===========================================================

A/N:  The beginning of the chapter has much angst in it.  Although the Eldar are blessed with immortality and they feel much more intensely than mortals do, these very same qualities are their burden.  Thus, I imagine Thranduil to be at once a loving father, happily surrounded by his children, and a pensive husband who ever mourns the loss of his wife.  This is representative of the lot of the Eldar on middle earth, but worry not, Thranni still has much more rejoicing to do!  Things will cheer up!

===========================================================

*How does he do that,*  Thranduil pondered.  *He is elf after all, but I must admit he is  tortuously gifted in the art of disappearance and stealth!  I fear Rainiel was too thorough in her lessons to her brother.  Ai, and Laurenor was no better, sneaking Legolas out without my permission when he was but Lotórie’s age*  Thranduil, chuckled, his children had faced many difficult times, but their love of each other was the beacon that allowed Thranduil to endure the harshest of sorrows. 

Thranduil paused, stepping back from his balcony that overlooked the large entrance foyer, and turned into the interior of his study.  It was a large room, filled with precious books, placed on oak shelves that were carved to resemble vines climbing the walls.  Rich silk tapestries depicting the seasons hung on the walls, along with portraits of his family, which helped to soften and cheer the stone walls.  At one end of the study, near the door that headed into the palace, was his large mahogany desk, which had papers, books, and other items strewn across it.   Maps of Mirkwood with notes and figures on them were placed on silver easels that were easily transportable.  At the other end, the floor was decorated by a large rich rug which had woven into it scenes of deer leaping amongst the great beech trees of his realm.  The deep earth tones of the rug were flanked by comfortable floor pillows, which picked up on the tones of the rug, in their sturdy silk construction.  But this area was left open, for certain little ones to come in and enjoy the space while the king was working.

He looked at the objects that had collected over the ages.  Some were merely functional, but others were wholly sentimental.  He surveyed the room with a wistful longing, too many of those objects reminded him of his wife.  In these moments, Thranduil understood that immortality could be more of a burden than a gift.  He remembered the time just following Nyére’s untimely death.  He had wished for death, the curse of the mortals, but Thranduil imagined it was a gift for it parted one with the sorrows of living.  A deep ache that he held at bay began to rise in his chest.  He still longed for Nyére’s touch, for her sweet laughter, and her wise counsel.   

*I too could have faded when you passed, meleth nîn , but our children’s resiliency has proved strong, and my promise to you has been kept.  I hope that I have been the father you hoped I would be Nyére.  I hope I have been the king you knew I could be.  Indeed, so many of our kin have left these lands.  This age is one that shall be remembered with sorrow by the Eldar.  We are leaving these shores, and all the beauty we have witnessed and helped create will fade, and yet even for those of us who tarry, the shadow has increased, and the fires of malevolence are rekindled…*

It was the third age of middle earth, and it was a sad time for elves, for the third age was witness to the fading of the Eldar.  The year was 2968, although years were not so keenly paid attention to by elves, yet this year felt heavy with importance for Thranduil.  It was as if some promise had been born somewhere on Arda.  He felt comforted by these feelings of hope.  Thranduil paused, and remembered that the begetting time of Legolas was conceived with such a feeling.  He walked towards a shelf which held all sorts of almanacs and calendars which he had collected over the years, letting his hand trace the various leather bound works.  They came from almost every conceivable corner on middle earth, representing most cultures that had come and gone through the ages.  And yet the year was 2968 of the Third Age.  The previous years had been full of evil happenings from Sauron declaring himself openly and sending Nazgul to Dol Guldur to the fires of Mt. Doom being rekindled again.  But hope was to be found in this time, yes hope!

“Lost in thoughts and memory again Adar?”

Thranduil turned to the door that stood open behind him, and spoke as if a weight had been lifted, “Rainiel, sell nîn , you are a pleasant interruption!”

“Why thank you Ada,”  Rainiel laughed, “I had a feeling you needed some of *my* company.  After all, I am your favorite daughter.” Rainiel danced over to Thranduil twirling her arms about, mimicking a popular dance, and fell into her father’s arms.

