Clearly, Legolas needed to practice his intimidating glare, since Galion didn't even blink when the prince's current skills were turned on him. Legolas thought this was rather unfair—he was taller than the butler now, and his features were becoming more mature and intimidating every year—but it seemed he had no choice; he was doomed to his Quenya lesson.
"Don't give me that look, princeling," Galion scolded, tapping his foot and pointing to the book-carrying elf standing under Legolas's tree with him, who appeared to be taking the resistance in stride. "Heledir came all the way here to teach you; get down here and don't be rude about it."
Legolas climbed down sulkily.
"Good morning, Prince Legolas," Heledir greeted the young elf as if he could not see the magnificent eye roll he was being given. Wow, thought the Sinda, adolescence had certainly changed this one from adorable and well-behaved to stubbornly independent in record time. "Shall we have our lesson outside today, or would you prefer to continue looking at me like that?"
The prince hurriedly rearranged his features.
"Smart lad," said Heledir, who was glad he'd had Feren and Silana to learn from, since his own children were naturally sweet little angels. "I rather like this tree, actually; shall we?" He ascended into the tree with nearly Silvan grace, choosing a good spot where they could sit close together and read the same book, then tried to get the elfling's attention. "Did you know we were forbidden to speak Quenya in Doriath?"
Sure enough, Legolas was interested despite himself. "Really?"
"Indeed; King Thingol was not fond of Noldor, so if you wish, you could pretend we are breaking the rules by learning this tongue."
The prince started to grin, but then caught himself and changed his expression to unimpressed.
Drat, that would have worked on Silana. "Or you can make this uninteresting," Heledir corrected under his breath. "Very well, recite your verbs from last week."
Legolas did so, but underneath his reluctantly obedient exterior, he was forming a plan, and while his teacher was explaining a quirk of the language's grammar structure, the half-Sinda prince slipped down the tree and slunk through the undergrowth until he was out of sight.
Of course, barely had Heledir finished two sentences before he noticed his pupil's absence, but Legolas bravely ignored his teacher's loud threats to tell the king, sure he could avoid trouble somehow.
In hindsight, that probably wasn't the best idea.
. . . . . .
"This family is going to be the death of me," muttered Heledir as he neared the end of his long walk to what was hopefully the king's location. He did not really mean it, of course—he loved the royal family as much as any elf—but things just seemed to happen to him around Legolas and his parents, though he sadly did not have poor Sky to worry about anymore.
He was almost there when he bumped into his father-in-law, who smiled as he passed, then did a double-take. "Heledir! I thought you were supposed to be with the prince this morning?"
The language expert shrugged helplessly and admitted, "I seem to have lost him."
"Oh, not today," Taensirion murmured, biting his lip as he glanced behind him, and then he confided, "I do not think the king slept last night... Do you think you could track down the young prince yourself, perhaps with Feren and Silana to help?"
"I could try." Heledir ran a hand over his face, knowing the odds would not be in his favor.
Taensirion sighed, thinking along the same lines. "Or perhaps it would be better to keep it quiet, and have a talk with him when he—" Here the advisor almost jumped out of his boots as a throat cleared behind him.
"What is going on?"
Contrary to Taensirion's words, the king's appearance could not be explained by one night without sleep. His eyes were not just sunken and shadowed; the dead, emotionless look in them was worse as well, and Heledir was experienced enough to know the look of an elf who had nearly faded shortly before, even without the way Thranduil kept one hand on the wall for support. Clearly the king was in no shape to be worrying about his son's behavior, or working, for that matter.
Taensirion and Heledir exchanged nervous glances, both wondering if they could get away with lying, but they knew better than that, of course. "It is nothing," Heledir said finally, eyes on the ground because he could not bear to see his king and old friend like this. "Legolas ran off from his lesson today, is all, but I would not have bothered you if I had known..." He trailed off.
Thranduil groaned and removed his palm from the wall in favor of pressing his shoulder against it, kneading his forehead with both hands.
"Let me handle it," Taensirion begged on impulse. "I will have a talk with him, and—"
Thranduil waved away his words. "That did not work last time, and anyway, I am his father."
"My lord, with all due respect—" Taensirion shut up with an involuntary squeak as icy eyes snapped warningly.
"Where is he?"
