Author's note (Last longish one, I promise): The chapter you are about to read was originally part of the first one, but since this is the first and only LOTR story I have posted here, I wanted chapter one to be just long enough to enjoy but short enough to allow for only a small glimpse into the character development and plot without giving too much away. Lastly, I also want you fellow readers and writers, to know that the rest of this story has been written and tweaked over a period of almost 3 years(not the entirety of the time, but a good portion). I just couldn't get things to fall into place where I wanted them. However, for the most part, I am satisfied with it.

A big thank you to all who followed and favorited the last chapter! You are loved :D And a shout-out to everybody who took the time to review the last chapter: Legolass, and distinguished writer, Raider-K. Thank you ever so much for giving this humble story your attention and for giving me the encouragement to keep going when I felt like giving up.

For those of you who haven't heard of Raider, do look her up! I am just loving her story, Kingsfoil and chances are, you will too if you enjoy smoldering Elvenking's and an unexpected romance. Oh, and did I mention there are dwarves? I guess you're going to have to read it to find out how that all ties in ;)

This is "the deep breath before the plunge." (shameless Gandalf quote there XD) Enjoy!

Chapter Two: A Voice in the Darkness

~LOTRLOTRLOTR~

The Elvenking walked quietly down the corridor that separated his son's chambers from his own. Beams of moonlight bathed the floors and lighted his path eerily, further increasing his anxiety.

The guards acknowledged their king's presence when he arrived in front of the large double doors, but Thranduil silenced any questions, preferring not to explain himself. So taking a deep breath for good measure, he hesitantly raised up a hand to knock. Distressed moans and grunts stayed his fist.

No doubt about it, Legolas was having a nightmare.

The fourth one that week, which the king knew of from the reports of the guards stationed outside his son's room. This was not normally protocol, but the growing darkness near their home often affected his son's dreams in terrible ways. And since Thranduil could not often be with his child that week, he had his guards watch over the elfling, giving them specific instruction on how to wake Legolas from his dreams if need be.

Legolas was mostly a pleasant child to be around, or so the guards had said. They had quickly warmed up to the elfling, confessing to their king it was no chore but an honor and privilege to serve him. One time, Thranduil even caught one of them telling his son a bedtime story, sending a spark of both jealousy and pain through his paternal heart. More than anything, he wished that he did not have to place his son into their care so predominantly. But with his busy schedule at present, he couldn't exactly rush to his son's side every time he had trouble falling asleep from nightmares, no matter how much he wanted to. At least, this way Legolas was never left in frightening dreams for too long. Thranduil did, however, make time to attend to him when the nightmares became too much to bear.

A blood-curdling scream rended the air, ripping Thranduil from his thoughts.

Blood turning to ice in his veins and his heart thundering in his ears, the Elvenking tore open both doors to his son's chambers, only vaguely hearing the guards quick footsteps behind him over the frantic pounding of his chest.

The room was dark, only small shards of moonlight streaming into the room from the window adjacent to the bed. But it was enough for the keen eyes of the Elvenking to find his son…not held at sword point as he had feared, not bleeding out on the ground as he had dreaded…

No, Legolas, his very much alive son, lay safe in his bed.

Thranduil expelled all the air in his lungs, taking in one deep and slow breath. Though it was obviously not a restful sleep, the sight of his son perfectly safe and whole nearly caused his legs give out in relief. In fact, if his guards were not with him he may have done just that. As it was, Thranduil heard their collective sighs of relief behind him and reminded himself to be gentle with his next words.

He spoke in a mild tone, without turning around. "Both of you may go, I will stay here with him."

Though delivered gently, the guards heard the order behind the soft-spoken words and bowed formally before leaving the room with haste. The Elvenking intended on having Legolas all to himself. Promising not to wear himself thin for much longer, Thranduil moved closer to the bed, his long legs easily crossing the distance in three strides. However, he was far from prepared for what he would see.

Legolas, his Greenleaf, his child, lay on the bed, a thick sheen of sweat drenching his brow as he writhed as an elf possessed, body tangled and hands so tightly clenched onto the surrounding sheet that they trembled from the strain.

With speed only the First Born could posses, Thranduil rushed over to his son, pressing a hand to his chest. His eyes widened in alarm as he felt the boy's heart pounding frantically under his palm. The pace of an elflings heartbeat was often used to determine the nature of such dreams, and the pace of his son's denoted terror. Utter terror, if he was being honest, and it terrified him.

