Chapter 40~ Belong

"Dead people receive more flowers than living ones, because regret is stronger than gratitude."

~Anne Frank

oOo

Thranduil had to look away. In this moment all he could do was clutch the crushed body of the little elfling in his arms and try to block out the piercing cries of Feren and Tauriel.

Soldiers lingered uncomfortably at their flank, head down, some murmuring a quick prayer to assure smooth passage for the departing súlë to the Halls.

The world smeared out into the distance.

Legolas could not take it anymore. He had remained frozen, staring at the pile of rubble and mangled bodies incomprehensibly. The only thing he could remember were the large, hopeful eyes of Minaitir as he wrapped his little arms around his waist and asked to be his brother. So bold, yet so timid.

Minaitir had only been a homeless child, seeking perhaps a scrap of love. Like a starved alley cat with its wary eyes as it edged toward a bowl of nourishment and watched you as if it was too good to be true.

'Will you be my brother?' Would it really have been that hard? To take a moment to bend for the child to whisper something into his ear, or let him lean on his shoulder to have at least some semblance of safety or belonging?

And his father. Previously, it would have brought lightness to his own heart to simply see the weary king smile. Did he really begrudge the child that ability?

Now all that was left was hardly a limp corpse.

"Nononono, naneth. Naneth you cannot leave me like this. What will I do without— oh." Feren—Captain Feren, steely-eyed warrior, with fervor and loyalty that rivaled even his—Feren was in shambles. Violent sobs shook his shoulders as he caressed Aldaner's grey face, doubling over on himself and clutching his chest.

Galion hovered over him, his own silent tears tracking their way down the dirt smeared across his cheek while he ran his hand over the ellon's back and tucked wayward strands of hair behind his ears with shaking hands.

Legolas couldn't bear to watch. Pitiful groans escaped the captain's throat and Galion flinched at every one.

The young prince knew exactly what was happening. Knew exactly how the ellon felt as his mother's súlë was torn away from his. It felt as if you were being split in two. That certain spot in your heart reserved for the one you loved vacant like a rapidly cooling seat where they were once settled into your side. It hurt and bled like any natural wound. You bled tears, and it ached inside. There was a reason few elflings ever survived the death of a parent.

Tauriel was a different matter entirely. She had just had a chunk of her heart beginning to patch itself in the gaping hole left by her brother only to have it torn out anew. He wouldn't be surprised—nor would he blame her—if she made an enemy of him after this.

No one knew yet; that it was he who had weakened the tunnel wall in one of his childish pouts.

How can adar bear me even as a prince? I have failed as a son and even then when appointed as protector of the Realm, the blood of three elves stains my hands...

Will I ever be forgiven?

He knew he would have to tell someone, someday. But not yet.

Perhaps I can add 'coward' to the ever-growing list of shortcomings. Surely it will be overlooked in the shadow of 'murderer'.

His gaze wandered back to his father who had not moved since the child has been placed in his arms. The least he could do was not leave his father alone in this for he had lost two that were dear to his heart, though any life taken was a difficult enough blow to an immortal.

Legolas bent down and took the Minaitir's boneless corpse from Thranduil. Those piercing eyes, once flashing and vivid had greyed in the wake of this fresh pain. The listless irises slid over to Feren who was angrily struggling against Galion in his attempts to pull him out of the atmosphere.

Sheets were delivered to the chamber and Legolas took one with a habitual nod of acknowledgment and gingerly wrapped the too-small bundle.

Immortal lives are not meant to be ended thus, but even more so for immortal children.

A familiar presence approached within Feren's reach. The young captain wordlessly turned and buried his face into Thranduil's arm, more tremors of sobs spasming his shoulders. Galion used the moment to spread one of the sheets over Aldaner's corpse and carefully transfer the body onto a stretcher to be carried away to a funeral pyre.

A low, trembling whisper left Feren's lips, "I don't think I will survive this."

Silver tear after tear slid their way down the Sinda's face. He reached his arm across his friend's back and took a fist-full of his hair in a semblance of an embrace.