At least, thought Heledir, anger seemed to have brought the king back to life, though he felt bad for Legolas when the elfling's father finally found him. "I really do not know."
"Then let us find out," growled Thranduil, and he set off through the twisting underground hallways of his palace toward someone who might know Legolas's location.
. . . . . .
Five minutes later, two young elves with pinkish-blond hair were seated on a couch, squirming under the glares of the Elvenking, and, worse, their father.
"I don't know where he went, I swear!" Firith insisted for the third time; he'd only arrived to say hello to his parents and brother moments before the three Sindar.
"Oh, we believe you," promised the king, his gaze fixed on the other brother, who couldn't seem to meet his eyes. Thranduil stalked closer like a hunting wolf and knelt at eye-level with Galion's younger son, waiting a moment for the elfling's discomfort to really sink in. "Where is he?"
Tathor's eyes flickered between Thranduil and his father, but although the young elf had lost some color from his face, he didn't make a sound.
Taensirion decided to interfere before his friend's son was significantly traumatized. "Let me," he suggested. "Come on, Tathor."
The elfling waited for the king's permission before following Taensirion into his bedroom, which the older elf took a moment to appreciate; the room was small, but well-lit by a narrow shaft of sunlight from above, and decorated by a few creeping vines in contrast to a certain prince's small forest of houseplants. One wall was covered floor-to-ceiling with a bookshelf, on which Taensirion spotted several books which had been gifts from his own family.
Taensirion took a seat on the bed (which he suspected was neatly made only because Tathor had been raised by Galion) and motioned for the elfling to do the same, which Tathor did. "You know where the prince is." It was not a question; neither of Galion's sons were good liars.
Tathor shifted uncomfortably and nodded.
"Can you keep a secret?" Taensirion knew Tathor could not, but when the elfling answered in the affirmative, the Sinda decided to risk it just this once. "I once had a very close friend for whom I lied many times."
Tathor's eyes got big. "Really? Who?"
Now it was Taensirion's turn to avoid eye contact. "Ah, that would be King Oropher—though he was just Oropher then." He coughed. "We used to... er... I am not sure you need to know that part."
The boy was fascinated. "Did you ever lie to the king?"
"I lied to a lot of elves," Taensirion said, deliberately avoiding the question. "The thing is, it took me a long time to realize that by lying to protect my friends, I was actually harming them."
"By letting them keep doing things they shouldn't?"
"Exactly. I wish now that I told the truth so the things we were doing would have stopped where they were."
"But Legolas asked me not to tell," Tathor said unhappily.
"Then the question you need to ask yourself is whether not telling would really be best for him."
The elfling looked up at him miserably. "I know it's not, but I promised him I wouldn't tell, Taen! I don't want to break my promises to my best friend."
"I understand entirely," Taensirion sympathized. "Even if Legolas is angry at you, though, he needs to hold himself to higher standards if he is going to be in line for the throne."
Tathor processed that, and Taensirion let him. "I thought it was my job to follow the prince's orders, though?"
"Sometimes. But as his friend, it is your job to act in his best interest, even if you have to go against orders to do it." Taensirion rested his hand on the elfling's shoulder. "It took me much too long to learn that."
Tathor sighed. "I'll tell the king, but I still feel bad."
"Only because you care about your friend." The Sinda opened the door for the boy and followed him out to the living room, where Thranduil waited impatiently, Galion and Caliel conferred over what to do if Taensirion's interrogation did not work, and Heledir and Firith hovered awkwardly in the corner, discussing supply shortages.
Tathor meekly went up to Thranduil and folded his hands behind his back. "Legolas went to the birch grove."
"Thank you, Tathor. Off we go, then." Thranduil waved for Taensirion and Heledir to follow him as Tathor returned his parents' approving smiles.
. . . . . .
Legolas was hanging upside-down from a white-barked branch, his legs hooked into the niche where the limb met the trunk, enjoying the spring day. Below him was a speckling of tiny blue flowers that only seemed to grow in this lighter piece of the forest, and sometimes in the patchy meadows around the grove, and a sparrow chirped mere feet away from the woodland prince. Even the sun-dappled trees were happy today, as Legolas had a way of knowing. The blond elf—who was two weeks away from his forty-second birthday—lazily brushed the trees' minds with his own as he turned the page of his book, keeping half a figurative eye out for trouble as he read.
