For Love
Summary: Legolas calls himself a Silvan, not a Sindarin like his father.
This is my explanation.
Rating: PG
She was there in his earliest memories, a flash of colour that came and went, a swift motion that disrupted the calm life, one that made his mother laugh and his father smile. She always moved on the borders of his life, moving in and out of his world as she pleased.
She was like a song he heard every once in a while, one that he could always remember the melody of, but never the lyrics.
Like the sun that appeared and disappeared behind the clouds on a windy day.
After his mother died, she stayed. She did not take her place, no one would ever be able to, but at least she was able to fill the gab. A little.
Legolas loved her.
She was not mummy; he knew that. But she looked like her. Her hair was the same colour, and she had the same smell of trees around her.
Mommy was gone. She would not come back. That much Legolas could understand, though he did not see the reason behind it.
But as long as mommy's sister was with him a part of mommy would remain.
When she sang his bedtime-song and he closed his eyes and wished real hard, it was almost as if mommy were singing.
He held her hand tight.
He hid her shoes.
He kept his eye on her at all times.
He would make sure she would be with him forever.
He would make sure she would never leave.
If he could not have mommy, aunt Alagoryn had to stay.
There was no love between them, it was clear to all but Legolas. There may have been friendship and respect, but not love.
Though Alagoryn had once been the sister Thranduil had never had, the little thing he could protect, the girl he could laugh and dance with if his wife was otherwise engaged, she was now only a reminder of what he had lost. A mockery of the one he had loved.
Somehow he had the same disagreements with her as he had had with his wife, but they where harsher now, for love did not soften them. They tried to keep Legolas out of them at all times, saving their frustrations during the day, only to shout at each other when the little one had gone to bed.
She shouted at him that he was stern and lifeless, caring more about his work than his own child.
She told him he had no idea what it was like to be a father.
She told Legolas he had no idea what it was like to be a father at one point, when they had been playing and she had finally managed to get a smile back onto the boy's face, and Thranduil had shouted at them for peace and quiet.
He thought she was irresponsible. He thought she gave the boy too much freedom, made him too many promises she was not able to keep.
He could see that one day she would hurt him, his little Legolas, by one last wish she could not fulfil. He tried telling her not to do that… not to make promises she could not keep, not to…
But she shouted that she at least talked to him. She at least tried to be some kind of a parent. That she at least was not so wrapped but in her grief that she stopped living…
And he had no words to come back at her."I have to go." She said one day, out of the blue. And she went and did not come back.
All Legolas tried to stop her with was pushed aside without her noticing.
Without effort she loosened his hand.
Without effort she could find the shoes he had hidden.
When he tried to lie in front of her feet, all she did was step over him.
She did not listen to his pleas, for she could no longer.
"Legolas…" she tried to explain.
But how could a child so young understand that she felt trapped inside the palace? Trapped between the high and dark walls, trapped inside the protocol, that made all of her tears inappropriate, and all of her laughs too loud.
The walls of the palace felt like chains around her wrist, the smell of the air that hung in the underground chambers made her feel suffocated.
She was a child of the forest, a wild thing only fit to run around free. A true child of the ancient Silvan, a tribe of Avari mixed with the darkest of the grey elves that had lived deep inside Greenwood long before it had had a king.
"Legolas…" She could not find the words to make him understand, and the small child was left behind to draw his own conclusions.
In his young mind, only capable of simple problems and simple solutions it soon became very very clear.
She could not stay because she could not love him.
She could not love him because he had been too bad.
Little Legolas, keeping two terrified eyes on his only remaining parent, decided he would never be bad again.
He remembered how his father had asked for quiet when he and aunt Alagoryn had laughed too loud, and he decided never to laugh again. He remembered how his father had worried over the tears he cried, and he kept his eyes dry forever.
He transformed into a shadow of a boy, making his homework because the teachers liked it when he had his homework done, keeping his clothes clean because people liked a neat-looking boy. He answered questions only if he knew for certain what the other party wanted to hear.
"He has no idea what it is like to be a father, Legolas" Aunt Alagoryn had said. "So you cannot expect too much of him." Legolas expected nothing. He just hoped, just hoped that maybe if he was good enough, his Ada would stay.
He never ran, he never played, he never did anything that made him smile.
He waited silently in the corner until the day went by.
And Thranduil was too wrapped up in duties and grief to even notice.
