Consequence

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: The works of J.R.R. Tolkien are none of my property and I make no money of the usages of such.

References? Yes, to Mask of Innocence, but reading that is not necessary to understand this story. (But reading and reviewing it sure is welcome!)

Summary: War threatens Thranduil's realm, and while he knows his son will fight Thranduil questions the willingness of his heart to let him go. One-shot.

Well I'm back...finally! I'm sort of working on another piece, a long one this time, but I'm not sure if it will ever get to a stage of posting. I'll keep in touch, don't worry! Please read & review; flames accepted.

Blades flashed bright beneath the canopy as two warriors twirled about in duel. Their swords were gleaming and bright, clean of blood and tarnish. The metal had seen hundreds of years of battle, but they remained as sharp as the day they were forged. Today they met with resounding ringing and clinking as friend fought friend beneath the eaves of Greenwood.

But Greenwood it is no longer.

Thranduil surveyed the sparring pair with scrutinizing critique as he watched. The sun caught the silver metal as one of the duelers did a magnificent twirl with his blade high in the air for an instant, and there was a brilliant flash of white light before the sound of steel striking steel filled the air of the clearing. Several applauded and cheered at the fantastic display of swordsmanship, but it was not the duel itself that Thranduil now watched. He was looking at his son.

Pale-gold hair rippled as it was caught up in the breeze as his son spun about magnificently, the strong, slender body nimbly avoiding the strikes of his friend and parrying others. He smiled widely when their swords crossed, and as his sweet voice was released in a gentle laugh he spun away once more, raising his sword with one perfect hand in challenge. Sapphire eyes sparkled beneath dark lashes on the beautifully chiseled face, and many a time Thranduil had ruefully wondered to himself why his fair child had failed to announce a betrothal to some swooning maiden.

But at this moment Thranduil did not see his child in such a light. True, he was fair, but he was looking at Legolas' heart. Many things he was burdened with as king, many of which the Crown Prince was subject.

Mithrandir had come to them not a day past, and with him he brought tidings of darkness and war that Thranduil had not needed to hear. Sauron was gaining power in the East, and was summoning the armies of darkness to his side. "War is inevitable," Mithrandir had told him gravely. "And you shall suffer with the rest of Middle-earth in the years to come as long as Sauron remains in power."

But they were already suffering. His people had been suffering for many years now, ever since the Watchful Peace had ended. They had suffered before that as well, especially in the year leading up to the fleeing of Sauron, shortly after the 14th yén of the Third Age.

Legolas suffered perhaps most of all.

Thranduil did not want to think of what had happened then, and he forced himself to forget that horrible year they had endured, when he and his child had nearly lost their lives and their realm had been threatened. Too many of his people had been lost, and those that were not slain lost friends and kin. All of them had been affected in some way, big or small. Then for nearly four centuries they were granted the peace they needed so desperately, but then it all came crumbling to the ground once more when Sauron returned with renewed strength to his ancient stronghold of Dol Guldur. It had crushed his peoples' morale, and Legolas had sworn vengeance against the tyrant that had caused the death of grandmother, grandfather, uncles, aunt, mother, and nearly that of his father. For many years he raged a campaign against the Orcs that had once more infiltrated their lands, but he had been wise enough in his anger to realize that an attack against Sauron would serve nothing more than to destroy himself and many of his people, and would not benefit his father. To this day he and Captain Taidîr still led warring parties against the yrch and spiders that seemed to be constantly encroaching upon the Wood Elves' land no matter what they did in defense.

But now a battle for the dominion of Middle-earth was about to begin. The Elven-king knew in his heart that Sauron would not pass by his realm in his efforts to raze the realms that stood in his path, and already they had begun readying defenses and preparing stores of food and water should his people need to be evacuated to the caverns that housed his palace. He wondered, though, if his warriors could absorb the attacks that Thranduil dreaded but understood would occur. Legolas undoubtedly would fight for his king and for the quiet revenge that lay smoldering in his heart. Legolas would rise up and join the fight to destroy Sauron once and for all, to end what should have ceased thousands of years ago. He would fight to defend the beauty and love left in the realm and in the world, and Thranduil knew without a doubt he would go to whatever end to protect all that was good in Arda.

