Summary: Fluff, one-shot. It is a very important begetting day for Legolas. Thranduil reflects on the past and the future as he watches the warrior his son has become.

This a sequel to Warriors, and is set immediately after the events of that, although you don't need to have read it to follow this.

This is my first attempt at writing a first-person narrative, so please review and let me know what you think. Feedback and concrit much appreciated.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass, for advice, suggestions, and patience with questions.

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns everything – I just play in his world.

Celebration

Today, I am happy.

There have been many occasions in my life when I thought I would never feel happy again. When I led the sad remnant of our warriors home from the Dagorlad I thought I had nothing to look forward to but the slow, painful process of rebuilding a kingdom – but a chance encounter with an elleth in a sunny glade showed me that there was still joy and beauty in the world.

But only after a few years, my beloved Lindariel was taken from me, and then I thought that I must surely have lost the ability to smile. Indeed, I did not smile for weeks. It was my advisors who helped me then... My friends. When they received Elrond's message informing them of Legolas' return they did not tell me, but on the day of my son's arrival they lured me outside, on the pretext of meeting a delegation from Lothlórien, just in time to see Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir ride into the courtyard.

I do not know what it was... Perhaps it was the sight of the laughter that the twins had managed to bring to Legolas' face. Perhaps it was the way Legolas called out a greeting to the trees, as Lindariel would have done. Whatever the cause, I could not hold back a smile as I rushed forward to welcome my son.

The last time I thought all joy had ended was when we were forced to retreat to the north, to abandon our airy homes among the trees and shelter in a cave... A cave with balconies and windows, to be sure, a cave surrounded by trees, but a cave nonetheless. I saw it as a sign of my failure to provide for my people, as a betrayal of the promise I had made to them that, Elven Ring or no Elven Ring, I would keep them safe.

Then, too, it was Legolas who showed me that not all hope was lost. I went to his room to ask him how he liked it, and found him on the balcony, estimating the distance to the ground. He saw me and laughed sheepishly.

"Just in case, Ada," he said impudently. "Who knows when I will need to slip out unseen?"

"I do," I said, chuckling despite myself. "When you next dream up some mischief."

Today he is still the innocent, curious Elfling I have always known, but he is also a formidable warrior. I have not yet told him how proud I am of him tonight, but I think he knows. He glances up at me suddenly, and although he looks so much like me, there is something strongly reminiscent of Lindariel in the way he smiles slightly and dips his head.

Oh, yes. He knows.

He is sitting with the sons of Elrond, who have come to share this evening with him, bearing many messages of goodwill and blessing from Imladris. His friends among the young warriors of our realm come and go. They have already had their celebratory day with him; tonight, with the best wine flowing freely, most of them are drunk. There will be some splitting headaches in the stronghold tomorrow. I do not envy the healers.

For that matter, I do not envy us if orcs or spiders should attack tonight. I believe I can count on my fingers the number of sober Elven warriors in this forest at the moment.

Legolas, knowing that he must be fully coherent for the ceremony, at which he will have to demonstrate his prowess with the bow, has had only one glass of wine – I have been watching – and the twins have nobly kept him company.

Judging by the way Elrohir is eyeing the barrels of Dorwinion, that restraint will not last once the ceremony is over.

Strictly speaking, there is, even now, a possibility that Legolas will not be appointed commander of the Colhador. The feast is only for his begetting day. It is today that he is old enough to be officially considered for the position of commander. After dinner, I will rise and ask him if he will go to the ranges and prove his ability to lead the archers.

Of course, that is only a formality. My son is the finest archer in my realm, and outside it, only Glorfindel might – might – claim greater skill. And these trials are not that taxing; I could pass them myself, with enough practice. Legolas will have no difficulty.

Elladan is saying something that makes Legolas flush furiously – probably pointing out the fact that many of the young ellith have been staring at him for most of the evening. The Noldo catches my eye, and I give him an encouraging grin. Legolas has caused me enough trouble that I cannot help being pleased when his friends cause him some.

Most unfortunately, Legolas sees me do this and contrives to look hurt, sad, and disbelieving all at once. Thorontur tells me that I should not complain, as I used to do the same thing to my own father when he tried to talk sense into me. I ignore him. He is being absurd. There is no way I could have caused my father as much worry as Legolas causes me on a daily basis unless there had been about six of me.

At last, Arbellason indicates that it is time.

I get to my feet and Istuion calls for silence. Legolas is watching me. He now looks unaccountably nervous. He is probably thinking of the fact that during archery practice two weeks ago, one of his arrows landed just a hair's-breadth short of the bull's eye. Thorontur told him to be pleased with himself considering that he had attempted the shot from twice his normal distance. Legolas countered that distance did not matter and a bull's eye is a bull's eye.

