Dear Mother, it read.

I have arrived safely to Imladris; tomorrow we set off for Nenuial, which is located in Emyn Uial. My twin 'cousins', as they insist that I call them, recently returned from a scouting trip in that area and found several signs of wolf packs, only returning here for more soldiers to dispatch them. I am very excited to have a collection of pelts for my own, what a novelty that will be in Mirkwood! -sorry, should I not call our home by that name? I know it irritates you so.

Elrond has been most obliging during my stay. I wish I could have been his guest earlier in my youth. He demands nothing of me but my own enjoyment. Father could take lessons from him.

Please tell Legolas for me that I hope he enjoys his new post. I will not write him myself, as we had words when we parted, and he will be so busy taking over your position.

Elrond will hold any correspondence for me until I return, which is evidently once a season. Write to me as often as you like, or as often as you feel the niggling of disquiet in that dreary mountain.

I am, yours etc.

Belegorn Roimë, Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm

Postscript: Why is it that I must call Elladan and Elrohir my cousins? By nature or appearance we are certainly of no relation - but I recalled to memory that you have never told me of your parents. I do hope that whole 'cousin' thing is simply a way to encourage friendship - I have never met a bigger pair of ninnies.

B.

I found as I reached the end of the note that my love for my son was growing strained. Such pretension! I checked my impulse to throw his letter into the fire, and instead stuck it on a table underneath a vase to worry about later. I would not inform Thranduil of the contents, or the king would send Belegorn to Cirith Ungol for exile. Though the idea was briefly tempting…

I had intended to reply to Belegorn's letter, but I found myself too unwilling to delve into my painful feelings to put forth the effort. I fell easily into the days in the city, despite Belegorn's noble fear for me. It seemed to be a holiday, for none complained if I lingered in my bed past dawn, and I was in the rare occurrence of full meals every day. I was going to grow soft, I decided one day as I was eating only a tart for the entirety of my breakfast. But perhaps that would be no bad thing. In my political life I did not skimp on advice for the king or deep discussions of the subtleties of electoral versus absolute power that I had with Malandi.

Several seasons passed, and with each one the forest darkened further. Thranduil acted as he always did, stuffy and too removed from others to explain why. I held onto a thinning facet of hope that someone powerful, perhaps an Istari, would take care of Sauron themselves. It was a ridiculous hope, I knew, but I was desperate. Our people were beginning to notice, as whispers of evil things were circulating around the royal household as well as the city. Apart from that, there was little of importance to make note of.

Belegorn arrived home without warning of his intention on a blustery day a month from Yuletide, three years since the fateful coming of age during which he departed in anger. Thranduil and I had been reviewing orders from the dwarves for wood and such, when he barged into our private study without knocking. I was so startled that I bumped into an inkpot with my elbow as I reached for a letter opener to defend myself, but the king did not move an inch.

"Hullo!" he said, throwing back the hood of his cloak and brushing wet drops from his shoulders onto my rugs - my imported rugs from Imladris! I gritted my teeth and unclenched my grip on the letter opener.

"Belegorn," I greeted him, standing and allowing him to approach me. He kissed me soundly on both cheeks before wrapping me in a damp hug, which I returned, suddenly forgiving him many things to have him near once more. I had missed him, in a way.

"I am sorry I did not write to you to tell you of my arrival," he said, untying his cloak and tossing it over a chair before sitting in it. The smell of the outdoors began to fill the room, mingled with smoke. He was not looking at his father. "It was a spontaneous decisions. I wanted to be home to celebrate Yule with family, but I was delayed. It has been a very mild winter, and one of the rivers on the west side of the mountains I was to cross on ice was thawed. I had to travel about forty miles around it, or leave my horse."

"I see," I said. "And what have you to report of your adventures with...your cousins?"

"Please, Mother," he snorted. "Cousins indeed! I do have to admire their hunting, though it is nowhere near mine." He picked up a quill and began to fiddle with it. "They are silly, for Firstborn."

