Note: This story takes place in two time periods: when Legolas is small and when he is not. The shifts between those periods should be fairly clear, but I wanted to warn you. Also, it is NOT Dagorlad that Thranduil is leaving for, as should be noted by his mention of it as a memory. He is going to aid forces in other areas with evil problems. That's all, really. O! But, please review!!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of this.

Legolas sat silently in the lush chair at his father's desk with his legs dangling above the floor: they were too short to reach it. His arms laid limp at his sides; his hair spilled over his slight shoulders and chest in golden waves, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears as he watched his father dress himself in metal plates and leather. He did not know why it was happening, but he had seen a lot of Elves dress in the same way, though none of them so brilliantly as his father. Thranduil's armour was a mix of deep brown leathers and bright metals of green and white hue, and all of it was accented with silver. His chest plate was etched with endless weaves of vine and leaf, and the royal crest of his house gleamed across the centre; his shoulders were covered in like plates that were held to thick leather sleeves with silver rivets and laced up on the inside of his arm, and on the outside there were shiny overlays articulated for movement all the way to his elbow, where his woven leather gauntlets were fastened tightly around his forearms. They were dark, with flashes of burnished green silk woven in and thick laces tied tightly and tucked under. Thranduil's hair shone even brighter than his armour as he fastened it behind his ears and placed a crown above his brow. He draped a green cloak over his shoulders and fastened it with a silver ring and pin, then slipped into the harness that held his bow and quiver of arrows. He tightened a dark belt around his slim waist and affixed to it his sword, which he then pulled out and inspected solemnly. Legolas winced at the dull hiss it made when the king slid it back into its sheath, but still held back the wetness in his eyes.

Thranduil was pulled from his reverie by the sharp gasp of his son. His green eyes looked down at the tiny boy and he sighed. Slowly, gracefully, he knelt to his son's level and took two small hands in his. 'Do not fear for me, my little one.'

Legolas hesitated, but replied, 'I do not.'

'What, then, do you fear?'

'I fear. . .' he looked away and bit his lip, but Thranduil's gaze pulled him back and he leaned forward to place his hand on the cold surface of the chest plate. 'I fear this.'

Thranduil was perplexed; he tilted his head and searched for words, but none came until he caught Legolas glance at his reflection in a nearby mirror. It was then that he realised what frightened his son: the image staring back was a terrifyingly beautiful king covered in equally lovely armour. The sharpness of the detail, the brilliance of the colors, all, the perfection achieved in something so meaningful was terrifying. As glorified as he was by the armour, he felt frightened inside as he took in the details. The splendour of his tall, elegant frame royally adorned as a warrior was breathtaking and fearsome, and he understood immediately why it scared Legolas: his son had never seen him armed. He nodded and looked back at Legolas, 'I see,' he said, 'Do you understand what this is for?' Thranduil nodded again as Legolas shook his head no and continued, 'We have it very good here; our forest is green and beautiful and our people are safe and merry. . . but other places there is evil, and sometimes that evil has to be. . . taken care of. It is a responsibility we all have, and right now I need to go protect other people, just like a long time ago when your grandfather and I went with all of the other Elves and Men. Do you remember that story?' Legolas nodded and Thranduil brushed some fallen hair from his marine eyes, 'Of course you do.' He felt his face tighten at the memory of those dark days and the loss of his father, and he pulled Legolas from the chair and into his arms quickly. 'This story will not end so darkly. I will be home with you before you know it, and we will play and swim and you'll soon forget I ever left,' he said as he held the tiny boy. 'I know it is scary now, but Legolas, someday you will be setting off for adventures with your bow and quiver and knife and I will be the one who worries.'

Legolas shook his head, and finally, the tears began to fall, 'Daddy, no! I will not leave!'

Thranduil patted his back and laughed quietly, 'Oh, my son, if only that were true. Soon enough you will understand, but until then, I am happy to have you to come home to.' His own eyes stung slightly, but he shook it off and gripped Legolas' small arms in his hands; his fingers were long and clasped tightly around the lithe appendages. He steadied his gaze and stared into the deep sea eyes facing him, and spoke as evenly and poignantly as he could, 'I am going to come home to you, Legolas. No matter what happens, nothing will keep me from coming back to you. No evil is great enough to separate us for more than we allow it, so even though I must go for a little while, I will return, and you can always count on that. I will never abandon you; it is for you that I am fighting, and for you I will always fight. Be strong, my little one, and do not ever fear for me: as long as I am in your heart, there will be breath in my body. Do you understand?'

Legolas stared at his father, determined, and he swallowed the sob in his throat. 'Yes, I understand. And I shall not fear again, Daddy. Never again.'