No, I was never as exasperating as Legolas.

"Legolas Thranduilion," I say. He gets to his feet, his face reddening again. "Will you take the archery trials?"

"Aye, my King," he replies. Have I imagined it or is there a tremor in his voice?

He waits for me to leave the clearing, obviously forgetting that since the feast is in his honour, it is for him to lead the way out. Elrohir gives him a light push, and he remembers. His steps drag a little as he crosses the circle of Elves. Perhaps I should have had the trials before the feast. He would at least have been able to enjoy his dinner.

The archery field that will be used was chosen last week by Thorontur, Ellaurë, and Arbellason. It is the largest, but this is to accommodate all the warriors who will want to watch, not because Legolas will be required to shoot down the entire length of it.

It is ready. Most of it is in darkness. A pair of lamps at either end of the target line is all Legolas will have to see by. The targets have been set up. The first part of the trial presents no great challenge; he has only to shoot directly at the targets, quickly and from the standard practice distance. The archers use this field so much that any of them could do it blindfolded.

His hands are trembling as Elladan hands him his bow and quiver. Thorontur notices this and frowns. He has told me more than once that no amount of danger or tension can upset Legolas enough to affect his aim. Apparently, a throng of observers is far more effective than an army of orcs.

Thorontur goes to Legolas and says something I cannot hear. He has led the Colhador since my father's time; he has had millennia of experience of calming down young archers. Whatever he says, it seems to work. Legolas looks more focused now, and his hands are steady on his bow.

He walks out to the firing line and takes his stand in the middle of it. He has put his bow in its sheath next to his quiver. He will not pull it out until he has been given the signal, but he checks that it is within easy reach. Then he drops his hands and waits.

Thorontur strides out to the target line. He will be judging the shots.

Ellaurë stands at the firing line. She watches Legolas for a moment, waits to catch his eye and give him an encouraging smile, and then she calls, "Leithio!"

Almost before she can finish the word, the bow is in Legolas' hands and he has shot off an arrow. He does not pause to see where it lands, but reaches at once for the next. Six targets, six shots. I do not doubt that Thorontur made him practice; he is faster than he needs to be. Thorontur has always loved showing off his pupil's skill.

When the sixth arrow has been fired, Legolas' hand drops, although he does not replace the bow. Thorontur checks the targets and nods to Arbellason, who calls out confirmation that they were all perfect shots. None of us needed him to say that; we could see where the arrows went. All the same, Elladan and Elrohir let out identical sighs of relief.

I have to laugh.

I wish Lindariel could have been here today. She would have been proud. A little sad, also, that the deepening Shadow forced her son to spend his days leading patrols and chasing orcs.

Legolas and I seldom speak of Lindariel. I am not sure whether this is for his sake or for mine. His dreams of that terrible night, which were a daily occurrence in the beginning, have become mercifully rare, and they do not upset him as much now.

Suddenly I am nervous. If – when – Legolas takes over command of the Colhador from Thorontur tonight, his new duties will put him in more danger than ever before. I do not know if I can bear to lose him. When Lindariel departed for Mandos' Halls, his presence was all that kept me from following.

Thorontur has taken a basket full of clay balls to the centre of the target line. They have been painted white, but even so, they are difficult to see in the darkness. He calls to Legolas to be ready, and throws the first one up into the air. It has not yet reached the point of its arc when it is shattered by an arrow.

My thoughts go back to Lindariel.

I can see something of her in Legolas, even now. She never touched a weapon in her life – she was of far too peaceable a temperament for that – but there is something in the way he stands, ready, waiting, something that reminds me of her.

She was the one who insisted on having a child when we did. I had been apprehensive; there were many Elves who insisted that the Enemy had not been utterly defeated, could not be until the One was found and destroyed, and I had not wanted to risk raising an Elfling in an atmosphere of darkness and fear. Lindariel had had her way, and I had found all my misgivings melting into nothingness the first time Legolas was laid in my arms.

I shiver at the thought that, had I not given in to her, I might now have nothing by which to remember my beloved queen. No keepsake or trinket could take the place of the greatest gift she ever gave me.

Legolas feels my gaze. I can tell by the way his shoulders shift slightly. But he is concentrating on his shots, and he does not turn.

I wonder if he ever regrets being a king's son. There were moments, in my youth, when I did – moments when I could feel my every move being watched and noted, moments when I had to curb my impulses because I was a prince, moments when I longed for freedom from the endless mind games of the king's house.

Curse the Noldor and their politics, and above all their infernal craftsmen!