"Perhaps they are silly because it is how they cope with the assault of their mother," Thranduil finally spoke, his voice deadly quiet, though he had not moved a muscle. I realized that he must have known of Belegorn's journey as soon as he had stepped into the forest.

Belegorn only shrugged. "As you will. There are other ways, I suppose."

Thranduil and I exchanged a glance. We were thinking the same thing: He has not changed a bit.

"Would you like some supper and a bath?" I asked, trying to sound cheery.

"Absolutely! I'll ring for it myself, don't worry for me." His salutation obviously complete, he stood and kissed me once more before slinging his cloak over his shoulder, showering us with droplets, and striding out the door whistling.

"Honestly!" I said, standing to shut and bolt the door behind him. "It is like he never left."

"That much is true," Thranduil said, drawing a handkerchief from his robes and handing it to me. I began to dab at my dress. "And I haven't the foggiest of what to do with him."

"Let him do what he wants, I suppose."

"That would be very foolish, my love. He would hack at the trees of the forest with his sword, if he had the inclination."

I threw the handkerchief on the table in frustration. "So no progress has been made, and I feel as if we are where we were before he left."

"At least Legolas is taken care of. I am glad he enjoys his duties."

"Then our work is half complete," I said.

Thranduil sighed, an unusual show of irritation for him, and shook out the contract we had been discussing before the interruption. "We must finish here, then put our heads together for further insight."

Belegorn seemed to enjoy his lack of responsibilities, and spent his time roaming the palace and wrecking a general havoc. He involved himself with the council, giving absurd suggestions only to burst out laughing at his own wit. Thranduil was now on edge constantly, and many times I had to lay a restraining hand on him even as I wished to throttle our son myself. Belegorn and I both had this wildness (where it came from, I did not know), but at least I had learned to channel it into being useful. He did not seem receptive to any suggestion of duty, and we did not broach the topic with him, which was just as well, for the king and I were out of ideas. And so the prince became bored, in a very deadly way.

Even when Thranduil and I took council alone, Belegorn was there, and we had reverted to whispering to exclude our son from sensitive topics as much as possible. He was easily annoyed by whispering, and with the amount of wine he was drinking, he grew fidgety, pacing and groaning out loud at intervals. After an hour or so of this, Thranduil was pushed to the edge, and barked,

"Haven't you anything better to do, boy?"

I had only seen fireworks once before during a visit to Lórien, but it was the best description I had for how Belegorn reacted. A sneer appeared on his face, and he in turn growled, "Boy, am I?"

Sensing danger, I set my hand stop Thranduil's shaking one. "It might be best if you left," I told Belegorn. "You are fraying our nerves."

"Orc dung!" he shouted, and threw his goblet into the fireplace with an almighty smash, the wine on its airborne journey staining my rugs. I bit back a groan. Children were so very hard on furniture. "You do not wish me here, admit it!"

I stood, desperate to gain control over what might happen. "Do not be silly, Belegorn, of course we -"

"Of course we do not want you here!" Thranduil had stood as well, and in his anger towered over both Belegorn and I. "You act like a spoilt child, saying what you wish, doing what you wish with little care for those you might offend. And it offends me deeply! I thought to raise you better than this!"

"You might have raised me at all!"

"You might have acted as though you valued an education!"

"You might have made it interesting to a youth who only wanted to see the world!"

I stepped between the warring forms, holding out my hands. "Please -" I began.

I was shoved out of the way by Belegorn, who bore down on his father like an angry hurricane. "You - are a terrible -" He did not get to finish his sentence, for Thranduil grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip.

"Do not - treat your mother that way. This is between you and I."

Belegorn looked at me. I was ashamed to admit tears in my eyes, but despite being uninvolved with the present hatred, I still found it difficult to watch my husband and son at each other's throats. Belegorn sagged slightly, and some of the tension fizzled out. "I am sorry, Mother," he said, before wrenching himself from his father's grip and giving said father a deadly stare. "I am leaving. Do not seek to find me." He turned for the door, but before he disappeared, he looked again upon us. "Perhaps I might find something better to hunt, since the stag obviously did not please."