Legolas was screaming again. Thranduil couldn't stand listening to the ripping, sobbing shrieks that came from his elfling, who was barely six years old. He couldn't stand it when any of his warriors did the same in the Healing Ward since that night almost two years ago, but it ignited more anger in him coming from one of his children, from his youngest, from one who wasn't old enough to understand anything other than how wrong life in these cold halls had become.
Thranduil was out of bed and tying his robe around his waist before Legolas could take a breath to cry out again. Moonlight wept through the sweeping windows on his right, lighting the cool carpets as he exited his room through a single red-painted door that opened to his baby's quarters. Jumping the three steps down, he saw that Legolas was still trapped in his nightmare, thrashing in his green silk sheets.
"Sire?" One of the guards stood at the other door leading into the room, having been drawn in with the same speed as Thranduil by Legolas's screams.
The elf's wide green eyes were shadowed with worry, even though this was a nightly routine. Everyone in Mirkwood loved his youngest son, and wanted his suffering to end. Thranduil hated the rumors that had begun to spread that Legolas was fading. His elfling was fine. He refused to believe his elfling would leave him, just like his wife and oldest son, the Crown Prince.
"Get out!" Thranduil grabbed a picture book from Legolas's nightstand and hurled it at the guard. The door shut before it could hit him, smacking against the thick oak instead and crashing to the stone below.
The noise woke his elfling, who lay panting and sweating before him, trapped in a knot that he had made with his sheets. Legolas stared up at him with wide, fearful silver eyes. He was a beautiful elf, delicate and with a spirit so bright that it made his golden-white hair and porcelain skin glow. It was a soft light, one that many in the court compared to their beloved stars. Thranduil hated that they talked about Legolas with such admiration, as if they wanted to take him for themselves. Thranduil hated that his small elfling was as perfect as he was. It brought him too much attention, and Thranduil had no intension of sharing him. Not after almost losing him.
He sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at his elfling, who tracked his movements without blinking but didn't inch away from him. Thranduil decided this meant he was getting better. He reached out, slowly, cautiously, and ran a hand over his glistening forehead. In response, Legolas relaxed.
"Kagnirrok," Legolas breathed and shivered. "He isn't here is he?"
The beast's name made Thranduil's bones turn to ice. The dragon had taken his kingdom, Greenwood the Great, and spread darkness across it from the south. The snake bore down from the sky like a serpent sent by the Valar, as if to punish him and his people for living in peace for too long, as if they were meant to suffer like mere humans instead of enjoying the immortality of the Eldar. The beast had come in search for the kingdom's gems filled with starlight, and to see if the youngest son of the Elvenking was as magnificent to behold as he had heard. In one day the beast had shattered three millennia of peace, shorn the light in their forest to shreds and now spiders and other foul things had begun to move in. Other realms had already begun to call Greenwood the Great . . . Mirkwood. While Kagnirrok had been chased away, more than just his elfling feared his return and an even greater darkness. Thranduil and the rest of Mirkwood feared that the elfling prince would be taken from them and all would fall to shadow.
Thranduil kept telling them that the beast would never show itself to their kingdom again, even if such an event haunted his dreams. The monster had taken all of the diamonds in Mirkwood's halls. The only thing it hadn't taken was Legolas. Thranduil refused to believe that it would come back for him.
"Nay, tithen las," Thranduil whispered to Legolas. "The snake is long gone from our home. The fire drake will not return, for your ada scared it away forever."
Legolas didn't look as relieved by those words as Thranduil expected. Usually his elfling would ease back into his pillows when he heard them and Thranduil would sing him to sleep. He waited for his son to explain his new worries as he wiped tears from his soft, flushed cheeks.
"Are you mad at me?" Legolas asked.
Thranduil held still. He moved his attention from the tear tracks to meet those wide, fearful eyes again. He tilted his head and traced the edge of one white eyebrow on his son's face.
"I would never be angry with you," he answered as gently as he could, and wondered with mounting fury where Legolas ever got the idea. Whoever planted it in his head would be punished.
