Chapter 2

...

As Legolas developed from a small babe to a chubby, babbling toddler, Miriel grew to love him more than she knew was possible. It scared her, sometimes, the fierce love she had for the princeling and made her wonder at the depths she might have developed for an elfling of her own.

Each morning he greeted her with a gap-toothed smile, his rosy cheeks glowing and downy fair hair sticking up every which way. Miri would lift him from his crib, kiss him on his brow, and get him dressed for breakfast. The whole time he chattered - some of his words identifiable, other times less so.

"Very good, Little Leaf," she'd say regardless.

They dined in the kitchens, quietly watching the hubbub of work, their only interruption the occasional elf who stopped by their scrubbed table to greet the prince. It took much to feed Thranduil's household and his cook ran the kitchens like an army battalion. Legolas's eyes always went to the massive spits that were rotated by hands, roasting the latest game.

The kitchens were perhaps not the most princely place to dine, but after having meals brought to the nursery during the first few weeks in the caverns, Miri found herself itching for excuses to leave the royal wing more often. At first, the kitchen maids kept their distance, glancing and whispering as they went about their work. That soon stopped, however, after the cook began to dote on young Legolas. His unintentional charm worked in their favor, and once Tuigalen began to set aside sweets for the prince, everyone relaxed around Legolas and his caregiver.

The cook had worked for the household since Thranduil was a child. She'd assisted Cala with her wedding feast. Miriel recalled the older elleth's maternal nature conflicting with her mistrust of elves of Lórien. Cala had easily won her over, but Miri hadn't put in the work. It seemed that time — and a toddler's gummy smile — cold heal most wounds.

After breakfast, they usually went on a walk by the river outside the fortress. Miri held her charge's chubby hand, walking slowly with him, always ready to point out the occasional dragonfly or fish. Sometimes they were gifted with the rare sight of an otter or a raccoon. All animals delighted the prince, even though they disappointedly did not want to acquaint themselves.

"No pet?" He would whimper, looking up at Miriel with big wet eyes.

"Not today," she would reassure him, swinging him up so that he rested on her hip.

Following this, they toddled back inside, usually stopping by the stables to say hello to the horses. The large, battle-bred beasts would huff their greetings, gently lowering their heads to allow Legolas to pat the velvet of their noses. This tended to assuage the offensive of any aloof wildlife.

Back in the royal apartments, Legolas would nap while Miriel tended to other work. When she'd first taken over his care, she'd been at a loss as to what to do during this time. Carwegeth scoffed at her offer to assist with mending, Miri had no idea how to knit, and while she liked reading it hardly felt useful. A part of her longed to ask Thranduil for some task — surely there were things that were being overlooked in Cala's absence? But that felt like an overreach.

Thranduil might not have assigned her any work left by the lack of a queen, but there were others who had no such hesitation. Within a few days of their arrival to the fortress under the mountain, Miriel had found herself sought out nearly hourly for assistance on all manner of questions. It was clear that some of the wood elves had decided that if she were a surrogate mother to their prince, she was also acting as a placeholder for their queen, and as such, she was required to determine if the household linens needed refreshing. Or if the feast celebrating the summer solstice ought to feature the golden goblets or crystal goblets. How many goats ought they order from Dale this month? Did she want beeswax or tallow candles placed in the common corridors this quarter? If the household books could manage the expense everyone preferred beeswax. Three chickens were dragged off by foxes this morning, ought they send off for a few more to make up for the lost eggs or could they manage for now?

So, while Carwegeth sat in the nursery for an hour or so, Miri dealt with household matters.

The requests felt nearly endless. As she did not have staff of her own to delegate some of the decision-making to, Miriel quickly established the window of Legolas's nap for dealing with such inquires that required more than a brief note and took them in the kitchens at the same small scrubbed corner table where she and Legolas ate breakfast every morning.

It seemed that Thranduil either didn't know or didn't care that she'd been slowly pushed into taking over the running of the household. Which told Miriel that she was clearly doing well enough to escape his attention. Either that or she'd yet to make a big enough mistake to garner his notice. Once upon a time, she might have resented the campaign to turn all household decisions over to her. Miriel had never aspired to be the mistress of her own estate. But given her life now it felt like a pleasant distraction from dirty nappy and picture books.

Carwegeth usually brought a very awake Legolas down to the kitchens just in time for lunch. He would contentedly eat while propped on Miri's lap as she reviewed budgets and receipts, only occasionally spilling her inkwell. Once Legolas had started crawling, she'd despaired that her window for tending to the running of the household was narrowing to the point of extinction. But Tuigalen had swiftly stepped into engaged the princeling.

"It's a nice break," she assured Miri as she bounced the prince on her hip while also overseeing a simmering sauce on the nearby stovetop. "Makes me remember when my own was this size."