Thranduil teased, “Rainiel, you are my *only* daughter!” 

Thranduil took one of his eldest child’s hands and twirled her around, bowing deeply before her.   Raising his head, and cocking his eyebrow, he playfully added, “And one of you  is enough!”

Rainiel placed her hand under her father’s chin, bringing his face up to face hers.  “But I am still your favorite daughter,” she jokingly whined. 

Rainiel took his hand, and whirled herself out from him, extending her free hand in an exaggerated dance pose, while holding on to his extended hand.  She then whirled herself in, back into her fathers hug, and whispered softly, “I love you Ada.”

Thranduil’s laughing faded, and he replied, “As do I, as do I.”

“See I told you Rainiel, father only loves himself.”

Father and daughter turned to find Legolas leaning against the door, arms crossed against his chest, sporting a smug smile.  Before either could say anything, Legolas continued, “and you my dearest sister are *only* his favorite daughter.  I am his most favorite of children.”

Rainiel glared at her little brother, and quickly found a book from her father’s desk to throw at Legolas.  Luckily, Legolas anticipated just such a move, and dove into Thranduil’s study.  Rainiel, not to be out maneuvered, already held a glass of water in her hand and dumped the contents on Legolas’ head, who was sprawled out on the floor. 

Rainiel retorted, “Oh Legolas, such the fine warrior!  Look at yourself, spread upon father’s floor like some silly dwarf who has had too much ale!”

Legolas’ hair was soaked, and he sprung up and grabbed his sister by the waist, tossing her over his shoulder.  “We shall see who wins this battle,” Legolas shouted.

All the while Thranduil looked upon his youngest and oldest child with much amusement and thought to himself, *All I need is for Laurenor to appear and join in this ruckus.*  Just as these thoughts crossed his mind Laurenor appeared.

“What’s going on, why is Rainiel shrieking?” Laurenor asked seriously, but as he entered the busy study, he saw the reason for Rainiel’s shrieking- Legolas was madly spinning her around.  Laurenor was the middle child, a bit impulsive, and as elves go, he lacked some common sense.  He stood motionless, a bit perplexed by his siblings follies.   Thinking to himself that he should probably move soon, Laurenor was slapped across his cheeks by Legolas’ wet hair.

Rainiel screamed at Laurenor through fits of laughter, “Legolas said that HE is father’s favorite… and, and that your only saving grace is your daughter!”

Legolas suddenly flipped Rainiel upright, releasing her, and letting her sway around with dizziness.  “I did not say that Laurenor,” Legolas pleaded.  ”Well, I did not say that part about Lotórie, but I am father’s favorite you know!” Legolas sputtered through sudden bursts of laughter. 

“Oh you are now Legolas,” Laurenor countered. “Well let’s just see how favorite you are.  Ada--” Laurenor cried to his father, “who would you rather have move to Lothlórien, me or Legolas!”

“Not fair Laurenor,” Legolas cried out, “you know father will choose you because he wouldn’t want Lotórie to be far from him!  Isn’t that right Ada!--- Ada?”

When Thranduil didn’t respond, all three of his children turned to look at their father, and found him sitting in his desk chair, crumpled up in a fit of silent laughter.  Tears were running down the king’s cheeks so full was his enjoyment.  Thranduil motioned to his children to stop speaking, and finally muttered, “Please stop, all of you, you are making me hurt with laughter!”

The three siblings glanced at one another and all at once ran to their father, smothering him with hugs.  Rainiel ended up on Thranduil’s lap, Legolas and Laurenor, crowded around the king’s shoulders, and the three kissed the King like starved birds pecking at new found food. 

Thranduil waved his arms around, trying to untangle himself from his children.  His voice echoed with a mock scolding tone, “Rainiel, you are over 2,500 years old, and you Laurenor follow closely.  And Legolas, you are over 16oo years old, yet you all behave like elflings!”

The three adult nymphs looked at their father with solemn faces, but all, including their father, broke into a hearty laughter.  Such were the moments that Thranduil was blessed with, and they were many indeed, for although the shadow clung around them, and all were adults burdened with the troubles of the world, they had each other and the joys they refused to surrender.