"You will." A hitched breath. "I'll make you. I am your king and I say that you will stay here with me."

Feren huffed out a brief, unsteady laugh. Galion's kind eyes and outstretched hand appeared in his periphery and Feren felt the smallest of grins steady his trembling lips.

What would he do without these two?

oOo

It was rather strange.

A chorus of crying voices reverberated in Legolas' ears and filled the silence of his dim room. They had just burned the bodies and had a proper ceremony for the deceased—he was still fitted in the customary black velvet—but he simply felt... numb.

No tears had been shed from the close relations to the dead.

Legolas cast his eyes about the room and he ambled over to settle on his bed. There wasn't much to look at. All the furnishings had been destroyed along with the other stronghold. He was never much for knick-knacks and other such pretty things, but found his room considerably lacking at the moment without anything to distract him.

Something hard and smooth touched his palm and he picked it up. It was Estel's simple hairbrush. The silly human had forgotten it amidst all their banter.

Now Legolas found, oddly enough, that he missed the adan. His presence had not exactly induced a fresh topic of study, or something that required his attention like the everyday hub-drub of his life or even duty. No, Estel had been the one to settle down beside him and give a gentle smile with those brilliant windows of silver.

Of all the Edain Legolas has met, there was something very...different about Estel. It could be called somewhat of an elvish quality, but that wouldn't cover it. He had the depth of an elf with the intensity of such vibrant life like the soul of a Secondborn. Somehow, he could always feel Estel's gaze on him and would meet it boldly as he always did. But instead of a steely defiance or uncertain wavering, Estel emanated a melancholic kindness. An unknown semblance that said, 'I understand.'

It was all rather puzzling.

He ached for Estel's consoling demeanor now. Legolas didn't want to be looked upon as a standard needing to be met. He didn't want skepticism or pity or awe; to be treated as some sacred thing that was locked up behind glass for others to gawk at and point to as an example.

He simply wanted a friend. Estel had been just that, and he found the prospect delightful.

Making a note to himself to write up a passage to Estel later, Legolas set the hairbrush back onto the bed and made for the forest.

He knew it was dangerous to be alone; not because of the fell beasts that roamed in the wilderness but the fact that no distraction prevented his thoughts from running rampant. Much like his súlë found solace in flitting about the life that vibrated in the very air when out in the midst of the enchanting Song.

Thoughts were dangerous, but he was willing to take that risk to set a bit of himself free for at least a few moments; to pretend like this wasn't just a bit of stolen silence to keep him sane.

Oh, the things I must tell you, Estel.

oOo

Alagbara shouldered her pack, making for the exit before a familiar rolling voice stopped her in her tracks.

"You leave so soon?"

She rolled her eyes with a quirk of her mouth that she dared none other see before regaining her usual neutral sternness and turning on her heel to face the king.

"I have taken it upon myself to bring the outlying settlements to safety, or at least build up their defenses enough to reasonably hold. You know as well as I that times are changing and this encroaching darkness will soon be upon us." Alagbara turned her head to peer into the distance. "I only wish we had more time."

Thranduil was enraptured in a demeanor of thoughtfulness before the spell was broken. "Indeed. I bid you safe journeys throughout."

They exchanged the rarity of the barest of warm smiles before she departed behind the gate with a last swoosh of her silky brown train of hair.

oOo

"I have just realized something."

Legolas nearly drew his knife at the unexpected sound, but it was familiar and he relaxed only slightly.

"I was not expecting anyone to be here," Legolas said with the smallest of bows.

Thranduil threw him a weary look over his shoulder. The Sinda was sitting at the base of a thick tree, his arms looped around his knees.

"Why must you always do that?"

"Pardon—do what, hir nin?"

"Address me like a king when we are alone."

Legolas furrowed his brow, but it was just for show. He absently wondered why his heart had begun to race. "...Because that is who you are," the young elf said, the puzzlement evident in his voice.

