Legolas woke early the next morning, and a sense of confusion was upon him until everything from the previous night came flooding back. Of course. Thranduil had arrived in Rivendell in the evening, and the two had had their joyous reunion in the courtyard; and then he had fallen asleep held tightly in his father's strong arms – and that, apparently, was where he had stayed all night.
The Elven-king was still asleep, and Legolas was unsure how to move without waking him. That was the last thing he wanted to do – he knew that the Elves from Mirkwood were weary, having been pressed hard by Alondir to reach Imladris as swiftly as possible. They did deserve sleep. But still, it could not hurt to try, the boy reflected, as he tried to slip out from underneath his father's arm. It tightened on him almost immediately, trapping him.
"Where are you going?"
Legolas winced. "I am sorry. Did I wake you?"
"No," Thranduil lied. He sat up, and pushed some blonde hair off his face, before turning his eyes upon the child. "Are you well, ion-nin? Where were you trying to get to?"
"You will know, if you allow me to go there," the Prince replied. "I want to show you something, Ada. And then I think we should talk about…things. I would rather we spoke privately, away from everyone else."
The King nodded his understanding and leaned back against the soft pillows, watching as his son went towards a desk at the side of the room. "It is yet early. Even the sun has not risen. Would you not prefer to have a few hours more sleep?"
"I do not think I could, now that I am awake, Legolas said. "You can go back to sleep, though. I do not mind waiting."
"No, no. It matters not." Thranduil bit on the inside of his cheek to stifle a yawn, and rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes, not realising that in doing so he looked uncannily like his Elfling. "Besides, I am interested as to what you have to show me."
"On the day that I left the palace – the last day that you saw me until now – you gave me a book," Legolas began. "It had been yours as a child, given to you by your father. The fact that you trusted me with it was an honour, and that was why I made a promise to you. Do you remember that promise, Ada?"
"You said that you would look after the book," Thranduil replied softly. "Ion-nin, it matters not to me that you have lost it or-
"But I haven't! I kept my word," Legolas cut in. He pulled the book from behind his back, and held it out as he climbed onto the bed once more. "It was perhaps a small promise, but the most important one I had ever made – it was all I had left of you, Ada. And for that reason, I treasured it."
"How did you…?"
"I don't know," the Prince admitted slowly. "There were many times when I thought that I would lose the book or have it taken, but I could not let that happen. I had to hold on to it, because it meant – it still means – so much to me. It helped to keep me strong. I rarely read it. But I looked at it; and I looked at your name written on the first page, and that was a constant reminder of who I am. It kept me going, even when my days were dark."
Thranduil touched his son's cheek with a hand that trembled as he asked questions that he was half afraid to know the answers to. "Why were your days dark? How were you hurt so? Will you tell me now, please?"
Legolas did. Starting at the very beginning from when he met Thalion in the forest, he went all the way to the rescue conducted by Glorfindel and the twins. He left out not one event, not one harsh word nor painful blow; and by the time he was finished the sun was awake, and more than a few tears had been shed by both himself and his father. Thranduil had said little during the story – though his eyes flashed with anger often – but when Taras' part came up, then he spoke.
"This man is not someone who I will allow to live," he vowed. "If it is the last thing I ever do, I will find him and make him pay for what he has done."
"Don't," Legolas replied. "Emotionally, Taras did more damage to me than Seregeth. He caused my heart to break, Ada, and it was the worst feeling that I have ever known. Because of his cruelty, however brief it was, I wanted to die. But now I have been saved, and I want nothing to do with men anymore – not with Seregeth, Amarth, Thalion or Taras. If you were to find him, it would only prolong the pain."
Thranduil was silent for a moment, struggling to believe and accept that such a hateful act had almost been committed against his son. But then he looked up, and said: "Why not Thalion? He did nothing to cause you harm."
No. But he is a human," Legolas said quietly. "Is it wrong of me to be so prejudiced against him because of his race, Ada? I met him before Amarth took me, and I warmed to him. But that means nothing now."
"It is not wrong," Thranduil murmured.
"The day after Taras tried to… Seregeth set me some work to do. As I struggled to complete the chore, I knew suddenly that it didn't matter whether Criltha came back to save me. How could it, when my heart was broken and I was dying anyway?" Legolas continued slowly. "I hope that wherever she is, she is happy. She deserved freedom as much as I did."
Thranduil winced as he realised that the child did not yet know. He had to tell him. To keep him in the dark would be immoral. "Legolas, there is something that you have to be told," he began. "When I arrived at Seregeth's home, there was a young woman inside the cottage. She was very badly hurt, and we were…it was too late for her. She had already passed on."
"It was not Criltha," Legolas said, defiance making itself known in his voice. "She would not long have been free, and for her to die so soon after escaping would be cruel."