"It's my fault Nana and Oroduil are . . . gone." Tears built in Legolas's eyes again.
"Your Nana and brother died protecting you." Thranduil thumbed the tears away as they fell. "I would never dishonor their sacrifice by being angry with you. It was not your fault that the beast came down that hallway. No one knew he would be there after raiding the kingdom's treasures."
"Why did he come back after taking the diamonds?" Legolas shivered.
Thranduil pressed a kiss on Legolas's forehead.
"He didn't take all of our treasures," he said softly. "He won't ever take all of it. Now sleep, ion nin."
Legolas was tired from a night full of memories, of reliving the moment Kagnirrok swept around the corner and into the hallway as he and his mother and oldest brother, Oroduil, were just leaving the royal wing. Legolas scampered down the steps to the warrior barracks, letting the cool stone under his bare feet push away the heat of the flames and his mother's shrieks from his mind. The familiar, comforting smell of leather and polished steel instantly calmed his racing heart and he felt safe.
"Dearest Prince," one soldier called out as he raced down the empty hallway, strong arms sweeping down to catch him as he passed. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
"I'm looking for a sword." Legolas gave Pelorian his best smile and wrapped his arms around the archer's neck.
"You're in no need for such a crude weapon," Pelorian snorted. Green eyes and a wicked smile sparked with mischief. "If it's a weapon you want, you should take up the bow."
"Nay, you daft elf," came Rugon's gravely bark. "Keep your poison out of his ears. If he wants a blade, let him have one. It's better than your useless sprigs any day."
Legolas laughed as Rugon, a large elf with arms and legs the size of oak branches, scooped him out of Pelorian's grasp and swung him up to sit on his boulder-like shoulders. Rugon was a woodland knight, always armed with a heavy long sword, and always argued with the archer's about who was the better warrior. The elite of the archers were snipers, led by Pelorian, and fought spiders and wargs much differently than the head-on, feral screaming method that Rugon and his elves did.
"I'll make him an archer yet, you troll, and there is nothing you can do to stop me," Pelorian said as he followed him and Legolas down the hall. Legolas smiled back at him and silently agreed. He would much rather be stealthy and secretive like Pelorian than a mountain like Rugon. That way, if he could move like a shadow through the trees, no dragon could find him before he snuck up on the snake and cut off its slimy head.
"Just as there will be nothing you can do to stop me from making him a knight," Rugon growled, but the menacing glare from his broad face and gray eyes was ruined by his rumbling laugh.
"Neither of you better hand him a weapon." Another warrior, Sard, joined them as he stepped out of a room. Following him were at least half of Mirkwood's army, flooding the vast hall from hundreds of doors. Legolas eyed Sard's strange throwing knives as the elf tucked them up his left sleeve. Though he didn't understand what Sard did in the military, his father often referred to him as a black magician, but he never used magic like Gandalf. His father never has explained it.
"Legolas is our prince," Sard said with his usual gentle voice, dark blue eyes finding his. A grin lifted his pale lips as he tucked a blade into the long, black braid behind his head. "Legolas should never have to lift a weapon so long as we are around. Nothing will ever harm him, and he should never feel the need to take up arms. You feel safe with us, do you not my prince?"
"I do," Legolas said, but as conversation filled the stone halls he was reminded of Kagnirrok's rolling growl and shivered. "I want to be able to fight anyway, though. Could you teach me?"
Rugon must have felt his tremor because he pulled Legolas off his shoulders and into his arms, cradling him as if he was an infant. Legolas growled in protest, hating to be coddled whenever anyone remembered what had happened to him two years ago. He wasn't four years old anymore. His father was known for his fierceness, and so would he be. After a few futile kicks and punches, he gave up. The elf, with his long golden hair and serious smoky eyes, was not someone Legolas could escape. He looked from Rugon's searching, furious gaze to Pelorian's worried one. Thankfully Sard was still busy hiding knives all over in his dark uniform.
