Note: I hope everyone likes all the father son feels. My husband and I have been going through a lot of father related turmoil in our real lives and this story is sort of my response to it.

The journey through Mirkwood was slow going. The elves protected their king, knowing the dangers that had crept into the forest in recent times. Giant spiders, enchanted water, and the air heavy with the stench of decay and illusion. The sickness that was consuming the once vibrant Greenwood was growing.

Legolas had made sure that Thranduil would make the journey in as much safety and comfort as the woodland elves could muster. A procession of twenty fully armed elven warriors and archers guarded the carriage where Thranduil lay. The palace healer had protested, saying that the king was too ill to make the journey, so Legolas promptly recruited him to go with them and demanded that he not leave the carriage. His only duty was to tend to the king.

"Foolish," was all Thranduil said when he regained consciousness, only briefly. Legolas had been there when he opened his eyes and although the king had seemed less than coherent, disoriented and not understanding what was happening, Legolas had tried to explain where they were going. Of course, Thranduil had protested. But he was in no position to put up any resistance.

Drizzt had never ridden a horse before and neither had Zaknafein. He was a little weary of being on top of this strange beast at first, but the beautiful grey dapple mare immediately put him at ease. Her body was light grey with dark contrasting spots, and her tail and mane shone with a black sheen. She was magnificent and Drizzt had named her Bal'eoul, a drow name meaning burning gem because her gleaming, vibrant eyes reminded him of an obsidian gem.

By fortune, they cleared the forest in a few days, and were now moving south along the mighty Anduin River, which they had crossed earlier that morning, a difficult feat considering the carriage and the deadly current of the river. They had gone over a precarious cluster of stones protruding from the shallow waters, using their elven agility to their advantage. They carried the carriage on wooden planks; rows of elves bearing the weight of it on their shoulders. Carefully, one by one, they crossed and again, fortune was with them because all the river claimed was a leather pack.

Drizzt gazed in amazement at the world around them. The wide open world. In Mirkwood, his horse had sloshed through the mud of fallen trees and decaying vegetation. The air was thick with a chill mist that froze their very bones.

Here, Drizzt inhaled deeply, glad to be away from the stuffiness of that closed in forest. But the clearance came at a price for the drow. The sun had been dimmed under the canopy of trees, and now it hit them, stinging their eyes and blurring their vision.

"This forest wasn't always so ominous," Legolas spoke of the home they had left behind as they moved along, keeping the river to the east and the Misty Mountains to the west. Mounted on his own pearl white steed, the elf trotted alongside the two drow, the three of them taking up position a few feet behind Thranduil's carriage. Soldiers marched in a linear formation, some on either side of the carriage and many taking up the rear and the front of the procession as they marched along.

"Once, it was called Greenwood," Legolas continued. "The forest was airy and light and it was alive with forest creatures. Birds and scurrying chipmunks are becoming rarer in this land. We find them dead more often than naught.

"What is the source of this decay then?" Zaknafein asked as he trotted along on the other side of Drizzt, not as comfortable on his horse as his son was.

Legolas shrugged unknowingly. "A sickness. My father understands it better than I," he admitted. "He has seen the world beyond the forest. He speaks of the horrors of the past age returned."

Drizzt digested that information just as an elven general approached. A woman with deep brown hair and hazel eyes approached the trio. "Milord," she spoke, addressing Legolas.

"What is it, Haleth?" Legolas asked.

"The horses require rest and we are still several days from the borders of Lothlorien," the elven general announced. "The sun is descending."

"Will that forest be as stuffy as the last?" Zaknafein asked disdainfully. Drizzt frowned, noting that his father was finding the surface less admirable than his son. Drizzt was concerned that his father preferred the Underdark.

Drizzt had found the forest stuffy and the sun blinding and stinging as much as Zaknafein had, but perhaps he viewed it with a curiosity and eagerness that came with youth. He had been prepared for the sting of that bright disk, having briefly encountered it on his surface raid ten years ago, but his father had almost wanted to turn back as soon as he encountered it.

