Notes:

Category: Lord of the Rings

Author: Sadie Sil

Betas: Cecília "Kagome" Fernandez (Portuguese to English), Virtuella and Erulisse (English); Puxinette (Final Revision)

Genre: Angst/Drama/Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Legolas and Thranduil

Rating: T

Timeline: Third Age (before the War of the Ring)

Disclaimer: I didn't create any of these wonderful characters. I've just borrowed them from the Professor, devoting them all my love. Now I feel they are also a little bit mine, but I am sure the good Professor won't mind sharing them with me.

Synopsis: Legolas' patrol was attacked. Now he has some bad news to tell his father.

Vocabulary: ada: dad; ion-nín: my son

RED STAINS

The joys of parents are secret, and so are their griefs and fears.
Sir Francis Bacon

The Elven King did not wait for more details. He was furious. He grabbed the map he always used and opened it over the cold, hard wooden table.

"Where? Where were you attacked?" he demanded from the three trembling figures behind him. The elf in the middle took one hesitant step forward, putting himself beside the King. His clothes were torn and he smelled of blood and mud. All he wanted was to wash, to sit in a hot tub for precious moments, and to allow himself to cry over the death of his companions; but he could not.

"At the main entrance in the east," he answered, without looking at the map.

"Where, soldier?" demanded the King impatiently. "Be more precise! Were not you a scout before becoming a captain? Or were you given advantages because of whose son you are?"

"You know it was not so, sir!" The young elf took a deep, offended breath. He never used a different tone of voice or demonstrated indignation to his father, but he was no longer an elfling receiving an austere reprimand; he was a captain, a captain who had lost some of the elves he commanded, an elf who had lost his friends.

"Save your strength for a better purpose other than defying me!" ordered the King, with even more annoyance. He wanted precise information. Just that. Was that too much to ask?

The Prince laid his hand on the table and let his tired body count on that support for a few moments. He looked at the map in front of him, but his blurred vision kept him from seeing the small details.

"Take your hand off my desk, boy!" Thranduil ordered once more, rubbing his face with both hands. "Can you not see the state you are in? I can barely stand you beside me!"

Legolas obeyed, moving back a few steps instinctively. He knew he was not fit to be near anyone, much less the King, but his father had not allowed him to leave since he had arrived, asking numerous questions over and over.

"Where do you think you are going?" asked the King, watching as his son moved away from the table.

"I…" The Prince wanted to respond, but his father did not look at him. Thranduil was so focused on his green map, on those roads that were once free and now no longer were, that he did not even bother to look at the elves more closely. If he had looked at Legolas even once, he would have seen that his son was not just hiding a broken heart, he would have seen that Legolas was hiding an injury as well.

"Tomorrow," Thranduil said, no longer waiting for the answer to his previous question. "Tomorrow morning at dawn, another group will be sent out to the site. The eleven elves of Alagos' patrol shall go. And it would be better for you to have more answers for me, Captain!"

"No! Not Alagos' group," Legolas said suddenly, cringing inside at the demanding sound of what he'd meant as a request.

Thranduil took a deep breath and turned to his son, giving him a harsh stare that at the same time warned Legolas of how short the King's patience was.

"Let me go," said the younger elf, lowering his eyes and turning his gaze away from his father's, whose eyebrows were curved in a question. "I know the way better than Alagos does."

Legolas knew it was a suicide mission. The number of enemies in the region being overtaken was sufficient evidence that the elves had no chance. He wanted to tell the King that he should forget that place and worry about keeping a closer boundary now. But Legolas knew he was not thinking anything Thranduil had not already thought of. He was sure that his father, with all his experience, already knew the territory was lost, even before his son could translate the problem into words. However, Legolas also knew his father's stubbornness, and that the King would not accept the loss, would not accept an even closer border. But they were running out of options.

Thranduil looked for the first time into his son's eyes, but the sudden impatience of the elves behind the archer caught his attention. Those soldiers, who were not part of the patrol that would go to the area the following day, did not seem satisfied with their captain's proposition.

