Chapter Four

For a long while the King of Mirkwood kneeled alongside his Lady, allowing her to rest on his slender but firm torso. With one hand he held onto her heart-shaped head, and in the other his son was fast asleep. He marveled at the sight of them, his family. Not all the jewels in the deep caves of Middle-earth could exceed the value of his wife and son, what they meant to him, and he wouldn't trade them for the world.

"My Legolas," murmured Thranduil, brushing his little forehead with a thumb. "A perfectly regal name," he commented to his wife. The King grinned, kissing her hungrily on the lips, softly so as to not disturb her.

Thranduil then let out a gasp, immediately sensing that something was amiss with his wife. Her lips were cold and dry. In his embrace she felt limp, brittle, and lifeless. And, although Thranduil refused to believe it at first, she wasn't responding to him at all. Celabeth was not one to ignore, certainly not on a day like this…

Without any further hesitation, he whistled for his horse and leaped onto the saddle as soon as his companion came trotting along, having a firm grip on both his wife and son. He sat in an upright position, well poised despite being without reigns.

"Lady Celabeth is ill. We must escort her to Rivendell." Caradhras started a mighty gallop, and soon they were off into the night. He had always ridden without reigns; his Caradhras was a horse to be freed of them. For numerous years it was Caradhras who had transported him on excursions, not once disappointing his master. And so he was not the least bit frightened.

Hold on, love. Hold on for me.

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At the House of Elrond

Elrond placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, trying his best to make him calm again. He had never seen the King of Mirkwood so distraught with grief, and, he had to admit, it was making him anxious. Upon the King's arrival, the Queen had been taken into Elrond's care right away to ensure swift attention. Elrond had been quick to tend to her. It took so much for Thranduil to be kept on the patio outside; Elrond found the King and Queen of Mirkwood to be absolutely inseparable.

Now, after what seemed to Thranduil like a torturous hour, Elrond was finally here to give him news. Elrond found him pacing maniacally, the thought of sitting down not having once crossed his mind. Upon Elrond's request, Thranduil slumped onto a chair beside him, his shoulders hunched in fatigue. A slight tinge of apprehension permeated Elrond's body, as he was mindful of the tiny Prince seeming to be attached to his father naturally. Having only Thranduil to depend on, the cold world was no refuge for a youngster his size…

Much to Elrond's relief, Thranduil held the child secured in his cloak- he was sleeping tranquilly. Elrond smiled inwardly at Thranduil's all too evident fatherly instincts, his eyes darting from King to Prince, seeing a distinct resemblance. He is the identical image of his father, this one. Possibly feeling the presence of a newcomer, the child began to stir. Peeking, closing his eyes again. But those eyes! How luminous and unusual they are.

"His name is Legolas." Thranduil didn't look up when he spoke, exhaustion weighing down on his voice.

"It is a fine name," Elrond replied. A momentary silence ensued, which Elrond broke: "He sleeps so soundly."

"He deserves to be in the softer hands of his mother, not mine," Thranduil sighed. "My hands have become rough from unnecessary war."

So he still carries the scars of his past. He cannot accept it. More importantly, he cannot forgive himself.

"Your words make me gloomy, my friend. You, too, deserve the love of your son. The war is your history, not all that you are." Elrond tried to give him a reassuring nod, but the melancholy would not be lifted from Thranduil's face.

"You fought bravely by my side, Thranduil. What more can we ask for? We're not always in control of the fates of our fallen comrades." Still no response.

"And I'd think that you'd like to know what a wonderful father I think you already are. Look at your son," said Elrond, a bit commandingly.

Thranduil reacted at last. His child was stirring again; he stared with delight into his son's eyes. Legolas gave a wail, which Thranduil was quick to hush. Elrond then was reminded of his own two sons, who were probably in bed by now.

A heavy puff of air escaped Elrond's mouth. "Legolas will need you for some time. You must take good care of him, for Celabeth is in no condition to…"

Elrond was interrupted by a sudden uproar.

"Celabeth- how is she, Elrond? Please, my son doesn't even know her yet; he's only just been born… You must tell me that she will live!" Elrond gestured for him to sit down.

Calmly: "Please do not jump to conclusions, Thranduil. I haven't verified or denied anything. It seems that she has lost her conscience, and she's wandering in delirium. I'm going to have to stay beside her for the rest of the night. We must give her more time. I cannot tell you anything yet." Thranduil's shoulders sagged down a little as he leaned back against the chair. He closed his eyes, feeling for the first time in months how the air was cool against his face.

"When can I see her?" Thranduil held in a sob. Elrond told him that she should be awake by morning, and that they couldn't afford to disturb her before then. Thranduil seemed to be deep in thought, absorbing all of this in at one time. How he wished to be beside her, comfort her, heal her pain. Make everything better again.

The King of Mirkwood is tired, let him rest. Now is not the time to tell him anything drastic.

"Thranduil, you must be strong. For Celabeth. For your son." Saying this, he stroked the Prince's brow. "He has only you for the time being. Therefore you must act as a mother and a father."

Thranduil frowned, his expression too complicated to fathom.

"I don't deserve him," Thranduil whispered suddenly, much to Elrond's surprise. "His mother is ill, and I can do nothing."

"Thranduil! I will hear no more of it! That is quite enough. Do you not see that your child is listening?" He motioned for Thranduil to hand over the Prince, and Elrond received him gently. "We mustn't wake him with this talk. As he sleeps, his body is growing. One day, with your splendid care, he will grow into a fierce warrior of the wood. But he is too young now. Accept him. Nurture him. Love him. He needs you."

Elrond lifted the child in one sweeping motion. "He is your blood." Humming to him an ancient melody that granted a night's sleep, he inquired, "Will you not take him?"

"I will," Thranduil declared. "And I will make sure I am worthy of his love."

"I do not doubt that you will, my friend. We are not able to know all that lies in his path, but we can hope the best for him."

Kissing his son lovingly on the forehead, Thranduil said, "He will be great. After all, he is the Prince of Mirkwood. He is my son."

Meanwhile, Prince Legolas slept the night away, not knowing whatsoever what lay in store for him. All he knew was his father's warmth, his father's flowing voice.