CHAPTER III

Through the dark stone corridors they walked, the flickering torchlight igniting Legolas' hair, turning it vivid gold. Lassiel snuck a glance at his face; the delicate features and pale skin, flawless and fair beyond mortal measure. He was carefully guarding his emotions, his face calm and eyes cool. He must be unnerved by this, she thought. How can he not be? Her thoughts strayed to what inner turmoil might boil beneath his placid demeanor.

They turned one last corner, and finally he slowed and then halted in front of a carven beech wood door. This he opened, and beyond it was a large room, with a spacious bed; a sight that nearly buckled Lassiel's knees it seemed so inviting. A pale silk nightdress was draped carefully over it, and candles and lanterns were already lit. Obviously, Legolas had managed, despite the small uproar, to convey to someone that he needed a room to be prepared.

He motioned to another door that lay opposite the bed. "That is a bath," he explained. "And in the wardrobe you will find clothing. My room is the next down on the left, should you need me."

Here he paused, obviously a bit apprehensive. "We take our first meal an hour after dawn. I do expect that you shall join us, for this meal and all others. I shall be at your door an hour after first light, to take you to the dining hall."

Lassiel felt she should have been angry, but she was simply too tired to feel outraged at the moment. However, one matter troubled did trouble her particularly.

And when we arrive, and they stare at me with piercing eyes, fair faces barely masking distaste and mistrust, what then will you have me say? How shall I introduce myself, dear father? As your half-bred bastard?

"And, Lassiel," he added quietly. "You need not concern with yourself with explanations. I shall inform them of our situation."

She nodded mutely and went and sat heavily upon the bed. He watched her for a moment, and then stepped into the shadows, shutting the door behind him.

Now set before Legolas was the daunting task of facing his father. His silent steps carried him past his own bedroom towards his father's chambers.

"Legolas, ión nín." .

He turned quickly at the sound of his father's voice. Thranduil stood in hall, apparently having just come from the main corridor, looking at Legolas expectantly.

"Father," Legolas greeted him quietly in return.

"What I am to do, Legolas, when my people demand an explanation, and I have none to give?" His voice was deliberately level, and his eyes were bright and piercing as he searched his son's face.

Legolas avoided his father's gaze. "Perhaps we should discuss things outside beneath the trees. I long for their company; I have been without them for too long."

Thranduil nodded. They made their way through the winding halls of stone towards the courtyard; a strange sight for mortal eyes. For, though they named each other father and son, there was not one line on Thranduil's face, or touch of frost on his golden head, that belied him as elder to Legolas. And mortal eyes were indeed watching them; Lassiel, sparked by the note of shame in Legolas' voice, though she could not understand his words, and delighted that he had now fallen out of grace with his own father, had cracked her door and stood watching as they faded away into darkness.

Lassiel stared after them. Legolas looked to her to be about her own age, though she knew this was not true. It had been hard enough for her to accept that her father could look not a day older than her. But now, seeing the king, she felt her mind reel. He was, though she scarcely believed it herself, her grandfather. Grandfathers, to her, were wizened old men with gray hair and lined faces. They were not fair of face, with clear gray eyes and hair of spun gold. She closed her door and settled back on to her bed, mind working to digest all that it had been fed these past two days.

Upon arriving outside, Thranduil prompted Legolas to speak.

"Well, Legolas, we are beneath the trees, as you requested. Now, I am eager to hear your reasons for riding home at midnight with a mortal girl at your heels."

Legolas rested his brow against the cool, smooth bark of a tall old beech, and sighed.

"There is so much to tell. I know not where to begin."

Thranduil softened, seeing his son's distress. "The beginning is best, ión nín," he replied gently, without any sarcasm.

And so Legolas began at the very beginning, for his father knew nothing, nothing at all. But now, hearing this story, he understood why his typically good-natured son had become suddenly dark and sorrowful, after returning from a night spent out in the woods. And why he had, after that night, not gone out into the forest. In fact, he had scarcely left his own chambers.

"She left," Legolas was saying, eyes clouded with pain. "I did not follow. I would have, had I known that she–if I had any way of knowing, I would have never let her go. But I did not know that she carried my child."

Thranduil looked at his son gravely. Finally, he said, "So, this young woman, she is..."

"My daughter," Legolas finished.

"She is a child borne out of an affair between two members of different races," said Thranduil poignantly.

"Yet a child borne out of love, nonetheless," Legolas replied softly, eyes lit like blue flames. "There is no shame in that."

"No, there certainly is not," Thranduil said, relenting a bit. "And that is not what I question. It is the wisdom of your choice to bring the girl here that I doubt. When my people demand to know why we have a mortal woman in our midst, who is allowed to tread the path to our city without a blindfold, simply answering 'love' will not satisfy them. You must understand the position I am in, Legolas."

"I do understand," Legolas said sharply. "But what was I to do, Father? Acknowledge her as my daughter, and then ride away?"

"No," said Thranduil thoughtfully, "of course not." The king laid a gentle hand on his son's shoulder, and peered into his sorrowful eyes. "Legolas, I must ask you this: When you felt your heart begin to stir, when you knew it to be more than mere friendship, why did you not walk away?"

Legolas said nothing, and covered his face with his hands. Then finally he answered. "How many times, Father, do you think I have told myself what I should have done? How many long nights spent cursing my foolishness, while I lay alone, my heart wrenched in two? And now I learn that she is dead?" When Thranduil did not reply, Legolas continued: "It is too late now for what should have been; this I have learned. Do not plague me with what I should have done. I have suffered enough."

"Indeed you have, Legolas," said Thranduil with a sigh. "You wish for me to tell this tale to the people, then?

Legolas nodded. "Please," he answered quietly. "I do not wish for Lassiel to have to explain herself to all tomorrow."

"Lassiel?" said Thranduil. "She truly must be your daughter then." He smiled. "Well, I need only tell one person, and before long the entire kingdom will undoubtedly know."

Legolas nodded, but could not produce a smile for his father's light words.

"Take some rest for yourself," advised Thranduil. "You are in need of it."

"I shall," said Legolas, though he doubted sleep would come.

Father and son went seperate ways; Legolas to his bedroom and the king to speak with captain of the guard.

As Legolas approached his bedroom, he realized that Lassiel had eaten nothing since noon. He rapped on her door.

"Come in," she called, sounding not in the least bit inviting.

He opened the door to find her siting on her bed, staring down at the floor. She looked up at him.

"What?" she snapped.

"You have eaten nothing since midday," he said. "Surely you are hungry."

"Yes," she replied sharply, turning her head away from him.

He nodded. "I shall bring you something."

He set off towards the kitchens, and Lassiel flopped down on the bed. She was hungry, so much so that even her pride had been set aside and she had admitted it to him. Legolas, though he had the best of intentions, had only considered that she might be hungry but once while they traveled, for though he of course ate, he did not rely upon food as much as she did.

Legolas left the kitchens carrying a platter with a soft loaf of bread, a small apple, and a cup of sweet, fresh water; all that he had been able to conjour up so late at night.

Lassiel sat up sharply as her door swung open. She accepted the food with a cold thank you, which she could have given in the Elven tongue, but did not simply to be contrary.

"Sleep well," said Legolas as his took his leave.

Lassiel shut the door firmly behind him.