Leaves whispered. A slender deer wandered past, followed by twin fawns, and Legolas brushed his fingers against the doe's velvety ears. Eventually the prince got dizzy from his position and released his hold, dropping a few feet and swinging to a better branch for sitting, remembering absently that birch trees outside Greenwood were supposed to be thinner, straighter things, not much good for climbing.
Far out of earshot, another mind brushed the spirits of the trees, and the prince's head shot up like that of a startled rabbit. He thought a question to the trees.
Three, they responded. Yellow fur... the elk-rider.
Legolas was out of there in an instant.
. . . . . .
"Hmm," was all Thranduil said when a search of the twenty-acre grove turned up no signs of his missing child.
"Tathor was not lying," Taensirion told him with certainty.
The king, though, was too busy making use of a skill he was glad he'd taken the time to learn from... from... He refocused his thoughts on the trees, presenting his question with a feeling rather than words the plants did not understand. Where?
The birch trees did not know, but a far-off willow did, and Thranduil was mostly sure he even caught a whispered Shush! through the tree's mental hearing. "This way," he called to Taensirion and Heledir, and set off at a brisk run, glad he had changed into hunting clothes before leaving the palace.
. . . . . .
Traitors, Legolas thought at the trees as he took off at top speed through the branches, looking for a new hiding spot.
Elk-rider, the confused plants responded. Friend of clever one. Not friend of Greenleaf?
Legolas slowed unconsciously. Clever one?
The trees showed him a blurry picture of a she-elf, dressed in green and with blazing eyes of the same color, leaping from tree to tree just as he was and pausing now and then to wait for a tall blond elf. Friend of Greenleaf? they wondered uncertainly.
My mother, Legolas realized with a twist of awe.
The trees did not understand.
Legolas showed them an image of the deer from before, with her two little fawns. Mother, he repeated.
A spike of excitement came from the forest. Clever one Greenleaf seed-bearer?
Yes, thought Legolas. Yes!
Joy radiated from the trees, and they pushed the picture into his mind again. Where?
Legolas's mood dipped; the trees felt it and reached down to brush him with their leaves as he passed. Gone, he told the trees.
The trees tentatively imagined a picture of a fallen, rotting trunk—a question.
Yes, the young elf thought, and he brushed away the tears building in his eyes.
The trees dipped their branches in sorrow for a moment, moving so obviously that even a human might have noticed it, and then asked, Elk-rider Greenleaf friend?
Father, Legolas replied, picking up his pace at the reminder; his pursuers were still some distance off, but they might be gaining. He gave the trees an image of a stag standing next to the doe and fawns, but they did not understand; they only had a word for mother. Yes friend, Legolas sighed mentally. Sometimes.
Sometimes? repeated the bemused trees, but then, they didn't really expect to understand the ways of elves.
. . . . . .
Where? Thranduil thought again, and Taensirion echoed the sentiment to another tree; Heledir, like most Sindar, had never gotten a good grasp of elf-to-plant communication, so he just followed along, keeping a sharp eye and ear out for any sign of the prince.
Here, thought one tree, and then, after a few moments, another repeated the word from further away. Here.
"He is moving quickly," Taensirion remarked.
Thranduil ignored the comment. "You two go back to the palace," he ordered. "I will speak with my son alone."
The other two—especially Taensirion, whose youngest two children had gotten in all sorts of trouble—nodded reluctantly and swung back. "Good luck!" Heledir called.
"I may need it," grumbled the Elvenking.
. . . . . .
Shh, thought Legolas as he ducked into an elf-sized hollow in one of the trees' trunks. Greenleaf isn't here.
Greenleaf yes here, the perplexed trees responded.
Pretend, Legolas insisted.
The trees indicated confusion again.
Greenleaf is hiding, Legolas explained. Like rabbits hide from foxes.
If trees could gasp, these would have. Hide Greenleaf yes. A branch lowered to conceal the hole where he huddled.
. . . . . .
Thranduil had almost caught up to his misbehaving child when the tone of the trees' thoughts changed, and roots began to shift as if trying to trip him up. Why? he demanded of the forest. "Legolas, where did you go?"
