Author's note: Another week has passed and you get chapter three. I know it's coming to you late, but I was got home late yesterday and didn't have time to upload before midnight hit. I added some new content to this chapter and broke it apart from the next because it changed the flow in a really noticeable way if I didn't. But on the bright side, now you get another sweet father and son moment!

A big thank you to all those who reviewed the last chapter: Lady Aurelia, AraneltheSilvan, pineapple-pancake, multiple guests (who art thou?), and last but not least, Raider-K. Thank you so much! All of you are my inspiration and motivation, and this includes those of you who favorite and follow as well. You're awesome!

Chapter Three: Trust

~LOTRLOTRLOTR~

The sensation of light tapping on his arm brought the Elvenking to awareness. Crawling back from the depths of partial sleep, Thranduil sluggishly blinked and then glanced down at his son's face, noticing the worry there.

"Legolas, what is wrong? Why are you not asleep?" he asked, now more alert.

"I feel strange," Legolas replied, with a yawn.

Thranduil frowned, even more, alert. "Describe to me where."

"Here."

Thranduil watched his son point to his heart and at that moment the elf was wide awake, inwardly shuddering at the implications. However, it was imperative to be absolutely sure.

Pushing himself into a sitting position, he spoke. "What does it feel like?"

"It burns a little," Legolas replied, rubbing the area.

Thranduil's stomach twisted into a knot. It couldn't be that. Elrond could not be right. Or could he? Perhaps an examination would prove insightful.

Making sure he held his son's attention, he spoke. "Legolas, do you know what a fëa is?"

"Yes, it's an elven soul," Legolas replied quickly.

"Good. And do you know what happens when it gets damaged?" Thranduil asked, gauging his son's reactions carefully.

Legolas tried to recall his instruction on the topic, smiling proudly when an answer came. "It needs to be healed by another..."

A moment of realization crossed the small elf's features and he raised worried blue eyes to his father's. "Ada, is my fëa… damaged?" Legolas asked, fearful of what that entailed.

Thranduil smiled inwardly at the wit of his son, but outwardly a frown was the prominent expression at the moment. "I am afraid so, my Greenleaf," the king replied solemnly.

But as usual with the active imaginations of elflings, another, more terrible idea came to the mind of the prince.

Legolas bolted upright, eyes wide with horror. "Ada, I do not want to turn into an Orc!"

The Elvenking's eyebrows flew upward in complete surprise. "WHAT?... where did you get such an utterly ridiculous idea?" he questioned in a quieter voice, remembering it was very late.

Legolas stared guiltily at his lap. "They told me not to tell."

"Who told you?" Thranduil asked, concern ebbing at the edges of his voice.

Legolas shook his head. "I cannot tell you. We swore on our pinkies and they said if I told they would take my pinky from me, just like they took my nose!"

Thranduil shook his head at the audacity of it all, though warmth sparked within his chest as Legolas hovered a finger a good distance from where his nose would normally be.

"Legolas, you still have your nose," he said, mildly amused.

Legolas nodded. "I know, because they gave it back. But they said they would never give back my pinky! Never!" the elfling exclaimed.

Thranduil held back a sigh. This examination had to be done sooner rather than later, but due to this unforeseen event it was now imperative to know the extent of what his son was sworn to secrecy for.

"Legolas, have I ever lied to you?" Thranduil asked simply, his tone honestly inquisitive and hinting at no hidden motive.

Legolas thought about it and then replied, "No."

"Then trust me when I say that the threat of taking your pinky was only a bluff meant to frighten you into submission. Nothing will happen to you or any of your fingers if you tell me the truth. I promise," Thranduil replied earnestly, tapping his son once on the nose for good measure.

Legolas was silent for a time. Could he really believe that no repercussions would come of this if he told his ada the truth? The prince very much doubted it. Of course his father would do everything in his power to prevent it from happening, but he was often busy and not around when the prince was targeted, which is how these things occurred in the first place. Surely he would be safe if he remained within the halls of the palace until the threat passed?

Gaining the courage needed, but still not entirely at ease, Legolas spoke in the smallest of voices.

"Okay… Elladan and Elrohir-"

"Wait," Thranduil interrupted, visibly perturbed at the possibilities. "Legolas, you did not tell me that those two are responsible. What lies have they fed you this time?"

"They told me that orcs used to be elves until their souls and bodies were broken by tor- a bad thing," Legolas corrected. But it was too late.

The Elvenking's lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment Legolas thought his ada would inquire about another aspect of the information he gave. But then his father's eyes betrayed the anger swelling inside him. It seemed ancient and deadly, holding a power that Legolas could almost feel penetrating his own body as he stared transfixed, unable to move or utter any word, and in that moment, perhaps more-he couldn't be sure, Legolas felt very afraid of his father. Then, gradually, the eyes softened and kindness chased away the darkness that had settled into their blue-grey depths, focusing on Legolas once more with a sadness the elfling had only seen once, before vanishing.