"I know. But life is very cruel, often to those who least deserve it," Thranduil answered quietly. "Seregeth told me her name. He said that she was Criltha, the girl you helped escape."
"No…"
The Elven ruler exhaled and pulled his son against his chest, gently stroking the golden hair. "I am so sorry, tithen-las. I know she was a friend of yours. But she did not go painfully. The look on her face when we found her was one of peace. She was buried by the soldiers, underneath the trees. Rest assured that she is happy now, and truly free."
"I can believe that, but it makes the knowledge that she is dead not much easier," Legolas replied softly. "I did not know her for very long, but we went through much together."
"I do not doubt that," Thranduil sighed. He instinctively touched his child's cheek, brushing away the tears. "What happened then, penneth? You said that Seregeth had work for you."
"Yes. But I couldn't do it – I felt tired, and too weak. He saw that I was slacking, and he came out to punish me for it," Legolas murmured. "He beat me, Ada. It wasn't the worst he ever did, but it was bad enough. Glorfindel and the twins told me later that they had seen him treating me so, and it was because of that that they decided to help me – although, they also said there was no decision to be made."
"No, I should think not," Thranduil replied. "How did they get you out of there?"
"Elladan disguised himself, and pretended to be a…a… well, someone like Taras, so that he could get me on my own," Legolas explained. "Lord Glorfindel and Elrohir restrained Seregeth, and that was the end of it. They brought me here."
The King nodded, and turned his child's face up so that he could look into the sapphire eyes. "There are many Elves older than you who would not be able to withstand that man's cruelty. But you did, Legolas. I was always proud of you. Always. But this just… Ion-nin, for you to have survived this makes me even more so. I did not think that I could love any more, but I have been proved wrong."
"Ada, I have told you everything that I can, and I have answered your questions," Legolas said slowly. "But now I have some things to ask of you. Please, be honest as I have."
"What do you want to know?"
"You have been speaking of love and pride, but if you do love me, and if you are proud of me, why did you not come?" Legolas moved away from the elder Elf, and sat coldly at the far end of the bed. "Five weeks you left me there. I called for you. I prayed for you to come. But you didn't."
"Do you think that…? Valar, do you really think that I left you there purposefully?" Thranduil asked, stunned. "Legolas, how could I have possibly known where you were? You could have been lost in Mirkwood, you could have been captured by Orcs, you could have found your way to Laketown. I even feared that you were dead. Think what you will of me, but do not ever think that I let you stay with Seregeth knowing where you were."
The boy exhaled, and crawled back up the bed to lean against his father's chest again. "I'm sorry. I am so sorry, Ada. I did not mean to accuse you of anything. I just felt… It was strange. I felt the sudden need to blame someone for what happened to me, and you were the one who received that blame. I know it wasn't your fault. I always did."
"Believe me, I understand how you feel," Thranduil sighed. "After suffering a trauma, we go through different stages of healing, and we experience different ways to ease the pain. Blame and guilt are natural. I know."
"You do?"
"Yes."
Legolas looked up, but the glint in his father's eyes told him not to press further. "There is something else – just one more question. Why are you wearing Nana's pendant? I noticed it last night, and it made me wonder."
"Of course it did," Thranduil muttered. He touched the necklace, letting his fingers rest against the cool crystals for a moment, before pulling the chain over his head. "Your mother gave it to me so that… She wanted me to give it to you if – when – I found you. And now I have. So, it belongs to you."
"To me?"
Thranduil nodded slowly, but he made no attempt to relinquish his hold on the pendant. If anything, he only held it tighter. "Yes. It is yours. She also asked me to tell you that she…she tried to be strong."
"What does that mean?" Legolas whispered. "Ada, what are you trying to say?"
"The grief that your disappearance conceived was too much for your mother to bear," Thranduil answered softly. "As each day passed, a little more of our hope died. It hurt so much, ion-nin, and she could not withstand it any longer. Ten days ago, she said that if you were not found within a week, she would depart for the Grey Havens, and sail into the West."
"No! That cannot be true!" Legolas cried. "Nana has not gone."
"She will not yet have reached the Havens," Thranduil murmured. "Lord Elrond is going to do all he can to bring her back."
"Then, it is not too late?"
The Elven-king shook his head at the expression on the child's face. "No. But do not raise your hopes too high. Do not forget that the possibility still exists that she will have left before Elrond can find her."
"It isn't fair," Legolas whispered, digging his knuckles into his eyes as the tears came. "Have we not been put through enough? I don't want to lose her, Ada. I can't. We did not even say goodbye; and if she were to sail, it would be years before…"
"I know," Thranduil answered quietly. "If she knew that you lived, she would have stayed. But for all we did know, you were dead. Your mother had to save herself, Legolas. She had to."