"Do not tell me that the beast still haunts you." Rugon's gruff voice was quiet as if the mere thought pained him. "That slithering snake fled these lands two years ago from before your father's wrath and has not the courage to return. How can we drive his ghost from your mind, tithen prince? How can we help you?"
"Is he well?" a scared elleth, one of Pelorian's archers, stepped forward and made Rugon and the two others stop walking. "His condition hasn't worsened, has it?"
"He is not fading, witch," Pelorian snapped and shoved her to the side.
Legolas refused to look at her, only holding Rugon's gaze as they began walking again.
"If he comes back," Legolas whispered in response to Rugon's plea, "I will not hide behind anyone. I will fight."
The roar of conversation, the clatter of weapons and the sound of the military barracks coming to life for the day grew muffled and the aroma of freshly baked bread and chilled milk calmed him. The barrack kitchens were busy with the slamming of pots and pans, sizzling eggs and barking orders, but it was a relief compared to the overcrowded halls.
Rugon took a seat but did not allow Legolas to sit up or sit on his own. Rugon did not seem willing to release his charge, or even look away from him.
"I wish. . . ." Rugon began, searching for words. "I wish I could comfort you like you so desperately need by telling you the demon spawn will not return, that I and these other elves will always be here to protect you, but if my prince feels the need to learn how to defend himself, who am I to argue? Just know that my heart will break, because I always want you to stay this small so I can hold you like this and carry you away whenever the next nightmare comes for you."
Legolas smiled his thank you, and reached out to touch Rugon's crooked nose that had been broken one too many times throughout his immortal life that he no longer cared enough to set it straight again.
"It is best this way," Legolas said. "I would rather fight with you than lose you and have done nothing. I can't lose anyone else that I love."
Rugon's eyes glistened with tears and Legolas frowned at them.
"Old words from a young elf," Sard muttered. "Curse that dragon for aging you."
"Breakfast, dearest prince," Pelorian announced and Legolas heard a plate set on the wooden table next to him, where he still lay in Rugon's arms. "Release the sprite, troll," Pelorian demanded.
Rugon grumbled something and sat Legolas on his knee. Legolas smiled when he saw that Pelorian had brought him buttered biscuits, scrambled eggs and a large mug of iced milk. He immediately grabbed the drink and took a long swig from it. When he put it down again, all three of the warriors laughed. Sard took his sleeve and wiped Legolas's upper lip and the tip of his nose with it. Legolas laughed with them.
"There you are!"
Legolas jumped at the high and whining voice that belonged to his keeper, a nervous elf named Blaon. The waif-thin tutor, donned in elegant green robes that seemed to drown his body and made him stand out like a pompous fly amid a sea of black-clad soldiers, tucked his loose brown hair behind both ears and glared at him.
"The whole palace is looking for you, brat." Blaon reached to snatch him away from Rugon, but Sard caught his arm first and held it still. Blaon's icy blue eyes grew wide and his lips pursed like he had something sour in his mouth. "Unhand me, sorcerer. I am the prince's keeper and it is my responsibility to ensure that he is exactly where he belongs and that means he should not be here or ever be here consorting with the likes of you and your fellow killers."
Rugon growled like a furious bear and Pelorian leapt to his feet. Sard, however, remained calm. His dark eyes bore into Blaon's and forced him into silence.
"Say what you will about us," Sard said, soft and gentle as ever, though now with a dangerous edge to his voice as if his very words could slice Blaon's throat. Legolas's keeper struggled to get free and failed. "However, never speak ill of our prince. He is precious to us, and he could one day be your king so you had best be wise and hold your tongue in your frustration. Or else next time I will cut it out."
Blaon sucked on that sour thing in his mouth for a moment more before nodding. Sard allowed him to wrench his wrist free and turn once again to Legolas.
"Come now, Prince," Blaon ordered.
"Let him eat breakfast," Pelorian argued, still standing as well as hovering over Legolas protectively. "Look at him, he still hardly eats anything. Do you want him to be as thin as he was a year ago, or a year and a half ago?"