Not thinking much of this, Legolas continued speaking.

"A… bad thing happened to me, which means I WILL TURN INTO AN UGLY ORC!" he cried, swinging his arms chaotically through the air. "I don't want to be an orc, I don't want to be—"

"Legolas!" Thranduil exclaimed, and caught both arms, causing the distressed elfling to cease his outburst and focus expectantly on him.

Thranduil's tone softened but remained somewhat firm. "You will not turn into an orc, I promise. It takes much more… mistreatment to do that," the king said, not wanting to delve into the gruesome subject in the least. "The twins should not have told you such a thing at your age and I will be speaking to their ada about a sufficient punishment for them."

Legolas still didn't want to believe it but something in his father's voice compelled him to do just that. He nodded once, though a question kept begging to be voiced.

"What will I turn into?"

"Nothing. You will stay exactly as you are," Thranduil replied.

"Not even my hair and teeth will fall out?" Legolas asked worriedly.

Thranduil curbed back his anger for the twin menaces, barely managing a convincing smile of reassurance. "Not even that."

Legolas closed his eyes, heaving a big sigh of relief. "That's good, I do not want to turn into-"

The elfling hissed, clutching his chest as pain assailed him.

"Ada... what's happening to me?" Legolas ground out between clenched teeth. "Why does it burn more?"

Thranduil took his son's hand into his own, wordlessly conveying to squeeze as hard as he needed. "It is caused by the damage to your fëa, my son. It will pass quickly," he assured.

Legolas gently squeezed it until the pain thankfully went away a few moments later.

Once the grip on his hand relaxed, Thranduil spoke, tenderly stroking a thumb over the tops of his son's fingers. "Ion-nin, we cannot wait much longer to heal you or the pain will worsen."

"What are you going to do?" Legolas asked, more cautiously than questioningly.

Thranduil shook his head mournfully. "I am afraid I cannot help you this time, Legolas. I am out of practice when it comes to healing such as this. But I will be right by your side as a healer cares for you."

Legolas felt pure fear return upon the mention of a healer and scrambled for the words to change his father's mind.

But none would come. In times such as these the prince had been told to convey his thoughts as simply as possible, but this time not even simple descriptions came to mind, only misery and torment. Worse still, was the bedroom. What was normally a place of safety to the young prince was becoming more and more like a prison, no longer calming him but a reminder of everything Legolas was trying to escape; the air humid and suffocating, squeezing his lungs until each breath became laborious.

Finally, the prince could take no more and pulled—more like threw—back the purple duvet and jumped out of bed, running to the door of the balcony. He had to get away-to get some fresh air. Then he would feel better.

Thranduil did nothing to stop him. Instead, he watched his son reach for the knob and hesitate only briefly before pulling the door open and stepping through without closing it after himself. This was not simply a lapse of memory, rather; it was The Elvenking's signal that Legolas wanted him to follow.

Once free off the confining chambers, Legolas took pensive steps toward the railing.

This was not the safest place for an elfing to be, especially since it was the middle of the night. But fortunately the moon cast enough light to see by, allowing him to reach the guard railing with relative ease. The cold air made it difficult to do breath. Very cold. A frost was coming, one that would leave a lot of snow for all kinds of fun activities like building snowmen or sliding down steep hills on curved metal sheets. Legolas found he did not care. He didn't care about much of anything anymore. All that went through his mind was falling to his death. At this thought, Legolas clung tighter to the railing. The Elvenking possessed the only balcony for a reason. At first, Legolas had argued with this, wanting to watch the stars and the sun rise without having to go outside or peek through a small window. But then Thranduil promised to install one for him son within the next hundred years when Legolas grew a bit more. Legolas did not like it, but he soon learned to be content with using his father's for the time being whenever he was allowed. Though, in retrospect, Legolas could not remember why he wanted one in the first place. They were terrifying things that served no purpose other than making people slip off them and die. He did not need yet another thing to fear right now.

A shiver.

Not for the first time, Legolas wished he could be like his ada and withstand the cold. It was an awful feeling being cold, to feel little bumps forming on his smooth skin. Deciding to head back in side, Legolas tensed his muscles in preparation, but froze, sensing someone behind him.

The prince sighed, expecting a lecture about the safety of high places in the middle of the night. But when none came, he grew worried. His father was rarely silent when he disobeyed him, usually doling out a reprimand or punishment—which was almost always verbal unless something greatly displeased him. Which meant that it had.

Legolas could take the silence no more and parted his lips to break it. "Are you angry with me?"

