………………

Calaen turned around, his eyes searching desperately. He had been looking for hours, but it was all in vain. All he could see was darkness. He was becoming lost in it. But he knew where he was, and the fact that he could not find his way through it scared him. For all he knew, he had been walking around and around in circles.

"Where are you?" he breathed. "You must be here somewhere. Please…"

"Calaen?"

The Prince spun around, and let out a breath of relief as he laid eyes on the King of Mirkwood. "Ada, I have been-

"Why do you call me that?" Thranduil's voice was cold, indifferent. "Why should you name me as your father?"

"Because…because you are my father," Calaen said slowly. He took a tentative step forwards. "Ada, why are-

"Do not call me that!" the Elven-king snapped. "You are not my son. You never have been, and you never will be. I would die before admitting that you are part of my family."

Calaen's eyes widened in horror, and he ran forwards to grab the other Elf by the shoulders. "Ada, why-

Thranduil's hand appeared out of nowhere, and as he struck the young Prince, his face remained impassive. He watched through cold eyes as Calaen fell to the ground. "Did you not hear what I said?"

"No, this cannot be…"

"What is going on here?"

Calaen's head snapped up, and relief washed over him. His brother would help him. "Airëlus, something is wrong."

"I know," the Crown Prince agreed. "You are still here."

"What do you mean?" Calaen breathed.

Thranduil and Airëlus remained silent, watching through eyes narrowed in hatred. As the young Prince begged them, pleaded with them for answers as to why they were treating him so, they both laughed cruelly. They did not care.

………………

"No!" Calaen sat up with a start, and his eyes flitted wildly around the room. He searched in the dark for the same malicious faces that had taunted him, praying that they would not be there this time, and that he would be spared from hearing their cruel words.

He drew in a deep breath, and rested his head in his hands. "It was a dream," he whispered. "It was only a dream. Ada and Airëlus did not say that. They wouldn't."

Calaen lay down in bed again, and pulled the covers over his shoulders. Of course his family would never say such things to him or about him. It was nonsense to even think that they would. But as he lay there, waiting for sleep to take him, he realised that sleep would not come.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Thranduil pushed open the door to Legolas' room, and silently watched his sleeping son. After the birth of Airëlus, the Elven-king had made a habit of checking on all three of his children every night before he himself went to his private rooms. Findilan had also done so when alive. But of course none of the three Princes were aware of their parents' vigilance.

Thranduil smiled vaguely, and turned to leave so that he could look in on Calaen. But then he paused, and went back into the room. He had just remembered the drawings that Legolas had done – he had not yet seen them, but suddenly, he wanted to. The Elfling always managed to draw something more creative and imaginative that ever before, so his artwork was always interesting to see.

'Ai Legolas, someone will break their neck one of these days,' Thranduil thought, as he carefully stepped over various toys and books. 'You really must tidy your room tomorrow, ion-nin. But no doubt you will invent some excuse to get yourself out of it."

When he had finally located the drawings amongst everything else littered on the floor, the Elven-king straightened up and moved into the light so that he could see them better. He had expected odd coloured portraits of himself and the other two Princes, trees and gardens, sunshine. But what he saw could not have been more different.

Instead of the usual childish art, Legolas had drawn a different tableau on three pieces of parchment, and had made untidy notes next to each picture. The first drawing was a tree, with an Elven-lady climbing it. The annotation said: This is Nana. She is getting leaves for me.

Thranduil bit down on his lip. He was unsure of whether or not he wanted to see what was next. But he forced himself to turn the page. The next piece of art made him catch his breath. It was a forest in the background, with the Elven lady falling through the air. The untidy scrawl read: This is Nana falling out of the tree.

'Legolas, what kind of…?' The Elven-king's thoughts were cut off, and he would not be ashamed to admit that tears stung his eyes at the next piece of parchment. Findilan lay on the ground, and a little Elfling sat beside her. Nana is dead. Her neck is funny. I am with her. She is never coming back.

"Ai Elbereth!" Thranduil breathed. He threw the drawings onto the desk at the side of the room, and leaned against the wall, trying to calm himself.

'Why? Why did he do that? Why did he draw such a thing? And the words…' Thranduil's mind spun wildly. 'They were so childish, and so blunt, but…'

The Elven-king was dimly aware of soft footsteps in the corridor outside, and he forced his shock away so that he could call out. "Airëlus, is that you?"

The Crown Prince immediately arrived at the doorway. "Good evening, Ada. Or rather, good morning. It is past midnight. I was just on my way to my bed. And why are you still up?"

"Will you come here a minute?" Thranduil asked softly.

"Ada, it is late," Airëlus sighed. "I want sleep and I want it now. Can this not wait?"

"No."

"Very well. Really, what does one have to do to be allowed some rest in this...? Damn it, Legolas! Is it impossible for you to keep a tidy room for more than a few hours?" The Crown Prince glared down at the toy which had dared to nearly trip him, and kicked it to the other side of the room. His brother did not wake. His father did not turn.

