Hello everyone :)

Some of you may be thinking 'Why is she publishing something new when we've been waiting for an update for AGES?'. The answer: I'm currently suffering from horrific writer's block with regard to my current story, In Loving Memory. I found this story partially written on my hard drive and thought it might be nice to give you guys something different to read while you wait for me to get my act together. It's also a nice opportunity to see what you think of my writing in a Lord of the Rings/Hobbit context, since my next story after ILM may well be a LOTR fanfic.

Anyway, enough blathering on. This will be a three-shot story (a oneshot with two alternative endings) and I would LOVE if you would drop me a review and let me know which ending you prefer. This may have a small impact on a LOTR story I intend to write later, so please take the time to let me know.

Any elvish I use, I will translate at the bottom (but it probably won't be much as my Sindarin is decidedly rusty!).

Disclaimer: Any characters, places or themes are borrowed from the genius JRR Tolkien, apart from my OCs - you will know who they are!

"Words cut deeper than knives. A knife can be pulled out, words are embedded into our souls."

- William Chapman

King Thranduil stormed into his office, sending a breeze across the room which scattered papers everywhere as he flung his cloak over a chair. Closely behind him, his son walked into the room, wearing a matching thunderous expression.

The King turned to look at the Prince. They held each other's gaze for several long moments without speaking, before Legolas's temper got the better of him.

"How could you let this happen?" he burst out, his eyes wide with anger.

"Let this happen? How dare you!" Thranduil retorted. "I am not omniscient, Legolas, nor have I ever claimed to be. One might as well ask why you have done nothing about it."

Legolas's hands tensed into half-formed fists but he held himself in check - for now. "You knew something of the danger they were facing. You could have stopped them from leaving."

"They would not have listened to me! You know them, Legolas - they are stubborn as a pair of mules. Only a warning from Lady Galadriel herself would have stood a chance of convincing them to stay." Thranduil was trying very hard to keep his temper under control, but it was so very hard right now. "Do you not think that I miss them too?"

That brought Legolas up short, but only for a moment. He seemed to have something else on his mind. "If you miss them that much, why has nothing been done to recover their trail or avenge their deaths?"

"That is not fair, Legolas-"

"No, Adar, it is not. But do you know what else is not fair?" Legolas asked rhetorically through clenched teeth. "Arriving home from a long-term patrol to learn that both of your older brothers have still not come home from their visit to Rivendell, despite being over a month overdue, then finding out that your father has done nothing about it!"

Thranduil went white with fury. "You go too far."

"You do not go far enough! You will not even allow me to lead a search party to try and find them. You-" Legolas bit off the next thing he was about to say, but Thranduil nodded expectantly, raising his eyebrows.

"Go on. Whatever you were about to say, say it."

Legolas took a deep breath, then spoke in measured tones that only hinted at the boiling rage beneath. "One might think that you, the mighty King Thranduil of Mirkwood, was afraid."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "Afraid? Of what, pray?"

"You would rather hide behind your palace walls and send out scouting parties than go and look for your sons. You won't even let me go and search for them myself!"

"These are childish words, ill-befitting one who would call himself Prince of Mirkwood. I thought you had started to grow up, but clearly I was wrong." Thranduil could see the hurt in his son's eyes as he spoke, but his anger would not let him take the words back.

Legolas narrowed his own pale-blue eyes and looked his father right in the face. "Better to be a child than a coward."

The King stared at his son in shock, all of the anger draining from him. The coldness in his son's eyes made him look like a stranger. "If that is how you feel-"

"That is how it is." Legolas spoke sharply, cutting off his father's words as if they didn't matter.

Thranduil didn't know what to do. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out. The Prince looked at his father icily, then turned and left the room without another word.

You are a coward.

Coward.

The King turned away and slammed his fist into the nearest wall, roaring with a mix of rage and despair. Had Legolas spoken purely out of anger, or was there some truth to his words? He slammed his fist against the wall again and again, hoping the pain would serve as a distraction from the turmoil in his mind. Eventually he slumped against the stone and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Blood was smeared across his knuckles and he could see the skin had split, but he didn't care.

My elder sons are missing. My youngest son hates me.

Tears trickled down his face as he leaned against the cold stone wall, blood dripping from his hand to patter on the floor. Oh Lothiriel, my love. Why did you have to leave me? I can't do this without you.

He imagined his wife's soft smile and gentle voice. Yes, you can. Legolas is grieving. He does not mean what he says.

I wish I could believe that. He bit his lip as more tears fell, remembering the coldness in Legolas's eyes. There was no pretence there; in that moment, his son had despised him.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, slumped against the wall, but the light had gone from the orange glow of sunset to the purple-blue of dusk when he finally got to his feet again. The window was open, letting in a cool breeze which carried the scents of the evening with it. Damp grass and sweet flowers mingled with the fresh scent of pine as he took a deep breath, smiling despite his misery. The sun was a wonderful thing, but there was no comparing it with the beauty of the night.

