Chapter 12
Little was said about Legolas's volunteering to go to Gondor in the days following the messenger's arrival. The Gondorian messenger was sent back with word of the Mirkwood elves' aid after a night of much needed food and rest.
Thranduil was obviously grudging to let his son go again after so short a time. He'd barely been home for even half a year – a human year at that.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
A torch burned brilliantly in its socket above the bed, illuminating the youngest prince's golden hair.
Legolas sat on his bed, legs crossed, as if he were still an elfling. He stared about at the massive mess of clothes, weaponry, equipment, and trunks sprawled about him on the bed and on the floor of the chamber with no clue on where to start his packing. He was to be leaving in a short while – two days – and though a great part of him wished to remain home, he felt it was his duty to aid Aragorn in his need.
A sharp rapping at his door jerked him out of his thoughts. Adrahil looked in, his look slightly amused at the sight in front of him.
"Need help?"
Legolas shook his head blankly. "No. What is it?"
"Ada sent for you. He's in the study."
Legolas nodded this time, "Hannon lle*, Adrahil." He carefully slid off the bed and picked his way towards the door through the disarray. Adrahil stepped aside, letting his younger brother pass.
The elder gently placed his hand on Legolas's shoulder in reassurance and sorrow. The younger smiled sadly at him, his heart heavier than ever at having to leave again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Legolas tapped softly on the oak doors of Thranduil's study.
"Mino*" came the response from within the room.
The younger prince tensely turned the handle and pushed open the door.
Thranduil sat at the desk, a torch burning brightly above his head, provided enough light so that he could read. At the moment, he was bent over a few sheets of parchment sitting on the desk. He dipped a long quill into a small bottle of ink and signed his signature on the top sheet. With that, he carefully moved the thin sheaf off to the side of his desk.
Recapping the ink bottle, Thranduil finally looked up at his son. His piercing blue eyes – those which all five of his children had inherited – shone in the dim light.
"Adrahil said you called?" Legolas said somewhat abruptly.
"I did," confirmed his father. "Havo dad*," he said, gesturing towards a soft chair sitting nearby. Legolas obeyed and perched on the edge of the seat.
Thranduil could easily sense his tenseness. "What troubles you, ion-nin?"
Legolas shrugged slightly, "Much," he muttered, his eyes downcast, staring at his boots.
"Will you tell me?" It was more of a command than a question.
Silence.
"I don't want to leave," Legolas murmured after a while. "But you don't exactly want me to stay, do you?"
Thranduil had opened his mouth to speak again, but shut it again, taken aback by Legolas's words. What could one say to such harsh words – especially when they came from your own son?
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………....
* "Hannon lle" = Thank you
* "Mino" = Enter
* "Havo dad" = Sit down.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………....
Zammy – sorry it took so long…