"Of course not-"
"Then let him eat!"
"His father is tearing the palace to pieces," Blaon shouted, gaining the attention from the entire kitchen now. Legolas spotted the head chef, Fesove, as he marched forward and folded his meaty arms. He had his famous wooden spoon in hand, the one he used on warriors who tried sneaking food. Fesove was almost as intimidating as Rugon, and in response to his angry red face Legolas tucked himself closer to Rugon's broad chest. Rugon wrapped his arms around him in response, tightening his grip on him as if feeling his unease.
"If I do not get the king's son to him quickly then we all face his wrath," Blaon finished.
"Is Thranduil getting worse?" Pelorian asked, all anger vanishing to fear. "Is there any danger to-"
"He is getting worse and so it is best that we don't find out how far his anger will spread, and to who else it may harm." Kasslad. Legolas's brother, the new Crown Prince. All eyes turned to him. He was the spitting image of Oroduil, who was killed with the queen that day. The same fiery golden eyes, white hair that tumbled over broad shoulders, their bodies the same build even. Both had trained with the sword, so it should be expected, but it hurt looking at him nonetheless. It was like looking at Oroduil's ghost.
"Time to go, tithen las." Kasslad waved for Blaon to take Legolas.
"Will you teach me how to fight later?" Legolas whispered to Rugon, but looked at Pelorian and Sard as well. All of them nodded.
Rugon let him down for Blaon to take, but Sard intercepted the keeper and took Legolas's outstretched hand instead.
Kasslad narrowed his eyes at him and Blaon huffed loudly.
"I think it is time that Legolas had a new keeper," Sard explained. "Blaon does not seem fit enough to handle the king's temper or the small prince's knack for sneaking around."
"I am fit enough," Blaon began to protest.
Kasslad held up a firm hand, silencing him. After a moment he nodded and led the way out of the barracks. Soft clapping followed them, and many patted Sard on the back as he passed.
It was difficult letting Sard's hand go. Legolas refused to glance up at the magician for comfort, but rather steeled his nerves and squared his shoulders. Kasslad opened both of the throne room doors, the guards having long since been dismissed in search for the lost prince. Legolas immediately saw the damage that his father's anger caused. The once billowing red and white curtains were ripped from their posts and tossed across the granite and marble incrusted floor. Rugs made from silk and cashmere had been kicked into piles, and tables made from rosewood lay smashed beneath every window. Vases glazed with gold and silver spread in shattered rivulets across the polished floor, the water and long-stemmed white roses tossed into puddles, their petals crushed.
King Thranduil, however, sat in splendor despite the ruin around him. Long robes, made from spun silver and inlaid with pin-sized sapphires, rested around his long body as he lounged in his white throne. His imposing crown, the one he wore in times of war instead of peace, was of steel and white gold. Legolas longed to see his crown of twigs and berries, but feared he would never see it again.
Thranduil smiled when he saw Legolas and opened his arms for his son to rush to him.
"Where have you been, ion nin?" Thranduil's voice was happy and calm. It was as if the destruction around him didn't exist.
"I wanted to be with the soldiers." Legolas hated how small his voice sounded in the big hall. He hated that he sounded like a child.
"Is that why the magician is with you?" Thranduil asked, still smiling.
"I was hoping to speak with you about becoming Prince Legolas's new keeper," Sard said.
Blaon snorted and drew a glare from the king. Thranduil sneered at Blaon for a moment before beckoning both Legolas and Kasslad to him. Kasslad swiftly picked his little brother up and Legolas was glad. He didn't want to navigate the long way to his father's throne with bare feet. Even as Kasslad walked, Legolas heard the snapping and crunching of glass beneath his boots and hoped none of the shards cut through his soles.
Legolas peered into Kasslad's stoic face, studying his perfect cheekbones and the deep grooves beneath them. He was beautiful, his white eyelashes and brows enhancing the gold in his eyes. He used to be fun, while Oroduil was difficult to laugh around because he followed the rules too closely. But Kasslad hadn't laughed since Kagnirrok came. It was just another thing the dragon stole.