Reminding himself that he needed to calm his own raging spirit in order for the next step to work, Thranduil took in a breath and let it out as slowly as he dared. Feeling some semblance of composure but no less, he extended his senses until he felt his son's life energy connect with his own.

It was like being swept off a calm shore by a tumulus wave and thrown into a churning ocean of energy. Everything moved so fast, the rhythm indiscernible because of such terrible speed. It took all the concentration he had just to stay within the energy and not be forcefully thrown from his son's soul, which would undoubtedly hurt. But Thranduil cared little for himself. Legolas's fëa was in severe distress, which meant that this nightmare had the power to damage it if he did not wake soon. Moreover, because of this extreme state, his son's energy could not be calmed or guided without doing so naturally or he would risk harming him.

That fact alone made the Elvenking pull his hand away from the surety of feeling the strong pounding of Legolas's life-force beneath his fingers. Strong. Thank the Valor it is or I would have lost him by now, he thought. Though it was done carefully, Thranduil had to stop himself from involuntarily taking a step back as his energy slammed back into his own body. Wincing at the momentary pain, the Elven King took a few steadying breaths before giving his son's shoulder a gentle shake.

"Legolas, you must wake up, ion-nin. Follow the sound of my voice and return to me," he whispered softly.

Receiving no response, Thranduil's voice rose in volume and increased in force. "Legolas!" He frowned and shook him a little harder, lightly slapping the boy on the cheek a few times and speaking even louder. "Legolas, you must awaken!"

But unresponsive, he remained.

Finally, frustration and fear winning over, the Elvenking shouted at the boy as loud as he dared and shook him awake with as much force as he could without harming him.

"NO! saes! Help me, Ada!"

The color drained from Thranduil's face, Legolas's whimpered plea gripping something deep within him. Convinced that the previous method of waking him would fail, Thranduil frantically searched around the room for anything he could use to wake him. His heart skipped a beat when he spied a bowl of water lying on the bedside table, and without wasting a second, he rushed to it, lowering a few fingers to test the temperature.

The Elvenking cringed as he submerged his fingers into the frigid water, yanking them out soon after. Surely this was too cruel.

The time for debating the morality of what he was about to do, flew out the window when another blood-curdling scream broke forth from his son, and without hesitation he dumped the entire contents of the bowl over him, murmuring a plea of forgiveness as he did so.

Legolas awakened with a sharp gasp, jolting upwards and screaming and kicking for all that he was worth. Careful to avoid his son's flailing limbs, Thranduil sat down beside him and immediately let out all of his inner light, tremendously brightening the room. Then, weaving his way past the boy's arms, he gently pressed his hand against Legolas's pounding heart, sending him some of his own energy to calm the young one's raging spirit now that he was able to accept it.

"Sîdha, Legolas. You will not be harmed any more, it was just a bad dream. You dwell in darkness, no more," he said gently, staring into the dim, unfocused eyes of his son.

It took some time, but eventually the screams morphed into shouts and yells, soon after breaking into loud sobs that were pained enough to almost physically hurt Thranduil as he struggled to calm his son. For the longest time, nothing else happened. Time itself seemed at a standstill. Then, bit by bit, Legolas came back to him, first noticing the bright room with a look of confusion and wonder and then the face staring down at him.

"….Ada?"

The word was spoken so quietly that the Elvenking was unsure that he even heard it at all. All the same, Thranduil tore open his robes and wrapped them around his son's trembling form, pressing him against his bare chest to help warm him. "Hush… Ada is here," he crooned, tenderly stroking his golden hair and rubbing his skin to help warm it. "You are safe." He preferred stripping Legolas of the soaked tunic first, but judging by the iron grip on his torso, Legolas would not welcome the action in the least. For now, their combined body heat was going to have to be do.

Thranduil leaned down and whispered calming elvish in his son's ear, pushing more calming energy through their bond.

Legolas gripped his father tightly, breath coming in heaves and broken by choked sobs as he trembled in his arms. "Why d-didn't you come when I c-called you?" he whined.

Thranduil's breath was unexpectedly stolen, overwhelmed by the question. Had Legolas tried to call him? Had he screamed for him? Was this his fault? The guilt nearly ate him alive until Legolas said, "Why didn't you fight harder to get to me?" Understanding shined in the king's eyes at that moment. Legolas was referring to his nightmare, and not for the first time, the dream version of himself had not saved his son from whatever horrible fate awaited him. Well, Thranduil was determined to pull his son back to reality and show him the difference between the two.