"I do not blame her," the Prince said in a low voice. "I want to be angry at her for not being here, but I cannot. It would be selfish of me. Say only that she would be safe and happy in Valinor, and I will be as content as I possibly can be, with the knowledge that she is gone burning in my mind."
"Rest assured she would be safe. She may never be truly happy until she lays eyes upon you again, but that is not something we can change." Thranduil paused, and held the pendant out to his son. "Here. Take it. When you wear this, she will be with you."
Legolas shook his head, and looked away from the necklace. "I want you to keep it for a while. When I know for certain that she has left, then I will wear it. I just…I do not want to believe yet that she is gone if there is a chance that she can come back. Do you understand that?"
Thranduil nodded but said nothing, silenced by the grief that came from so many places: the diminished – though still agonising – pain that he felt inside; the sadness in his only child's eyes; the understanding that such tragic circumstances could exist in Middle-earth. He looked away, focusing his gaze instead on a blue plumed bird that flitted around outside the window. He didn't really see it, though, so caught up in thoughts and reflections was he.
Life was cruel. There was no disputing that. He had known it every day of Legolas' disappearance; and even though he was now reunited with his son, the knowledge did not vanish, the feelings of resentment and anger towards those who shaped their lives did not dissipate. How could it? They were close, so close to reaching the end of this trauma. But healing and freedom from pain would remain at bay for a while yet if Laerwen could not be reached.
'I just want it to be over,' Thranduil thought desperately. 'For myself, yes. But even more so for my child. He deserved none of what he received, but this is just so wrong. This prolonged suffering, this seemingly endless heartache. Valar, when will you let us be free?'
"I want you to wear the pendant," Legolas said softly. "Please."
As he took Laerwen's necklace and put it back over his father's head, the Prince released a deep exhale of breath. Thranduil said nothing, just watching as tumultuous emotions raged in the blue pools before him, and wondering at the fact that tears were so far away. The thought had only just entered his mind when suddenly it was like a wall collapsing into rubble. Legolas struggled to hold his composure for a moment more, but then his small face crumpled, and silver droplets rained down.
He threw himself forwards almost violently, flinging his arms around the Elven-king's neck and holding on with surprising strength as all barriers broke and he allowed himself to sob. Thranduil held the boy, desperate to offer more comfort, but unable to find the words. There were none. He knew that. He had lost his own mother as a child, and he knew only too well that there was little to ease the pain.
"She should be here," Legolas breathed. "I need her. Ada, I do not understand, and I so want to. Why is this happening to us? We have done nothing wrong, so why are we being punished? It is unjust."
"You ask questions that I have so many times before," Thranduil sighed. "I wanted answers. I was desperate for them. But the truth…there are no answers. At least, not for us. We just have to accept that for reasons which will always remain unknown, we were chosen for this path."
"I want to leave it," Legolas said in a low voice. "I wanted to step off it a long time ago."
The Mirkwood ruler nodded slowly, gently stroking the golden hair of his son. "We will survive this, ion-nin. Believe that. Trust in it."
"Not so long ago I would not have been able to, because survival seemed impossible," the Elfling replied, brushing away some of his tears. "But hearing you say the words gives me some hope."
"Good. I am glad of that." Thranduil hesitated, and tucked Laerwen's pendant out of sight in his shirt, away from Legolas' eyes. The shining pools had been fixed on it. "We have spent so much time talking, it is now late morning. You must be hungry-
There was a knock on the door, and after a pause, Alondir came into the room. He himself had been up and about for a good few hours, and the sight of his King and Prince still abed made him smile. Though, he would have it no other way. The two of them together was a sight he had sorely missed, and only yesterday, something he had never expected to see again.
"Good morning," he greeted them. "I hope that you both slept well."
"Of course. And yourself?"
"Never better."
Thranduil nodded, and shot his friend a sideways glance as silence fell. "Alondir? Was there something that you wanted? Or have you just come to stand?"
"No. I bring word from Lord Elrond, although…" The commander paused, his eyes flashing a warning. "I think it best that we speak privately of this."
"I have been told about my mother," Legolas said quietly. "If it is news of her that you bring, you may speak freely before me. Is that no so, Ada?"
Thranduil hesitated. He had not said that, and the need to protect his only child was strong inside of him. But he could not send the boy away either. "Yes, very well," he conceded. "If it is tidings of Laerwen, we can talk here."
"Lord Elrond contacted Lady Galadriel this morning," Alondir reported, hiding a smile as his friend's eyes narrowed. "She searched for the Queen, and the word that she sent back was good. Your wife has not yet reached the Havens. She has perhaps a few more days left of the journey."
"Then, we can bring her back," Legolas breathed.