"What is going on?" Thranduil asked, looking into both pale faces that were attempting to shrink back unnoticed.

"Nothing!" said Legolas, his gaze seeming to bore into the soldiers, who lowered their eyes and trembled, as if they were surrounded by wolves.

Thranduil tried to mask his impatience and, in doing so, calmed somewhat. He finally saw that the younger elves' clothes were in no better state than his son's. They were exhausted and could hardly stand. Their legs shook, their faces were even more pale than usual and they seemed out of breath, their slightly opened lips seeking air, which seemed in short supply.

"Are you hurt?" he asked them both.

"No," answered the Prince, before the others had a chance to respond. "They are just tired, my lord. Let them go."

Thranduil was uneasy with those words, not liking to be told what to do. But Legolas was right. There was no reason to keep the poor soldiers in the office, after they had faced flames of an evil so deep. They deserved to rest.

"Go," Thranduil said, looking at them fondly. "Your King is proud of what you have done. I know you did the best you could. Go rest and recover. Other battles will come."

The two elves smiled slightly. They knew their King very well and understood why he was always so austere. Even though they were sometimes intimidated by their leader's short-tempered reactions, they loved him with all their hearts. But at that moment, the soldiers seemed worried about something else. Legolas turned his head toward them and nodded, reinforcing his father's order and leaving his friends no other choice. The two then bowed briefly and left.

Thranduil, by whom nothing passed unnoticed, was nervous about that exchange of looks, about that mystery.

"What are you hiding from me?" he asked, looking straight at his son and taking one step toward him.

Legolas turned his face and bowed his head.

"Nothing, my lord," he responded, closing his left hand nervously. The right hand rested upon his green tunic.

Thranduil became even more impatient. He wanted to grab his inflexible child and shake him until he told him what was wrong and stopped making a fool of him. But the attack, that turbulence of unexpected happenings, required much more of his attention. He'd have to wait to censure his son's stubbornness and immaturity.

"Alagos will go!" Thranduil repeated, turning back to the map and laying one finger on the area of which he spoke.

"Let me go, Ada!" Legolas insisted, unconsciously letting his formality slide.

"But for Ilúvatar's sake! What is wrong with you?" Thranduil shouted at his son angrily, moving toward him.

Legolas instinctively raised one hand.

"Are you trying to enrage me?" Thranduil asked. "Do you think I cannot get any angrier than I already am? Because I assure you, I can."

"No, sir." The younger elf defended himself from behind his palm. "I just think it would be more advisable for me to go. As I said, I know the place."

"Then, by all Valar, show me where this place is!" the King demanded, pulling his son by the arm toward the desk again and making him face the map.

To keep from upsetting his father further, Legolas quickly, laid his index finger on the map where the tragedy had taken place, and a strange red stain formed over the spot where his finger had touched.

Thranduil frowned at seeing the place where his soldiers had been killed, as it lost its normal green aspect, reddening as if the map itself wanted to picture what had happened. Blood of his soldiers. Blood of those he loved.

Thinking of that, Thranduil turned quickly, while his son moved away, afraid. Legolas' eyes were fixed on his father's, analyzing every single reaction. Had he discovered what Legolas didn't want to reveal?

"Forgive me, my lord." Legolas laid a hand on his tunic again. "It was not my intention to damage your document. I was at war and have not had time to bathe…"

"Are you hurt?" came Thranduil's serious question. Legolas backed away until he stood against the wall. There was no way to fool such an astute elf.

Legolas shook his head in denial, but did not look at the King. To tell untruths to his father was a difficult task, but doing it using words was impossible.

"Do – not – lie - to me!" the King insisted, each word he said punctuated by a step closer to his son.

Legolas closed his eyes and finally let his body take support of the wall behind him. Thranduil firmly grabbed the wrist of the hand the younger elf had been keeping against his tunic; he moved the fabric away, revealing a wound that, even protected in bandages, was indeed serious.