Even, perhaps, to death.

Thranduil closed his eyes in pain. He could not handle another of his family dying, not again. One more death would shatter the weak barrier he had. He wanted his son to live; he wanted to see the proud face greet him with a warm smile when he came home weary from patrols…

But he had received word from Elrond of a council being held in Rivendell in October of this year. It was late September now, and Thranduil had not much time left to make a decision on who to send as ambassador. He knew he ought to send Legolas, for he was excellent in politics and negotiations, nearly as well as his father. But something would not let him surrender that beaming son that was now walking with his friend across the sparring field, his laughter filling the expanse beneath the trees. Legolas had become more precious to him – if that was at all possible – ever since the attack that had nearly killed Thranduil's childhood friend and stolen away his child that was only an Elfling at the time. Thranduil could still remember - with startling clarity - the morning he had sat at his dying friend's side and listened to the painful tale of how his child had been dragged away by the foulest of creatures that walked this earth.

The same son that had been brought back quaking in terror and pain now stood before him, strong and skilled and far older, but yet still incredibly young compared to the rest of those in the realm, speaking with another companion over some trivial matter that Thranduil did not hear. His heart was torn over his love for his son yet his desire to let him be free. Rarely did Legolas leave the forest, and although he had been kept plenty occupied with patrols it was partly out of fear that he would never come back that made Thranduil refrain from sending him off on adventures or foreign-affair excursions. Thranduil knew that although the road to Rivendell was laden with dangers and several times travelers had been waylaid Legolas could fend for himself; the sparring match today had proven the point as he had successfully beaten the warrior who had before been believed to be the greatest warrior in Lasgalen besides the King himself. The Elven-king knew that was not the reason he was reluctant. It was because of the rumors he had heard.

From the Havens to Gondor the word was being spread; the weapon of the enemy had apparently been found. Thranduil had been given reports of increased activity in the enemy's whereabouts and witnesses claiming yrch and goblin activity in areas where previously there had been none. And there had been whisperings of late that the Nine were on the move once more. If the rumors about the enemy were true then Isildur's Bane must have been found. It would therefore make sense why Elrond was calling a meeting, and that a representative from all of the realms of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth were required to attend. They would want to discuss how to best deal with the problem, and Thranduil knew that should the need arise Legolas would give his right hand to join the ranks of those who would fight to bring down Sauron in whatever way. Legolas was still brash and hot-headed at times, and Thranduil feared that this time it would cause his downfall. No longer did they live in a childish world where if he fell or caused some small trouble his father could come running and kiss all the pain away. This was reality. Reality was not perfect. In fact, it was far from perfect. War threatened everyone, and one wrong step meant death and destruction.

But he is a grown prince! A part of Thranduil argued against his father-like thinking. He reached adulthood almost half a millennium ago. Let him decide for himself!

Legolas had now disappeared from sight after waving farewells to his friends, and ventured off for some sort of relaxation found only in the branches of an ancient beech. Thranduil had watched him leave with something akin to confusion and anxiety, but seeing the strength and self-assurance in his son warmed his heart.

I shall speak with him tonight. It will be his decision, not mine. No longer is he an Elfling for me to dote upon; he is a mature prince, and I must understand that.

I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I

It was after sunset and well into the starry evening before Legolas was summoned to his father's chambers. His sapphire robes shimmered in the dim light as he strode silently down the hallway (robes that had been specially tailored to match his eyes), silently pondering over his father's unusual silence during supper. I can only pray that nothing has befallen the sentries and the patrols again.

He knocked quietly on the oak doors that guarded his father's bedroom and other chambers before entering, opening the door only enough to let him slip in. It clicked shut behind him, and he peered into the king's study, expecting him there.

"My lord?"