In response to this, warm hands softly pressed over his own. The prince did not need to see the beautifully inlaid azure jewel sitting atop the intricate twists of gold to know who's they belonged to, nor hear the calm heartbeat to know that he was forgiven. Legolas stayed silent for a time, relishing the feeling of his father's warm arms around him. The strong emotions of calm and safety seemed to ebb from his father's entire being, settling onto him like a comforting blanket. In fact, if a Ring Wraith suddenly appeared in front of them Legolas was sure he wouldn't feel even the slightest twinge of fear. But all too quickly, the raw strength of his inner turmoil devoured any fragment of peace it found, leaving Legolas with an aching and chilling emptiness that not even the warmth enveloping him could penetrate.

"I do not want a healer," Legolas blurted out, to which Thranduil stilled. "I want you. You always make me better and I know you can do it this time too." Please do not let Lord Elrond do it. Legolas knew his father was not a healer, but he had studied with them enough to pick up a few of their techniques over the years. Surely he could do it.

Thranduil was taken aback. Did Legolas really expect him to heal him? What was wrong with a healer? The royal healers were far more experienced and skilled, whereas, the Elvenking was a mere beginner… edging on intermediate but still very green in the ways of healing unless the task required of him was making herbal droughts, setting dislocated bones, treating minor cuts, or stitching and dressing less severe wounds. He made mistakes. He would make mistakes. Quite possibly many. And mistakes could prove deadly with this type of healing.

But didn't everyone make mistakes? They were only elves, not the Valar, after all.

Dwelling on this thought, Thranduil soon began to doubt the prowess of his royal healers to be enough. Even with all their expertise and experience they too made mistakes. So who did that leave them? No one. No one was perfect. But wasn't there one healer who was almost perfect? The Elvenking both cringed and smiled inwardly when a single name came to mind. Elrond.

Of course, it made perfect sense now. Why have the royal healers do the task when the master healer himself was staying within his halls. But there was still one problem, Thranduil realized. Legolas specifically said he did not want a healer. Whether it was a particularity or want to be near family at this time of vulnerability, was unknown to him. Though, wasn't Elrond- in the farthest sense, like family to his son?

Elrond had known Legolas since he was born and oft' treated him like one of his own, in turn, Legolas looked up to and respected the elf lord. Admittedly, Thranduil's opinion of the half-elf had risen over the years as well. They had their fair share of quarrels, as everyone did, but time after time the peredhel had proven his mettle past all preconceived notions. The Elvenking would even go so far as to say that on some occasions he almost acted the part of a full elf. Almost. Of course, the Elvenking's image of the half-elf had long since been tarnished. There was still that insufferable side of the elf lord that did not yield to authority, and as such, some of his decisions were—by the Elvenking's opinion—foolish and lacking forethought. Such as, swearing off all combat of any kind. While the reason for doing so was admirable, Thranduil still felt that he had lost a brother in arms, if you will, and felt far more alone in his fight against the Shadow than he ever thought possible. That day, the stark remembrance of a retreating shadow painted by the waning firelight, was the day the Elvenking's heart closed off from the peredhel. After which, he received each visit to his realm coldly, paying only the barest heed to anything other than what regarded health or political matters of their two realms. And so it had been ever since. Until this day, it would seem.

Begrudging the question, Thranduil forced himself to utter the words, ignoring anything holding them back.

"Ion-nin, I know you have asked for my assistance in this matter, though, I do not trust myself to do so without harming you. So I ask of you, would it be alright if lord Elrond heals you this time?"

As if the Elvenking had threatened his son's life and limb, Legolas' whole body began trembling like a leaf beneath his touch, the next words uttered coming out disjointed and shaky, carrying with them an indescribable fear that chilled the king to the bone.

Legolas faced his father squarely, his eyes dark. "Please.. don't let him do it. I beg of you, father!"

Thranduil frowned, not expecting those words in the least. It was true that Legolas had been terrified of the healer. Thranduil had not simply forgotten this, rather, he had hoped that his son's reaction was merely coincidental with the terror already within him. Though, now he was second-guessing that answer.

Thranduil straightened, laying a gentle hand on the elfling's shoulder, trying but failing to ignore the flinch. "Legolas, why are you so afraid of Elrond?" the king asked in a way that was part curious and half dreading the answer.

"I.. cannot tell you."

He tried again. "If you know of any injustice lord Elrond has committed, I deserve to know. Not only as your father but as your King," Thranduil replied firmly.

Legolas shook his head, a few tears falling down his face. "He will hurt me again, I know he will."

Thranduil stood in silent contemplation for a moment, still not entirely sure about his hunch. Then he spoke. "Certain treatments can cause pain more pan than others. I am afraid this cannot be avoided sometimes, though I am certain lord Elrond gave you what he could so that you could endure it."

Thranduil began checking his son for injuries, but Legolas yanked his hand back from his father's searching grasp. "No, you don't understand. He hurt me on purpose." Legolas blinked back burning tears, stubbornly refusing to give them the relief they were seeking.

