"I'm not exaggerating.", the elfking replied to the prince's accusations, which he had thrown at him in the last few minutes. Indifference lay in his voice and expression as he rose from his wooden throne. With his very own kind of elegance and arrogance at the same time, he descended the steps and at the end turned around his own axis until his accuser only saw his backside. Even though he seemed to have teased his son to the point of blood, there was enough trust between them that he didn't expect a knife in his back now. A privilege not many beings in Middleearth could claim to require. In a perfidious way, he almost hungered for attention from him in this way, as it was the only one he could allow without risking losing control. Because most of the time he kept him at a safe distance to still be able to somehow control the desire.

The fateful day was almost 24 years old and nothing had gotten better. At first he had tried to ignore it, then surrendered to hunting or other activities and even the thought of getting involved with some halfway suitable Elf wasn't that far off, but nothing helped. Hardly a day went by when his thoughts didn't drift away. To how it was never allowed and how it never would be. A time that was otherwise just the blink of an eye in the life of an elf dragged on like eternity for him and he often wondered if he would ever be able to put this burden down again.

He had only half listened to the words Legolas had thrown at him. Not because he didn't care about the meaning behind it, but because it broke his heart every time, because after all, he was the reason. He, the father, who should protect and accompany his little leaf. But he hurt him. Again and again. He knew that. Then why couldn't he stop it? Why did he have to resort to such deeds every time? Because he was weak and cowardly? A smile to pity himself crept onto his lips. He always exuded an awe-inspiring and august presence that every king should have. Just like he had learned from his father. But inside he felt broken and lost long before this new torment he afflicted himself with. Did he only want to fill his inner emptiness with it? Thranduil picked up the wineglass he had filled halfway up just before their conversation. He stared blankly at the waves tumbling against the curved walls in the jar of dark red liquid. He slowly breathed in and out deeply, careful that this action went unnoticed, to banish the tremors that were beginning to take hold of him.

"Then please explain to me what that was all about.", the elf prince demanded angrily and with that pulled the king out of his thoughts, in which he threatened to lose himself again. Thranduil was in no hurry to reply, letting a good sip of his beloved red wine slide down his throat. He wasn't exactly buying time because he didn't have an answer. He always found one, and no matter whether others thought it was good or bad, they ultimately had to accept it. No, it was because, deep down, he was struggling with himself. He knew how lousy his behavior was and that what was about to escape his mouth was only a pretense. But no matter how often he looked at his actions in the mirror, this one feeling drove him to do it again and again. The raging jealousy of anything that could be close to his beloved prince, while he had to restrain himself with all his might, overcame him every time and always led him back onto the path that he didn't believe anything good awaited at its end . He knew he had overdone it. As so often. Like every time. But he wasn't an Elf to admit mistakes, and certainly not on this one thing.

"It's obvious. She is simply a Woodelf. As a prince, you should slowly become aware of your role and choose your companion accordingly." he announced with a derogatory tone and exaggerated gestures with his free hand. The movement of his arm, which some would have called nothing more than waving around, served more to give his body something to do than to underline his point. Even if he didn't have these feelings in play, he would not accept every Elf as a companion for his son and thus heir to the throne. For two ages these halls had been his home, and he would not risk their continued existence with a weak ruler. However, he would then certainly not be so strict and would certainly not use this antiquated division of their people as a pretext. 'She must be flawless. Everything just has to be perfect. Then I can let him go.', the elfking talked to himself in order to justify his behavior to himself. But the tension in his heart, which didn't really let him believe it himself, gave his fingers a pressure that threatened to shatter the glass, which was still half full of wine. But even if there was hardly any truth in his own thoughts, they helped him that his whole construct didn't collapse and he could swing from day to day.

An irritated snort loudly testified that the prince did not find approval in this, which was also shown directly in his replies: "These laymen again. She had better manners than some of the Sindar and she can fight too." "That has nothing to do with it. Sometimes I really don't think you're listening to me at all." Thranduil choked off his son's words, amplifying his acting with a theatrical sigh. But this served more to relieve his inner tension than to tell his son that he didn't believe in his argument. In fact, it wasn't all that bad, as he too felt that some of his peers were resting too much on their birthright. He had considered abolishing the associated privileges and advantages, but for the time being this would do him more harm than good and so the item had to take a backseat to his plans. Lacking truthful arguments, he lost himself in such flimsy claims.