"Legolas drew some pictures," Thranduil said softly.

"What now? More portraits of me looking particularly dashing with green hair and…" Airëlus trailed off, and snatched the pieces of parchment from the desk.

Thranduil turned, watching sadly as disbelief flitted across his eldest son's face. "It is a disturbing thing to see from him."

"It is awful," Airëlus agreed quietly. "But why should he want to draw something like this?"

"I do not know. But we will get no answers tonight, that is for certain," Thranduil sighed. "Go to bed, ion-nin. It is late, as you said."

"Sleep will not come. Not now that I have seen these," Airëlus replied.

"Try to rest, at least. Today has not been easy for you." The Elven-king exhaled deeply as they went over to the door. "We will question Legolas about these drawings in the morning. Maybe he-

"Ada?"

Thranduil and Airëlus spun around to where the soft voice had come from. Legolas was sat up in bed, looking around in confusion, wondering what was going on. And as they watched him, both were filled with an overwhelming desire to see into his mind, to see exactly what thoughts and feelings he kept private.

"Why did you wake me?" Legolas asked eventually.

"We did not mean to," Thranduil replied. "Go back to sleep."

"But why are you in here?" The child paused, and glanced at his brother's hand. He smiled vaguely. "Oh, you have seen my drawings. Do you like them? I did them today."

Airëlus took a deep breath as he went forwards to sit on the bed. "Legolas, why did…why did you do this? Can you tell me why you drew these pictures?"

"Well, I wanted to draw something, but I couldn't think of what to do. And then I remembered something that Ameldir taught me: that stories can be told by pictures," Legolas replied. "I was thinking about Nana, so I decided to tell her story."

"Her story," Airëlus said faintly.

"Yes." Legolas paused, and looked up at his eldest brother. "Don't you like them?"

The Crown Prince stood, and dropped the drawings back onto the desk. "No. No, I do not like them at all."

"Airëlus," Thranduil said sharply.

"I am sorry, but…"

The Elven-king sighed, and sat beside his youngest son, who looked as though he was fighting hard not to show how upset he was. "Legolas, it is not that we do not like your drawings. We are merely surprised that you would want to draw such things."

"It is not a very nice story because Nana…well, she…she died. But it is a story that would make people sad," the child explained slowly. "Ameldir said that Beren and Luthien's story is very sad, and people enjoy that one."

"Yes, but people also enjoy happy stories," Thranduil said.

"I know, but…" Legolas trailed off, and lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, Ada."

Thranduil smiled, and pushed some hair back from his son's eyes. "You did nothing wrong. As I said before, you merely surprised us. Is that not so, Airëlus?"

"Yes, it is," the Crown Prince replied. "I am sorry, Greenleaf. You are a talented Elfling. But might I suggest that you continue to draw pictures of us with odd coloured hair? I like those."

Legolas paused as movement by the door caught his attention. He glanced across, and when he saw Calaen standing there, his heart skipped a beat. But he forced himself to smile at Airëlus. "Yes, I like those too."

"We are sorry to have woken you," Thranduil said, pulling back the covers so that his Elfling could climb back into bed. "Go to sleep again, ion-nin."

"Goodnight," Legolas murmured.

The King and Crown Prince watched as the child turned on his side and pulled the covers up over his head. Then, shooting each other brief smiles, they turned, and silently left the room. The drawings remained on the desk – neither of them even thought to take them away.

"What was that about?" Calaen asked, as the door shut.

"Legolas drew some pictures of Naneth," Airëlus replied. "They worried us, that is all. But it is alright now."

"What are you doing out of bed, ion-nin?" Thranduil asked.

Calaen paused as he considered what to say. He had actually left his room because the dream had struck fear into him, and although he knew that it meant nothing, he had still wanted reassurance. But now…Legolas had drawn pictures of Findilan? Intriguing. "I was not asleep," he said eventually. "Do you ever feel like going for a walk?"

"In the middle of the night? Rarely," Thranduil replied, suppressing a smile.

"Oh. Well, I was just about to go back to bed anyway," Calaen said. "But is it alright if I go in and say goodnight to Legolas?"

"Of course," the King said. "But do not keep him up too long, though. You know what he gets like if he does not have enough sleep."

Calaen nodded. "I think that everyone knows, Ada. He has a temper on him that could rival yours."

Thranduil laughed, and touched a hand to the Prince's shoulder. "Sleep well, ion-nin."

"See you in the morning," Airëlus said to his brother. "And really, please do not keep Legolas awake for too long. When he gets in a bad mood because of lack of sleep, I always feel like moving to Rivendell."

Calaen smiled, but as soon as the Crown Prince turned and began walking in the other direction, it faded, and his face became cold and hard once more. So, Legolas had drawn pictures of Findilan? As he silently pushed open the door to his little brother's room, the dark haired Elf's eyes narrowed in hatred.

Legolas would not get away with this.

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Well, I won't leave any review responses in this chapter, because it wasn't very long ago that I updated, so they'll be in tomorrow's chapter.

See you soon!

Misto

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