Thranduil's smile widened when they reached him, and he eagerly took Legolas from Kasslad. The king sat his youngest son in his lap to face him and gently brushed Legolas's loose hair behind his ears.
"Still having trouble braiding your hair?" Thranduil asked and laughed before Legolas could answer yes. His blush must have been enough for his father. "Then I will braid your hair for you. Do not be embarrassed. Come to me in the morning before you race out to your adventures and I will gladly do it."
Thranduil's slender hands began separating strands of golden hair and Legolas slowly began to relax. As if sensing this, Thranduil's icy blue eyes softened and the lines around them faded.
"So you wish to give up your high rank in my military, give up your command of the other magicians and abandon your apprentices in order to look after and tutor my son," Thranduil asked, but didn't look up from his task, as if braiding Legolas's hair was the most important part of his day.
Sard and Blaon had slowly approached the throne and now knelt before him on one knee. Blaon fussed with making sure there was no glass before he did, though Sard didn't seem to care.
"Yes, Sire," Sard said.
"Why?"
Legolas turned again to look at his friend, meeting his dark eyes with a smile. He would love to have Sard around all the time. Sard would be able to teach him how to fight when no one was looking, too. Plus . . . he would feel safe.
Thranduil took Legolas's chin in hand and turned him around again to keep braiding his hair. Legolas sat as still as he could.
"Blaon is incompetent." Sard's voice was dry and blunt. "He is impatient with Prince Legolas and fails to keep track of him. I have always loved and been loyal to your family, King Thranduil. Prince Legolas has been set apart from you and the rest, and with a desire to keep him secure I would willingly give up everything to be his keeper."
Thranduil's hands froze and Legolas saw his temper flare in his eyes again, going from calm water to an icy sea.
"What sets Legolas apart?" he asked.
Legolas heard Sard's confusion through his silence.
"Kagnirrok set him apart the moment he came here to view the prince for himself, based on the rumors those filthy humans spread when this kingdom did trade with those in Dale." Sard's anger was bit back with gritted teeth.
Legolas put his hands on his father's cheeks and looked into his eyes, panic building in his chest, his heart racing. He felt the heat from the beast's flames, his nana screaming, Oroduil's face as he told him to hide.
"Kagnirrok came for me?" Legolas whispered. "You said he came for the diamonds."
"You haven't told him?" Sard gasped.
"Ion nin," Thranduil only had eyes for Legolas, "he did come for the diamonds. He only wished to see you, but then he left and hasn't returned. He knows that I would never let him take you from me."
Legolas felt the panic build until he couldn't hold back his tremors. Thranduil squeezed him close, cradled him against his strong chest and then turned venomous eyes on Sard.
"Return to your shadow elves, warlock," Thranduil commanded. "You will never be Legolas's keeper. Look what you've done to him."
"You should have been honest with him," Sard shouted.
Thranduil stood, Legolas still in his arms, and snarled at the magician.
"Return to your killers, trickster," Thranduil shouted. "Do your job and slaughter the scum that tries to crawl into this kingdom. If you truly love this family and my son as you say, then do us all a favor and keep an eye on the merchants returning from Dale. They will be here on the morrow."
Sard stood with a flourish and glared at his king. Legolas tried to catch his eye and shake his head, anything to calm him down, but Sard was too angry.
"You're opening the kingdom back up to them?" Sard shouted. "They are the ones who spread the rumor of Legolas, and of your treasury, which brought the beast down on our heads. Rumors will start again once they see that your son has grown, and he has become even more striking. Do you dare draw that beast back here? Is trade and money worth more to you than what even a dragon holds dear?"
"You are out of line!" Thranduil bellowed for the guards, though where they came from Legolas didn't know. He struggled to get out of his father's arms, but Ada held him tighter to the point of pain. He winced and gasped for air.
"We are also opening our doors to Rivendell and the Golden Wood again," Thranduil said as a dozen guards poured into the ruined throne room. "My son will be safe."