"Quiet," Thranduil said, his voice sharper than he had intended. He glanced apologetically at his son, before snapping his gaze back to the commander. "What advice did Elrond give, Alondir? Even on the swiftest horse, we could not hope to reach her."
"That is true," the elder Elf agreed. "But there is a way. Word has been sent for help, and it should arrive by tomorrow."
"But, how are we going to get to the Havens?"
"We will fly."
"We will… What?" Thranduil blinked in surprise. "On whose wings?"
Alondir allowed himself a smile, as he replied: "Gwaihir's."
………………………………………………………………………………………………
"So. You have returned."
Thalion looked into the blue eyes of his father, and said nothing. He had come back to the cottage more than once after discovering the truth, and he had come back with a resolve to kill the one who had caused so much pain. But Seregeth had been unconscious, intense thirst and agony throwing him into darkness. After deliberating and arguing with himself, Thalion had removed the knives from the older man's hands, treated his wounds, tied him back up with the strange silver rope, and trickled much needed water into his mouth.
Why? He did not know. He could have just killed Seregeth then and there, and that would have been the end of it. But he had been unable to. Deep down in the pits of his subconscious, it was because he was loath to end his father's life without a last exchange of words. Death was final. There was no coming back from it, and the two men had to speak together one more time.
"You cannot stay away," Seregeth sneered through lips that were cracked and dry. His voice was hoarse, and he struggled to make the words form after another two days without anything to quench his thirst. "This place must call to you. Or is it I whom you miss so much?"
"I have brought you water."
"Charming."
"You will have to let me help you," Thalion continued. "I am not untying you yet, although I want to. You have been held there for a week now, and I must say it is a sorry sight indeed that my eyes behold. Seeing you, a man of such power, sitting helpless in your own blood and filth…"
Seregeth raised his head, and stared defiantly at his son. "Why have you come here? Taunting me so is childish, and I have no time for it, if it is all you wish to do. Mayhap you should just go. Leave me here to die alone."
"Die?" The younger man laughed softly, and shook his dark head. "No. I am not going to kill you. At least, not yet."
"Give me some water, then," Seregeth snapped.
Thalion started to move, but then he stopped and looked through narrowed eyes at the other. "Say for a moment that I do find it within me to untie you, or at least loosen your bonds. I want your word that you will not try anything. If you do, I will kill you – that I swear."
"Release me."
"Is that the best I will receive?" Thalion asked, drawing his knife as he knelt beside his father. He started to carve at the ropes that Thranduil had previously cut, his teeth gritted in concentration. "Where did she get this cord?"
"Who?"
"The woman who took her life. You said that it was she who bound you."
"Ah." Seregeth leaned back against the beam, and a small smile appeared on his face. "Yes, I remember. It is strong indeed. And beautiful to look upon. I have had time to do that, you see."
"It is a lovely thing," Thalion murmured, pausing to run his fingers over the rope. "Silken, too. I had not noticed that before. Its looks are deceiving."
"You have not got very far," Seregeth noted. "Your blade is useless against it. Perhaps you should try another one. Thranduil's, maybe? You threw it by the door when you took it from my hand."
Thalion sheathed his knife; and as he moved towards the door, his eyes fell upon the other dagger, and narrowed in confusion. "That does not belong to you," he said slowly. "Now that I see it with eyes unclouded by emotion, I know that it could not have been the girl's either. There are jewels in the hilt, and Elven lettering upon the blade."
"How strange."
"Who does it belong to?"
"Hmm…I did not catch his name."
Thalion snatched up Glorfindel's knife, and slashed it easily through the bonds around his father. They fell away at once, and he drew a sharp breath of surprise. "Valar… This blade is Elven. The rope too. But the Mirkwood Elves did not restrain you, so how…?"
Seregeth rested his head against the beam, wincing as feeling slammed back into his body. It came so quickly that it was painful, and he hissed in discomfort, losing in the narcissistic battle to keep quiet. As blood started to rush to the limbs that had been so constrained, he looked up at his son, and a small smile made itself known. Thalion was beginning to realise the truth.
"Thranduil's Elves were not the first here," the young man muttered. "There were others. They came here before the girl died, they must have. And that means… By the Gods, Legolas was still alive! They took him, and did this to you."
As Thalion continued to speak incoherently to himself, Seregeth got carefully to his feet, hurting but too proud to show that he was weak. He used the beam as support, holding onto it tightly as his aching limbs were put into motion. He stepped slowly, yet lights still flashed before his eyes. The other man had nothing to fear – it would be a while yet before his father was able to move with any swiftness.
"You have water," Seregeth said quietly.
Thalion looked up in confusion, and shook his head slowly. "Legolas is not dead. You lied to me. You lied to Thranduil, you made him believe that his son-
"Water!"
"Take it!"