Thranduil brought up a hand to brace his brow. "Not all fathers are kings, but all kings should be fathers, if not to his own blood, then to his people." Legolas settled down near his father, a respectful distance away. The king turned to look at him.

Yet it wasn't the king that was looking at him now. This elf was drawn, conflict in his eyes with violet bruises under them and emotional turmoil rolling off him in waves. This elf bore many cares on his shoulders, not all of which were his own. This elf was so very, very tired.

The weary king continued slowly. "I have just realized something, Legolas. I know you may resent me for loving Minaitir, but I think that when I looked at him, I thought of you. I cared for him because I saw you and perhaps thought that in some faraway magical dream I can make amends to you through him. When he died—I couldn't help but feel a failure."

You? A failure?

"He brought me back in time to when you were very small and your mother died. I—I wasn't there for you, Legolas. I know I wasn't but I cannot take that back or undo the damage I have done.

"But then I said to myself, no. No, Minaitir is not you. You are a grown ellon who may as well have been raised an orphan be it because of me, and I could not bear the thought of—of you drowning in a lonely world."

Thranduil blinked rapidly for a moment and bit his lip. "There isn't an hour that goes by without me thinking of you, ion nin. Minaitir was a dear child and the empty space left by his absence presence pains my heart, but I cannot help but think that he will be happier now; with his true mother. Perhaps it was meant to be this way. For Minaitir to be the one who opened my eyes to see the life I have all but abandoned."

Thranduil looked out over the restricted expanse before them, the trees softly moaning in their sickening symphony.

"As for Aldaner... she was like a mother to me. But after Arataur passed...I could feel the grief clinging on to her. She stayed for Feren, and part of me rests to know that she is finally in peace. Dorthion was a fine ellon and I fear Tauriel's fate now that he has gone."

A knot constricted in Legolas' middle. You killed them, you killed them, the venomous voice seeped in. He stamped it out to the best of his abilities, but he knew it would come back because it was right, in a way.

The young elf shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts but they promptly returned, with more solid arguments and new accusations. He would never be free of them if he kept them trapped thus.

His father—whose presence was oft brilliant and demanding—was now a mere whisper at the back of his mind. Too sullen to truly be the elf he knew.

Justsayitjustsayitjustsayit, the sane part of his mind yelled.

He'll hate you after this, that voice slithered into the recesses of his thoughts until all were infected. His mind became a swirling turmoil of accusations.

His heart churned in conflict. It seemed that extreme measures would have to be taken to rid his mind from this.

"I have to tell you something," Legolas blurted, not providing himself with a spare second to change his mind. His confidence roiled and surged against his chest in an intense anxiety, flaring up like oil to a fire when his father turned to look at him.

Heart hammering, he continued a bit slower, pausing to take a deep breath to steady the maelstrom of his emotions.

Try as he might, he could not stop his voice from cracking pitifully. It came out as a strained whimper, "I killed them," he breathed, as if hearing the words out loud condemned him officially. "It's my fault—I—I killed them."

His vision blurred with the flood that unleashed from his eyes and he found himself buried in the arms of his father. The rough pattern of the ornamental robe scratched at his face and stray ends of feathery hair caught in his wet lashes, but he didn't really notice.

"Oh, what kind of nonsense is this, Legolas?! Of course you didn't—"

"No, no you don't understand!" He hated the way his voice swerved and trembled but all that mattered now was getting the words out, his pride be hanged. Hitched breaths caught in his throat and he felt more tear well up in his eyes as his father rubbed soothing circles into his back and waited patiently to gather his bearings.

"The tunnel. I—I was angry at you—and I was being foolish. I threw rocks—at the tunnel wall and it—was weakened, I—"

To his ultimate horror, Thranduil laughed. It was unstable and breathless, but a laugh nonetheless.

"Oh, Legolas. Ever were you one to take the blame. That is not the first time the tunnel had collapsed and nothing you did could have changed the fact that the tunnel gave out on—on the three dear elves. You are not to blame, ion. Hush now, and think of this no more."

The golden ellon all but melted at the words. He slumped unbecomingly against his father's chest and sobbed out shaky laughs, joined in by the older Sinda.