No eat Greenleaf, the trees berated him.
"Legolas, what did you tell the trees?!"
There was no answer.
No eat Greenleaf, Thranduil promised the trees in exasperation. Greenleaf in trouble. He sent the trees a mental image of a wolf pup nipping its sibling, and an adult wolf growling at it.
Trouble? The trees did not know this word, either.
Thranduil sighed. Where Greenleaf?
No eat?
No.
One of the trees, a thick oak, subtly waved its branches.
Thank you, thought the Elvenking. "Oh Legolas, would you like to come out now, or shall we do this the hard way?" he called, stalking closer to the oak tree.
Silence.
"The longer you wait, the more of the palace you get to sweep."
Legolas swallowed hard inside the tree. On the one hand, sweeping was about the worst chore his father could come up with, but on the other, he was still feeling rebellious, and surely there was a limit to how much work his father would make him do. But what if his father switched to grounding him so he couldn't spend time with his friends?
Elk-rider not eat Greenleaf, the trees informed him cheerfully. Greenleaf not need hide.
Legolas caught a flash of pale gold and realized his father was closer than he'd thought. You told him I was here?!
Greenleaf not need hide, the trees repeated, frustrated that he wasn't listening.
Legolas groaned and fought a brief internal battle over whether to give up or not; his less wise side won.
Thranduil spotted movement and yelled, not wanting to chase his son down. "LEGOLAS, COME BACK HERE!"
Legolas squeaked and ran for his life.
The Elvenking muttered a curse under his breath and took off, taking to the branches and thankfully catching a glimpse of the disobedient youngster before he disappeared from sight; the trees thankfully had no idea what was going on and were staying out of the chase.
Thranduil made a growling sound as he dove through a clump of twigs, earning numerous scratches across his cheeks. Legolas had been getting more and more disobedient over the last few years, constantly testing the limits and being just rude enough that Thranduil could not quite punish him, but this time he was very much over the line. It might have been wiser to wait for him at home, but Thranduil's earlier exhaustion had turned to anger, and truth be told, he was not sure he would have the energy to punish his son later.
Frankly, Thranduil was amazed Legolas had not left him far behind yet; it seemed all those years of climbing Silvan-style were paying off... if he ever managed to catch his son, that was.
But wait—Legolas was slowing! The boy might be half-Silvan and a more natural climber, but he simply wasn't as fit or physically developed as his father yet, and he couldn't keep up this pace for as long. The elfling made a good effort, though, pushing himself long past where he would normally stop in the vain hope of escaping his father's wrath. It was not to be.
After several more minutes and multiple failed attempts to grab his son once Thranduil got close enough, the Elvenking finally got a fistful of Legolas's hood and dragged the elfling to a stop, keeping a firm grip on him so there would be no escape attempts.
Legolas stopped his struggling when he saw the threat in his father's icy blue eyes, which were bright for once—just not in a way that was healthy for the prince. Still, Legolas dared to straighten up to his full height and stare defiantly back, trying to match his father's intimidating gaze.
Thranduil was not amused. "Care to explain yourself?"
"I don't see why Quenya is so important," Legolas said stubbornly.
"Oh, really?"
Legolas rolled his eyes, then yelped as his ear was twisted sharply.
"Care to do that again?"
The prince settled for resuming his previous glare.
Thranduil resisted the urge to give the boy a good smack. "We are going to go back to the palace, and you are going to sweep and dust my office and those of all my advisors, starting with Taensirion's; if I hear about any complaining whatsoever, you may also clean out the dungeons. Does that punishment seem fair to you?"
Legolas grumbled something unintelligible.
"A little louder, if you please," Thranduil prompted dangerously.
"Yes, Ada," Legolas replied with as much sarcasm as he could possibly squeeze into two words.
"And for that tone, you can wash the windows as well," decided Thranduil, who was not in a good mood.
"But Ada—"
"And empty out all the trash cans."
"But I—"
"And mop the hallways."
"B—"
"And wax the desks."
Legolas stared incredulously.
The king raised his eyebrow.
"Yes, sir," Legolas surrendered in a barely-acceptable tone of voice.
"Thank you." Thranduil unceremoniously yanked his son in the direction of the palace, eager to get back now that his frustration was giving way to the previous numbness in his mind.