"No," Legolas explained. "The lady of light has protected it from what has claimed Mirkwood. You might find it more to your liking." He turned back to Haleth. "Set up camp," he instructed.

The elves made quick work of setting up camp and enjoying a meal of filling lembas bread, and soon they all retired for the evening, guards keeping watch on their surroundings. The drow found relief when the sun went down. A magnificent sight of billions of stars high in the sky replaced it. As they camped on the river banks, Drizzt sat down beside his father, looking at him with concern.

"You would prefer the Underdark to the surface," he commented cautiously. The older drow turned, focusing on his son.

"I would prefer to be wherever you are," he proclaimed sincerely. But Drizzt could see the hesitation written in his burgundy eyes. He held his father's gaze before the older drow sighed in resignation and dropped his visage towards the grassy ground as he sat, his elbow propped up on one knee. "I have heard many drow talk about the pain of the sun," he admitted. "I have to admit, it is unnerving. I understand why our people prefer the Underdark."

"The Underdark has been our home," Drizzt understood that sentiment. Although Zaknafein despised the evilness of Menzoberranzan, it was still the only home he had ever known.

"You have sacrificed too much for me," Drizzt turned away, feeling guilty. Maybe he was selfish for wanting his father with him. "Your life, your very body, and now your home."

"And I would do it again," Zaknafein gripped Drizzt on the shoulder, prompting him to turn to face him, meeting his eyes. "Whatever discomfort I have faced, the pain of having my heart carved out of my body would be nothing compared to the pain of seeing it happen to you, Drizzt. You had the courage to flee Malice. You had more courage than I ever have had. The courage to face the unknown is a strength few have. Don't burden yourself with my comfort, my son. We are both free of Malice and that is my comfort."

Drizzt wasn't convinced. He remembered how it felt when he learned Zaknafein had been sacrificed. Sacrificed in his place. Drizzt was the one whose actions had brought it about. Saving an elven child had brought about Zaknafein's death. And then Malice, Drizzt's own wicked mother, had brought him back and sent him after his own son.

Now they had fled from Malice, fled the Underdark and fled Faerun itself. Zaknafein had given up everything for his son, and Drizzt didn't like the feeling of guilt. Of knowing that his father had nothing now. Knowing his father was unhappy on this journey, that he didn't trust the elves, that he was uncomfortable with this unknown land, it hurt Drizzt. It hurt him to think that he was thriving in this land with a friend and a purpose, only at his father's expense.

"Don't dwell on this, Drizzt," Zaknafein insisted as he lowered himself, laying down in the grass. "I may be far from what is familiar, but I would be nowhere else. I am your father and you are my son. And in Menzoberranzan, I could never be the father I wanted to be. Fathers have no claim on their own children in that place. If not for my position as weapons master, I doubt we would have ever known one another."

That prospect disturbed Drizzt. Zaknafein guided him in his early adolescence. He had taught him about honor and principles, something that was clearly lacking in what parts of Menzoberranzan Drizzt had been exposed to. He had been Drizzt's mentor, his friend. He had shaped the young drow and helped to steer him away from falling to the darkness that Menzoberranzan had tried so hard to instill in him.

Without Zaknafein, perhaps Drizzt would have fallen. Perhaps he would have given in. It was so much easier to give in and adapt than to resist what society expected. But Drizzt had found the strength to resist and face the consequences of being the social deviant, the one who stood out from the rest. And without Zaknafein, he didn't know if he could have ever found the strength.

"Now, I can be your father in all ways that matter," Zaknafein continued, gazing up at his son from where he lay. "And I don't have to hide it. That alone makes everything I have sacrificed worth it."

Drizzt finally lay down in the grass, contemplating his father's words and feeling closer to him than ever before. He felt safe and loved. Taking in a breath, he closed his eyes. He had spent ten years in the harsh wilds of the Underdark, living in survival mode, but here, in the grass of a foreign land, he could rest easy knowing his father would be there to look after him. Perhaps he could reclaim what was left of his lost youth.

As the drow rested their bodies and their minds, far in the distance came the ominous howl of a warg. Their luck had run out.