Though years went by things did not change, as some grief was too sharp to fade with the passing of the seasons, there are some wounds even time can't heal.
Legolas reached the age where weapon training became a part of his everyday life, and he noticed he was good at it.
He loved archery more than anything for it was a lonely fight, a battle fought only with yourself and the wind. He loved the moment of silence before you let go of the string. That one moment before anything happened, a moment of waiting before all things fell into place.
He thought his life could be compared to such moments.
After he had won his first match he thought he could hear some pride in his father's formal congratulations. He thought he had even spotted some love inside the sad, tired eyes.
And so he practiced more. He fell asleep each night with shoulders sore from training, knowing he had done well. Knowing that maybe his father had looked out the window of his study and had smiled that special smile.
Knowing that it could have happened, dreaming that it had, the little boy was almost happy.
"My lord..?" The elf stood hesitating on the threshold, not knowing if he should come in or stay outside. He had a feeling he was disturbing the king for a trivial business, a business not worthy of the royal's attention, and yet, the man was the father of his pupil.
Some things had to be discussed.
Thranduil looked up from the endless pile of papers at his son's archery teacher. He knew the elf, he had seen him standing close to Legolas at the contests, and he had envied the way his son had listened to him. The easy way the elf and Legolas interacted.
He did not know his son was as distant and silent with others, as he was with him. The ruling of his kingdom left so little time to spend with his son, and when he did… the boy looked so much like his mother…
"Yes Sigil… speak your mind." He shoved some of the papers aside, giving the other his full attention.
The other elf was visibly nervous to be in the presence of his king.
"It's about…" he stumbled and started again. "When I have a student, a gifted student, that learns so much I can't teach him anything anymore, Sire, I send them on to the outer rim. The sentinels there, they are incredibly skilled, my lord. And they have agreed… to take such a student. And make a master out of him."
Thranduil nodded, for it was not new information. Though it was rare the archery teacher had such an excellent student, it had happened in the past. He did not understand why Sigil was here telling him what he already knew.
He eyed the pile of papers again.
"And, sire. I was thinking… Legolas…"
"NO!"
The king's attention was back at the elf speaking within a heartbeat. Not Legolas. Not the outer rim, not the Silvan.
Though they were a part of his kingdom, and a valuable part at that, Thranduil would never send his son to them. The dangers were simple too great.
"No" he repeated softly. "Legolas will never be allowed to go there."
His wife had been born there. In the outer rim, a Silvan child with Avari blood. He had never been able to tame her, no amount of love had been able to remove the call of the wild from her eyes.
She had tried.
She had tried to be a good queen; she had tried to fit herself into the protocol.
But she had not been able to stay safe behind the walls.
The forest had always called out to her, always she had longed to stay in the trees, and he had loved her to much to make her stay.
He had not wanted to be the chains that kept her down. He had failed to protect her…
But he would not make the same mistake twice.
As long as Legolas stayed in the palace he would not know what he missed.
If Legolas stayed here for the rest of his life, maybe, maybe his ears would be deaf of the call of the wild that was in his blood.
"You shall have to find another student to send to the sentinels." The king decided and the archery master complied.
Legolas knew the archery master had nothing left to teach him. What had been special when he was a child now became something all others could do, and he could not learn new things.
The prince knew he was slowly getting too old for the challenges and there was no longer much glory in his victories.
His father no longer came to congratulate him when he had won.
He tried other things to regain his father's approval.
He studied, he threw himself upon lessons of wielding the sword, something he had never completely mastered.
But mostly he tried to become one of his father's advisors, for he could see Thranduil spent so much time with them, so much of his precious precious time went into councils, and when he joined the prince was allowed to sit beside his father, closer than ever, and he could study his hands… the lines on his face… the way his voice bent.
To Legolas it seemed as if his father was a fire on a cold winter's day, and the only way the prince could be warm was to be close to him.
The king didn't even have to listen to him, or pay him attention, just to sit there, next to Legolas, close enough to touch him should Legolas ever find the courage, just that was enough.
He didn't speak during the councils, he just listened, watching his father, slowly learning to see when his father was pleased with what his advisors told him, or when he was not.
There were some matters that always returned.
The trade with the city of Esgaroth, the reports which usually pleased the king, the threat of Dol Guldur, ever growing more ominous.
And the Silvans.
