And here I present the final two chapters.

Thank you everyone who read this story, thank you everyone who reviewed, followed or favourited. This has been my first foray into a new fandom, and it was a scary experience, to be honest. I would be very grateful if you could drop me a line if you are interested in another story from the Tolkien universe by my hand or if you think I should not bother. (No need to waste web space with stories no one wants to read anyway.)

But now on to the end of the tale.

Ich dien – To Serve the Kingdom

by faust

10

The Son

Bain frequently inquires after the elven lady. It takes him several weeks to eventually accept that "the queen is dead" is the answer to those queries.

(He never asks about Tauriel, even though she stayed with them for far longer than the queen. But perhaps that is to be expected, for the elven captain's attention was pinned to the dwarf Kili, whereas Bain can still feel the soft, cool hand of the beautiful Lady of the Woodland on his knee. )

He doesn't dwell much on the revelation that the elf-mother will never come back. It's not the first time a mother never came back to Bain, and, sadly, he's getting used to that. It stings only sometimes, at night when Bain can't sleep, or in the daytime if he's fallen and hurt himself. Then he wishes he had a mother to reach out for. He has no memory of his own mother, but father has told him she was kind and tender and very beautiful. The queen was the most beautiful person Bain has ever seen, and kind and tender; he's certain his mother must have looked just like her. And surely, her hands must have felt the same as the queen's: soft and kind and tender. He aches for that touch—but only sometimes, at night when he can't sleep, or in the daytime if he's fallen and hurt himself. For the rest of the time he's a big boy, brave and strong as it becomes the son of Bard the Dragon Slayer.

Then one day his father brings home a sad, tall blonde elf and introduces him as "Legolas." Bain doesn't need the further explanation that this is the Prince of Mirkwood, the missing son the elven mother had been looking for—his resemblance to the queen is striking, even to a boy's eye. The prince has the same quiet, regal poise, the same soft lilting voice; Bain wonders if his touch is just as tender as the queen's, and if he can heal sore knees, too. Since Legolas looks unhurt—not really healthy, true, but Bain suspects the reasons for that are of a different nature—he believes that his mother must have found him unscathed, or maybe she healed him as she healed Bain.

Legolas is friendly enough, and Bain's older sisters can't seem to stop smoothing down their skirts and their hair. It makes Bain roll his eyes, but they ignore their little brother and continue fussing around and giggling under their breaths as they see to the elf's every need—which exists only in their imagination, for Legolas never ceases to assure them he is fine. He's very polite but also distanced, his smile somehow restrained; and for some reason that makes Bain's heart ache.

"I knew your mama," he finally blurts out, just to make the mask crumble.

And crumble it does. The smile wiped from his face, Legolas crouches down in front of the little boy and furrows his brows. The frown looks more genuine than the distracted smile from earlier, and more like something Bain can relate to. "You knew her?"

"She was here. I fell, and she healed my leg," Bain says and shows his unmarked knee.

Legolas nods and smiles, really smiles this time. His eyes look glazed-over. But surely, elves don't cry, do they?

There's more Bain has to say. He has no way to put it properly, for there just don't seem to be the right words for it. "She was nice," he says. "Kind." Many years later he will cringe about the inadequateness of those words, the incompleteness. Considerate would have been better, caring, or maybe just loving.

But Legolas seems to understand him anyway, for suddenly Bain finds himself in a tight embrace, its warmth and sincerity very reminiscent of the mother's. There is something shared. Bain isn't sure what it is, but it's real and it's important—and tender—and it's just between the two of them.

"That she was," he hears a breathless whisper as Legolas lets his face rest on the top of Bain's head—also so very much like the mother did—and then a shudder goes through the prince's body, and it almost seems as if after all elves do cry.

Almost.

And in this tumbling world of shadows and dragons, of war and death, Bain takes a surprising lot of comfort in that.

ooOoo

Over the years, Bain meets Legolas on a regular basis. The people of the new-built Esgaroth have not forgotten how graciously the King of Mirkwood aided them after the dragon had destroyed Laketown; men and elves still remember how they fought side by side at the Lonely Mountain; careful friendships are formed, trade connections developed.