Thalion threw his water skin, fully aware that the elder man's sore arms would not yet be able to catch it. Indeed, it landed on the table, but he made no attempt to hand it to his father. "How could you?" he hissed instead. "The boy was still alive, and… Valar, death is too good for you."
"How could I?" Seregeth repeated. He limped towards the table and drank from the canteen, gulping the water down for a few seconds in great swallows. Then he looked up, and his lips curled into a sneer. "Is it not obvious? To admit that the child had been rescued would mean defeat for me."
"But you were defeated when those Elves took him and tied you up!" Thalion shouted.
"No, no. I would have been, had I told Thranduil that his beloved son had been rescued and was out of harm's way, but instead I lied, saying that Legolas had been killed," Seregeth replied calmly. "I was believed by everyone, and I expect that the consequences were drastic indeed. No matter. Watching the pain pass over those beautiful faces was tragic, but I loved it. In that moment, I was so powerful, and-
"Power," Thalion spat. "Power, power, power! It is all about your lust for damned power! Because of that, the last time I saw Thranduil, he was dying in his friend's arms. Yet Legolas could have been so near…"
"Exactly," Seregeth said softly. "Power."
The younger man tangled his hands in his own hair, too enraged to think straight, too full of anger to form a sentence. Legolas was alive. Legolas was alive. The words played over and over again, repeating themselves until they tripped over each other, screaming in his mind. When the volume reached shocking intensity, his hand shot out and he struck his father. Weakened, Seregeth came close to falling, but he caught hold of the table and lowered himself into a chair.
"You always did have a temper," he said quietly.
"Speak not to me!"
Thalion drew his sword and started to pace up and down the room, shaking his head and muttering furiously as he went. Then the blade was sheathed and he was walking out of the cottage, seeing only a hazy red mist before his eyes. Seregeth had to die. The small building that had once been his home had to be destroyed. It all had to go – for Legolas, Thranduil, Laerwen, himself.
He had brought a bucket of fuel with him from the town for just this, and he dragged it back to the cottage, not noticing as beads of sweat materialised on his forehead and dripped into his eyes. He threw it, dousing the floor, the walls, the furniture, his father, with the shiny liquid, and feeling a strange pleasure as the toxic smell assaulted his senses. Some of the fuel ran down his arms and stained his hands, but he did not bother to wipe it off.
"What is that?" Seregeth spat.
"What do you think?" Thalion snarled back.
The elder man stared in wonder for a moment, stunned that his son would have the courage to do this. But then the realisation of the danger he was in hit, and he emptied the water skin over himself, feeling the fuel drip off his body. But what would this small amount of water do? He watched as Thalion pulled out a box of matches from a shirt pocket, and shook his head almost in amusement.
"You wouldn't."
"Do you really believe that?"
"Of course. Everyone has their time to shine, and you had yours ten years ago. You had it when you stabbed me," Seregeth spat, jerking his tunic up to reveal a red scar on his chest. "But you are still a frightened little boy, Thalion. You can get rid of me, but you could never get rid of this place. It holds too many memories."
"Say the word, and the cottage goes up in flames," the young man replied in a low voice. "I do not fear you. A while back, I thought I did. But I was wrong. I hate you. I always did."
"Prove it. Prove it to me," Seregeth sneered. "What are you waiting for? Light a damn match."
"Do not tempt me." Thalion took out one of the thin sticks, but only stared at in silence. After a minute had slowly crawled by, he said: "It was not meant to be this way."
"No? Was I supposed to get down on my knees and beg for mercy, all the while crying that I have done wrong and I can redeem myself? Was I supposed to see the error of my ways?" Seregeth asked scornfully. "That is the way of so many stories. People like to read of the reformed bad characters, the villains. They like to see them changed. No such luck in this tale, I fear."
"But you could," Thalion murmured. "You could so easily walk away."
"And let you win?" Seregeth snorted. "I think not, son."
"How dare you!"
"Was it something I said?"
"I stopped being your son over twenty years ago. You lost the right to call me 'son' the first time that you ever raised your hand to me – when I had not even seen two summers!" Thalion roared. "Name me so again, and so help me I will…"
"What?"
The younger mortal shook his head, and looked away in fury. "The Elves who took Legolas… Where did they come from? What names did they go by? Where were they taking him? Tell me!"
"We did not exchange pleasantries," Seregeth shrugged. "Though, I did catch two names. One was Elrohir. Another, Elladan. The eldest one I do not know. This knowledge will not help you."
"Oh, it will," Thalion said quietly. "When my work here is over, I will do whatever it takes to find them, and take Legolas back to his father. If I can repair some of the damage that you have done, the world will be a better place."