They had always lived in the forest, without a king, without leaders, until the Sindarin fugitives of Doriath had come, and with them, Oropher, Legolas' grandfather, the first king of Greenwood.
It had taken him a long time to get the Silvan to accept his leadership, and it had taken Thranduil just as long, after his father's death.
Though in name the people of Mirkwood were the same, they lived separately from each other, and though the Silvan formally accepted the leadership of the king, they refused to live inside the sheltered houses Thranduil had provided and lived in the spider infested trees instead.
They were proud and stubborn and one of the members had once joked that it was them, not their stern king, that should have given Mirkwood its bad reputation in Rivendell.
His father had laughed at that.
"What they really need, is an ambassador." One of the elder advisors spoke. "Someone that could actually tell us what they want. All was well when they still had the queen to speak for them, these problems only occurred after her death."
Legolas looked at his father worriedly. Thranduil didn't like anyone speaking about the queen. It always filled his face with such hurt… He wished he had the courage to place a hand upon his father's arm…
"Well, there are no ambassadors, Eregind. They won't accept anyone who is not one of their own, and none of them are willing to stay in our stone palace. The queen and her sister were the only ones that did.
And even Alagoryn did not manage for long. We could all see that. "
Legolas wished they would stop. Couldn't they see his father did not want to hear this? Couldn't they see their words where hurting him?
"What about a half-blood then?" Eregind continued, unable to hear Legolas' thoughts.
"But there are no half-bloods! Their not mingling with us is part of the problem! Haven't you been listening all these years…!"
"What about the boy?"
"What boy?"
"THAT boy. Legolas. He is a half-blood."
Suddenly Legolas could feel all the eyes of the advisors on him, and he tried to meet their eyes, so he would seem confident. An adult. And because he did, he did not see his father's face pale. He did not hear the soft repeated 'no' from his father's lips.
And so, when Eregind asked him, if he would like to be an ambassador, he thought it was the most adult-like, the most wanted answer, so he said yes. In the eyes of all the counsellors he could see that that was what they wanted.
It was only after he had given his answer that his eyes fell on his father.
It was only after he had given his word he found out his answer had been wrong.
He waited nervously at the rendezvous-point, wishing he could go back. There was no sign of the Silvan that was supposed to pick him up.
The trees were black in this part of the forest and they had a dark feeling over them. It was hard to pick up on their voices, and when he did, he did not understand their feelings.
They were speaking of fighting, killing, freedom. Wild thoughts, so very different from the calm trees at home.
He shifted uncomfortably. There were cobwebs all over this place, and he had the constant feeling that someone, or something was watching him.
There were eyes in the dark.
"Hello?" he tried softly, there was no answer.
The prince looked around nervously and placed a hand on his sword.
'Hello?" he tried again a little louder, but he was unable to keep the fear out of his voice.
And suddenly everything happened at once.
Something heavy landed on his back, with great force and he was knocked off his horse. His sword was pulled out of his hand without effort, and a hand closed off his mouth and nose, making it almost impossible to breathe…
"Are you insane? Want to draw every spider in Mirkwood to this place? Keep your mouth shut!" someone hissed into his ear before he was released again.
"I…" he wanted to defend himself, tell the other that if he didn't sneak up on him, he needn't have called out, but he had only seconds to regain his breath before he was nearly strangled once more.
"LEGOLAS! Look at you! Oh you have grown so much, you would not believe. How are you? I had no idea it would be you they were sending, I had never thought he would have let you go, I tried to get him to let you visit… but somehow every letter I sent managed to get lost.
Aren't you going to say something?
Aren't you happy to see me?
Come on…Are you mad that I left you?" Her voice changed from overjoyed to insecure, and he wished to tell her that he was not. He would never be mad at her, but he could not speak.
He could not find the words to talk to her.
It had been such a long time ago…
"Aunt Alagoryn," he whispered. She smiled and gave him a hand to help him stand up.\
"Is that all you can say, silly? Well come on… we'll get you installed then. We have a whole room made for our ambassador, you would not believe the luxury… Come on, Rhovaron" she addressed the elf with her, the one that was now attending the horse that he had thrown Legolas off of.
She talked on during the walk, overflowing him with a waterfall of words, a thousand jokes he had not heard before, a few songs she insisted on teaching him to sing.
He didn't know what to do, or what to say, he only followed her lead. It was a situation so completely different form the silence and formal manners at home, that he was completely lost.
He liked it though.