'You are not to blame, ion.' The words brought such assurance to his heart. They were formed from a rare voice, a cherished voice, so that they must be true. If he could be forgiven by one of the victims of this unfortunate turn of fate, surely it would not be that difficult to forgive himself.

Now, he relished the quiet moments spent with his father. The wailing trees did not do much to promote a cheery atmosphere, and Legolas said so.

Instead of the smallest quirk of lips the younger ellon had been expecting, Thranduil's expression saddened and his eyes turned to their far-seeing glaze.

"It is because of the Shadow. Ever swiftly it spreads through the land. In truth, I came to this place to think on something that I have achingly considered ever since this Shadow made itself known to me, which has been a rather long while, I will admit."

Legolas sat up and appraised Thranduil curiously. His eyes had brightened once more and his heart rejoiced that he had been able to bring a lightness about his father with simply his presence.

"What is this you speak of?"

Thranduil turned to meet his gaze. "I will drive the Shadow back," he said solemnly, rising to his feet.

The golden ellon followed suit and the king slowly made his way to a towering oak conveniently in the center of the grove.

Reverently laying a hand on the trunk of said tree, Thranduil began a graceful flow of words, his voice sweet and low like dripping of honey. He seeped his Light into the tree as the song-like swaying chant weaved itself into every fiber of the tree.

To Legolas' bewilderment, the very air around them turned golden and shone with a fierce yet gentle radiance that probed into his heart and súlë, it seemed. The tree sprung higher, the leaves dancing in a magical wind that now swept over them, flooding between every trunk, every blade of grass, possessively, mightily.

The king's voice rose, his form glowing golden, the place his hand touched illuminating veins of raw power snaking through the tree.

A shiver ran down Legolas' spine at the warmth conjured by his father's words. The thick, sweet mist lingering in the air flooded into the tree with such violent suddenness that the young ellon actually stumbled back down to his knees in the wispy grass.

Thranduil had both his hands on the tree now. His arms shook with strain but he shouted the last of the lilting enchantment like a war cry.

The golden Light shot from the tree, mirrored off every leaf into a blinding whoosh as it spread through the whole realm.

The king pulled back from the flourishing tree with an odd smile on panting lips. Legolas rushed forward to steady him, marveling at the magic that still rippled about him; like golden lighting flickering across his skin.

"What was—" the young ellon breathed, but was cut off by the king.

"It is done," Thranduil said with that strange smile. Legolas realized that for the first time he was seeing what pure joy looked like, and embedded the face to his memory as something unnamed in the back of his mind told him it would not happen again.

Legolas had been about to inquire further, when Thranduil interrupted with the answers.

"I—I enchanted the forest," he said breathlessly. "The Shadow is angry, but the trees awaken. Listen!"

Sure enough, just as the king said, a wary thread of the Song began to lull into the new vibrance of the area. A joy leapt up in Legolas' own heart as his wild Silvan súlë reached out as far as it could reach, all but bubbling.

"...I did not know that you knew things of this nature!"

Golden eyes flickered about the clearing, drinking in the wondrous sight and shining with an unfathomable happiness that would soon fade.

Thranduil laughed, merrily. "Do not underestimate your father, Legolas," he said with a playful tone of admonishment. The golden light in his eyes promptly sputtered and extinguished. A wave of solemnity ruffled them along with a fresh wave of the clear wind as everything reverted to its original color.

The king spoke.

"As much as I do not wish to acknowledge it, I saw much grief in the future for our realm and our people. We cannot continue to abide in such grief. I see that now, especially with this new loss. Nothing can be done to reverse death, so why spend what life remains in us mourning it when we can celebrate this wondrous life? For not everything lives on forever. Immortal the Firstborn may be but yet the End of all things lingers as our epilogue. I believe change is in order here."

Legolas gave his father a side glance. "I do believe Hir Elrond has infected you with his prestigious Noldorin company," he said with lingering mirth. "I do not see your meaning."

