"Ai, Valar!"
The gentle, yet despaired, exclamation drew his attention, and he watched as a honey-haired elleth rush to his side. She glowed under the moonlight, the brightest among her counterparts.
"Is this little one all by himself?" she asked as she knelt down beside him. He was intrigued. Her eyes were the colour of lush trees in spring, and in their depths lay a ring of sunlight that warmed the green hues into tiny flaxen stars.
"Yes, my Queen," answered one of the guards behind him. "We found him wandering by himself in the darkness, undoubtedly forced from his home during the raid."
"And his parents?"
A suffocating silence reigned. He saw a flash of pain cross her features, before she nodded in understanding. Gently, she took the elfling's hands in hers, and looked into his eyes.
"What is your name, young one?" she asked.
"Feren," he replied.
"Mae govannen, Feren. I am Merileth. You are safe here in the Woodland Realm, under King Thranduil's protection." (Well met)
She smiled, and for a brief moment of pure joy, he thought his nana had returned. As quickly as the delight settled into his heart, it dissolved into nothingness. She was not his mother, for he had seen her perish in the fire with his own eyes. Yet they had the same warm, gentle radiance in their eyes when they smiled.
"He does not even weep," the Elvenqueen whispered to her guards, while stroking Feren's cheek. "The horrors he has seen. Poor, poor child."
The elfling leaned into her touch, though his gaze remained stoic.
"Feren, would you like to come home with me?" she asked quietly. "I will draw you a warm bath and prepare a bed for you to rest in. My guards will look for your next of kin – "
"No kin," Feren interjected. "No kin. Just Feren."
If the Elvenqueen was surprised, she did not show it. She simply held her arms out in silent invitation. Without hesitation, Feren leaned into her embrace. She was soft and smelled of roses, and he decided that he liked being in her arms. The roar of the attack became a distant rumble in the background the moment he buried his face into the soft fabric of her cloak. Her heart thrummed steadily, and it was a reminder that he too, was alive, just as he promised his parents.
He felt himself being lifted into the air, and stole a peek over her shoulders to survey his surroundings. The same group of guards that had rescued him by the edge of the forest followed closely behind, many smiling kindly when his gaze met theirs. Even the trees whispered their tender welcome and promise of healing.
"Let us go, Feren," came the Elvenqueen's whisper, "and may the stars shine upon the road back home."
. ||||||| .
"Aran nin, the Queen has returned." (My king)
Thranduil looked up from the parchment he was reading. Judging by Galion's easy smile, the rescue party had returned unharmed. Relief flooded the Elvenking's body.
"Thank you, Galion. And has the little rascal finally gone to bed?"
"Yes, my lord, but not without an almost violent protest to wait for the Queen's return. If you had any doubts about Prince Legolas' parentage, I can assure you with my life that he is definitely your son."
The corners of Thranduil's eyes crinkled in amusement, and Galion snorted quietly.
"You talk too much, Galion. Have you readied my robes for tomorrow?"
"The Queen has already done so, sire, before she left."
Thranduil smiled. Ever so thoughtful, his wife was. Even amidst her countless duties as Queen, mother, and healer, she always made her love known to him in the smallest of ways. Standing, he folded the unfinished parchment and placed it atop an ever-growing pile of unread documents. Report after report, his scouts delivered news of the dreaded evil that was spreading across his lands. The woods were growing sick with disease, and his people were slowly retreating underground. The resistance against evil was a battle that needed to be won, and the weight of his crown had never felt heavier. His only respite was found in the brief moments he shared with his wife and son at night, when the Queen, in particular, would knowingly welcome him into her tender embrace, gently soothing his worries away.
He moved down the empty halls swiftly, eager to see that she was truly safe and unharmed.
"…this path leads to the kitchens. You may go there whenever you feel hungry."
Rounding the corner, he spotted Merileth speaking quietly to a small figure in her arms. Sensing his presence, she turned, offering him the very same smile that had lit an undying flame in his heart when they first met.
"And this is King Thranduil, Feren," she explained as they approached him. "He is my husband, and lord over these lands."
With a shaky bobble of his head, Feren bowed in acknowledgement. Word of the formidable warrior-king had travelled across kingdoms and settlements. He was taller than most, with a strong bearing and purposeful gait. Having never seen a more imposing figure in his life, Feren shrunk back into the Queen's embrace, fearful of the consequences of staring at one so powerful.
"Well met, little one. You have walked a lonely road."
Feren looked up in surprise. The sheer empathy in his voice was unmistakable, and it startled the elfling.
"I, too, have been through my fair share of afflictions," the Elvenking continued, "You are not alone. Never alone."
Benevolent blue orbs bored into innocent brown ones, and the elfling gave another respectful bob of his head, curiosity replacing the initial wave of apprehension.
While the couple exchanged a few murmurs on the situation, Feren's attention wandered to the vast halls. He had never seen anything grander, or more intricately decorated, than the King's halls. The palace smelled of rich earth, fresh and clean, with notes of sweet roses wafting through the air. It was the same scent that the Elvenqueen bore, a soothing fragrance that lulled him to peace.
A gentle tap on the shoulder brought his attention back to the King and Queen.
"Feren, we would love to have you stay with us. My wife has informed me that your kin are no more, and while the courage you have demonstrated during your escape is truly admirable, you need protection."
Feren stared at the Elvenking. Just hours ago, he was a wandering orphan. Now, he was being offered a place in the King's halls. Perhaps his ada was right after all. The stars will always be his guide, no matter how far he ventured.
"Yes, Feren," agreed the Queen. "We have a son, Legolas, just barely older than you are. The wilderness is no place for a young one like you. When you're older and confident enough to venture out on your own, you are free to go. In the meantime, let us care for you."
Thranduil and Merileth watched the doe-eyed elfling nod slowly, relief and fatigue written on his young face. He wiped the tears that lingered at the corners of his eyes hastily. The grief was finally catching up on him, and there was no escaping the realities he had to overcome.
With a little quiver of his lips, Feren lifted his gaze to the monarchs.
"Yes please, I would like to stay."