"Is there anything else or is that all you have to say?" Legolas demanded after a moment of silence. Somewhat surprised, the person addressed woke up from his thoughts, into which he threatened to drift again. It was rare that his prince stuck to the point so vehemently. And actually that should make him more than happy, because a future ruler was not allowed to give in. It definitely didn't make it any easier for him. What would his beloved Ithien think of them now? Would she be proud of her little dewdrop, which is what she used to call Legolas as a baby? Most certainly. Would she smack his crown in the face and preach more than just a sermon? Definitive. But she was no longer there to control his temper, soften his stubbornness, and direct his focus to what was important. He was alone. Now more than ever.

"You are still young. Your youthful naivety doesn't let you see things with the necessary seriousness. It is well intentioned, but a kind hand does not ward off danger and a generous hand does not provide for its own people," he began instead with a reproachful sermon, which, however, consisted more of empty phrases than really profound statements. He hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but his intuition told him that it was just beginning. "Is that really your answer? You can tell that to someone else, but you're not fooling me." The prince began to reply and Thranduil stiffened. The fear that his disgusting desire would be discovered filled him more and more with paranoia and not infrequently he feared more behind the words of his subordinates than there really seemed to be there. "I think it's more like you can't let go of the past and you can't take it that I'm growing up. Sometimes I get the feeling that you just won't let me go." Legolas finished and the Elf King's body relaxed again. "Now it's you who's exaggerating," Thranduil replied. The cold tone cost him quite a bit of effort. When he finally turned to his son, he thought he saw sadness about his statement in his child's eyes for a moment. For a wink he felt a spark that he had wanted to hear something different and that there was more than just the normal bond between father and son. 'There's fornication going through with you.', he quickly told himself and banished any thought of it again.

Legolas avoided his eyes and Thranduil reflexively took a few steps towards him. He wanted to read what was going on in his mind, but he didn't get very far, because the sight of the prince made him all flustered again. When did his little leaf, which after the death of his mother hardly left his side and idolized him, become a grown-up Elf with his own goals and ideals who contradicted him? It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to maintain his poker face. Every fiber of his body longed, yes rather screamed to take him in his arms and never let him go again. But he could no longer distinguish how much of it was paternal care and how much went beyond this limit. He was afraid of what he would begin to feel if he let go and gave in to this impulse. That he would cross a line and make a mistake that he could never undo. So he had no choice but to push away what he loved so much.

"Mother would certainly have a different opinion." Legolas murmured more to himself than actually saying it out loud, but it was enough that it got through to the Elvenking. Tension immediately spread through him, but this time it was born out of anger. The deceased queen was his sore point, Legolas knew. Everyone knew that. He had loved her with all he was and couldn't bear to hear one wrong word about her, even from her greatest gift to him. So it was an unspoken prohibition even to mention her, and her name had not sounded in these halls since her death. "What did you say." He asked almost in a growl, even though it wasn't really necessary. "You understood that perfectly.", Legolas replied, now staring into his father's eyes.

"Don't you dare talk about her. You don't know anything about her.", he started to scream, but his further words were interrupted by the prince. "Thank you for reminding me. Do you think it's fun not even knowing what she looked like anymore?" he retaliated and didn't even bother to suppress his trembling. Tears formed in his eyes and he just let them run free. Thranduil saw the tears and he saw the pain in his prince's eyes, but he would not and could not go back. The anger and pain overwhelmed everything and for the first time in a long time his consumed desire for him wasn't the strongest feeling in him. "I don't want you to talk about her.", he said menacingly. "I don't care what…", the prince raised his voice, but this time he was cut off abruptly. "Silence.", the elf king ground out from behind clenched teeth and put a hand on his sword that hung at his side at all times of the day and night. Legolas could only shake his head, turn and run away. Thranduil took his hand off his weapon's hilt and breathed in and out heavily. He lowered himself onto the steps leading to his throne, immensely glad that he had shooed his guards out of the throne room at the start of Legolas' arrival. He convinced himself that Legolas would calm down. Just like he always did. But since it was otherwise only about the banal subject of a budding love affair, not about what they had both lost. He was still too upset to feel anything but pure anger, but how long would it last and was it really worth the sacrifice?