A/N: There is no canonical date for Legolas' birth so I have gone with the idea that he was born around probably around 1050 TA.

Mirkwood, approximately 1090 TA

Thranduil rode up to the gate to his Halls within his woodland realm.  He had needed to get out amidst the trees and lose himself for a few days and allow the forest to soothe his worrying soul.  His beloved Lasgalen had left a week before to visit Imladris.  He had not wanted her to go, for there had been a foreboding in his heart, but in the end the journey was necessary.  She did not go lightly, but she traveled to see her cousin before she took ship for the West.  Therefore he sought the comfort of the forest.  It had worked in great measure and he was returning renewed in spirit.  Riding through the main gate though, Thranduil immediately sensed something was not right within his realm.  Everything seemed in order and yet within his bones he felt the disorder of the moment.  He dismounted quickly and tossed the reins of Lirion to the attendant at the gate, “Tenon, take him to the stables if you would.”  Tenon, head bowed, hand on heart to his King, lead the magnificent white stallion to the stables.

He walked purposefully to his main audience flet, he was greeted by the somber, grieving eyes of his eldest son, Celebren.  The foreboding stole once again across his soul.  His eldest's words followed, confirming all that he had feared.  A reality that crept upon his heart chilling it by degrees.

A rider, bandaged and exhausted, was speaking, but Thranduil did not hear.  The words had no meaning.  He was handed his beloved Lasgalen's cloak.  He looked down at the remembered color of beautiful emerald green silk and fur, grasped in his slightly shaking hands, the rich color that paled only in comparison to her eyes.  He saw blood on the collar and on the hem.  It is was the only spot of color that he was aware of in this moment.  Everything else paled; everything else receded to background, into the cold color of nothingness.  He looked around trying to find substance, meaning in anything.  He stared at his son, Celebren, oldest and heir, he thought distantly, his strickened face barely impressing itself onto Thranduil's consciousness.  He looked down to his hands again and the only color he saw was the red of Lasgalen's blood on the stained cloak.  He knew he should be enraged, but he felt nothing except a numbing coldness growing.  Lasgalen was his light, she was his life, her warm glow had lit his heart and now she was ripped away from him without warning and had taken all warmth with her.  The cold void left within scared him.  Feeling more lost than he had ever felt in the thousands of years of his existence, he simply stared through the rider who was still speaking unintelligible words.  He knew that something was expected from him.  He waved his hand and they bowed to take their leave.  Something said had slowly worked its way into the frozen pathways of his mind and as they moved to go, he heard himself say, "What of Legolas?  What of my son?"

Concern crossed Celebren face, as he had just finished speaking of Thranduil's youngest moments ago, but apparently the King had only just realised what had been said, "He has gone,” he repeated, “We do not know where, my King."

Thranduil looked down upon his oldest, the numbness replaced by the cold sweat of fear.  He tried to focus on the words being spoken, desperately trying to hear past the deafening roar in his mind.  His elfling, his precious elfling missing, possibly taken.  He stared unblinking, desperately trying to think upon what was being said but he could not.  He turned to his son, eyes empty and bereft.  He heard his son say, "We will find him."  Those words fell upon his heart and lay there trying to find fertile ground to root themselves in hope, futilely.

"Leave me." he managed to choke out the words.  He could bear no one's company.  Not now.  His son placed a hand on his arm, it was meant well but his comforting touch almost succeeded in splintering apart the fragile grip Thranduil had on his sanity at the moment.  One kind word and his soul would splinter into shards that he would be unable to reassemble. "Go!"

He heard footsteps receding and then silence.  He tried breathing past the ragged and frozen shards of his heart.  Every breath was painful.  He sat on his woodland throne surrounded by surpassing beauty and yet he saw nothing but black.  He managed to draw breath, one after another that slowly became sobs while clutching the silken green cloak stained red, holding onto to it as if it were a lifeline, because it was.  It was an anchor upon which to grasp and keep the icy fragments of his shattered soul from flying apart.  Unwillingly he remembered their last spoken words as brittle tears followed the sobs, falling on silken green and dried red.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A week before…

“Do not go this month, Melldanya!  There is an ill-favour in the air and I would ask that you postpone your journey.” Thranduil was referring to the trip to Imladris to visit with her cousin, Celebrian that Lasgalen would depart for on the morrow.  “I can have my messenger send to Elrond that you will come next month.”