Istuion nudges me and I realize that it is over. Legolas has finished. The sons of Elrond go to hug him, and Elrohir lifts him off the ground in his excitement. Legolas does not pull a knife on him, which tells me exactly how relieved he is. Eredhion, one of my son's friends, goes to hug him as well, but he is so drunk that he ends up hugging Elladan and bowing to Ellaurë. Legolas has noticed this, and I have a feeling that poor Eredhion will be hearing about it for a very long time.

I suddenly remember how many centuries it has been since I reminded Thorontur of the night after his betrothal to Celebwen. Perhaps I will find time for that later. We usually try not to embarrass each other before our children, but if I can get him sufficiently inebriated, he is unlikely to recall enough to extract vengeance later.

Thorontur is watching me with narrowed eyes. Maybe this time discretion is the better part of valour.

He has extinguished the lamps and come to the firing line, and he grips Legolas' forearm in a warriors' greeting before bending to whisper something in his ear. Legolas looks appalled and shakes his head vehemently. I will have to find out what Thorontur has said. It has always been a sensible policy to keep a mental record of things with which I can threaten my son.

There is suddenly a lot of noise. Most of the Elves have had rather a lot of wine, and it is a miracle that they managed to stay quiet this long. I am not displeased, because it is a happy noise that bodes well for my son, but the ceremony has to be completed.

I nod to Arbellason, who yells, "Sedho!"

There is immediate silence. Arbellason tends to have that effect on the warriors – on all Elves, for that matter.

Elladan has Legolas' silver circlet. Legolas made a fuss about wearing that, but when I pointed out to him that the alternative was to let the ellith twine a crown of flowers in his hair, he decided that a circlet was not such a bad thing.

I have learnt some tricks from my father.

Legolas looks nervous again as the circlet is put on his head. It is not only the command of the Colhador that he takes on this particular begetting day. He will now begin carrying out his full duties as my heir. This means, among other things, that he will be Regent if I am absent.

He has begged me not to go anywhere.

I remember how nervous I was when I stood before my father like this. At that moment if someone had told me I could live out my days as a warrior and never have to lead anyone or give orders in my father's absence, I would have accepted the offer gratefully.

I understand now why my father looked so proud on that day.

Legolas comes forward, his steps faltering. The crowd parts to make way for him. When he reaches me, he drops to one knee, takes my hand, and, as he did when he first swore his oaths as a warrior, kisses the signet ring I wear.

I want to snatch him up in my arms, but I wait patiently for him to stand. It seems to take an eternity.

When at last he is on his feet, his eyes not quite meeting mine, I ask him if he is willing to command the Colhador. I have practised in secret, but now that the moment has come, I cannot keep the pride from my voice.

"Yes, my King," Legolas mumbles, so softly that I am sure half the Elves have not heard him. They cheer all the same.

I do not ask him if he is willing to take up the duties of my heir. Refusing is not an option there. Our people are fond of him, and they want him to play the part of a prince when he can be spared from his responsibilities as a warrior. Considering the fear they have to live with everyday, they deserve to have this.

I take Legolas by the shoulders and turn him round to face the crowd. It is not only the warriors, now. Most of the Elves who were at the feast have turned up. The healers are standing in a small knot to one side, all frowning at Legolas suspiciously, as though they would not put it past him to break a rib or dislocate his shoulder while just standing there. I must admit that they have cause to be wary.

"Mellyn nîn," I say, and now I do not even try to keep the emotion from my voice, "I give you my son, Legolas Thranduilion, prince of the woodland realm and commander of my archers." Then I draw Thorontur forward, and add, "And I also give you our newest Archery Master."

There is more cheering, and Thorontur is dragged away, presumably in the direction of more food and some wine. Several of Legolas' friends come up to us, and they distribute their congratulations evenly between us – mainly, I suspect, because they are too drunk to tell between us in the darkness.

The young Elves also drift away in the direction of the feast. The sons of Elrond glance at me questioningly, and I know it is time for Legolas to go and have some real dinner, and possibly some more wine.

But I want to speak to him first. I indicate that they should go on ahead, and they nod their understanding.

When at last we are left alone, I turn to Legolas. And now words fail me. How can I tell him how proud I am of his skill, how much it means to me that he risks his life to defend our home and our people? How can I tell him how much I love him?

Instead of saying anything, I pull him closer and kiss his brow.

He reaches up to hug me, and I know there is no need for words. Like Lindariel, Legolas understands.

Sindarin Translations

Elleth (plural ellith) - Female Elf

Ada - Dad/Daddy

Leithio! - Fire!

Sedho! - Quiet!

Mellyn nîn - My friends

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