Unfortunately, his admiration of the starlit gardens was brutally cut short. A sharp twang was his only warning, giving him time to take one step backwards before an arrow slammed into his ribs. He gasped in pain, eyes wide as he took in every detail of the black-fletched arrow protruding from his abdomen. The room seemed to tilt as he staggered and fell backwards, landing hard on the floor. He raised a shaking hand, trying to press it to the wound and contain the bleeding but when he touched the arrow it sent a bolt of white-hot pain through his entire body. His breathing harsh and ragged, he tried to take a deeper breath but it came out in a sharp cry of pain.

There is an assassin in my garden.

The sentence seemed so absurd that he almost laughed, but it came out as a sharp cough. The movement sent pain ripping through his ribs and chest, making it hard to breathe. Half-conscious and in enormous amounts of pain, he did the only thing he could think of. Closing his eyes, he opened his mind, reached out and touched the nearest presence he recognised.

Legolas, he started to say, but a wave of weariness swept over him and he found it difficult to focus. Come...please...

There was no response, but he couldn't tell if that was due to inaction on Legolas's part or if he was just too weak to feel it. The wound was still bleeding heavily, soaking his clothes and pooling on the floor around him. He tried not to look at it.

His vision was blurring. He blinked to try and focus it, then frowned when it continued to blur and darken. He coughed again and the salty taste of blood filled his mouth. Something warm was trickling from one side of his mouth and he realised with a jolt of adrenaline that the arrow must have punctured his lung.

I'm drowning, he thought vaguely, feeling his chest tighten as blood filled his mouth again and trickled down over his chin. He thought he heard a voice but he lacked the energy to turn his head and look. Even if he could have, it was all he could do to keep his eyes open. The room spun sickeningly above him and he almost closed his eyes to shut it out, but a terrified voice he barely recognised as his own shouted in the back of his mind: If you close them now, you'll never open them again!

Then, suddenly, hands closed over his shoulders and turned him onto his side. The pain this movement caused was blinding and he opened his mouth to cry out, but blood clogged his throat and he choked. Firm hands rubbed his back and held him as he convulsed and choked out mouthfuls of blood onto the floor. Finally, he drew in a short but heavenly breath, his body relaxing a little as it was reunited with precious air.

Adar!

There was that voice again. It sounded so familiar. He wondered if he could force his eyes open and see who had come to his aid.

"Adar!" The voice was louder now, as urgent hands turned him onto his back again and brushed his hair from where it had fallen across his face. He concentrated and his eyelids flickered. Focusing harder, he was rewarded with the blurry image of a white face framed with long pale hair.

"L-Le-" he stammered, but his throat wouldn't let him finished. He choked again and the face came closer, as a long-fingered hand squeezed his shoulder.

"Shhh. Don't try to talk," Legolas said softly. "I've called for help. The healers will be here any moment."

Thranduil nodded weakly, not trusting his voice again. He could hear the harsh rasp of his breathing over the thunder of his heartbeat. His vision blurred again and he blinked hard but it didn't help.

"Adar, open your eyes." Legolas was using the commanding tone he usually reserved for training new Guard recruits. That meant he was worried. "Now, Adar. Come on."

I'm trying, he wanted to say, but his voice wouldn't work. Instead he focused his energy on lifting his eyelids. It was hard work but he was rewarded by the sight of his son smiling.

"That's it, Adar. Hold on. You're going to be alright."

Thranduil wondered whether Legolas believed those words, or if he was trying to convince himself. Either way, he was just glad to hear his son's voice, even if he couldn't reply. He turned his head slightly to look Legolas in the eyes and hoped that his thoughts showed on his face. The Prince smiled again and nodded encouragingly.

Suddenly, footsteps crossed the room and another face appeared beside his son's. After a moment, Thranduil recognised the dark hair and bright eyes of Norolion, his chief healer.

"My King, we're going to lift you onto the bed," Norolion said clearly. "This will hurt, so I apologise in advance."

He turned away and said something Thranduil couldn't hear to Legolas, who nodded. Legolas moved round so that he was upside down in Thranduil's field of vision, sliding his hands carefully under his father's shoulders. Two other healers took hold of his legs and supported his body as they lifted him up and laid him on the bed. He supposed they probably were trying to be gentle, but regardless the movement was agony. He cried out and his limbs convulsed in an attempt to get away from the pain.

"Hold him down!" A voice said urgently. "We need to take the arrow out."

Thranduil was vaguely aware of someone speaking in his ear. It sounded like Legolas but he wasn't sure and didn't have the strength to open his eyes and check. "Hold on," the voice was saying. "Hold on, Adar. Please, just a little longer."