"Do not send Alagos, sir. I beg you," was the only sentence Legolas could form, as he continued to face his father.

"Do not send Alagos?" Thranduil repeated. "Sure," he confirmed, ironically. "Instead of that I will send a wounded captain who, if he reaches the place alive, will not remain on his feet for even a single battle!"

"I will be recovered by tomorrow, sir," Legolas said, trying once more. "It is not as bad as it looks."

"Enough, Legolas!" said Thranduil, whose patience had finally reached its limit. He gripped the wrist he held even tighter. The pain was sharp, but Legolas had no intention of confronting his father. "Can you explain to me what insanity makes you issue this request?"

The archer looked then to the hand holding him and realized that there was no other way but the truth.

"Alagos has no brothers, sir."

"And what is the relevance of this?" The King brought the wrist closer to him, making Legolas approach even nearer to the gaze that seemed to sense his every thought.

"His parents, my King…" he continued, using all formality possible, so that his father did not feel challenged at any time. "They will miss him terribly, if they lose him."

"But who said he will die, silly child? Alagos' group is as good as yours, and those dark creatures will not have the element of surprise on their side."

Legolas let go of the breath he was holding, not accepting the situation, and uncomfortable with what he was about to say.

"Alagos will have no chance. They will all die. There are just too many orcs. Many more were arriving when we left. That region is lost."

After saying those words he closed his eyes, waiting for the impact of that information to hit the King. But a silence came, instead of the turbulence he had expected.

Legolas reopened his eyes slowly and noticed the King gazing upon him sadly. Few were the times in his life when Legolas had seen that look. It was frightening. He would rather see his father angry, his large steps ringing through the halls, yelling at his elves, than see him as he was now.

"I am sorry, my lord." He could not hold himself anymore. The loss of his friends, those he had not been able to protect, was a terrible pain, but added to the sadness and the bitterness noticeable in his father's expression, it was unbearable. Tears rolled down his face.

"Sorry?" Thranduil repeated in a shallow voice.

"I could not… We tried to defend the place, we tried with all our strength, but the wounded were too many, and we were in small number. I tried to lead them the best way I could… I tried…

But he could not continue. Thranduil let go of his wrist and raised one hand, warning he wanted silence now. Legolas shut his eyes and tried to obey. His body shook and his vision was darkening slowly. He was starting to feel the weakness and tiredness taking over. When those feeling were getting intolerable, he felt strong arms embracing him. His father had picked him up and was carrying him.

"Call Faernestal! Call the healer, quickly!" Thranduil yelled, while ascending the staircase ahead, with his son in his arms.

"Forgive me, Ada," Legolas whispered. In his mind the King, his face growing faint , seemed to continue to look at him sadly. "Please, forgive me. I am sorry. I tried."

"Shh, rest now," came a voice through that misty vision.

"Ada…"

"Sleep, you won't recover unless you rest."

But Legolas did not want to obey. He needed to open his eyes, needed to know if his father hated him. The face in front of him came slowly into focus as he tried to understand his surroundings.

"Close the curtains, please," said the voice again. Legolas could see the silhouette before him wave to somebody and the one out of Legolas' view satisfied the request. The place was taken by almost total darkness, but the Prince could identify the figure of Faernestal, the royal family's healer, because of the light coming from the lit fireplace. "Drink this," said the healer, offering him a strange liquid in a silver mug. Legolas turned his face, confused.

"Where is the King?" Legolas asked.

"Drink, my Prince," insisted the other, coming again with the mug and receiving another refusal.

"Let me handle it." Into focus came the face of the one who had closed the curtains. It was Thranduil. He took the mug from the healer's hand and approached the bed. "Is this all he needs right now, Faernestal?" he wanted to know.

"Yes, my lord," said the experienced healer, an old friend of the King and even of Oropher, Thranduil's father. He had known Legolas since childhood. "He needs to sleep, but he cannot stay on his own. When you are about to leave him, sir, please call me."