Thranduil disagreed, knowing his son's tendency to overreact. "It may have felt that way at the time…"

"No!" Legolas rebutted, quite loudly. "He meant to hurt me!"

"Lord Elrond has sworn an oath to heal all within his care, not harm them," Thranduil responded, nudging Legolas's fingers away from the stone railing.

The prince crushed his father in a desperate embrace, softly weeping into his shoulder. Thranduil held him until the tears subsided, and when they did, he gently lifted his son's chin till he was at eye level, fiercely narrowing his own.

"I will not let Elrond harm you. Do you hear me? If anyone wants to harm you they will have to go through me first." Thranduil thought he had finally calmed the boy, but then the silence was broken by another sob.

"You said that already but he still hurt me!" He… threatened to kill you," Legolas whined.

The Elvenking became as a statue, standing motionless and staring blankly ahead. He would have thought that nothing in all of Arda had the power to make his son believe such lies, but Legolas was believing them to a point where the very name of the healer struck fear into his heart. There was something more than a wild imagination at work here. Something terrible must have happened to his son, something he saw or experienced that scarred him. But why or how Lord Elrond played a part in it continued to remain a mystery. All the Elvenking could do now was only hope that the damage was not permanent…. and there was only one way of making sure it wasn't.

Thranduil raised his head heavenward as if petitioning the Valar themselves to come down and heal Legolas, his eyes expressing the rarest of emotions, a side of himself the elf never showed to anyone. Doubt. The moonlight cast an unearthly glow, made all the more prominent by the soft luminescence of the king's skin and the cascade of spun white gold down his shoulders. In fact, any passers-by would have thought that one of the Valar had come to Middle earth. Even clad in only a tunic and leggings, the Elvenking looked every bit breathtaking.

I am not ready, Thranduil thought bitterly. Yes, I know all the steps but I have not put them into practice for a very long time. It may not be enough. Will I end up harming our son?

While it was true that he knew what to do and had done this procedure once before, Thranduil had never attempted it on an elf so young as Legolas. The fëas' of elflings were inherently delicate and easy to fracture, hence why they were in this predicament. There was also the small amount of pain that came with healing it -varying in severity of course, but Thranduil wasn't the least bit looking forward to purposefully causing his child any pain, however necessary it was. In fact, he was very much dreading it.

The tendrils of hopelessness grasped onto him, but just then, a voice, soft and reassuring, spoke in his mind, parting the dark clouds to let the light shine through. In that moment, an unexplainable strength and clarity flooded into him, one precise thought shinning like a brilliant beacon through the haze of uncertainty.

Legolas.

If he did not or could not do this healing then his son's soul would be at risk his entire life and the unpleasant burning Legolas was feeling would only worsen in time as the fracture did. The Elvenking also remembered that the healing could only be performed by one who shared a deep bond of trust with Legolas. No one except himself could undertake this labor now. It has to work. I have to try.

"Legolas…" Thranduil spoke gently, holding the elfling against him as he cried. "If you don't want a healer to perform the procedure then you do not have to."

Legolas stopped crying almost immediately, wiping his eyes. "Really?"

Thranduil nodded. "I do not want you to be afraid. It is very important to have a strong bond of trust with anyone that will have that kind of power over you. Even if it is for a short time." He took a breath. "So I must ask this of you.. after everything that has happened do you still trust me?"

At first it seemed like Legolas would say no, but then the elfling shook his head in acceptance.

"I trust you," Legolas replied with a weak smile.

Thranduil was in awe at how much trust and love he saw sparkling in those blue depths and wondered how his son could feel that way after being denied his presence for so long. He expected Legolas to be upset with him for abandoning him all these weeks, but here he was smiling at him- albeit weakly, but smiling, all the same. Thranduil gave Legolas a small smile in return, partly wondering what great deed he had done to deserve such an amazing son from the Valar.

"Ada?"

The Elvenking noticed the way Legolas stared up at the twinkling sky with a longing in his eyes, and spoke. "Yes?"

"Why was I not born as a star?"

"Because stars only look upon this world. We live within it and have the power to change it. That is the gift Ilúvatar gave us."

"But what if I am not strong enough to change it?"

Thranduil rested a calming hand on Legolas's shoulder. "Then you will have to wait for your strength to grow."

"How long?" Legolas asked.

"You will know when the time comes," Thranduil replied distantly. He stared a little longer at the sky before tearing his gaze away from it. Letting out a breath, he spoke.

"It is time, my son."

Author's note: So now you know… a little bit more. Wouldn't want to give too much away, after all ;) How do you think our Elvenking is going to heal Legolas? Feel free to share with me your ideas and opinions for this chapter! Even though the next and the next, etc, is written, I still enjoy reading them :)