It felt as if a warm fire had been lit on the inside of his body. It felt as if he had finally come home.
Room was too much of a word, Legolas thought as he looked around the little shelter the Silvan had created for him.
Compared to the beautiful room he had at the palace it was nothing. He could not stand up in it, there was barely enough room to place two beds in it.
"I know it is rather small compared to the palace." Alagoryn said as she placed an arm around his shoulders. "And you have to share it too, I am sorry. But your cousin is a nice girl and I have told her to behave herself. If she doesn't, just whack her in the face with a pillow, Las, she is used to that. We do it all the time. "
Legolas looked bewildered at his aunt. "My cousin?" he repeated, stumbling over his words. Things were happening a little too fast for him. The arm around his shoulder, the informal, joking ways his aunt spoke to him… he was not used to that.
He knew all the rules of courtesy, he knew how he was supposed to act in situations like this, but it seemed he was the only one here who knew it.
None of the things he had learned seemed to make any sense here.
It was as if he had entered a completely different world.
No wonder these people did not fit into his father's kingdom.
"Your cousin; my child with Rhovaron. Her name is Rosse." She grinned. "Don't worry. You will get along."
The little girl talked at least as much as her mother, though not always understandable, and within five minutes she had informed Legolas of her favourite colour, the fact that she could tie her boots all by herself, her abilities to draw little puppets and the fact that she once had had a wound on her finger, even though it was now no longer visible.
She had ordered him off the bed, stuffed a doll into his hands and informed him that they were mother and father and he would have to play along, and only seconds later that he played it all wrong and that he could not play anymore, and she would find another friend.
The doll was effectively pulled out of his arms, and the girl left the room.
Legolas closed his eyes, trying to find the silence he was used to, the silence he had known all his life.
In the palace he had ever been the only child, the children he had studied with had come and gone, but never stayed. Most of them had been older, and he had never met such a young child as this one.
He didn't know what to do.
He was sorry that he had not been able to play along like she wished it, he must have been a great disappointment to her, and he had not wanted to be.
He so wanted to do everything right.
The prince crashed down onto the bed, and tried to make sense of all that had happened in the last few hours. He tried to find some hidden code that would tell him what to do.
"Where's Rosse!" It was the panic in the voice of the elf that woke Legolas, rather than the shaking of his shoulders, and he sat up almost instantly.
"Rosse?" he repeated, not understanding, before he remembered he had a cousin now. "Oh… I… she left to find a better friend… I…" He was ashamed to admit it.
He had not been good enough.
There was more than panic in the eyes of the dark-haired elf in front of him now. He was furious.
"She left?" he repeated, and Legolas cringed. "You let a 20-year old elfling leave all by herself?"
"I… I…" Was he not supposed to? Had he been supposed to stop her? Fear flowed through his chest and he felt unable to breathe. But… he hadn't known… Nobody had told him...
"Rhovaron!" his aunt was there all of a sudden, standing between Legolas and the furious elf. "He didn't know... he grew up in the palace... it was not his fault... we should have known... it was not his fault... please... let us find her." There was panic in her voice as well, even as she tried to soothe her husband, even as she begged her husband with her eyes.
The dark-haired elf nodded and left, not giving Legolas another glance.
Alagoryn followed. "Don't blame yourself, Legolas," she said as she turned to close the door with tears in her eyes.
She turned and rushed away.
As he lay on the bed he could hear the camp come in motion, the nervous shifting of the adults, the panicked cries of his cousin's name.
Now it made sense, only now did he realize that children should not be allowed to run free in the darkness of the forest, no matter what they wanted or did or said.
Now he realized that was much too dangerous.
Only now it was too late.
And though Alagoryn had told him not too blame himself, it was still his fault that his little cousin was now missing and it crushed his heart like a stone.
He had not slept the following morning when the hunters came back empty-handed and desperate, with the little child still missing.
Aunt Alagoryn looked worse that he had ever seen her, even worse than the last days she had stayed at the palace, and he knew it was all his fault.
He should have watched Rosse, he should have understood…
And at the same time his mind rebelled against it. How had he been able to know? Why had his aunt not checked on her own child?
And Rhovaron, he looked like a fierce and strong sentinel, didn't he? So why was he staring at him in that hateful manner now? Shouldn't he have noticed his child had snuck away?