Seregeth rolled his eyes ever so slightly, but gave no reply to his son's oath. Instead he taunted: "What are you waiting for? If you are so desperate to be rid of me, of the cottage, why do we still stand here talking? I was right all along, is that not so? You are afraid, and weak. So weak. You cannot-
There was a sudden whoosh of flame as Thalion struck the match. It flared intensely for a brief moment, before dying down to a flickering orange. Seregeth stared at it, his mind whirling as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. He was going to die – but not on anyone else's terms. The younger man had defeated him once before, and he was damned if he would allow it to happen again.
"I suppose now is the time to exchange some parting words," Thalion said slowly, stepping towards the door – his escape route. "What do we say, though? Now that the end is near, I have nothing inside of me that I want you to know."
"You will be glad to hear, then, that I do." Seregeth rose awkwardly from where he sat and limped across the room, keeping his blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on the identical ones before him. "You mentioned earlier that I have a lust for power. Truer words have never been spoken."
Thalion stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"After all that I have done over the years to gain control of my life and of others', to win such great power, do you really think that I would so easily relinquish it – to you of all people?" Seregeth asked softly. "No. If this is to be my end, it will be on my terms."
"What…?"
But Thalion had already realised. He drew in a sharp breath of shock and tried to lunge away, but the older man was already moving, battling against his pain to reach his destination. His arm swept outwards, and he hit the match from his son's hand. It flew across the room, spinning and tripping in midair, the orange flame guttering wildly. As it fell, it did so almost in slow motion. Everything except that thin stick of wood seemed to stand still – even time itself.
"I win," Seregeth whispered. "You lose."
Thalion stared in horror as the elder man started to laugh almost manically, but he was quick to snap to his sense. The match hit the floor, burning a piece of carpet that had not been touched by fuel. But the flames spread swiftly, attracted to the flammable liquid as moths are to light. Escape now seemed impossible, but the young mortal threw himself to the door, eyes wild as he scrabbled to get out.
As fuel met flames there was an explosion, and through the deafening roar of fire, the last thing that Thalion heard before he lost consciousness was the crazed laugher of his father, a man who was standing with arms outstretched as flames engulfed him, as he waited for death, the final execution of his much beloved power, to take him.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
That evening, Legolas was alone in the room that he was sharing with his father. Thranduil had gone to speak with Elrond nearly an hour back, and shortly after his departure, rain had started to fall in the valley of Imladris. The Prince had stood at the balcony doors, watching mesmerised as drops rolled down the glass like silent tears. He had been content until the arrival of the thunder and lightning, and it was then that fear had taken him.
His mind flashed back to the time when Seregeth had forced him to spend the whole night outside in the storm; and the feelings that those memories invoked in him were nauseating. As thunder smashed he closed his eyes tightly, and tried to concentrate on the pounding of his own heart. As lightning flashed its forked tongues, he dug his nails into the palm of his hand, too afraid to run from the room, yet just as afraid to stay.
Thunder sounded again, and in unison with the deafening clap, the door burst open and hit against the wall. Thranduil came in looking harassed; and as he went swiftly to his son, he said: "Legolas, I am so sorry. I tried to get back to you as quickly as I could, but Elrond was contacting Galadriel to hear news of Gwaihir's progress, and… Legolas? Legolas!"
The child seemed to be frozen on the bed, his eyes wide with fear, his expression distant as he concentrated only on his memories and the storm outside. He was vaguely aware of his father's voice, but it was not until Thranduil caught his shoulders and shook him slightly that he came back to his senses. He looked up, searching desperately for the elder Elf's hand with his own shaking one.
"I wanted to come and find you," he breathed. "I wanted to be with you, Ada."
"Then, why did you not come to Elrond's study?" Thranduil chided gently. "You knew that I would be there."
"Yes, but…" Legolas looked towards the glass doors, and a shiver ran through his small body. "The storm. I felt paralysed by my fear, I could not move. It was as though I was chained, as I was when Seregeth made me…"
"Come with me," Thranduil sighed. He went to the balcony and leaned against the wall, focusing his gaze on a single rain drop that slid miserably down the panes. He did not have to turn to know that his son had not followed. "Legolas. Come here."
"Why?" the boy asked softly, as he took a few tentative steps forward.
"Please."
Legolas stood at his father's side, his body tense, waiting for the next thunder clap or lightning strike. "Ada, I don't… I want to be away from the storm."
"Where would you go? You cannot escape it here," Thranduil replied. "Even if you could I would not allow it. You cannot live your life being afraid of something that is easily cured. It will get in the way of so many things."
"But it is not my fault," Legolas said desperately. "I do not enjoy being afraid."
"No. And believe me, I know that it is not your fault. I would never hold your fear against you, and I would never ever blame you for something that Seregeth did," Thranduil answered. "I just want to try and do something – anything – to make this better, to try and repair at least some of the damage that has been done to you."
"What if you can't?" Legolas asked softly.
