He was alone in the throne room.
His crown of enchanted, blooming flowers lay smashed and scattered across the expansive hall, the petals wilted and dead. The king sat slumped on the stone dais, leaning against the large, wooden throne, his head buried in his hands. Tears did not, would not fall.
His wife, oh his dear wife... was dead.
He felt empty; already hollow at her absence. He had yelled himself hoarse at first, but all of his rage and pleading to the Valar would not bring her back.
She was gone. She was gone before she could even meet their son.
Their son!
The thought of the newborn managed to bring Thranduil out of his numb state. In the events that surround the birth, it had not even really registered that he had another son. The elven king was horrified at the realization. He needed to see hissecondborn, to hold him, to not let him slip away so easily as his mother had.
His stiff muscles and joints cried out in protest as he quickly stood. The hours had passed without notice.
Ignoring the pain, he ran out of the throne room and through the halls of the palace. Thranduil took every shortcut and ran through every hidden passage his emotionally weary mind could remember. Pitying looks followed in his wake from the servants and guards that were milling about the palace, trying to contain their own grief at the loss of their beloved queen.
Bursting into his private chambers, Thranduil did not slow as he made his way to the adjoining nursery off of the bedroom.
In the center of the nursery, huddled around the cradle were the healer and midwife, talking quietly and taking notes on parchment. Upon his sudden entrance, they both stopped and bowed.
Momentarily breaching protocol, the healer started forward, "Your Majesty, I -"
The king interrupted, frantic, "My son." Without waiting for a response, Thranduil moved forward to peer into the cradle.
The rest of the world began to fade away the moment he laid eyes on his son for the first time. He's beautiful, he thought.
Thranduil took in every little feature and detail of his son from the smattering of hair on his small head to the perfect pointed tips of his ears to his impossibly tiny fingers and toes. There was not a single flaw in his appearance, not that elves would have any, and he also strongly doubted that any imperfection would cause the immediate outpouring of love to stop. He was perfect. And for a moment, the grieving elf was happy.
The only thing that bothered Thranduil was that his son looked so fragile. The king was afraid that a single touch would shatter the delicate body into a million pieces. He was not supposed to be born for several weeks, but the events surrounding his birth had forced the dangerous decision to bring him into the world early.
Hesitantly, he moved his right hand down and softly touched his forefinger to his son's pink cheek. Thranduil allowed a small smile to cross his face.
The midwife began to speak, but Thranduil did not pay attention to her words. His mind and heart had been instantly captured by the tiny, sleeping creature below him.
He wondered if his wife had been able to see their perfect, little creation before...
Thranduil cut off that line of thought and returned his focus to his son. He would not be the heir apparent, but the kingdom would have a second prince. His wife had been so certain that it was a boy and had only given thought to picking male names-
His name!
His son did not even have a name yet!
Thranduil thought back to the conversations he had with his wife about the babe. Her heart had been set on one name in particular...
Oblivious to her king's thoughts, the midwife continued to prattle on, "He is healthy, my lord. Word has already been sent out for a wet nurse and-"
"Legolas," he said suddenly, cutting her off.
"Majesty?" It was the healer.
Without looking up, Thranduil clarified, "His name is Legolas. Legolas Thranduilion."
Greenleaf. Son of Thranduil.
"A royal name indeed, my lord," said the healer.
"If there is nothing else, you may take your leave," Thranduil said, very much weary from the day's happenings.
The midwife and healer shared a quick glance before bowing and turning to leave.
Alone now, Thranduil gently lifted his son, Legolas, he mentally corrected, out of his crib.
Legolas did not stir in his father's arms as Thranduil moved to sit on the pale settee by the crib. Taking his eyes off of his son, he looked around the nursery. Despite the subterranean locale, the room was not dark without candle light. The architects had managed to manipulate the moon and starlight reflections from the skylight in the master suite to illuminate the area. The soft light was enough for his keen eyesight to make out the small details the in the wooden crib; the fine carving of miniature horses and elk decorated the full board enclosure.
He glanced around and spotted the various gifts from across all of Arda. Mithrandir had sent a stuffed elk; the House of Elrond had gifted a plethora of developmental toys; his mother-in-law handcrafted a few small instruments, and many throughout all of the elven realms, and even a handful of human and dwarf lords, had sent presents to the new elfling prince.
And now those gifts of joy and happiness will be given alongside the flowers of mourning. Condolences and well wishes would be flooding the realm throughout the next few months as word spread through Arda.
Oh his dear wife.
His breath hitched and tears began to fall. Holding his son secure in his arms, it finally hit Thranduil that his wife was gone. The anger and numbness were gone, only to be replaced with agonizing sadness.
He knew, objectively, that she was not gone forever. He, and their sons, would see her again when they sailed to the West. She would be waiting for them, having been rejuvenated and reborn in the Hall of Mandos.
Subjectively, that did not console him for he could not fathom being without her for so long. He was already tempted to travel west, ahead of the call, before it was truly his time to leave Middle Earth. Yet, he could not leave their sons here, alone. He also had a kingdom to care for. What would she think of him, abandoning his family and home?
Openly sobbing now, Thranduil held Legolas tighter to his chest, though careful not to harm him.
Oh how he missed her!
What was he going to do? How could he raise their son alone? He did not want Legolas to be reared by servants and tutors. How would he explain to Legolas why he did not have a naneth. Why he would have to wait hundreds - no thousands of years to meet her.
With his father's distress waking him, Legolas began to cry.
Thranduil immediately stopped his own crying in favor of comforting his son.
"Shh, do not cry, ion-nin." He leaned back on the settee. "Ada is here. "
The king continued to whisper soft words until Legolas drifted back off to sleep.
Tired himself, Thranduil couldn't help but close his eyes, telling himself he would only shut them for a minute before returning Legolas to his cradle and going to bed. Where he would call bed without his wife, he did not know, but he would only rest for a moment.
Several hours later, the healer, with a wet nurse in tow, found the king fast asleep on the settee, the prince snuggled safely on his chest.
A/N: Peter Jackson and Co. took liberties with canon; so did I.