"I…" he tried speaking to his uncle. "I am so sorry…" he said hopelessly. "I mean… I wish…"
"Wishes are useless," Rhovaron snapped. "Rosse…"
And then the elf, the grown up tough elf, burst down into sobs.
Legolas understood. The elf loved his child. He loved her like Legolas had always wanted his father to love him. To love him so much that protocol no longer mattered, that all rules and regulation and work became unimportant. To love him so much that if something threatened Legolas his father would be unable to think straight.
He had never, not once, seen his father cry.
Not even at his mother's funeral.
Maybe the king just didn't love her.
Maybe he didn't, just didn't love him.
Legolas knew why Rhovaron and the others had stopped the search for Rosse, even though it had broken their hearts. He had heard about this strategy in his father's council. It had been explained to him.
All Silvan where equally important. They might sacrifice one to save the other, but they would never sacrifice two.
All member of the group were important, all heads where needed.
There was none in his camp that could be missed.
Except for Legolas.
He held is breath and retreated deeper into the hollow tree, hoping that they would move on without noticing him, hoping that the spiders would pass him by.
This was nothing compared to his training.
The spiders were close, an easy shot to make, a shot he could do with his eyes closed had they been targets on the shooting field back home, but now his hands were shivering, and he did not dare to shoot.
He feared to go into close combat, as his sword felt too large and heavy on his belt. He had never been able to handle it very well. He was not talented…
He had been foolish coming here; he was as helpless as the child he was trying to find.
The spiders were still coming closer and he looked up, making himself even smaller, when suddenly a large pile of leaves reached out and gripped his foot. He had to bite his lips to avoid crying out it terror. He knew he had made a mistake, not looking at the ground for so long.
He looked down into the pale face of the one that held him. Two large eyes stared at him.
"Rosse?" he asked, not believing it. The place was not even that far away from the Silvan camp. The Silvan must have passed it hundreds, thousands of times when they had been looking for her.
And yet here she was, covered in leaves that almost completely hid her from sight.
"This is where you were you were all along?" He asked, still not believing it. "Why didn't you just cry out?"
He was almost certain they were within hearing range Silvan shelters.
"Can't," she sniffed. "Can't cry out in the forest. Can't show yourself. Spiders will come."
That lesson was imprinted in her mind. The most important lesson she had ever learned.
"My foot is stuck," she said, her lips trembling, pointing to a large hole in the ground where most of her leg had disappeared into. "It won't come out."
Legolas bent down and hugged the little child. Glad the problem was so easy. Glad that it was something he could solve.
"It will when I start digging, little one. You wait and see."
He moved too slowly and he knew it. Even the trees in this part of the forest felt the need to inform him.
There were so close to reaching safety, so close to coming home… But in these parts of the forest there was a huge difference between safety and being only close to it, and Legolas could feel that difference closing in on him. He could feel the hairs of his back stand up now…
"Rosse?"
The child could not walk by herself. Her leg was damaged too much, and he could not put her down.
"Rosse, I think spiders are coming. I am going to have to put you down. I am going to have to take my weapons…" His bow was not strung and he would never be able to before the spiders would reach them, and the sword… the sword just always made him feel clumsy.
He drew it all the same though, pointing it at the darkness.
It were not spiders that he had heard, nor were it orcs. When the two dark-cloaked figures stepped out into the light, Legolas held his breath.
"What happened to the code of not sacrificing two to save one?" he spoke to the two elves standing there, looking as if they had been caught red-handed at a scene of crime.
"Rosse… she is my everything. I …The rule is too harsh. Maybe we have slowly become too Sindarin to follow it… I could not… I can't… my baby… " Her hands were trembling, reaching into the void.
"NANA!" Rosse pushed her cousin aside with all her might and jumped into her mother's arms. "Nana my leg was stuck, and I could not get out and Legolas saved me and there were spiders nana, but I didn't say anything and they didn't see me and I used leaves and Legolas saved me, And…"
Legolas didn't listen anymore. He looked at the scene, the happy reunion and he felt like he didn't belong there. Like he was somehow too much.
Legolas knew his aunt and uncle had broken all so many rules to be here in search of their child, but he could understand why they had done it. It was love. A love so strong that rules meant nothing in front of it.
A love so strong it crumbled protocol.
And he also was painfully aware that no one felt that love for him.