So it was Legolas. Thranduil wished desperately for the power of telepathy that Lady Galadriel was blessed with, so that he could comfort his son, but he lacked the energy to even try. Their harsh words from before still resounded in his mind but at the moment they didn't seem so important.

"They're taking the arrow out now, Adar," Legolas's voice spoke from somewhere nearby.

He tried to nod but wasn't sure if it worked. He was starting to feel cold now, little shivers sending new sparks of pain through his body. For a moment, Thranduil wondered whether he was dying.

Then they pulled the arrow out. Blinding, searing pain shot through him, filling his world with white light that swiftly faded to black.

When Thranduil's awareness returned, he was still surrounded by healers. The black arrow had gone, the place where it had been covered with bloody bandages. Without moving his head, he swivelled his eyes until he spotted a flash of bright blonde.

"Adar! You're awake!" Legolas exclaimed with joy.

"We thought we'd lost you for a moment, my King," one of the healers said with a thin smile.

Another healer spoke softly in the first healer's ear, unfortunately not softly enough that Thranduil did not hear him. "The bleeding will not stop, sir. What do we do?"

Thranduil frowned and looked down at the bandages. There did seem to be more blood on the outside of them than there ought.

"The wound is clean and neat, but the arrow was coated with a unique poison." Norolion appeared by the head of the bed. "It is preventing the wound from beginning to heal and allowing you to keep bleeding, my King."

"What can we do to stop it?" Legolas asked nervously.

Norolion glanced from the prince to his father with trepidation. "The quickest and cleanest thing we can do is cauterise the wound."

Thranduil's eyes widened. He stared from the healer to his son and back again, shaking his head as hard as he could - which wasn't very hard, all things considered.

"Give us a moment," Legolas said softly.

Norolion nodded once and walked to the other side of the room, far enough to provide some privacy but close enough to be useful if anything should happen.

"I know how you feel about fire, Adar, but this could save your life!" Legolas whispered earnestly. "It will only take a moment and then everything will be fine."

Thranduil's face creased in pain both current and remembered and he turned his head away. After what that dragon had done to him, he had spent centuries hiding his terror of being burned again. Now he was supposed to believe that they needed to burn him in order to save his life?

"Please, Ada."

His eyes snapped back to his son, who was sitting disconsolately beside the bed. "I can't lose you, Ada. Not now, not ever. I-I didn't mean what I said before."

See? I told you, Lothiriel's gentle voice teased as Thranduil watched a single tear make its way down his son's ivory cheek.

Thranduil realised that Legolas was still speaking. "You aren't a coward. You're anything but a coward. I only said that because I was angry, and because...because I thought you didn't care. But I know that you do. And I care about you, so please let them do this!"

There was no choice. As much as he feared it, this was the only solution that would allow him to continue living with his son. He couldn't leave Legolas alone, not with his brothers still missing and his mother already gone. Lothiriel would never forgive him if he met her now in the Halls of Mandos, knowing the burdens he'd placed on their young son's shoulders. He nodded once, stiffly, and tried to suppress the feeling that he was signing his own death warrant.

"My father has agreed to allow you to cauterise the wound. Please, do it quickly." Legolas moved back to sit out of the way by his father's head, taking one of his hands. He squeezed gently and smiled, but the expression didn't reach his worried eyes.

Thranduil tried to squeeze back, but the energy just wasn't there. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open and fixed on his son. He couldn't risk looking down at the wrong moment and witnessing what they were about to do to him. The pain would be bad enough without the image as well.

"Squeeze as hard as you need to, Adar," Legolas told him. "I know this will hurt."

You have no idea, ion-nin.

Thranduil would never admit to his son that he still had nightmares about the time after he was burned by the dragon. For weeks he had lain in a bed in the medical wing, swathed in bandages that felt like they were lined with razors. Unable to move, see or even scream, he had lain there believing himself to be the only occupant in a universe of pain. This would not be nearly so bad, but the pain would be the same type. Flashbacks and nightmares were inevitable; it was only recently that the nightmares had started to recede, too. He should have known that it was too good to be true.

"We are ready, my King. I will make this as quick as I can."

Without thinking, Thranduil looked down and saw the red-hot knife descending towards him. Panic rose in his throat and he tried to move himself away from the heat beating against his skin, but strong hands held him down. Pale hair crossed his vision and a soft voice murmured in his ear.

"Scream if you need to, Adar. I'm here. You're safe."

Then the world was filled with pain again. The sickening hiss of hot metal on flesh was drowned out by screams as Thranduil struggled against his son and the healers who held him down. Cauterisation was always traumatic but for the King who had been burned with dragon fire, it was pure torture. Sweat ran down his face and mingled with the blood that had dried in streaks on his face and chin as he choked out agonised screams. All the while, his son murmured soothingly in his ear, reminding him that he was not alone, that he was with those who loved him, and that everything was going to be alright.

Elvish:

Adar: father

Ion-nin: my son