The Elven-king shrugged, dismissing the question, and nodded towards the black sky outside. "Look out of the window. Watch the storm play out before us, and tell me what you see. Can you do that?"
Legolas touched one of the glass panes, his breath misting it. "There is rain, heavy rain. It is slamming against the walls of the house, and driving through the valley in sheets. It is surprisingly loud."
"Do you remember when it rained in Mirkwood? You would run outside and hide from your mother and I so that we could not find you to tell you to come in," Thranduil recalled. "You loved playing in the rain, and splashing through the puddles."
"There is wind also, though I only hear it," Legolas continued. Thunder rolled, and he looked away quickly so that his fear would be masked. When the noise had died down, he raised his head and said: "The wind…it howls as a wolf does, and is eerie. But at the same time, the song it sings is one of sad beauty."
"You used to like the wind," Thranduil said. "You would laugh as it caught at our hair and clothes, and you enjoyed watching it throw leaves into the air."
The child started to laugh, but as lightning struck outside, he turned away and closed his eyes. "I don't want to do this, Ada. Don't make me."
"If you fall from a horse, what do you do?" the King asked evenly. "You combat your fear of falling by going back to it and confronting it. Is that not so?"
"This is different!" Legolas almost snapped. "Seregeth chained me up like one of his dogs and left me in the storm all night. Thunder was rolling all around and lightning was striking nearby, and…. Ada, it made me ill. Being out in that weather made me physically sick, and now you want me to go through it again!"
Thranduil pulled the boy around to face him, and knelt down so that their eyes were level. "Legolas, don't ever think that I would intentionally put you in danger. Yes, you suffered greatly at Seregeth's hands, but I thought you knew that if you could be safe with anyone, it would be me. Do you doubt my ability to care for you wellbeing? Is my protection not enough even in Imladris?"
"There is no-one in Middle-earth I feel safer with, but do you not understand my fear?" Legolas asked desperately. "Is it so hard to comprehend?"
"I do understand, and that is why I am trying to help you," Thranduil replied. "You spoke of the wind and rain, and we remembered how you used to enjoy them so. All that is left of the storm is thunder and lightning. What is thunder?"
"This is not working," Legolas whispered. "Just leave it be-
"What is thunder?"
"Noise!"
"What is lightning?"
"Light!"
"Can noise and light hurt you?"
"No."
"Then, why should you fear them?"
Legolas drew in a sharp breath of frustration, and looked away from his father. "Because they can hurt. Lightning strikes can kill, they can start fires…"
"You are inside, with strong walls between you and the storm that will not fail to offer protection," Thranduil said gently. "You cannot be touched here. Outside, yes, a storm can be frightful. But inside, it is only noise and light to you. If you remember that, you will feel no fear. You can instead watch the beauty of nature play out before you."
"Storms are not beautiful."
"How do you know?" Thranduil countered. "If you always cover your ears and close your eyes, you can never have witnessed one properly. You should. I think that you would be surprised."
Legolas bit down on his lower lip, and cast an anxious gaze towards the balcony doors. "I will be brave again. After living with Seregeth, surely weather cannot be so awful. But, I do not want to be alone."
"Why would you be?"
"Stay with me."
"Of course."
Thranduil sat down against the wall, pulling his son into his lap so that they were close together. He could feel the tension of the small body against his own; and he smiled slightly, remembering what it felt like to be a child who wanted so desperately to be strong and brave before his father. But he was not the child any more, and he knew that there was nothing for Legolas to prove.
"Alright?" he asked softly.
"Hmm."
"Feel safe?"
"Hmm."
The Elf rested his head back against the wall, listening to the rain beating on the windows. It was the only sound for a while, but just as he was beginning to wonder if the storm had faded, thunder rolled just as heartily as before. Whatever he had expected from Legolas – tears, a small cry – did not come, and he felt a rush of pride at the bravery. Lightning struck a moment later, illuminating the valley of Imladris. The Prince inhaled sharply, and leaned forwards for a better view.
"You were right," he breathed. "That was beautiful."
"Of course it was," Thranduil replied. "And you need not sound so surprised that I spoke correctly, thank you very much. One would think that you believe me to be lacking where intelligence is concerned."
Legolas shrugged, issuing no answer, though a smile curled his lips as the Mirkwood ruler drew a sharp breath of feigned hurt. Strong hands crept around his waist and up his chest, and his mind flashed back to the last person who had touched him so – Taras. Images whirled through his head, images from not so long ago that made him want to suddenly scream out loud. But then a gentle Elven voice broke into the flashback, and the boy was able to relax. This was different. This was his ada.
"If I am anything but clever, do not forget that you are also, Elfling," Thranduil said, tickling the little Prince. "Your children will be slow and dim-witted in matters of the mind, and their children, and even their children will-
Crash.