No one would ever hug him the way her parents were hugging Rosse now…
No one would ever…
Legolas just had to be lucky if his father could look away from his paperwork long enough to notice him. He would be happy if his father would still know his name…
Tears welled up into his eyes of jealousy and spite as he watched the happy family in front of him, and he did his best to swallow them.
It was not right to cry.
This was a happy moment.
He had no right to ruin it.
"Legolas…" Rhovaron placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I…" the adult elf had wanted to express his thanks to the boy, but… "There is no need to still point that sword at my chest, friend."
Legolas paled and lowered his sword. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He had been so deep in thoughts that he had not even noticed. "I forgot. I thought… I thought you were enemies, and then… and I forgot."
Rhovaron shook his head, indicating he didn't mind, it wasn't a big deal. "It seems like a fine sword," the elder elf commented.
Legolas nodded. "It is a fine sword."
Rhovaron smiled. "But a sword is not your weapon."
Legolas blushed, hating that it was so obvious… "No… indeed," he spoke softly… "I am more of an archer… I like to shoot…"
"You are a knives-man," Rhovaron interrupted. "Report to me tomorrow-morning. I will teach you."
"Keep your guard up! No, your left, your left! Yes… now… STAB... AHA!.. now you killed me. Very well done, Legolas… Well, I have died enough. I say we call it a day."
His uncle was grinning whenever he was teaching, enjoying the fight as much as Legolas had, he was grinning whenever he won, and grinning even more when Legolas beat him, laughing whenever he was 'killed'.
It was the first time ever Legolas had fought with someone who enjoyed the fighting as much as he did. To meet another person that loved the way you had to use both your body and your brain to react to the moves of another, someone who understood the thrill of fighting, without loving the war.
Fighting with his uncle made Legolas realize he was not the only one that thought fighting more than just a necessary evil, and it was nice, so nice to know he was not the only one.
In this part of Mirkwood there were many elves that practiced fighting every day, much more that fought more than they read.
And the longer Legolas fought and practiced in their company the more he realized that he might just be normal after all.
He loved that thought.
"You seem to blend in very well." The young prince felt a hand on his shoulder and smiled up at his aunt.
"I like it," he said. "It feels like… like home I think. Like this is where I belong. I have never felt like that before."
Alagoryn could see the truth from those words shine from her nephew's eyes, and her heart bled for him. He was such a small boy still. He was so happy here…
She wished she could just tell him that he could stay here forever. That he could always be simply one of them…
But she knew Thranduil too well.
"Your father will not like you saying that." She thought of Thranduil, all alone in his tower trapped inside the endless paperwork he had buried himself in. Trapped inside the empty cocoon he had built in order to avoid feeling…
In order to stay alive after her death…
He would be devastated if his son did not return.
It would ruin him.
Legolas shook his head. "I doubt he would notice."
Alagoryn flinched at the pain hidden beneath those casually spoken words.
Years ago she had warned her brother in law he would estrange himself from all the people he knew, all the people that cared about him, if he continued to close himself off…
But the elvenlord had not been able to.
She had left the palace because she had to, because the protocol had been killing her.
Because every day she was fighting a fight she could not win.
And when she had given up on fighting the grief of her brother in law, her little nephew had become the victim, and it seemed so hard to change things... to...
"I have something for you," she said. "I think you deserve them, I saw you practice with Rhovaron. You will be a master." She pulled out two sharp, white, delicate knives. "Your father had them made for your mother. It was a wedding present. She said...
She once said, that apart from you... it was the best present he ever gave her.
And they are yours.
But… you have to promise me… You have to go back one day.
To show him what you can do.
He will be so proud…"
She hoped that somehow there was still a chance… still a way, to save her sister's family.
Legolas stared at the beautiful knives, his hands stretching out longingly. Almost as if he were to caress the blades. His mother's…
His mother had held these handles. She had touched them, fought with them, it was almost as if he could see the imprints of her fingers on the beautiful, polished handles. He so longed to touch them, to hold something she had held, so it could almost… almost be as if they were holding hands.
But he pulled his hands back and put them deep into his pockets, so he would not be tempted.
"If that is the condition you give me… I will not take them."
It broke his young heart to speak those words but he was serious. His father had not liked him going here, for a reason that Legolas didn't know.
If he went back… if he ever went back to Thranduil he would most probably never be allowed back here again. Never see Rhovaron, Alagoryn… Rosse… Never feel at home.
He would never to return to the loneliness he had felt.
Not even for his mother's blades.