No response. The room furnished with a myriad of tapestries and relics and innumerable documents – some as old as Legolas still stuffed into old books on the messy desk – was not where Thranduil had placed himself. On a hunch, Legolas skipped the formal setting room and other smaller rooms and headed to his father's bedroom. But when he reached the spacious room, he paused at the doorway. Something lingered in the air that unsettled him, and immediately he sought out his adar.

"Father?"

Thranduil said nothing as he stood in front of a tapestry that Legolas had seen hundreds if not millions of times. Legolas felt his father welcome him with his thoughts, but remained wary. "You are troubled," Legolas murmured quietly. He stepped forth to lay a hand on his father's shoulder to comfort him, and the king did not turn.

"A beautiful rendition of you and your mother, do you not think?" He spoke softly, pale fingers gesturing at the painting before him of the luminescent mother and child and the strong king embracing them both.

Legolas nodded in silent response. "Aye. It is the most beautiful painting of Naneth in this palace."

"That is why it is here," Thranduil turned to look at his son, a faint smile lifting his lips. "So I can gaze upon it at every dawn and every dusk, and remember your mother as she was on her proudest day." He moved away, the whisper of his robes as they slid across the floor the only sound of his movement as his feet strayed to the balcony.

Legolas followed him. "You wanted to speak with me," he reminded Thranduil gently. Or, perhaps, he was reminding himself.

Golden tresses that hung past the shoulders shimmered as the king nodded. He sighed. "Yes." Emerald eyes never met sapphire as Legolas joined him at the balcony. The pale hands of the prince, strong and slender, rested on the smooth banister. He leaned against it, looking out on the forest below. It was dark and foreboding, the boughs of the trees extended towards the sky in a desperate plea for help as their roots slowly drowned in the blackness of evil below.

"I always have to remember," Legolas said quietly after a moment of observing the view, "that when I fight the enemy I do not defend the bleak, hopeless wilderness that grows blacker and blacker each day." Thranduil looked at him, and Legolas met his gaze calmly. "But that I am willing to die to preserve the memory of its beauty, and the people that transform this forest into my home."

Thranduil's gaze softened and he nodded, but looked back to the forest. He knew he should say something, but his son's words of death and protection had whisked the thoughts and prepared speech away.

Legolas settled further onto the balcony, leaning on his forearms now and letting out a quiet sigh. He continued softer, almost reluctantly. "And judging by your actions the past month, I cannot help but wonder if you have been contemplating my willingness to serve our realm, and how far I would be willing to take that loyalty." He felt his father's startled gaze upon him and before Thranduil could intervene he added in a mischievous voice: "Yes, you were that easy to read, Father."

With a smile the monarch touched Legolas' shoulder. "Always you were a bright, insightful child. You still are, my son," he remarked fondly. His strong son softened at the praise, and his fair lips turned up in a small smile. His expression mirrored his father's as the king's smile faded slightly, and he grew somber. "But you are right, and that I have wondered many a time how devoted not only you, but I, are to the realm."

"I would give my life-" Legolas started, straightening to stand proud and tall.

The king waved him silent. "I know," he said. He looked away once more, his eyes briefly closing. "I suppose I know your answer already, but I must ask."

"Ask me what, Ada?" A concerned softness had strayed into the prince's voice, and his sapphire eyes studied his adar's expression closely, searching for an answer. Thranduil, instead, was silent. The gentle twittering of the evening birds and the light rustle of leaves interrupted the somber silence, and at last Thranduil spoke.

"What do you know of the Ring of Power, Legolas?"

Legolas' brow furrowed, and a shadow crossed his face before he answered: "It was the key to Sauron's power, but lost after the days of the Last Alliance."

"You listened to your tutors, I see."

His son chuckled and glanced at his father with a smile, but Thranduil was somber. Legolas' humor faded as his father continued.

"In the past decade, where have you been most?"

"In combat or patrols," Legolas replied, curiosity causing his eyes to flicker.

Thranduil turned to him and looked him straight in the eye. "Why is that?"