Thranduil smiled fondly, clapping his hands together and turning on his heels in the direction of the stronghold.

"I mean that Life—even the ending thereof—is a thing to be celebrated! The stricken lands of old were weathered with grief and both you and me know that we cannot allow this to happen to ours. From now on, a feast is to be held instead of a period of mourning. Come now! There are many preparations to be done."

Legolas blinked, somewhat dumbfounded and followed after his king. What strangeness is this? But he couldn't help a small feeling, this new figment in his mind that felt this to be so very, very right.

oOo

Legolas retired late to his chambers that night, a song still ringing in his ears and his feet light with dance. The feast had been glorious, and had had the intended effect. His father had announced the new custom with an enthusiastic gusto that infected the entire throng. The king had been magnificent, his head held high and strong, yet the crown of flowers weaved into his shining hair had betrayed the tenderness of which he beheld all belonging to the lush realm of the Lady Kementarí.

A gentle smile glistened in his eyes as he gingerly retrieved a pen and parchment.

Pulling his chair back with a creak to the rickety frame to the desk he wrote:

'Dearest Estel,

'Many things have happened since you have gone. Times are changing and strangely enough, I find myself wishing you were here with me. I would never admit to seeking the counsel of a blundering adan, but I cannot deny that I do enjoy your company and hope to be in it once more very soon. Perhaps we can direct our mischiefs to your father's house instead of mine, for he is known to have a more enduring temper compared to my father.

'I spoke of change happening, and rightly so. Firstly, I wish to admit this: I was jealous of Minaitir and the attention he diverted from my own father, childish as it sounds. I had been foolish in the actions that followed but I will spare you the details until perhaps a later date.

'There was a cave-in within the stronghold. Dorthion, Aldaner, and Minaitir were caught up in it and all perished. It is a shock, I am aware, and I have hardly come to terms with it myself. It was a blow to Captain Feren, but I know that he will pull through. Tauriel is devastated and I have yet to tell her of what I had done; it would only be fair for her to know. I dearly hope that she will still name me friend after this, for I have precious few.

'I spoke with my father, finally, and it seems we have come to terms on many things. He said things that my thoughts have long dwelt on and he changed a custom; now instead of mourning, we will rejoice in the flourish of life as it is.

'This is what I had realized; that life is sacred, truly. And we should indulge in every minute of it. I sense that difficult times are ahead for our realm and I believe this new mindset will have us not weather away with the storm.

'I do hope your travels boded well and without too much trouble (though it has come to my immediate attention that you do enjoy a bout of it from time to time). I look forward to our next meeting.

'—Legolas Thranduilion.'

The ellon settled his pen down into a groove of the desk with a satisfied smile as he sealed the letter and sent it off with a homing falcon from a cleft in the cool rock.

The sun peeked sleepily over the horizon and wove the first threads of dawn into the sky. Legolas appreciatively inhaled the fresh air of the lingering chill of the night, recalling the brilliance of the golden enchantment wrought by his father.

The feast had been held in the very same clearing and the whispers of the faded magic whispered to him still.

The awakened Song sprang with his súlë whenever he wandered under the mighty boughs, and knew that it was still Greenwood the Great, in his own language.

Life embraced him wherever he went and if anything, he truly knew this, down to the depths of his being;

This was where his heart belonged, and here it would remain until the end of Time.

He was home.

oOo

You don't have to be broken, to see there's magic in a shooting star

When you're lost and you're lonesome, let the heavens show you who you are,

Look up, and you'll know,

You are,

Already home.

Already home.

—fKandC

oOoOoOo

A/N: *tearing up* Yes! It is finished!

I want to thank all my wonderful readers and reviewers who have made an ending to this story possible. You all were always there with encouragement through both good days and bad, and I greatly appreciate it!!!

Special thanks to Scribbles-on-Parchment for being such a wonderful and patient beta!! It has been an amazing journey indeed, mellon nin!

I do hope you all enjoyed. I plan to keep writing and hopefully hone this skill until I can use it to its full extent. :)

Blessings and thank you again!!