Miri suspected that once he proved a little more steady, Tuigalen would soon put Legolas to work stirring soups and mixing doughs.

Once fed, they would walk again, this time out to the gardens that Thranduil had built inside his fortress. The discovery of the private courtyard was a welcome one. Miriel had nearly wept to see such beauty in their dark halls.

At one of the higher levels of the underground fortress, Thranduil's architects took advantage of a natural skylight formed in the cavern's ceiling and installed a pseudo-garden. There was no grass, but planters were overflowing, creating an oasis of greenery and light. A fountain sat centered to it all, a perfect place to play with a young elfling in the shallow water. It was not a large space, but it was a happy one, another respite from the darkness of the caverns. Already in their two years in the fortress, Miriel had watched her once-golden skin turn pale. She missed the sun, even with her daily walks beyond the damp walls.

Their day ended with dinner in the formal dining room of the royal apartments. Every night it was expected that Legolas eat with his father - whether it was Thranduil's rule or some ages-old expectation from generations past, Miri couldn't be certain. As Legolas wasn't quite old enough for table manners, or even feeding himself, really, Miriel was tasked with accompanying them. At first, she felt guilty for intruding upon what was one of Thranduil's few opportunities to spend time with his son.

However, it quickly became clear that Thranduil felt no misgivings about her presence. For half the time he failed to show up for the meal — always citing some need to finish work or an emergency — and the few times he did grace them with his presence, he did not speak much and rarely engage his son in any meaningful way. Mostly he would ask Miriel of Legolas's progress, forcing her to speak about the child as though he were some kind of project.

At the very least, Thranduil never parted without pressing a quick kiss to his son's brow, murmuring "ion nin," softly before sweeping from the room as swiftly as he'd entered, a veritable storm-cloud of self-importance.

So most nights, Miriel and Legolas ate alone, at one end of the long formal table.

Truly, Legolas did not seem to mind. Miriel assumed that he likely wasn't too aware of his father's absence and was unhurt by it. But that would only last so long. When he grew older, no doubt he would start to wonder where his adar was. It was bad enough for him to be without his naneth.

Things finally came to a head when Thranduil made his first dinner in three weeks only to leave early at Galion's summons.

"A raven, my lord," he said after a quick bow from the dining room's threshold. "From Rivendell."

Thranduil sighed heavily and rose. "My apologies, ion nin, my lady —"

"Can it not wait?" The words surprised all of the adults, including Miri herself. "Surely another twenty minutes will not hinder the message. A bird cannot make Rivendell before tomorrow, anyways. And Legolas has barely seen you these last few weeks."

The Elfking frowned, no doubt displeased by her outburst. They barely spoke beyond short exchanges regarding his heir's wellbeing. "Lord Elrond does not send missives about things as immaterial as the weather, Lady Miriel, our correspondence is of import."

She found herself rising as well so that she might at least approach being level with his intense gaze. Hands flat on the table, Miri insisted, "And your time with your son, it seems, is not. He's not worth even a quarter of an hour more, your majesty?"

"I do not take pleasure in leaving," Thranduil snapped, his eyes shifting from silver to iron dangerously. "Contrary to your belief, my lady, he is my highest priority. Which is why I strive to do my duty to the best of my ability so that he does not inherit a mess when his time to rule comes."

"But you cannot bring yourself to spend an hour with him once a day?" she cried. She hated the desperation in her voice. "How can you claim to be a father to your people when you cannot even father your son? He's unbothered now, Thranduil, but when he gets older he's going to start wondering why he never sees his adar. And you will never get that time back."

Against the folds of his robes, Thranduil's long fingers curled to form fists. "You dare suggest I am avoiding him?"

Somehow, she'd moved around the table to stand nose-to-nose with him. "I do not know what else might compel a father to miss his one window of time to see his only child."

Thranduil sneered, ready to spit vitriol. But before he could speak, Miri caught sight of Galion behind his shoulder. The ellon was looking at Legolas, concern furrowing his brow. She spun to face the elfling.

Face red, fat tears streamed down Legolas's cheeks. Instantly, she felt shame. He'd been crying and they had been so preoccupied with their anger towards one another that neither had noticed the prince. Without a word, she crossed the room to scoop the toddler up from his chair, pressing his head to her shoulder and swaying, murmuring words of comfort into his crown.

The king stood frozen, one hand outstretched. Helpless, he watched for a moment as Miri continued to coax the babe into calm, before turning swiftly on his heel and leaving the room with only the sound of his fluttering robes in his wake.

