"And you see, Legolas, why it is important for us to guard our borders well and so protect our people," said Thranduil, placing a hand on his young son's shoulder and crouching down to his eye level.
"Yes, Ada," Legolas said with a small nod. "Is that why mother had to take warriors with her to Rivendell? Because it isn't as safe there as it is here?"
The king chuckled. "Rivendell is perfectly safe, Legolas. It is the road to Rivendell that is not quite." His mate had left only a matter of days ago on a trip up to Rivendell to retrieve scrolls that were older than Thranduil himself. He had not wanted her to go, but she had insisted, saying she dearly wanted to see the open air again.
Thranduil smiled at his son and stood up, turning to the large bookcase that was stood behind him in his private study room. He searched for a moment, before deftly plucking a thin, leatherbound book and handing it to his son.
"Here," he said, as Legolas opened it with some curiosity. "It was my favorite when I was you age. I think you may like it." Thranduil turned and picked up a volume he had been reading by some Man about war tactics. He found it all rather adorable, really. He thought if even one Man lived the way, and the amount of time, that Elves lived perhaps, perhaps they might understand.
He also found the fleeting love that mortals experienced rather curious. It seemed terribly raw to him. It was passionate, to be sure, but from what Thranduil had seen, that passion only caused pain. It either fizzled out before the love had run its course, causing heartbreak, or became too intense and turned into obsession.
His kind had a different sort of passion: passion for the other's mind. As Elfkind didn't age after reaching their physical peak of beauty, that sort of passion had a different meaning. It endured, and Thranduil supposed that that endurance was what made love so sacred to the Elves.
His gaze flicked to his son, watching him read the book with a slightly furrowed brow. Legolas was the product of such a union. One built of from mutual interests, trust, and love. Thranduil thought his son beautiful, but perhaps he was biased.
A small smile danced onto the Elven King's lips.
Suddenly, the door to the study burst open, and Thranduil stood quickly, standing between Legolas and whomever or whatever was coming through. It took him less than a second to realize it was his mate's personal handmaiden. Her face was contorted with panic, and there was blood spattered on her silver servant's tunic.
"Dorneth? What are-"
"The Queen! We were attacked on our way North, and-"
"Where is she?" Thranduil demanded, striding past her, barely glancing back to make sure she was following him. The captain of the guard came abreast him, stony faced. "Send out our warriors; whoever or whatever did this, I want their heads in my throne room by the morning!"
"She's in your chambers, my King. The healers thought it best that she be comfortable in her last moments." Thranduil whirled around to face the servant.
"Her last moments?" he said, his tone dangerously quiet. She paled noticeably under his wrath, barely managing to stop her stride so she didn't collide with him. "No. No, no, it cannot be."
Thranduil broke into a bolt then, going up and down stairs three and four at a time in an attempt to get to his mate. When the door to their shared bedchamber finally came into view, he was dismayed to see a small crowd gathered around it.
"Move!" he cried, and a pathway seemed to appear as the people made way for their king.
But as soon as Thranduil made it to the bedside and took his mate's hand, time itself seemed to stand still. He could barely take in her mauled, swollen form. Her normally fair skin was a sickly white, her breathing was shallow and irregular, and there was a gash in her abdomen that blood came out of whenever her heart beat.
"How could this happen?" he asked, taking her hand in his own and kissing her fingers.
"It's being looked into at this very moment, my lord," a voice said behind him.
"How could this happen to you?" he asked, looking at her.
"My lord, the healers have done everything that they can-" Thranduil looked up then, eyes ablaze.
"Leave us!"
So commanding, agonizing, and desperate was his cry that not even the sound of shoes on stone could be heard as the king of Mirkwood was left alone with his dying queen.
Save for one.
"Ada?"
Please don't hate me.