He had been gone far too long.
The bubbly, blond-headed prince of Mirkwood- still so very young, comparable to a 6 year old human, perhaps- had been gone all day.
At first, Thranduil had figured that the elfling was having so much fun, that he simply forgot to arrive for lunch. It wouldn't be the first time it had happened, and would earn light chastisement, followed by a gentle kiss on the top of his head. It was fall after all, and the forest was beautifully colored in reds and golds. Who would not be enthralled by it's beauty?
But by the time supper had rolled around, he began to truly worry. What could his Legolas be doing out so late? He never missed his evening meal. After much debating, the Elven king set out himself to look for his son, with the aid of a few trusted servants.
For hours they searched fruitless in their attempts, listening ever-so-carefully for any cry of, "Ada!" or "Help!". Nothing could be heard in the forest, save for the heaviness of their breath and the sounds of the forest.
Thranduil could feel a sinking feeling, heavy with apprehension, as if a weight had been placed in the pit of his stomach. Legolas was all he had left of her- he was innocent and young, he had yet to live! What if the spiders had taken him? He tried to shake himself of the feeling, but it had nestled itself deep into him, pulsing through his very veins like a poison.
"My son!" he called, voice nearly breaking. Worry made it brittle. "Legolas!" The Elven King urged his steed on, looking about frantically through the trees and brush. Sticky, white spider's silk began to catch at it's feet, causing the creature to step higher. He cursed under his breath, then startled when it stopped entirely. The creature grunted, stamping at the Earth. Curious, Thranduil disembarked.
Spider's web caught on his elegant silver robes, slowing his step. The king wrinkled his nose, shaking it off. It was then that a small, silvery object caught his attention.
Beneath a stout bush lie a silver clasp, woven into a shining leaf. Not far from it was a little emerald green cloak, torn and covered in spider-webs. Thranduil's heart raced as he pushed the bush's branches apart, his hands shaking. Time seemed to slow in that moment, for crumpled beneath the bushes was a tiny, lithe body. By the light of the moon its blonde hair shone silver, cast over a round face. It was motionless.
The Elven King fell to his knees before the body, for it was his very own son.
"Legolas..." he choked, tears filling his blue eyes and spilling down placid cheeks. With trembling hands, he pulled the body of his son into his arms, cradling it. He gingerly pushed aside the golden locks, gazing down at his pale face. Taking a shaky breath, Thranduil then drew away enough to examine his son's body.
Dark fang marks stood stark against the blue of the boy's tunic, two black holes by the low light of the moon. His spindly legs lay awkwardly, probably twisted or broken, perhaps he had tripped on one of the thick roots. Either way, it wrenched the king's heart apart.
"Ada...?" came Legolas's weak voice, so thin and whispery that it was just barely audible.
"Legolas?"
"Ada, it hurts..."
Hurriedly, Thranduil pulled his son into his lap, gentle as he lifted him.
"I know, my son. Hush now."
He climbed atop his elk, leaning the boy against him as he urged the beast back, hands shaking still.
Legolas gently clung to his robes, his little hands loosening as the minutes passed.
"I can see Nana."
Thranduil held him with one arm, fighting back tears as best he could.
"Do not go to her, do you understand?"
"But Ada..."
"Don't!"
Legolas gazed up, his pale blue eyes growing misted, pupils beginning to dilate.
"I love you, Ada."
The kings eyes filled with tears as he stopped, looking down upon the boy.
"And I love you too, iôn. But you mustn't go to your mother."
The blond-headed child nodded, but began to wobble.
"Stay here with me. Stay with Ada."
"Yes..." As the child spoke, he slumped against Thranduil, motionless. Tears flowed freely from his eyes as he cradled Legolas in his arms, now no more than a limp corpse.
The green leaf had fallen much, much before it's time.
"My lord."
Thranduil stood in mourning black, head bent as he stood above the small mound where his only son lay. Slowly, he lifted his head, his face now gaunt, darkened by sadness.
"Yes?" his voice was tired, and so impossibly soft that the servant, though an elf himself, had to strain to hear him. The servant hesitated.
"Lord Elrond sends his condolences. He offers support, should you need it."
The king nodded, turning back once more, his shoulders shaking. He was quiet for a long time, the only sound that of soft, soft crying.
"My lord...?"
There was a long stretch of tense silence before the king replied.
"Send him my regards."
"Of course, my lord."