After bathing the squirming princeling and putting him to bed with several stories and songs, Miriel steeled herself for a task infinitely messier than bathing a toddler. It took nearly a half-hour of deep breaths but she eventually made her way to the imposing double oak doors at the end of the wing — just a stone's throw from the nursery, really. Only a few short steps. Yet it felt equal to the distance of the moon.

Her first knock was tentative. When there was no answer, she knocked again with a little more force and frowned with this too went unnoticed. Unnoticed — or ignored?

Glancing around the corridor, Miriel ensured that there was no one else lurking about before she tried the polished silver knob. The door gave way effortlessly. Before anyone could waltz down the royal wing, she slipped inside.

She'd never been inside Thranduil's apartments. Back in Amon Lanc, Caladhiel had often hosted intimate dinners and teas. Miriel had more than once nearly tumbled from the low couch in their parlor from laughter. She had sat before the hand-carved quartz fireplace that dominated the room, and been served at the delicately wrought table of the family's private dining room. But this was a whole new series of rooms — ones that had never felt Cala's touch or heard her lyrical laughter.

The light was low — only a few of the wall sconces were lit. She noted that this first chamber was akin to a sitting room with a series of armchairs and sofas, then moved through the open threshold leading to a well-appointed dining room. Another open door past the dining room revealed another sitting room, this one more informal, then a room lined with shelves that were full of books and scrolls — the study.

A stronger light was coming from the far edge of this room that could not be discerned from the corridor. A fire was going, probably for the Elfking who had a habit of working well into the night. Miri eased around the edge of the threshold, trying cautiously to peer inside while staying unnoticed.

The desk in the corner was unoccupied, but she could see the crest of someone's fair crown over the back of one of the two armchairs that sat angled towards the fireplace. Thranduil, nursing a goblet of wine if the decanter sitting on the low table beside the chair was any indication.

Miriel moved forward, making an effort to be quiet. She didn't wish to scare Thranduil or disturb him but hoped that a more abrupt approach would force him to speak with her. In the past, he'd dismissed her attempts at a peaceable and serious discussion regarding Legolas if he sensed that was her aim. It was almost as if he preferred to hold his anger close, giving her no opportunities to seek a truce. If she could catch him relaxed, perhaps her chances would be better.

It was not to be. When she reached the pool of firelight outlined by the woolen rug designating the seating, Thranduil must have sensed her in his periphery; he half-turned toward her and Miriel couldn't stifle her gasp.

The Elfking that sat in the armchair before her was not the one she knew. Sinew and torn flesh glinted wetly in the firelight. She caught a glimpse of ivory bone between the stretched muscle. But worst yet was the eye that stared up at her — a pure, ghostly white orb.

Miriel stumbled backward, catching herself on the edge of the rug and falling against the side of the other chair. Thranduil rose, forcefully setting down his goblet. His hand struck live a viper, gripping her wrist so tightly the joint popped faintly.

"What," he snarled, lowering his marred face close to hers. "are you doing?"

She swallowed, eyes wide. "I wanted to talk with you. About what happened this afternoon. With Legolas." The words were rushed yet also stilted, an earnest mess.

This did not relax him in the slightest. Though, to her credit, Miriel did not keep her frightened gaze on the ruined half of his face. She let her eyes flick naturally between both of his, even in her terror.

"You go too far, my lady," he said, voice scathing.

He released her unceremoniously, stalking back to his seat wordlessly. Back to her, Thranduil uncorked his decanter and poured himself another measure of wine, hands shaking almost imperceptibly. Miriel, on the floor beside the vacant armchair, watched as the dark burgundy liquid surged up the side of the crystal.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly after he took a long drink. "I did not mean to intrude —"

"— When you slipped into my chambers uninvited and unannounced?" he asked dryly. There was still a dangerous edge to his voice, but it was far more controlled now.

Miri pursed her lips. "I knocked. Several times."

"You have enough years on you to know what an unanswered door means."

He was right. But she continued undeterred. "I apologize, Thranduil. I truly did not intend to catch you unawares."

He turned back towards her sharply, pivoting and stalking towards her so swiftly she almost gasped again. "I suspect that was exactly your intention."

Determined not to be cowed, she stood shakily. His face was no longer an open wound; he'd replaced the glamour. Miri thrust her chin straining her neck to meet his fearsome gaze. She'd forgotten how tall he was — when they met it was usually not in such close proximity. For good reason.

"I wanted to catch you while you were perhaps less tense," she admitted hotly. "And preferably before the day was over. If I'd reached out to your steward you would have scheduled an audience into next week, if at all. Besides, anytime you're prepared to see me it's as if you're gearing up for war."

"That's because you make every interaction a battle, Miriel," he replied icily. "Nothing can be easy with you."

Anger flared in her chest. "No, you are the one who makes this uneasy. All I want is to help raise Legolas into a strong and good ellon."

"It is just an added bonus that you can torment me."