Legolas was taken aback slightly, but answered nonetheless: "The enemy has grown stronger and bolder."

"Why?"

He is testing me, but for what purpose? "…They have gained strength; more armies, more territory, more leaders..."

"Why?!"

Legolas flinched slightly at his father's sharp response. His gaze remained on Thranduil, watching as the monarch shook his head fervently. "Think, Legolas. The answer is buried deep within your knowledge of the enemy, yet it is very obvious. Think."

The prince threw himself into his mind and re-read the texts he had been forced to nearly memorize as a child. His eyes roved about, almost as if the pages were open before him physically. But the answer evaded him for a long enough time period (which in reality was only a few seconds) that Thranduil drew his attention back. The king and prince stared eye to eye, sapphire orbs clouded with confusion and emerald ones gleaming with understanding.

"The One Ring, the very key to the destruction of Middle-earth, has been found."

The words struck like lightning, and all sound but that of Legolas' father's voice vanished. He recoiled. Legolas could not stop the onslaught of memories from his terrifying encounter with the enemy when he was young, and his breath grew quick and his eyes flashed in horror. Terrors that had taken years to bury and lock away were unleashed, and he grew afraid. "Sauron has regained the Ring?" He breathed, the shock still not subsiding.

"Valar, no!" Thranduil embraced Legolas briefly, realizing the cause of his son's sudden fear. The prince whose incredible strength was disguised in the fair, lithe body in Thranduil's arms relaxed in relief, and the visions of Arda's destruction subsided. Thranduil smiled sadly at him. "If Sauron had regained the Ring we would know it and you and I would more than likely be near the top of the list to be slain, therefore we would not have much time." His tenor voice was soft and reassuring, despite the concept he spoke of, and Legolas was comforted. "Rumor is spreading that the Ring has been found, where or by whom I know not."

"But that it has been found makes sense," Legolas interjected thoughtfully. "Sauron would have grown both hopeful and terrified at the news. His arm would have stretched far and wide, combing through everything and everyone to find it. And that is why activity has increased near here; Gladden Fields lies just west of the borders of our land, where Isildur lost the Ring and was slain. But he could not have been sure that was its hiding place, so he has spread his spies and minions out to catch any rumors or sightings. He has cast the net. One false move and he will draw in his trap, and we shall be fresh meat."

"That is why you mustn't speak a word of what I have told you. Is that clear?"

The look in Legolas' eyes hardened. "I am not a child," he said in a low voice. "I know what is serious and what is not, Adar, and you know that"

Thranduil shook his head, averting his gaze with a weary sigh. "Forgive me, Legolas. I…I have not been myself as of late," he admitted quietly. He glanced back up when Legolas laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Then, perhaps," he encouraged softly with understanding in his eyes, "you ought to tell me why."

He speaks the truth. "Very well," Thranduil began. "Elrond of Rivendell has decided to hold council in late October, over what he has not disclosed. I, along with the lords of the Dwarves and Men and Hobbits-"

"They very race you held captive a few years past?" Legolas was suddenly aglow with humor.

Thranduil chuckled. "Yes, the very one." He continued gravely. "As I was saying, representatives from each race have been called to sit at council in Rivendell. It has come to hand for I to choose who shall fulfill the role as envoy or ambassador, for the time draws close when the Pass will no longer remain open. Speaking plainly, I have put off my decision for as long as possible for fear that I would soon regret my choice."

Legolas met his father's gaze evenly, and his gaze softened. "You thought to send me," he concluded.

With a nod Thranduil agreed. "Yes."

"But you refrained from doing so. Why?" The question was clear in his son's eyes. Thranduil knew fully well that although Legolas was content with combat in his homeland, the youth longed for more. The words in answer seemed to fail the king, and he drew a small breath to gather his wits.