“You just do not want me visiting with the Lord and Lady.  That is why you speak of ill-tidings, my love.  I know you far too well.” Lasgalen smiled as she looked over at her stern husband and then walked over to put her arms around him.

He looked down at his petite wife.  Golden haired and smiling, he often wondered why this little ray of sunshine had decided to marry him with his foul moods and his slightly jaundiced view of the world.  He had over the centuries asked that very question, and she always gave the same answer, “Because I knew I would never marry anyone else.”  And that he was perfect for her.  To this day he did not understand, but he had learned to not question the bounty given to him by the Valar.   He knew that Celeborn and Galadriel would be in Imladris and it did not please him, but it was more than the guest list that worried him.  “It is no secret that I dislike the Lady.  But Las’ it is more than that.  Orcs have been spotted more and more since the strange habitation of Dol Guldur.”  He looked into her laughing eyes.  “You cannot go!  I will not allow it.”  He watched the laughter in her eyes turned to anger.

“You cannot stop me, I will go!  Celebrian’s letter said to come immediately and that is an end to it.  I will go now and say good night to Legolas and then I will go to bed, my lord.”  With that she disentangled herself from Thranduil’s arms and in a flutter of pale green silk she was gone.

Thranduil cursed and ran after his lovely yet stubborn wife.  She only called him “My Lord” when she was very angry.  He knew that to forbid her to go was the surest way to invoke her ire, but his worry overrode all else.  He saw her enter their youngest son’s bedchamber and was about to open the door when the beautiful sight within caught his eye, the golden hair of mother and son softly blending together.  He listened to their whispered conversation.

“Why do you have to go, Nana!”

Thranduil listened intently, “Because I must, mellion.  The sea calls to my cousin.  She can resist no longer, and I wish to see her before she leaves these shores.”

“Why does the sea call her, Nana?”

“Because she is not well, mellion.  The sea beckons and it is her hope that by returning across it she can be whole again.”

“Was it the Orcs?  Did they do this to her?”

Lasgalen looked at her young son.  “How did you know about that?”

“I heard people talking.”

Lasgalen paused, regretting that her youngest should have heard the truth in such a haphazard fashion.  Mistakenly perhaps, they had purposefully not told him, because what happened to Celebrian was not something that children should know.  She looked at her youngest and realized that he had just started first-year training to become a warrior.   He was no longer a child, no matter how much she wished to think he was.  “Yes, my love, it is because of what the Orcs did to her.”

“I hate them.”

“Shh-shh.  So do I, my love.  For they are driving away a very dear friend to me.  But now is not the time to dwell on such matters.  Now is the time for sleep.” Thranduil watched as Lasgalen smoothed her son’s brow and wove a kind of contented sleep upon him, softly singing a melody from their childhood long ago.  In a soft voice she said, “Thranduil, you can come in now.  Legolas is asleep.”

Startled Thranduil harrumphed and quietly opened the door, entering.  “How did you know I was there?”

“I heard.” She turned slightly aggrieved eyes upon her husband.  “How much did you hear?”

“Enough.  Why did you not tell me that the sea-longing had come upon Celebrian?” inquired Thranduil, aggrieved himself that Lasgalen did not trust him enough to share.

“Do not vent your ire upon me.  I did not say because I knew it would only upset you.”  Thranduil started to protest.  “I see your face every time the sea-longing falls upon one of our own people.  I would spare you that.”

Thranduil still continued to look somewhat aggrieved, but now realized that no amount of argument would stop his wife from making the appointed journey.  His countenance softened as he reluctantly gave in, “Be safe. My heart.”

“I will, I do not travel unprotected, my love.  And the reports of Orc attack are not so much taking the northern route.  I will be fine.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~

I will be fine.  His beautiful and beloved Lasgalen's last words.  Those words shred his soul.  He was not sure how long he had sat alone.  He smiled bitterly at the thought.  From now on he would always be alone.  He somehow continued to breathe but he scorned the tears shed; they were useless.  Through sheer force of will he stopped.  The only tears that remained were those that fell upon his heart.  Drop by drop he would allow his tears to encase his heart in ice, shielding it from the debilitating pain he could not afford to feel.  Legolas was missing, that would be his focus, he could not allow his youngest and last gift of his Lasgalen to fall.