She blazed. "If my words strike in places where your skin is thin, perhaps it is merely that they strike true, my king. You are the one who treats me as though I am bound to explode at any moment. All I want is a chance to talk about your son."

Thranduil towered over her, eyes of icy fire. "I did not allow you into my home to berate me and question my judgment. Though I ought to have anticipated it. We discuss my son regularly enough."

"Yes, your son." She would not cry. She would not cry. "Legolas has already lost one parent, Thranduil. In the years I have been here you've spent barely more than a handful of hours alone with him. He needs you."

"I am king of this realm," he replied. "My time is rarely my own. Do you think I would not prefer to spend my free hours with my only child?"

"You could fool me," Miriel sneered. "The way to act when he is handed to you, it is as though someone has given you a rotten fish and asked you to kiss it. You seem to take every opportunity to miss moments with him. I know you actively avoid me, Thranduil Oropherion, whatever your reasons may be. I am not an easy elleth to like. But you cannot avoid your son. Detest me, I care not. But Legolas should not suffer simply because I am a part of his life."

To her surprise, he spun away again. Leaning against the mantle, Thranduil stared into the flame, his eyes almost glassy. This time, facing the fire, Miriel could make out every wearied line on the Elfking's face. A face she often thought of as stone-like in its perfect smoothness. How had she failed to notice the grief etched upon his ageless skin?

"As you said," the voice in the back of her head whispered, "he shuns your company, Avarethil."

"It is not for your sake I cannot be around him," Thranduil finally said slowly. "But Caladhiel's. When I look into his eyes I see my wife, Miriel. It has been nearly three years, yet I cannot shed the blackness of loss."

A bleak feeling overtook her. Miriel at once felt guilty. Of course. Of course, he was still deep in mourning. He'd probably never even had the chance to truly mourn, what with an infant son and a kingdom of elves to lead. She'd been so wrapped up in her own sorrow and rarely gave a thought to his. Swallowing thickly, she drifted closer.

"I see her too. Every day. Nearly every hour."

"How can you bear it?"

She wanted to laugh. To cry. To lay down and not get up again for a long, long time.

"I don't," she admitted after a heavy pause. "Most days I cry, still. I cry for Legolas and Cala and myself. You too, a little. But I think — I hope — in time, the burden will become lighter."

Thranduil pressed one clenched fist to his temple, closing his eyes. "I fear I will never be able to look upon him without feeling the bitter sting. And not merely for myself. She wanted so badly to be a mother. He will not remember the few months he had with her."

Miri swallowed. "Knowing this eats me up inside. It is unfair that neither had the opportunity to truly know one another."

"I do not know how to be with him, Miriel. My presence disappoints him and saddens me."

Miriel shifted to hover beside the weary king. She let the silence linger between them, giving him space to talk before venturing to suggest, "It might help to practice?"

He glanced at her, confusion furrowing his dark brows.

"Perhaps the more time you spend with Legolas, the easier it will become." She tilted her head, thoughtful. "And he is not disappointed in you, Thranduil. Only in your absence."

Thranduil looked at her for a long moment. It felt like an age passed between them with only the crackle of the fire breaking the silence. Miriel could not discern anything from his impassive expression and merely held his gaze, willing herself not to break. Finally, he spoke.

"Yes," he answered quietly. "I believe that could help."

The next morning, before Miriel and Legolas set out for their walk, they returned upstairs to seek out the king's office. At the threshold of a large oak door, Miriel demonstrated how to politely knock to her young charge, letting the doors swing open when the deep voice beyond allowed, "Enter."

Thranduil looked up from a stack of documents, thick brows rising at the sight of them. Miri gently urged Legolas forward once the king came from around the desk, warily watching as the elfling toddled forward and practically fell into his father's legs, grip tight on Thranduil's trousers.

"Walk!" the princeling commanded, his face shining up at his father, gap-toothed smile spread wide.

"Would you like to join us for a morning walk by the river?" Miriel translated. She knelt to Legolas's level. "Remember, what we practiced?"

Thranduil hesitated before cautiously picking up his son. He had not, she guessed, carried the boy since their arrival at the cavernous fortress nearly two years ago.

"Ada!" Legolas beams happily, looking at Miri.

"Not me, my love."

He turned to Thranduil and repeated the word with equal enthusiasm. Something in Thranduil's heart split.

He did not miss another dinner for a long time.

...

Thank you so much for reading this far! We'll be taking some hefty jumps in time, so our peeks at Legolas will span from his infancy to adolescence.

I've been purposefully vague regarding his mother's demise. If you're reading this you probably know of her absence from the books and passing reference in the Hobbit films. It's not something I will ever fully define in this story beyond being a sudden, unexpected, and violent death.