royal family he also was anxious to learn the details. Until now they only knew what the young prince had told them.

After all four elves had settled comfortably into the stuffed chairs arranged around the hearth, Thranduil swirled the red liquid in his glass around before he looked up and turned slightly to face the Master of Imladris who was watching him in turn.

“Elrond, please tell me how you came to be in my woods and how you found my youngest.” He leaned forward slightly and narrowed his eyes in anticipation. Galadhion had stiffened in his chair and was listening intently.

Elrond directed a swift glance at Glorfindel but the warrior did not show any inclination to tell his part of the story. Elrond sighed and leaned back.

“We were on our way back from visiting Lothlórien. I had delivered an antidote to the Galadhrim, which is able to counter several poisons. Using it properly required some training so I travelled there to demonstrate the right procedure.”

Thranduil only raised an eyebrow. Elrond knew that the King would probably demand the new antidote for Mirkwood’s use and made a mental note to deliver the new medicine to him after the efficacy had been confirmed.

Yet the King did not ask for the new medicine, the actual situation was weighing more heavily on him right now.

Elrond took a deep breath and continued. “Heavy rain forced us to leave the path and enter the forest to seek some protection, but after we had gone several more miles the weather changed again and got even worse. We decided to search for shelter and found a cave just at the foot of a mountain. It was in that cave that we came across your son.”

Thranduil nearly choked on the mouthful of wine he had just taken. He had no reason to doubt Elrond’s statements but realized that his son must have covered a great distance while wandering alone in the forest.

When Elrond continued staring at his glass Glorfindel leaned slightly forward and looked at the King intently. “Your son reported that he and Elarynia were attacked by monsters and wolves.”

While Galadhion inhaled sharply Thranduil closed his eyes in horror. He had hoped that his wife had somehow managed to hide the boy before the attack but obviously he had been forced to witness it all.

“He told us that your wife had urged him to run and hide which he obviously did. Thranduil, you have a very brave little elfling,” Glorfindel continued, deliberately trying to soften the horrible truth. Thranduil smiled thinly, yet he accepted the intended comfort nonetheless.

“He was worried that you would be mad at him for getting lost!” the warrior continued after taking another sip.

The King shook his head incredulously. “Silly child…” was all he muttered under his breath.

Elrond suddenly raised his eyes. “Thranduil what happened with Elarynia? Why did the orcs have a chance to attack her and your son and how was it possible that she was...killed?” The healer nearly choked as he said the last word. It seemed so unbelievable, so pointless.

“It was my fault,” Galadhion said softly and Elrond turned to look aghast at the younger elf. He realized that his question had sounded like an accusation.

While the King said nothing, Glorfindel was narrowing his eyes as he gazed at the younger elf. “How could it possibly be your fault, Galadhion?” he asked calmly, his eyes never leaving Tranduil´s son.

Galadhion looked up but gazed at an imaginary spot on the opposite wall. “I was supposed to escort my mother back to the palace, but when we arrived the gathering point the orcs had already attacked. They had given her a deadly wound and Legolas was missing.”

Glorfindel was shaking his head. “But where were the guards from Lorien? They should have…”

“Yes they should have waited,” Thranduil interjected. “They did not, because my wife deemed it safe to travel alone in the forest.”

After the angry words had left his mouth the King lowered his eyes. Again his fury over Elerynia’s mindless decision had overruled his better judgment.

Elrond and Glorfindel had looked at one another, shocked. The whole tragedy had now become clear. So often in their lives they had been forced to accept tragedy because no one had been in position to intercede. But in this case the death of the Queen could so easily have been prevented.

Elrond could well understand the anger of his fellow ruler. He had also often been called overly cautious when it came to the security of his wife and children. This horrific example clearly showed him that he could never be too cautious.

The three Elf-lords talked long into the night but no words could take away the pain or sorrow that was now residing in Mirkwood.

When Elrond and Glorfindel finally departed the next day they hoped that the King of Mirkwood would learn to cope without his queen. Elrond prayed that he would never experience what his long-time friend had to endure. He could not have known that a similar experience would be awaiting him in the not too distant future.

To be continued………..

Chapter 10:  back at the present

Legolas was ripped from his memories when the door to the sitting room closed with a thud. Irritated he looked around and noticed that his father had left the room.