~*~*~*~*~*~

A day earlier…

Legolas had overheard what the injured rider had said as he gained urgent entry to the Great Hall.  He was supposed to be at lessons, but he had to run back to his rooms for a parchment they were going to study when the rider burst onto the main audience flet, injured and bleeding.  He hid behind a side column and listened as the rider spoke fervently to Celebren, his eldest brother.  He heard the word “Orcs” and saw the immediate alarm upon his brother’s turn to one of ashen grief as he caught sight of his naneth’s green silk riding cloak.  Blood was apparent on a portion of the mantel, and then words dropped upon to his soul.  No one survived and his naneth had been taken.  The strange emphasis on the word “taken” caused Celebren’s face to change from ashen grief to horrified disbelief.  Then came the utterance that tilted Legolas’s world forever, “Died.”  “Orcs!” Legolas, even though in a whisper, spat out the word.  He hated them because they made his naneth sad and now she was dead.  Legolas, guided by forces he did not understand, went to the armory to pick his up bow, knives and sword; And he headed out to hunt those who had taken his naneth and...he could not finish the thought.  He placed one foot in front of the other, driven to do what he must.

Two hours outside of the gates of his Adar's halls he realised that he was lost.  He had never really been this far away from home before, at least not alone.  One tree began to look like another, and it was getting darker and growing colder.  He pulled his cloak tighter, which thankfully in his haste, he had grabbed before going to the armory.  He stood in the middle of a small clearing and looked up, seeing only a little bit of grayish sky beyond the tops of the trees swaying in the cold wind that was picking up.  He was beginning to think than his decision to go out alone had not been the wisest he had ever made.  Quelling panic, he stood quietly as he had seen his older brother Celebren do when he communed with the trees.  He tried to do the same thing, he stilled his mind as best he could and reached out to the trees.  At first, nothing but then something like a thought somehow not his own came to him. You should not be here!  Legolas answered back within his mind, I am lost. Can you help me?"  "The Forest does not help the foolish, little one."  Legolas started to bite his lip in real distress over what he had done.  If the trees were not going to help him, he shuddered to think what might happen.

He looked around the clearing and then decided upon a path that looked less formidable if not entirely promising.  Suddenly in that moment a gust of wind whipped up and dissuaded him from setting out in that direction.  He stood still and heard a noise as if something was crashing through the forest straight from the direction he had been about to take, Legolas quickly moved out of the clearing and into the trees.  He stilled his mind and thought, Did you just help me?  He waited but no response came into his head.  He watched and waited, and saw with rounded frightened eyes hideous creatures, hunched over, matted hair and ruddy skin.  A feeling of malevolence hung about them.  Could these be the Orcs that had “taken” his dear naneth, whatever “taken” meant.  He felt a fear and a loathing come over him.  Cold sweat broke across his brow and he knew he had vowed to kill these things, but at this moment he simply did not know how.  He sat behind the tree as quiet as he knew how to be and cursed himself for both his grandiose vision of being a hero and his present cowardice.  At this point he simply wanted to go home and be encircled by the arms of his Adar.  But he did not even know if he could find the way back to his Adar’s halls.  He sat huddled against the tree and prayed to the Valar those nightmarish creatures would not find him.  After they had gone and he was reasonably sure they would not be coming back he climbed to the middle branches of the tree and perched as comfortably as he could be as he sat huddled in the intersection of two branches and wrapped his cloak around his drawn-up knees, wind whipping around him as the cold of night fell.

Sleep did not come that night.  Every time Legolas’ eyes shut, a branch would creak or a twig would crack or a rustling of underbrush would sound and he would snap awake for fear of those creatures.  The brisk wind would blow and Legolas would shudder anew.  He wanted nothing more than to be home in his warm bed with his naneth singing to him one of her favourite melodies.  Then his heart broke anew remembering she was gone and the tears shed blew cold on his cheeks.  Morning came, Legolas watched as night’s darkness slipped away to be gradually replaced by the chill morning light.  He dropped from the tree, with slightly less grace than was usual but he attributed that to stiff muscles and the utter lack of sleep. Still he dropped lightly enough as not to raise alarm by the slight sound.