"Ion-nin," he began, voice velvety smooth. "That was not me you saw in your dream, only a poor representation. If anything were ever to threaten you nothing in all of Middle Earth would ever stand in the way of me protecting you. Nothing. What happened was not real. You had a nightmare, but you are awake now and safe in my arms. Feel them around you now, holding you with love and protecting you. Gi melin, Legolas."

Legolas clung tighter to his father at these words and cried, the trembles greatly lessened but still there. Thranduil hummed and gently rocked his child back and forth—just as he did when Legolas was an infant—a few tears falling down his cheeks as his heart bled for him. Oh, what he would have given to have the ability to transport himself inside Legolas's dreams and protect him from all harm. But that was impossible, no matter how much he wished for it. Just like he would not always be there to protect his 400-year-old son when the day came to take up arms and defend their Home against the encroaching darkness.

No matter how hard his kin fought and railed against it, Middle earth was swiftly becoming more dangerous as the centuries passed. Legolas seemed to grow at an equal rate, which Thranduil found strange but not enough to do anything more than make inquiries about it from the Lady of Light. As expected, she told him nothing. Whether her silence stemmed from an empty tongue or a willingness to keep it from wagging, he did not know. What he did know was that his son would soon fight for their Kingdom, and that was already too much to take. Having trained from a young age himself, Thranduil recognized the signs of a budding-warrior-to-be in his own son; how his eyes would sparkle when regaled with tales of battle, or the longing and excitement in his eyes when he beheld the training ground for the first time. Legolas already showed great promise as a warrior even at such a young age, and it was clear to many in the realm that he respected and loved his craft dearly. Though a bitter truth to swallow, Thranduil knew no matter how much he wanted his feet to stay firmly planted inside the walls of his kingdom—by his side—to forever remain out of harm's way, he could not make him. Legolas was too much of a free spirit and it would surely kill that spirit to be caged inside walls of stone; made to handle trade delegations instead of climbing trees, or working through pounds and pounds and pounds of paperwork with his father when he would rather be with his friends. Thranduil himself was still partially adjusting to the paperwork part of the job, and he did not wish for Legolas to bare the burden of cramped hands and sprained wrists just yet. For now, Legolas would be who he wanted to be, and Thranduil would have to be content with watching and waiting.

The Elvenking shook his head at the tangent his thoughts took, focusing on Legolas once more. Thankfully, his harsh and ragged breathing had slowed and his shaking diminished to only a slight tremble, soft cries passing his lips instead of screams as he clung tighter to his father. However, despite Thranduil's own body heat and the warm robes around his son Legolas was still very wet and cold.

Thranduil's brow creased, worry and guilt plaguing him as he soothingly kneaded his fingers through his son's hair and rubbed his back, continuing to hum as more salty tears soaked his robes.

Through the ministrations, he thought of alternatives to get his temperature up. Two, to be precise; a bath and a change of clothes. While a hot bath would warm him, the Sinda knew it may also terrify and send Legolas into another fit of panic. That left a change of clothes, but Thranduil felt more than knew why it would do little good. Dry clothes were not the only problem, rather, it was also the water he had poured on Legolas that had all but soaked the bed, and most likely, that same icy cold had seeped into his son's bones. The puddle that Thranduil currently sat on was beginning to feel uncomfortable even with the strength of his fully developed hröar, so he could only speculate how his underage son felt being drenched in the glacial wat-

A knock at the door stifled his thought process.

Thranduil spoke in a clipped voice. "Enter."

The door swung open and a guard stepped into the room with heavy footfalls.. at least, heavier than usual, which meant the news was troubling. Thranduil listened intently for the message, but all that reached his ears was a faint gasp. Curious, he turned his attention to the guard now standing in the doorway, staring.. well, in awe at him.

"Did you come to stare at your king, or is there another reason for your visit?" Thranduil questioned dryly.

Wilting slightly under the gaze, the guard spoke. "I apologize for staring my lord, it is just… I have never seen you so... so bright," he breathed. "There was really no need-"

"I did not do it for you," Thranduil replied levelly, cutting him off. "Speak your message."

The guard nodded sheepishly. "Yes, of course. One of the guests urgently wishes to speak with you."

Thranduil arched a brow in disbelief. "At this late hour? I was under the impression that the needs of our guests were taken care of. Was this not done?"

"No, sire, it was done just as you ordered."