He looked at his older brother. “Adar left to compose a letter to express his condolences,” Galadhion explained, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Legolas only nodded. Someday in the near future they would have to travel to Imladris to give their personal regards. He did not look forward to that day. He knew how little meaning the words would hold for the grieving family members. The words of sympathy were more of a burden than a relief.

Again his own painful memories came unbidden to his mind. Back then he had been much too young to understand what was going on around him. Between one day and the next his comfortable and predictable world had vanished. Even worse, it had changed into a world of sorrow and grief. For a long time afterward laughter and joy were absent within the palace and all elves treated their king carefully either out of respect or from fear that they would cross a line.

Back then he could not understand why his beloved Ada had looked at him with different eyes. From the day he had been returned to his home he had never been allowed to stray far from the palace or out of his father’s sight. A caretaker had always been around him.

His sleep had been haunted by nightmares. Again and again he saw the orcs attacking his mother and afterwards he experienced the utter fear of being lost in the dark forest. His Ada had come to comfort him almost every night until his cries had finally subsided to mere sobs and he had succumbed to utter exhaustion.

Today he still felt guilty because he knew that his father had driven himself unrelentingly, nearly destroying himself in caring for a child who could not understand why his beloved mother was no longer there.

When the night terrors had finally lessened Legolas had shifted into another stage of grieving. For weeks on end he had become cantankerous, annoying and noncompliant. Everyone around him had been kind and understanding until finally a day had come when his father could take no more.

From the day’s beginning Legolas had kept throwing one tantrum after the other, refusing to eat or even heed the simplest of advice. He had not only brought his nurse to tears but also the cook, and even Thalan had been at a loss about how to placate the upset child.

At the midday meal he had refused to eat anything cook offered him and had even purposefully tipped over a bowl of soup. In the afternoon he had hidden in a storeroom, well aware of the frantic attempts to find him and only laughing at his father’s herald who had finally looked at the right place and found him.

When he had been brought to Thranduil´s rooms and asked about why he had exhibited such bad behaviour he had glared at his father and advised him to look after his own business.

Raising his hand Thranduil had slapped him. For long moments both elves had looked at one another in utter shock until Legolas sprang to his feet and raced out of the room his hand pressed over the red patch on his cheek.

He had run to his rooms and cried himself to sleep. Later his older brother Saeron had come to take him to dinner. Neither Saeron nor Galadhion commented on the earlier incident. At dinner Legolas had looked questioningly at the empty chair where his father usually sat. After asking Thalan where his father was the advisor had only said that the King did not feel well enough to attend.

Legolas did not understand the statement but he was not allowed to see his father for two full days. This didn’t really improve his behaviour because as young as he was he was acting on his unspoken fear that his father would give in to grief and succumb to fading.

Two days later Thranduil had reappeared in public as well in his personal life and neither of them had ever commented on the incident, but since that time Legolas had shared a different relationship with his father.

He thought if he was asked today, he would have to say that their relationship was better then ever before. The frightful experience and his fears for his only remaining parent, the foundation of his short life, had pushed the youth to grow mentally strong. He had quickly learned that even his strong father had his limits and that he would do well to heed them.

Over the next few years life had returned to normal, at least for the population of Mirkwood. The elves still missed their beloved Queen keenly, yet as it always was with the routines of daily life, everyone became used to her absence.

Thranduil had also learned to live with the hole in his soul and had never allowed anyone, not even his sons, to have a look into his inner self. He was functioning well, almost as good as before, and he would never again let his feelings rule his mind.

The loss of his wife and his change in manner afterward had brought Thranduil the dubious reputation of being a stern, unyielding, greedy and unreasonable ruler.

Legolas smiled sadly at this. His father was anything but stern and none of the other attributes fit either, yet the King didn’t do much to change his image. Fortunately as the years came and went the three brothers and their father had grown closer together, forming a sturdy and well functioning unit.

They still missed their mother greatly and sometimes the feelings became overwhelming, yet they had learned to live with the emptiness.

Legolas shook his head. It had not always been and still was not easy to be the son of a King, especially the son of Thranduil. But he wouldn’t trade places with anyone else for anything in the world, he thought.

These days they managed their lives perfectly. Maybe their experience would allow them to offer some advice to a newly grieving family which was now standing at the beginning of a long and painful future.

The end