It was nearly sundown, and Legolas was still gone.
For most of the day, Galion hadn't thought that anything was wrong. Legolas was as drawn to the forest as any of the Silvans in his kingdom, and a day spent exploring was not out of character.
But.
It was nearing sundown, and Legolas was still gone. And every elfling in Mirkwood knew: get home before nightfall.
Galion rode out.
It took slightly over twenty minutes to find any trace of the Prince. The trace he found was a body lying battered and broken in a clearing, a pair of blueish puncture wounds on his collarbone.
"Legolas..." The name emerged a choked whisper as Galion slid off his horse. "Legolas!"
The body fit like it was made to belong there, cradled in his arms.
The horse knew the way back home by heart. It was Legolas's body, not the reins, that Galion held.
"Galion." His liege's voice would have been described as calm by most, but Galion had known Thranduil long enough to hear the worry there.
The name was enough; the question didn't need to be asked. "I have him," he replied, unable to keep his voice from cracking as he laid down Legolas's corpse.
The icy king's mask that Thranduil habitually wore slipped, fell, and shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. "No," he whispered, sinking to his knees beside Legolas. "Please, no."
Galion knelt beside him, took his hand, and said nothing. Some things were better left unsaid.