'Come,' said Thranduil, and he gathered the elfling in his arms as he rose to his full height. He cradled him and made his way out to the courtyard among the warriors he would soon lead into battle. 'I must leave now, but I will be home soon. The journey is short, and it will not take long to cleanse the lands. Be a good boy; do not neglect your responsibilities, and listen to your caretakers.' Legolas nodded and Thranduil kissed his forehead, 'I love you, little one.'

The elfling was silent, and watched proudly as his father led many warriors out of the gates on their shining horses with their bright banners and heraldry waving.

Thranduil still remembered looking back through the gates and seeing his small, beautiful child watching him with adoration. Wind blew pale wisps of hair over his eyes and he had to brush it away quickly to catch one last glimpse before they closed. When he did, he saw Legolas mouth, 'I love you, Daddy,' and from then on, he was more driven to defend the world from evil than he ever could have been before. The memory struck him daft: it was millennia past, but still one of the most vivid recollections he owned, as was the day of his own youth that brought him to understand the way of the world as it was, and the responsibilities he bore as a part of it. Legolas grew a little that day and, somehow, he was never the same. He continued to grow into a shining, wonderful elf, and Thranduil was about to come to the realisation that his son was far more remarkable than even he guessed as he opened a letter from Legolas.

Father,

I hope all is well in Mirkwood; as I write this I am enjoying a lovely night in Imladris, where it is ever bright with stars. The birds sing many songs here, and each night there is a wonderful gathering in the Hall with songs and poetry. The Hobbit, Bilbo, is here, and he sang a song that you would not believe! Even Aragorn thought it was cheeky, but I must admit that I thoroughly enjoyed it.

I am sure that you are curious about my reasons for writing you a letter when I should be on my way home, and I hope that I can explain in such a way that you will not be upset. The Ring has been found; it is in the possession of one Frodo Baggins (Bilbo's nephew, I believe), and the Council has decided that it must be destroyed. To accomplish this task, Lord Elrond established a Fellowship to journey to Mordor and rid Middle- earth of the Evil. I was selected as the Elven representative. Mithrandir will be going, and Aragorn as well; Boromir of Gondor and four Hobbits will also be making the journey. One is Frodo, whom I mentioned already, and the other three are friends of his: Sam, Merry, and Pippin I think they are called. The last member of our company is a Dwarf, one of Durin's folk and Gloin's son. Before you begin an angry letter to my Lord, please understand that I accepted this role freely, and I fully intend to see it through. I could not be more proud to be a part of this journey, and I know that you will also be proud.

I do not want you to worry about me, and I know that it is asking a lot, but it is no more than you have asked of me in the past. You sent me to Imladris because you trust me and judge me capable, and I will not fail in either respect.

I miss you, and I miss my friends, but I promise to come home as soon as I can. In the time until then, all I can say is something that you once said to comfort me: I am going to come home to you, Father. No matter what happens, nothing will keep me from coming back to you. Be strong, and do not ever fear for me: as long as I am in your heart, there will be breath in my body.

Love,

Legolas

Thranduil dropped the paper and brought a hand to his lips. His eyes closed; his mouth was dry; his head hurt, and his stomach was churning violently. When he sent Legolas to Rivendell, he had expected his return. He knew that trouble was brewing, and he knew how serious it was, but it had not occurred to him that it would extend into his family so quickly, and the pain and fear of loss arose instantly. It took a moment to remind himself that Legolas was not dead, and was in fact a part of a very important mission. He could not be more proud. And he could not be more terrified. He read the letter over and over, but it never changed: Legolas was still on his way to Mordor, and the Ring was still found, and Sauron's power was growing. Even though he knew it was a necessary task, Thranduil fought every urge he had to head for Legolas and bring him home so that they could go West immediately, but he knew that was not an option; it was not how he was raised, and it was not how Legolas was raised. They would not abandon Greenwood, or any of Middle-earth. There was no one Thranduil trusted more with the safety of the world than his own son, and there was comfort in that. He folded the letter carefully and placed it in his tunic, then rose from his chair and walked into a nearby courtyard.

The woods were just beginning to feel cold as the seasons changed, and Thranduil loved the feeling. He walked a familiar path through the trees and smiled as he imagined a tiny boy skipping around him in circles and running through his legs or climbing up trees and jumping into his arms. Many years had passed since those days, but Thranduil recalled each with clarity. He stepped under an opening in the canopy and stared into the sky. Light surrounded him and warmed his cheeks as he watched the clouds shift. Knowing that the sky could still be so blue when evil was growing more and more powerful with each passing day was comforting, and there was something familiar and safe about that particular shade that reminded him of his son's eyes. Legolas would return; he did not doubt that. He only hoped that when he did, his eyes would still be so warm. Mordor would change anyone; that he knew.