"I will do so," Thranduil promised. "I thank you, mellon-nín," he continued, watching the elf leave and closing the door behind him.

Thranduil then sat on the mattress, near his son, but did not look him in the eyes. He raised Legolas' head and brought the mug toward his son's mouth.

"Drink," he ordered.

"Ada..." The younger elf's voice was a lament, while he sought his father's gaze.

"Drink and sleep. Come on now!"

"Forgive me."

Thranduil sighed and rested his son's head on the pillow again.

"We tried. They…" Legolas attempted to explain.

"I do not wish to hear anything else of this subject," Thranduil said, turning his gaze to the curtains, which were waving slightly with the breeze.

"My lord..."

"You do not understand anything in this confusing life of yours, do you Legolas?" demanded the King, looking suddenly to his son. He was determined to talk about what bothered him.

Legolas' mouth opened and he frowned slightly.

"Were you going to take Alagos place? Wounded? In a suicide mission?"

"I did not think I could convince you, my lord."

"Convince me?"

"That we did not have a chance."

"We? We, Legolas? There were no we. You had no intention to be part of any patrol. You decided to take Alagos' place by yourself."

"He ought not to die."

"And you?" the King asked, incredulously.

"They only have him... His parents... They love him so much… You know that, sir…"

Thranduil closed his eyes and shook his head hard, only to open them again and stare at the elf in the bed.

"What of me?" he asked, for he could see his son's surprise at his question. "Am I not your father? How many children do I have?"

"The entire realm…" answered the Prince bitterly, using the words his father always did, looking toward the sweet movement of the green curtains as well.

Thranduil laid one hand on that young face, making Legolas meet his gaze.

"You gave me a wrong answer again, " he said, biting his lip. Legolas could not see if there was hate, sadness or emptiness in that gaze. "I only have you, who give me more trouble than an entire realm," he completed with words he wished would sound ironic, but realized too late that they sounded harsh.

Legolas closed his eyes, feeling the touch on his face and a hiccup escaped his throat. It had been a long time since his father had touched him.

"I love you, Ada," he said, feeling his eyes tearing up once more.

Thranduil closed his eyes and shook his head; it was so hard being a father, harder than being a King. But being both, a King and a father, was the hardest task in the whole of Middle-earth, especially in conflicting times. He held his son's head then, thinking that, besides already being a warrior, and an excellent one, Legolas was still too young; too young to understand some important things. He brought the mug to his son's lips one more time.

"Stop growing attached to words," he simply said, forcing him to drink from the mug. Legolas lowered his eyes with sadness and silently obeyed. "There is no room for words here in Mirkwood, only for actions and fights," completed the King, laying his son's head back on the pillows. Thranduil watched the Prince's lips part slightly in a whisper. Legolas closed his eyes.

A smile broke the King's face when Legolas fell asleep. He then leaned over and kissed his son's forehead, caressing the young elf's eyebrows with his fingertips, enjoying that rare moment. "I love you too, ion-nín," he said, with his lips close to the Prince's ear. Legolas sighed out a small whisper as he heard the declaration. Thranduil felt the hot breath of his son, and his heart calmed with that certainty of hope and life.

Thranduil then rose and moved away to look over the map he had asked one of his elves to bring there. He sat at the bedroom desk and thought back to what had happened. He saw the lost region once more, now stained with his son's blood, and silently thanked Ilúvatar for not having required more blood from his son than that amount. Thranduil felt a cold sensation run up his spine at the thought of what had fortunately not happened. He then looked at his son fast asleep and smiled a sad smile, taking the quill and tracing down the limits of a new frontier they would start defending the next day.

"May Ilúvatar help us a little more, child," he whispered, turning his gaze to the sleeping figure nearby. "And may our days be different."

However, in his worry Thranduil did not realize that something was already changing. There he sat, looking at the map as he did all days, but he was not in his chambers now; neither had he any intention of moving from that spot. Not at that moment, not until he was sure his son was able to fight again, to face the battles bravely as he did that day, as he had been doing for a long, long time.

The End