Thranduil inhaled through his nose, patience wearing thin.

If all his guests were taken care of why then was someone outside the door urgently wanting an audience with the king in the middle of the night? Something did not add up.

"Tell me their name," Thranduil asked, trying to keep the impatience from coloring his tone.

"It is their wish that their identity remain a secret," the guard responded meekly, clearly uncomfortable with sharing the news.

Thranduil scoffed. "I do not care what they wish. Tell whomever it is that I will not be disturbed until morning, they can have their audience then."

Honestly, it was surprising that his guard did not just send the stranger on their way. But they hadn't. Perhaps it was because they were no stranger, Thranduil mused, and decided the matter would worth be looking into at a later time. Legolas came first.

The guard spoke again, more boldly. "I was told to inform you if all other attempts failed that it regards the safety of your son."

A dozen emotions played across the king's face, most of which were well-masked until only a worried frown remained. He birthed a response. "Very well, send them in."

The guard left and a moment later, the door opened once again, allowing the mystery stranger entrance, even as the room dimmed.

Thranduil barely heard the lightest of footsteps approaching them. Light, far too light if urgent tidings spurned their arrival, he deduced. In the back of his mind, he entertained the possibility that his guards may have mistakenly allowed an intruder that was disguising his true intentions past their defenses, but squashed that idea before it grew to fruition. No, the chances of this were slim. They were, after all, commissioned by the Elvenking. And his father was scarcely known to make mistakes when it came to security.

Still, it was best to be cautious.

Stiffening, Thranduil further dimmed his inner glow until it was nearly indiscernible, even in the darkness. The grip on his son tightened instinctively and he shifted his body to hide Legolas from view. For precaution's sake, the elven king reached for the hilt of his sword.

It was not there.

It was then that Thranduil remembered foolishly leaving it on his bed. Mentally kicking himself for his stupidity, Thranduil reached down and pulled a cleverly hidden dagger from his boot. Well, it wasn't a sword, but at least it was something.

"You will go no further until you tell me who you are and who sent you," Thranduil demanded tonelessly, brandishing the blade.

The footsteps ceased and a familiar but disembodied voice spoke. "Lord Elrond. I was sent by no one but came of my own accord."

Thranduil released an inaudible relieved breath, his shoulders relaxing. Of course, he should have known that no one but the Imladrian lord could have made the near-undetectable entrance. But the Noldor would pay for worrying him like that.

Now more at ease, Thranduil sheathed the dagger, giving permission to come forward. He did not ask the reason for the visit, nor did not have to. If the master healer paid them a visit at that late hour then it could only be for one thing: one of them either needed medical treatment or medical advice. Though it was the duty of the royal healers to look after their king and prince, Elrond often assisted whenever he visited to make sure the King and Prince were getting the best possible care. Those visits rarely happened in the middle of the night though.

Thranduil's mind was on his son as he anxiously awaited the news. He watched Elrond cross the distance between them in several long strides and bend down to hover a hand over Legolas's still form. His son's eyes were open but unseeing; a sure sign that he was dreaming. His poor little leaf had exhausted himself.

Suddenly, a shrill scream sliced the air, the abrupt sound startling the two almost as efficiently as a Nazgul's shriek and simultaneously sending the guards rushing into the room as if one had.

"Legolas, it's only Elrond," Thranduil explained morosely, sharing a confused look with the peredhel, whom he noticed was speaking with the guards. No doubt informing them that their services were unneeded. One of the said guards glanced at his king to make certain they were indeed not needed, and Thranduil gave silent confirmation, focusing on his son again. He didn't even hear the doors close as they left, too invested in Legolas's wellbeing to notice much else.

"Legolas, why did you scream, ion-nin?" Thranduil asked his son. But he paid his father no heed, eyes locked on the dark-haired elf.

Elrond, noticing the boy's frightened eyes were trained on his own, held up his hands non-threateningly. "There is no reason to fear me, my child. I will not harm you." The healer drew closer in an attempt to comfort the elfling, but Legolas fearfully buried his face into his father's robes, causing the elf lord to stop.

"Don't let him hurt me, Ada!" Legolas pleaded desperately, gripping onto his father's arm as if it were a branch keeping him afloat in a violent river.

Hurt you? why would… Thranduil saw the tremendous fear in his son's pleading blue eyes. He sighed wearily, confused but still unwilling for any more fear to touch him.

"Whatever warnings you have come to usher, speak them from where you stand and then leave us," Thranduil told the peredhel, all the while rubbing Legolas's back soothingly.

