The king's sobs shook the room and clenched tight around Thranduil's heart. He sat up in his bed ten feet away from Oropher and could do nothing but watch his shoulders shake under the pressing blankets covered in sunshine.

"Oropher?"

His query received no reply. Slowly Thranduil lifted the blankets and sheets off his legs and pushed his loose pillows away. Concern muffled his pain. His confusion was gone in a moment. He did not matter anymore. Not when someone else hurt more. No one else would come. No one else cared enough. No one else knew. Oropher's pride hid him from Mirkwood.

Thranduil's bare feet touched the floor. The cold marble shocked him. He stood. Cried out at the pain streaking through his muscles and almost collapsed.

"Thranduil!" Oropher swung over, his wet eyes suddenly angry. He snarled, "Do not dare! Get back into bed, you thoughtless fool! You will hurt yourself—you could kill yourself. One of us has to survive."

"Shut up," Thranduil said through gritted teeth. He took a step. Another step. Using the wall as a support, he inched across the agonizing ten feet between him and Oropher. His body did not want to stand. He grabbed Oropher's bedside table and crumpled onto the bed with a final whimper. "Ow."

"Thoughtless!" Oropher snapped again. "Dangerous!" His anger could not dam his grief and the tears streaked down his cheeks steadily. He raised a hand to dry them, but Thranduil stopped him.

"You have to grieve, Oropher, or all the hurt will stay inside you. You will keep bleeding. You will not heal. No one coming—no one will see. Except me, and I do not mind. I do not judge. I will not tell."

The bed was spacious. Thranduil fell back against the headboard and shut his eyes. Every pore in his body shrieked. "I am sorry for being . . . I said things earlier I did not fully mean."

"You meant every word."

Thranduil flushed. "I did not mean to be cruel about it. I could have been . . . more tactful."

Oropher sniffed. "I regret you have never learned the art of tact."

Thranduil handed him a handkerchief off the bedside table and settled a pillow behind his shoulders. "You might say what you think and not say what you mean. It can be relieving to be direct."

"Irritating little—" Oropher trailed his words into silence and crumpled the white handkerchief in his hands.

"Do you wish to talk about it?" Thranduil inquired, after thought.

"It was . . . breaking. When she died I wished to die. To heal from physical wounds is a mere scratch in light of the holes in my spirit. She is gone. I cannot reach her. Where there used to be love and company, now there is nothing . . ."

It occurred to Thranduil he could not offer advice.

"I have lived many years. I have seen elves die—watched those they leave behind grieve. How do—how do they keep living when there is nothing left to live for?"

"Perhaps," Thranduil said gently. "They find comfort in the family they still have."

Oropher looked away. "I have no family."

"When it suits you, I am your son and heir. When it does not suit you, you have no family? I do not object to our blood bond, Oropher."

"You," Oropher snarled, "Abandoned me."

"I regret you feel like I abandoned you. I regret I could not prevent the rift between us. I want to help you now, my king, but I cannot help if you shut me out. Please, let me help."

The tears welled up and stung Oropher's throat again. The sting burned the snarl out of his mouth and replaced it with bitter grief. He felt the concern radiating off the warm body beside him.

"If it suits, I will go," Thranduil offered. "I know grief must sometimes be felt alone."

"No!" Oropher said quickly. An empty room would eat him, swallow him up. He did not have the strength to resist. "Stay. Where you are . . . please."

Thranduil smiled a little and the pucker of his brow un-pinched. "I am glad to stay here, my king." He borrowed a corner of the soft yellow quilt and another pillow to make himself comfortable.

"Do not talk," Oropher said.

Thranduil shut his eyes. He pretended to sleep until the pretense became real and his cheek fell against the pillow under his head. Oropher felt him relax.

Oropher's tears grew silent. They did not want to make noise and so slipped out quietly. The pressure in his chest faded a little with each passing tear. Thranduil's soothing presence, even in sleep, helped.

The king of Mirkwood turned onto his side and slept. Slept in grief and in rest. He dreamed of Natelle and cut open every closing wound inside himself again, yet he awoke with only thought in his blue eyes.

Someone was in the room.

He swiftly wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. Thranduil still slept, curled up a little on his side of the bed. Oropher turned over gingerly and looked toward the door.

Harune looked back at him.

"My king," the elf said, with a nod, looking up from shaking out the sheets and blankets on Thranduil's empty bed. His blue eyes twinkled gently with a constant steadiness Oropher found infuriating.

"Do not pretend you are happy with what you see!" Oropher snapped.

Harune's hawk-wing shaped eyebrows rose. "I beg clarification, my king." He spread the pink and yellow bedspread on the finished bed, plumped the pillows, and sat down on the side closest to Oropher. "If you are referencing Thranduil, I am happy he is where he needs to be."

"You stole him from me. This must make you mad."

Harune tipped his head to one side. His braid of brown hair fell against his left shoulder. "I do not understand your anger. I did not steal Thranduil from you, my king, nor do I begrudge him his relationship with you."

"You," Oropher said, "Taught him to hate me."

"I did not," Harune said. "Oropher, when Thranduil was little, he wanted so badly to meet you. He wanted so badly to put a face to the elf he knew was his father. When he was finally old enough for your entertainment, he was thrilled to meet you. Do you not remember your first meeting with your son?"

"He was barely five. It was not our first meeting."

"It was the first meeting Thranduil remembers, and the first meeting where you did not only come to look at him. It was the first meeting where you promised to play with him," Harune answered. "He was so happy at the prospect of putting together a puzzle with his father. He wanted that connection so much. He was open to it. He needed your love and someone to call ada. But Thranduil knocked over a glass of milk, I recall, and you spanked him."

Oropher recalled that day. "He was clumsy. I do not approve or encourage clumsiness."

"You could have had a healthy relationship with Thranduil," Harune said. "He had never been hit before you. He felt the intention behind it, and it terrified him. Instead of wanting his father, he was afraid of him. He came to me in tears. He asked why you hit him. I tried to explain it, but I did not understand it myself. Thranduil understood actions have consequences, but I never taught him by physically hurting him. All he could say for nearly half an hour was, "I did not mean to". For the first time, I could not provide an explanation either of us understood. That hurt me too.

"I became Thranduil's safe space, Oropher. He grew to fear you. When he came to me sobbing that day, he did not call me Harune. He called me, for the first time, ada."

Oropher closed his eyes. His heart sank a little.

Guest: I am truly delighted you found the change in Oropher so interesting and worthy of ruminating over! Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts so kindly. I love the insights you share the possibles in his past that have shaped him into who he is today. I am hopeful that this chapter has helped further some of the changes in Oropher, and offered some hints of healing. Pride is without doubt one of his greatest traits. Love your thought that Oropher is afraid of connection and losing the only family left to him! I feel like that has a deep amount of truth in it. I too hope to hear further thoughts from you.

As always, gratitude to everyone reading this. Thoughts welcome!

Next Chapter: Further discussion.