He was at a loss as to what to do.  He stood there, once again still and quiet and asked the forest, “Did you help me last night?”  And again silence, then within his mind and through the soles of his feet came  “What do you think?”  Legolas said,  “I think you did, Hannon le,” he finished humbly, hand on his heart, blond head bowed.  There was a gently swaying of the trees.  In his heart he knew the “thank you” had been received.  He knew he could not stay in one spot he had to try to find his way home.  He did not know what he would find there.  His Adar was due back today from the healing retreat among the trees that he sought; then he would find tragedy.  There would be little time to look for his wayward son.  Legolas took a deep breath, deciding that he would have to do for himself.  He started in the direction he had meant to go yesterday when the odd rustling of the trees had stopped him.  There was no such rustling at present so he decided to head in that direction, at which time the rumbling of his stomach made its presence known.  He drew out a pouch of dried berries that he always happened to have handy and he uncorked his water skin and began the small breakfast as he ventured forward, always mindful of sounds of the forest, both natural and unnatural.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that same morning saw Thranduil sitting upon the wooden throne after all had departed. He sat clutching his dear Lasgalen’s bloodied cloak. After useless tears had been spent, he sat frozen in time; afraid to move lest reality should begin again and he would have to venture through this world without Lasgalen at his side; afraid to move lest the fragments of his soul should splinter apart, never again to be reassembled.  He closed his eyes and saw Legolas, out in the woods.  Alone and in danger.  He shook off soul-destroying thoughts of tragedy.  At length, he rose and strode forth leaving his heart behind; it could only delay him in what he had to do.

Celebren saw his Adar walking forward to the assembly point for the search parties.  He walked forth to greet him and was taken aback by the look in Thranduil’s eyes.  They were dead.  No life, No spark.  Cold.  Thranduil spoke in a controlled voice, gazing upon his oldest dispassionately, “What preparations for departure have been made?” said the King of Mirkwood.

Celebren looked at his Adar, shocked that Thranduil, an Elf of great passion and fire, had now been reduced to this.  His fire had not been banked; it had been put out.  Sorrow crept into his heart that his Adar should come to this. But his King had asked and he would see it done.  “All is finished, My King.  We await your word.” Hand on heart.

“I shall attend.  Saddle my horse.”

Celebren tried to object, “My King!!  It is not--"

One flash from his Adar’s deep blue eyes, quelled Cerebren’s objection. 

Awkward moments passed between as the son and father as Lirion was readied for his master.  Finally, the white stallion was brought forth.  Thranduil gained the saddle with a learned and honed efficiency, “We ride!”

They passed through the gates of his halls and immediately Thranduil was surrounded and enveloped by the forest.  By its rhythms and its sounds.  He felt the forest within his soul, calling to him.   He belonged to the forest, it had always been thus since he and his family had ridden from the mountains to rule.  He felt the forest trying to comfort him; not understanding what he had lost, it was trying to make him whole.  He closed his eyes and lilted his head upwards, feeling the sun’s warmth and the soft music of the top branches swaying in the wind.  His retinue paused as Celebren saw his father in silent communion with the trees.  He felt it as well but the true intimacy lay between forest and king, there the bond was strongest.

Thranduil spoke within his soul, “I thank you, but my heart is beyond healing.”  He paused feeling the rustling of the leaves still trying to sing within his soul.  He smiled at the innocent attempt wishing there was a way he could respond to their kindness and concern but alas it was not possible.  “I ask only one thing, my sapling has gone missing.  Legolas has disappeared among the trees.  Can you tell where he is?”  There was silence and then, “The little sapling has wandered far.  Near to danger but we will try to keep him safe.  But you must hurry.”  Thranduil's heart thumped within his chest and fear ran through him leaving a cold sense of dread, “Hannon le...”  He opened his eyes and a gust of wind blew through the trees to the south.  He looked at Celebren, "We ride south.  We will find him." he muttered under his breath, "I just pray to the Valar, we are not too late." Celebren heard what he was sure he was not meant to hear and closed his eyes, offering up his prayers as well.  "We ride south!" he called to the retinue. 