Once a year King Thranduil comes to town with his entourage. An official banquet is held in his honour, there is much talk of business and politics; and quite often the king meets Bain's father in private before he returns to his stronghold in the forest. Bain and his sisters see to it that they stay out of the king's scrutiny. They prefer to take up the attention of Legolas, who is ever patient and willingly lets himself be taken aside and prompted to tell them ancient elven myths or wild stories about hunting giant spiders. He is very gifted at carving, and soon Bain has a collection of exquisitely crafted wooden animals. (His favourite is an oliphaunt, and Legolas seems delighted when he tells him so.)

Then Bard and his children move on to their ancestral home of Dale at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. After rebuilding the town, Bain's father becomes King of Dale, and Bain a prince like Legolas. The people of Dale maintain good relations with the residents of the Lonely Mountain, and trade is high between men and dwarves. King Thranduil still visits occasionally, but his calls are entirely of a private nature—he sends delegates to attend business assemblies, councils, or any other gatherings in which dwarves are also expected to take part. Legolas usually accompanies him, and from time to time he drops in on his own when he "accidentally passes by". He always brings tidings from Esgaroth and from Mirkwood—sometimes even from Rivendell— tales he has heard from wizards and wandering minstrels, and small, well-chosen gifts of elven craft. He is unfailingly polite, kind and quiet, carefully distant and shy—but around the children he smiles readily and after a while even starts singing to them, soulful little songs in his fair elven tongue.

Initially, Legolas is almost like a much older, greatly admired brother to Bain. But what starts as a little boy's hero worship for an idolised sibling, slowly evolves into a solid, mutual friendship as Bain grows up, a companionship that becomes still deeper and sounder after Bard dies and Bain takes up the crown. While Thranduil ceases visits entirely, Legolas remains a frequent guest in the King of Dale's halls. There are many things they share, not just being the sons of two illustrious, greater-than-life fathers.

The closer they grow, the more Legolas opens up. With increasing frequency, his serious, reserved elven prince-façade cracks open to reveal relaxed cheerfulness, easily inspired curiosity, deep compassion, and great love for things of beauty. The Mirkwood prince's wit, Bain discovers, can be sharp and biting, shrewd and sarcastic—and playfully gladsome, almost childish at times. After a while, it's not always possible to tell who's the older of the two.

They are both gifted archers—even though Bain will never reach Legolas's superior marksmanship, for a man his skills are extraordinary, and the elf never fails to honour them—and they both love to demonstrate their ability in deer hunts. They are both not averse to a goblet of a choice vintage from Dorwinion, and they both love a good, mirthful song with their wine—or a wistful story of old.

Legolas's songs have also changed over time: the mournful tunes are now often replaced by joyous melodies. At first it strikes Bain as odd that Legolas sometimes bursts into a song at seemingly random moments, but he easily becomes accustomed it, for the elven songs, as well as Legolas's pleasant baritone, are of rare beauty. And so Bain begins to enjoy the sudden outbursts, even to wait for them.

When asked about the songs, Legolas confides that he learned most of them from his mother, who was a singer renowned among her people, and that he could not bear singing them while the grief of losing her was still so near. It is rare for Legolas to share memories unprompted, and even when encouraged he seems reluctant to go into detail and mostly remains vague about family matters. Elven discretion, one might think, but Bain suspects it has more to do with the raw pain in Legolas's eyes whenever conversation turns to his deceased mother. However, Bain can't help but ask about her from time to time: as short as their acquaintance was, the Queen of the Woodland still occupies a cherished place in his heart, and he relishes the rare moments when Legolas's brief tales let her come alive again.

The elven prince is not only a friend to Bain but also a representative of Mirkwood to the men of Esgaroth and Dale. As his reserve breaks he becomes easily approachable; a kind, dry-witted ambassador and sought-after consultant. To men.

Dwarves are a completely different matter. They remain a subject of disagreement between Bain and Legolas, the one thing about which they cannot come to an understanding. As much as Bain tries, he cannot soften Legolas's aversion to them. On the days they argue about the dwarves, Legolas does not sing, does not drink Dorwinion wine, and does not smile; and so Bain eventually learns to avoid that topic completely. He does not want to risk a friendship over it, and nothing will change the elf's set heart anyway. It's a lost cause.