"I refrained," he began, his emerald eyes soft with love and care, "because of what I feared would happen to you. I would stake my life upon the idea that Elrond was not calling representatives for a reunion but for advice and action on the situation at hand. Sauron's power is growing, and if the Ring is indeed found we desperately need a strategy. War is coming, Legolas, and we all shall suffer before the end, whether the end that awaits us be profitable for good or for evil. And my heart warns me," at this Thranduil's voice broke, but he continued bravely on with his son watching with a saddened gaze, "that if you leave me here that you may not return. You would give your life to save the innocent, to spare those of what you had suffered, to save the families you never had. You would make me the proudest father in doing so, but it would break my heart. That is why you must decide, Legolas, not me. It is your life, your choices, your decisions. As you said you are no child; you are a Crown Prince and nearly a grown son." He smiled through tears, and touched his son's shoulder. "Two paths lie before you, both leading to glory and honor. You may stay here and lead the warriors of our people in defense of the realm, or you may travel to Rivendell as ambassador and join the battle to destroy Sauron. Whatever path that you take I shall support you on. It is your time, not mine."

When Thranduil finished, Legolas stood in silent shock and grief. This decision had tormented his father for months now, and the effects would last for years to come. It was up to him to decide. He looked long and hard at his father, trying to pierce the mask that concealed his father's expressions and thoughts. But there was nothing he could discern. He looked away, his gaze flitting to the forest, and remained there for a long while.

At long last Legolas looked back, in his eyes a look of finality. A decision had been made. And yet, it had not been. His heart still questioned if he could bear his father's reaction. But without explanation he threw his arms around the king's neck, and without hesitation Thranduil clutched at him back. In his heart Thranduil knew what decision he had made, and could not hold back a few silvery tears that rolled down his cheeks at the sight of his son doing the same.

"I fight for you, Father; remember that," he wept, drawing in the warm, comforting scent of his father's robes. Thranduil rubbed his back.

"I know, child, I know."

Silence was their companion as they embraced lovingly, as they held to each other like this was their last moment together. But, in a way, it was.

"I love you more than life itself, Legolas," whispered Thranduil in his son's ear.

The prince thought of the year they had endured together, back when he was but an Elfling, when Thranduil had proved that to him and more. "I know, Father. I love you as well."

At long last they separated, sapphire still locked with emerald in love and grief.

"I leave at dawn for Rivendell, Adar," Legolas informed him tearfully.

Thranduil nodded. "So be it. It is the answer I expected to hear." He smiled kindly, cupping his son's cheek in his hands. "I am always proud of you, my dear Legolas, so there is no need to prove yourself worthy to me. You already have, tenfold and beyond." He leaned in to kiss Legolas' forehead. "Be loyal not only to your home, Legolas. Your loyalty to those that join you in this fight and to the lords of the other realms will give us a greater chance of victory. To the Dwarves, however…"

Legolas laughed, and Thranduil's heart melted at the sound of his son's merry laugh. "I will treat them respectfully and with courtesy, and not stoop to their level of brashness." He paused. "Or height," he promised with glimmering eyes.

The king touched his son's silken head proudly. "You will make Lasgalen proud, as usual," he remarked warmly. He touched Legolas' shoulder once more. "Go, my son, and make your preparations for your journey. Take several of your companions with you as escort, for a prince should never travel alone."

Legolas rolled his eyes in jest, protesting at the age-old lecture on the importance of guards. "Yes, Father."

"You go in my stead, child. Bear the title of Crown Prince of Mirkwood with honor, and you will be respected." But Thranduil smiled, letting formality slip away. "You have my blessings, and greatest love a father can give."

The warmest of expressions spread across Legolas' face as he clasped his father's shoulder. "Thank you, Adar," he murmured, "for everything."

I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I

Prince Legolas left at dawn quietly and without flourish and decoration. He and his two companions were clad in simple traveling tunics of brown velvet and dark leggings, their bows of yew and quivers packed with arrows strapped tightly on their backs. They bore no standard or flag, for the road was still dangerous; if they could travel relatively unnoticed their journey would more than likely be safer, for a brightly-colored flag in the dark forest could serve as a beacon for unwanted attackers.