~*~*~*~*~

Legolas was weary from lack of sleep and his nerves were stretched taunt by each noise the forest produced, fearful that those creatures were yet near.  He did not know how far he had walked through the forest or what guided his steps.  He looked up and saw crows fly overhead far above the treetops.  He wished he could fly, maybe then he would be able to see his father's halls and he could go home but alas he could not fly. He could go no further.  His legs decided that this tree trunk was a good place upon which to lean and he sank down leaning against the tree feeling the knobbly bark upon his back and the moss and undergrowth beneath his fingertips.  He leaned and reached for his water skin and drank the last of his water, the dried berries finished long before.  He slipped into sleep through sheer exhaustion and entered the land of dreams...

His naneth playing her harp and he was at her knee. "Nana!  he said, "You are here.  You are well.  They told me that you had-- had—" he could not say the words. 

"Sh-sh, my little leaf.  I am well.” She stopped strumming her harp and turned him.  They were now by their favorite stream near to his father’s halls.  “But now I remain only in your heart.  That is where you will find me." She placed her hand on her heart and then on Legolas’ own.

Legolas' eyes grew moist.  "But why Nana?  Where are you?  Why did you leave us?"

Lasgalen kissed his forehead before looking into his eyes, so like his father’s.  A gentle smile on her face.  "I did not choose to.  But it is what happened.  And it cannot be changed.” She stroked Legolas’ cheek, “I will always be in your heart, my little leaf. My Legolas…”

“Legolas!  Legolas!” The elfling awoke opening his eyes to meet the frantic eyes of his Adar who was shaking him.

“Ada!”  he burst into tears and clung to his Adar for all he was worth, sobbing, “I’m so sorry!  I’m so sorry!”

Thranduil held onto his youngest, sobs racking his own body, the icy shielding of fear and pain that had been constructed around his heart melting away as he held his son, kissing his hair whispering, “Thank the Valar I have found you!” repeatedly.

He pulled away to look into his son’s deep blue eyes, searching for any sign of hidden pain that he could see, anything of shame that might haunt his young eyes.  But blissfully, thankfully he saw nothing but innocence, sadness yes, but an innocent sadness.  He drew in a shaky breath and silently thanked the Valar for this second deliverance.  “Legolas, my heart.  Can you tell me why you are out here?”

Legolas’ lower lip starting trembling once again, “Nana…she died.  I heard them say.  It was Orcs.  Like the ones that Nana talked of.  I hated them and I thought to seek them out and kill them.”  Thranduil closed his eyes against the horror that could have happened. “but when I saw them, I got so scared, Ada!  I could do nothing.  They were so ugly and horrible looking.  I just stayed frozen behind the tree and hid.  I am a coward.” Legolas dipped his head, blond hair gleaming in the afternoon light.  “I could not avenge Nana’s death.” He whispered, young voice filled with shame.

So many emotions were raging through Thranduil that he was nearly overwhelmed.  Sadness, fear, anger, shock and pity for his son.  Pity won out as the emotion to be dealt with.  He gently lifted his son’s chin with his finger, deep blue eyes of father and son meeting, “Oh, mellion you are not a coward.” He stroked his son’s cheek, “You acted because of the love in your heart for your,” a slight catch in his voice as he thought of his beautiful Lasgalen, “for your naneth.  You showed great heart.  I am glad nothing happened, I could have lost you.  And that I truly could not have borne.”  I truly do not know how I am surviving even now, he thought.

“Adar?” Celebren paused, then continued tentatively, “We should begin home,” he was loath to interrupt the reunion of father and youngest son but he felt the need to recommend that they start their return home, now that their youngest had been found.  This part of the forest was not as safe as the forest nearer to home and it would be night soon.

“Aye, ion nin.”  When his father turned his attention back to his eldest son, Celebren breathed a prayer of relief.  His father’s eyes once again contained life.  There was sadness, questioning, even a hint of anger for interruption, but there was life.  The coldness was gone.

Thranduil smiled at his eldest son and turned his face up to the bright sun of day.  Came a musical voice into his mind, “My love, I am with you always.  Our souls remained entwined. You will find me in the Halls of Waiting.  I look forward to that day.”  His twinned heart still warmed by Lasgalen’s love, Thranduil looked back to his youngest and last gift of his beloved.  He stood and helped Legolas to his feet, “Let’s go home.”