Elrond nodded in assent. "Very well. My advice to you is this: before the night is spent you must make absolutely certain Legolas is still whole."

Thranduil schooled his expression to a neutral one, speaking simply so as to not clue Legolas in on the subject matter. "Tell me why you suspect this?"

"I do not suspect, but it is safer to take precautions in case it is," Elrond replied vehemently, using the same cryptic wording.

Legolas shifted in his arms, officially signally the end of the conversation. And the Elvenking was glad of it. He did not let this show outwardly though. Instead, Thranduil inclined his head regally, a gesture that conveyed respect and gratitude. Whatever his qualms with the healer, Elrond had after all come to him in the middle of the night to give him this news without being ordered. It was the least the elf lord deserved.

"I will do what you advise," Thranduil agreed reluctantly, watching the peredhel leave as swiftly as he had come.

Instead of feeling relieved at the unlikely prognosis, the Elvenking's mind was uneasy. How dare that stuffy Noldor presume that his son was damaged! The half-elf clearly did not know the resilience and strength of the First Born. Legolas was strong, far stronger than the king had been at his age. Thranduil was very much adamant in his belief that Elrond was reading too much into what was only a nightmare. A nightmare would not cause such severe harm, he was sure of it. Still, while the Elvenking doubted his son was damaged in that terrible way, Legolas's harsh and odd reaction towards the healer was most concerning and raised many questions in the Sinda's mind, causing him to find logical weight in the peredhel's words. What if they were true? Could they be true?

Legolas sharply inhaled against his father's chest, piercing the silence like a knife and, once again, pulling the Elvenking abruptly from his thoughts.

"Have the memories returned?"

A noncommittal hum was the response and Thranduil lifted Legolas' little chin toward his waiting gaze, speaking softly. "Would you like to sleep with me tonight?" There was no other option, really; the boy's bed was soaked. But Thranduil still wanted him to have the freedom to make the choice. Too much of Legolas's will had been stolen from him already.

Legolas forced out a choked 'yes' and Thranduil stood up with the elfling enfolded in his arms, grabbing a fresh tunic before departing from his son's chambers.

The Elvenking's bright, but slightly dimmed visage, illuminated his own chambers with a soft glow as he moved about the room. He dressed his son in the fresh dry tunic before settling him down in his bed, pulling the sheet and a thick blanket over him and placing a kiss to his forehead. After making sure his son was the most comfortable he could be Thranduil then set to making the room as warm as it could be; locking the balcony doors in case a cold breeze blew them open and lighting the hearth to chase out the chill that had settled in the room.

Certain that the room would now remain warm, the king quickly changed into his own night clothes and slid into bed next to his son, gathering the little elfling into his arms again, which received a small smile.

"Are you warmer now?" Thranduil asked softly.

"Yes," Legolas answered sleepily. He spoke again, only this time with a slight tremble. "Ada, I'm afraid to go back to sleep."

Thranduil wiped away the tear that fell down Legolas's cheek. "Legolas, I have told you that elves do not dream the same dream twice. You need not fear experiencing it again."

"I know, but what if I have a different dream about something worse?" Legolas countered.

Thranduil met his gaze with a strong, unmoving one of his own.

"No more nightmares should visit you while you remain with me. I make them quiver in fear and they dare not approach unless they want to deal with the big bad scary Elvenking!" But if more come I will do my best to wake you and save you from it. Hopefully without giving you hypothermia this time.

Legolas laughed musically, smiling. "You're funny, ada and make me less scared."

Thranduil's lips twitched and he smiled back softly. "I'm glad of that."

A pause. "Ada?"

"Yes, what is it my Greenleaf?"

"Thank you."

Thranduil felt a weight lift from his heavy heart at this, but before he could respond to inquire what his son meant by the vague expression of gratitude, the little elfling's breaths evened out and the taught hand on his clothing relaxed. Thranduil kissed his son's temple. "Valar, guide him to pleasant dreams this night," he whispered.

Elves fortunately never dreamed the same dream twice; a fact that the Elvenking never truly considered before tonight but was eternally grateful existed as he laid his own head down.

Author's note: Well, what do you think? Will the night be uneventful? Is lord Elrond just a stuffy elf? Feel free to review with your opinion, and follow and favorite this story if you believe it is deserving. On a separate note, I recently included a warning in chapter one, so please, go and read it because it may apply to the next chapters coming up.