The king and prince embraced only briefly and spoke few words before Legolas mounted his horse and set off. Their farewells had been exchanged hours earlier, so there was no need for extra hugs and well wishes. The few that had gathered to see their prince's departure, however, viewed the parting not as a formal one between a king and his subject, but between father and child. Thranduil was dressed in simple, emerald robes with a silver pendant about his neck adorned with the crest of his land, merely a plain silver circlet resting upon his golden brow. When he stepped back from embracing his son, there were tears in his eyes as Legolas spurred his horse into a canter. The king seemed not a king to his subjects that morning, but a loving father who already missed his son terribly. Here was an Elf who had risked life and land for the remaining member of his family, an Elf who only wanted to see his child prosper and be happy. Their hearts went out to father and son, and yet they knew that perhaps their hope for the son's return was in vain. War was coming, and they knew they all were going to be forced into the great battle and suffering eventually.

Legolas was the first of them.

I+I+I+I+I+I+I+I

The first, bitter day of December found Thranduil in his chambers standing at his balcony, doors flung open. His breath materialized in a white cloud of vapor. His eyes were bright on the chilled morning, his senses fresh with the coming of the sun.

"Sire?"

Thranduil turned around. "Yes?"

A messenger walked in and handed a letter to the king. "A message, from Rivendell."

The location struck fear in the heart of Thranduil, but he took the letter from the messenger with thanks and dismissed him. Unfolding the parchment that bore no seal, Thranduil began to read:

My dearest father,

I write with both wonderful and terrible news. We held council yesterday, and it has been decided that I and the select representatives from other realms shall journey on a quest. I fear I cannot say more, for the fate of our quest depends on our secrecy. If this letter should fall into the wrong hands, we would be doomed. Those accompany me include two Men, a Dwarf (the son of one of your past prisoners – the irate father would have taken an axe to me if it had not been for the wise words of Mithrandir!), four Hobbits (they are kin to the one who released the Dwarves we imprisoned – 'tis a small world, or they have very large families!), and Mithrandir, of course. We total nine, and I fear I cannot tell you when we are to depart either. I cannot wait for this quest, for I desire to aide my comrades as best as I can with the training you and the rest of Lasgalen have given me, but yet I shall grieve at my departure, for I know not when nor if I shall return. Should I fail to return to your side, my beloved Adar, know that I was slain in defense of the innocence and love in this world, the very virtues you nearly gave your life for all those summers ago when we traveled to Southern Lasgalen. Know that I was not forced into this quest, but volunteered freely.

Do not weep for me, Adar. Of this quest I am proud, for I will try to honor you and the Elven people well on this incredible experience. Should I not return, please remember me and the cause I fought for. I will have died in combat against terrible foes, for that is why I volunteered to come; to protect and shield, not to win glory. I hope to return to a beautiful forest and your welcoming embrace upon the completion of our journey, but I would not give you false hope. The beauty of Rivendell beckons me, so I must finish this message. You have my heart, Adar, and my love. Farewell my king, friend, and father. Wish us luck on this impossible quest, for we shall need it desperately.

Your loving son,

Legolas

Tears had clouded his vision by the time Thranduil finished reading. He raised his emerald gaze up and stared west, wishing that he could sprout wings and fly across the forest and mountains beyond to see his son, one last time. Had he known his child himself believed that he may not return and what things he would be putting him through, he would have said different things, embraced him longer, promised him more…But he could not. He had given his son as much as he should have, and it was Legolas' time to be strong now. It was his time for glory and remembrance.

"I always wish you the best of luck, my child," Thranduil murmured softly, letting his words be snatched away by the breeze. "I shall miss you, but you shall always be in my heart. Already you have won glory, no matter what you think. Be strong, my child. Be strong, my little Greenleaf."

And miles away his son stood at his own balcony, and he seemed to hear his father's words carried across the wind, and he knew that every battle on this quest to destroy the Ring would be fought not only to save the Ringbearer, but for his father as well.

The end.

Thanks for reading, & please drop a review if you're feeling super generous...;)