King Thranduil sat on his throne with his head on his hands. He was all alone in the throne room save for the royal guards who were always with him. It has twelve years since the argument which caused his son to runaway. His son hated being a prince ever since he was able to talk. He remembered staying up late with Legolas after the yearly Summer Solstice Ball. His son was crying because he was the center of attention with all of the nobles from Greenwood and the other Elven realms. He just sat there holding his young son, while he sobbed. That was the first time that Legolas told him that he didn't want to be a prince anymore. He explained to his elfling that night that a prince is a part of who he was, his grandfather was the king, he was the crown prince, and Legolas was the youngest prince of Greenwood.

Was; that one word had more meaning to him for the past twelve years than it ever had. He spent every one of his waking hours during the last twelve thinking about his son. He had troops sent out after him. They never found him, or any trace of him for that manner. His horse was never found either, nor any of his arrows. His son had disappeared without a trace. How he wished he could take his beloved child and give him a hug and tell him that he was sorry. But after a decade of looking, waiting, and hoping he gave up. Reality had set in, he had disowned his only son, and it looked like it was going to be for good. On that day, Mirkwood had lost her prince, her king lost his son out of his own doing. Thranduil made a decree that no one should go looking anymore. He had resigned to the fact that his son was dead, and he had to move on for the better of his people. That was two years ago, Thranduil found out that he couldn't move on. It was almost like an innate part of him knew that somewhere in Arda his son lived still.

He got off of his throne and walked out of the room, naturally the guards followed. He walked to his son's old room, which he had a spare key for, and opened it. The guards knew not to follow so they stationed themselves on either side of the door, and shut the door behind their king. Thranduil picked up a painting, which was the last painting done of him and his son 14 years ago, and sat down on his son's bed, not slept in for twelve years, and just stared at the painting. Legolas looked so much like him; it wasn't even funny; from their blonde hair, to their ice blue eyes. He had his arm around his boy who was just about an inch smaller than him. They both looked so happy in that picture, in their robes of state. Tears flowed onto the painting. Thranduil collapsed on his son's bed, sobbing like an elfling. He had no hope anymore, no strength to go on, no one left in the world.

Meanwhile in Rivendell

Thoron sat up quickly in bed. His head was pounding. He just had the saddest dream ever. It was an elf who surprisingly looked just like him, but he was very sad, why. Somewhere inside of Thoron something was telling him that he should know the elf from his dream, but he couldn't place it, as he fell back and into the sweet safeness of sleep...

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