It was as if that day he had made a decision. A choice between his Silvan and Sindarin heritage, a choice between his dead mother and his cold father, and it felt as if he had chosen right.
He was happier one day spent under the trees than he had been a year spent under the palace's roof.
He learned things he had never dared at his old home: To dance, to sing, to join the others, to start a game.
He transformed slowly, carefully into a normal, happy child.
A dark figure drew back into the shadows unnoticed, trying to catch his breath again, breathing past the painful lump in his throat…
His arms stretched out hopelessly to the blond boy in the distance, wanting to hold him, hug him… tell him…
His boy, his Legolas…
So much like his mother that it hurt the elvenking to look at him, and yet so loved, so incredibly loved that it killed him not to.
He retreated, deeper and deeper into the darkness.
He had no right to be here. He had never made the boy happy. No, it was worse, much worse. He had not even realized the boy had not been happy.
He had just thought his son was an extremely quiet, shy calm boy… until he had seen him with the Silvan.
He had not even noticed…
He felt he had lost all right to ever be the boy's father again.
He knew he had lost his son forever and he knew he had to move on. Back at the palace there were propositions waiting to be approved, there were celebrations coming that protocol demanded he attend.
But he could not.
It was as if a large magnet was drawing him towards the Silvan camp. As if he only lived to see glimpses of his son, laughing, singing…
It was such a beautiful sound.
He always stayed hidden, not daring to interrupt Legolas' happiness, and at the same time yearning to put the boy into his arms, to close his arms around him…
"What are you doing here?" a harsh voice interrupted his daydreams, and Thranduil was pulled out of his hiding place. A strong hand pushed the elvenking into the open space, into the arms of another elf, a dark haired one.
"A spy." The world was spoken with disgust. Hands moved up to hold him, hurt him…
More Silvan moved towards the spectacle.
Thranduil was surrounded.
"Look at his disguise!" one of the threatening faces suddenly broke into laughter. "Only plants around his head! As if we would ever have been fooled by that!"
Thranduil shot the young elf a deadly glare. "That is my crown, fool," he spoke with dignity. "For I am Thranduil, king of this realm."
"Thranduil is at the blessing of the summer-festival right now, spy." The tall dark-haired elf interrupted. "It's been tradition since his father came here. Why would the king of Mirkwood abandon a thousand-year-old tradition only to spy at his own people?"
"Please…" Thranduil said while his thoughts raced through his head. The summer-festival? Was it time for the summer-festival already? How many days had he spent here..? "I... I just wanted to see my son."
"LIAR!" Suddenly the elvenking was attacked with a ferocity he had not expected, a hopeless hatred directed at him, and he was too perplex to even raise his arms to defend himself, to even try to avoid any of the painful blows. "My father would never break tradition. NEVER! YOU ARE A LIAR!"
He was attacked by more that just blows now. He could feel his son's nails scratch his face, his feet kick him to the ground and there was nothing he could do to defend himself.
"MY FATHER HATES ME!"
But that was more than Thranduil could take, and suddenly he snapped out of his stupor. "THAT IS NOT TRUE!" he snapped, catching his son's fists before they hit him again. "I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD, LEGOLAS THRANDUILLION AND IF ANYONE EVER TOLD YOU OTHERWISE THAN THAT PERSON WAS INSANE!"
He stopped, breathing heavily, not noticing any of the Silvan staring at him. All he saw at that moment was his son sitting on his knees in front of him, looking up with huge eyes.
The mighty king knelt in front of him and pulled him into a hug.
"Silly boy," he said as Legolas started crying. "Silly, silly boy," he repeated, stroking his child's back, pulling him close. "Of course I love you. I am sorry I didn't show it enough." There were tears in his own eyes now. "But I was hoping you could forgive me. And… and that maybe you could come with me… and maybe… spend some time… with me… in the palace. You don't have to… if... if you would rather stay… I… I…"
Legolas looked up. He needed three long seconds to look into his father's eyes and determine if he was genuine. He needed seven more to convince himself that this was not a dream.
And then, finally the decision was made.
"Alagoryn?" he spoke, holding out his hands.
His aunt nodded and placed the twins knives into her nephew's hands.
"Good luck, Legolas," she said, and kissed his forehead. "And don't be a stranger."
He grinned.
"I could not even if I wanted to. I am the Silvan ambassador, remember? Travelling between you people and my father is my job."
The end