Both Elves flinched this time as thunder exploded somewhere above them, the loudest one yet. It rattled the balcony doors, the echoes reverberating all around for a while after it made itself known. When the sound eventually faded altogether, Legolas looked over his shoulder at his father, and gave a small smile. He said simply: "That was loud."
"So it was."
"It frightened even you."
"No, it surprised me."
"Are you afraid of anything, Ada?"
"Of course. No-one can say that they are fearless without lying," Thranduil replied. "Some do, but that is because they see fear as a weakness – which is a weakness in itself – and are not strong enough to admit that they are no different than anyone else."
"What do you fear?"
The Elven ruler looked out of the balcony doors, and exhaled silently. "The fall of my father's kingdom. The death of my people. More than anything, losing the ones I love."
"Then, your worst fear was brought to life when I was taken," Legolas murmured. He felt his father nod behind him, and turned around fully so that their eyes met. "Was it very hard for you, Ada? I often wondered what you and Nana were doing, whether you had given up searching for me, or whether you were on the way to rescue me even as I thought. It was so easy for me to imagine Nana. But not you. Were you thinking of another child to take my place? Did you blame me for leaving? Did you cry for me?"
Thranduil was silent as he listened to the rhetorical questions, but he looked up at the last one. "What do you think?"
"I want to think that you did," Legolas replied slowly. "If you can shed tears without shame, then that is a strength also."
"Some would beg to differ, though not I," the King said. "And yes, I did cry for you, ion-nin. Your mother and I both did. How could we do anything else when our only child was taken from our lives?"
The Elfling looked away again, and let out a deep breath. He should not have mentioned Laerwen. He loved her with all of his heart, of course he did, but thinking of her brought back the pain. If only he could shut her out of his mind until he knew whether she was sailing, because it was the not knowing that caused the greatest hurt. His sudden sadness must have been evident, for Thranduil laughed, and spoke with amusement lacing his voice.
"I have not been entirely truthful with you, ion-nin."
"What?"
"You asked me what I fear, and I told you. Only, I neglected to inform you that…" The Elven ruler bit on his lower lip, the action making him greatly resemble his son. "If I tell you this, I want your word that it goes no further than this room."
Legolas looked up, his melancholy expression slowly being replaced by one of anticipation. "Of course. You have it. Ada, what did you not tell me?"
"I do not like spiders."
"You don't like them?"
"I…am afraid of them, you could say," Thranduil muttered.
"No, you are not," Legolas replied scornfully. "You fight them all the time in Mirkwood, and you do so without any fear."
"Oh yes, the large ones do not affect me because I know that they must be destroyed for the protection of my people. But it is the small ones that come into the palace…" Thranduil shuddered, at the same time wondering at the fact that he was admitting this to his young son. Laerwen was the only one who knew this secret. "They have long legs and thin bodies, and they move swiftly, and… They are horrible."
Legolas chewed on the inside of his cheek, unsure what to say. Eventually he settled for: "I don't think I have ever seen you blush before now."
"You can feel free to laugh."
"Why would I? I do not find it funny." Though, the boy did have to raise a hand to his lips to hide a smile. "Besides, you did not laugh at my fear of storms, so I will not… Spiders, though. It is slightly amusing to hear that one of Middle-earth's finest warriors is afraid of spiders."
"Even the word is awful," Thranduil reflected, ignoring the comment. "Spider. Spi-der. Sp-i-der. You see? It is horrible."
"You're funny," Legolas giggled.
The Mirkwood ruler smiled, glad that he had distracted his son from whatever sadness had touched him. He pulled the Elfling close against his chest, burying his face in the golden hair that blended with his own, and inhaling the childish scent. It gave him comfort, spreading a warmth that could be nothing more than intense love through his body. His thoughts turned to Laerwen, and he sighed softly.
'You should be here with us, meleth-nin,' he thought. 'I hope with all of my heart that you will be before too much time has passed us by.'
Thranduil looked down, drawn by a slight shaking of his son's shoulders. He wondered fleetingly if the Elfling was crying, but a quick glance into the amused eyes told him otherwise. "What," he said, "do you find so humorous now?"
"Not much," Legolas replied.
"It must be something."
The Prince bit on his lower lip, and smiled. He simply said, much to the vague annoyance of his father: "Spiders."
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Sorry that this has taken a while longer to get up – I've been a bit busy with college work and filling in applications for new jobs which is just so boring and tedious, plus the whole house is being redecorated so everything is a bit chaotic. But it's up now, and hopefully the next chapter will be up on time. It should be.
There's an important note on my bio page that I'd appreciate people checking out. It actually doesn't apply to most people who are reading this story, but it does to some, so if you could just go to my profile page and read it, I'd be very grateful.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Misto
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