Chapter 1

Thranduil glanced up from the stack of papers he'd been reading as a brief knock sounded on his door.

"Enter." He said, before returning to his work. The hour was late, and he was not expecting a visitor. Húrdir, his top adviser slid into the dimly lit study, shutting the door with a soft click. He was silent as he stood at attention in the Elvenking's presence.

"Speak, for I sense it is a heavy matter you bring to me at such a late hour." The king gently placed his quill on the desk leaned forward on his elbows, chin resting on his hands.

"It is the Prince Legolas, my Lord," came the soft voice.

"What of him?" queried the king. "He is not to return from a patrol for three days yet." But fear crept into his heart, a chill had settled in his chest at the mention of his only son.

"He has just returned. The only one still alive from his company." Húrdir's voice trembled. "He has many wounds. His horse returned bearing him. He is unconscious, likely from loss of blood." The adviser's voice trailed off as the king shot up from his seat behind the desk.

"Where is my son?" he cried. "Surely he is not dead!"

"The healers do not believe he will last the night." Húrdir hung his head. "The poison has taken hold of him, they say. They labor with their might to save the prince. I am sorry, my king."

Thranduil swept past Húrdir's slumped shoulders, brow creased with worry and anguish. He left the room without another word.

How could this have happened? What had his son done to deserve this? The king's thoughts raced as he hastened to the healing wing. What had the king done to deserve this? Thranduil's blonde hair streamed behind him as he rounded the corner to the healer's. Throwing the doors open, his eyes glinted as they searched for his son.

The activity in the room all but paused, eyes turning toward the king. A healer ushered him in, leading him back to a corner sectioned off by a curtain. She paused before pulling back the curtain.

"My Lord," the healer began. "I must warn you. The prince may not awake. He is fevering, and we cannot cool him down." She let out a breath. "His body is mangled. He may never be the same." She bowed, then led Thranduil behind the curtain.

Shock played across the king's face. He could not mask it as he looked upon his son. He clearly had not been here for long- his long blonde hair was matted about his face with blood, his own, and that of orc. A healer was tending to a long, deep gash on the left side of Legolas's face. The thick shaft of an orc arrow stuck in the left side of his chest, and another lay on a table next to the bed. A healer tended to the arrow wound on the prince's abdomen as two more stepped in front of the king to begin working to remove the second arrow. Thranduil saw the prince's arms, resting at his sides, hands bloodied and torn.

Stepping to the side, the king's eyes rested on his son's legs. One was twisted and bent awkwardly, clearly broken. The other was barely covered by shredded trousers, and the king could see where some animal had gnawed on the leg. Two more healers stepped behind the curtain, carrying poultices and more bandages.

The king stood frozen in shock. His son. His son was going to die, just like his father had, just like his wife. His son was going to die, and it was going to be the king's fault. How could Thranduil explain this to his daughter? Thanneth and Legolas were so close. She had already been so strong when her mother had died. She could not lose her brother as well. He dropped his head into his hands, a single tear escaping his eye. He could not lose another family member. A healer boldly took the king's arm, sitting him in a chair. The king's shoulders shook as he silently wept.

A/N: what do you guys think? This is my very first fanfiction, so I'd appreciate reviews and feedback! Second chapter coming soon!