A machine hidden in a wall whirs and the gate finally slides open.
Thranduil zones out as he gapes at a younger version of himself mirror the same face he is making. While the woman beside him twitters away unnecessary side comments, he slams on the gas and screeches his way through the entrance to his mansion.
And instead of fleeing the scene, Legolas decides to be stubborn and nestles himself by the concrete wall where the gates connect. He camps below the brass bell, checking how far he can go until his 'father' would have to come back to kick him out himself.
Fifteen minutes is all it takes for Legolas to start nodding off as he leans against the wall, waiting for anybody to either tell him to go away or to arrest him. He raves about the grass and how soft and smooth it feels underneath him, quickly lulling him to take a nap.
He shudders. "This place needs some anarchy," is his last thought before comfort claims him and his eyelids start to droop.
He dreams a very rapid dream. In that dream is a series of moving pictures, tainted by time, zooming in an out like a bad documentary. There is an old picture of his adoptive mother in the middle of a crowd; a familiar smile on her face as he walks off the stage, graduating from high school. His adoptive father, strong and gentle, teaching him how to ride a bike in an empty church parking lot. His cat Seven curled up by the window in his apartment. Tauriel, brushing her teeth and yapping away at the same time, bubbles dropping from her mouth onto his foot.
And finally, a picture he hasn't seen before. He is aware he is being prepped for a family picture, but not with his adoptive parents this time. He sits in the middle of a bright photography studio, head turned towards a camera, and Thranduil is standing behind him, looking sharp in a suit. He has one hand on Legolas' shoulder and he looks as happy as him. And in that dream, Legolas is sure that he felt that his father loved him back.
The loud hum of a gate re-opening behind him rattles him awake. He bolts upright and looks around in panic as if he has no recollection of where he is and what he is there for. A butler steps out and gives Legolas a once-over from head to toe.
In turn, Legolas falls conscious of his looks and tucks a loose strand of long hair behind his ear.
"Master Thranduil allows your presence in his home. Please follow me," the burly butler says.
Legolas holds back a chuckle.
"At ease, Alfred," he whispers, saluting him from behind. He almost lunges at the butler when he grabs ahold of his bike without saying a word and parks it near the other luxury cars.
At the point of entry, four steps into the mansion, Legolas' mouth drops at how badly the place reeks of opulence and high status. From furniture to light fixtures to the artworks that hang against dark red accent walls, the Thranduillion mansion does not have room nor respect for low quality items. He closes his eyes and takes in the scent. It smells like a fusion of green tea and fresh bamboo. He treads behind the silent butler as they cover a small portion of the main floor.
What he notices that is almost offending is the constant sparkle of random objects in the room that burst as they catch light barging in from the tall windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. The abnormal amount of brightness is almost making him trip out.
At the end of one of the many hallways, the butler stops in front of a particular door and leaves Legolas.
He hesitates as he grabs the doorknob. Taking a deep breath he finally enters a long, spacious room with nothing but a sturdy oak desk with two sturdy oak chairs situated by the massive stained windows in the opposite end. There is a weak glow in the room, a small burst of rose tint as the Californian sun streams through the window.
He takes one of the chairs and scans the rest of the room, feeling ridiculous because he feels like he is about to sell himself in a doomed job interview. His palms are sweaty and he is nervous and the woman he saw earlier in the car is currently hovering around somewhere behind him.
"What do we have here. Another person trying to claim he is of Thranduil's family lineage?" the still unnamed woman comes around from his left and heads to the window. Legolas sees nothing but her silhouette. "Duly noted."
"Ma'am I have no other intention but to meet my father. I'm not trying to claim..." he trails as he squints at the woman, trying to make out her face. "...anything. Just a bit of his time is all."
"Right. You would just like to get to know him right? Hang out. Catch up. Shoot a couple of hoops," she drips with sarcasm and smells like expensive Bvlgari perfume.
"Sure. That would be nice," he answers innocently.
The woman swiftly walks away from the window, the click of her high heels demanding to be heard, and sidles up close to Legolas. Her voice drops to a whisper.
"I know what people like you are after. I'm way ahead of you, buster."
Legolas does not bat an eyelash and takes time to wonder what the woman really means. He hears the ticking of a clock from somewhere in the room.
"...Actually Buster was my old cat's name. He died of old age. My name is Le-go-las," he annunciates his name carefully as if she was slow to understand. "...I loved that cat..."he adds quietly as he looks far off in the distance.
The woman jerks away as the door opens, beaming at Thranduil from across the narrow room. He glides soundlessly across the macassar ebony hardwood floor with one of the many butlers in tow, clad in tuxedo and white bow tie. His long hair is now neatly pulled back, not one strand astray, and his outfit has changed into a combination of thin cardigan and khaki pants.
He glances at the woman who is now leaning on the edge of the desk before he sits on the oak chair across Legolas. His hand is quick to rummage through the drawer, pulling out a cigar from one of the opened boxes.
"Galadriel. Looks like...you're off on a great start with...my boy here..." he mumbles as he tries to balance the fat Cuban cigar between his lips. He reaches for a lighter in his pocket and smiles at Legolas.
"I am just marveling at the resemblance between you and him! You both are so handsome," she squeals. She then turns to look at Legolas with sharp eyes. "You're his mini-me!"
Legolas gathers all his might to stop his eyes from rolling.
"Is she annoying you? She does that sometimes," Thranduil flicks the lighter.
"Oh please!", she approaches Legolas again and with a big smile on her face, she places a hand on his shoulder. "You will learn to love me."
She leaves the room abruptly; further confusing Legolas and making him more uncomfortable than he already is. He clears his throat and struggles with the next thing he has to say.
"I am not irritated at all. I think she's delightful," Legolas lies.
Thraduil's smile evolves into a full-teethed one. "You're already sounding a lot like me."
Legolas continues to be awkward deep inside. He looks around the room and contemplates the sparkling window, amazed at how superfluous the man in front of him is living his life. Thranduil barely puts effort into waving a hand and it prompts a butler to come rushing to his side. He takes one puff of his cigar and orders two glasses of Amarone wine. It doesn't come to his mind to ask what Legolas might have wanted instead.
Legolas casts the robotic butler a glance before turning to his father.
"The window behind you, it's amazing…I've never seen anything like it."
"That's understandable," Thranduil dismisses him. "It's made of Swarovski crystals."
Legolas' eyes pop out a little.
"…Swarovski!?," he is outraged, ready with an automatic response that has something to do with impoverished nations starving in the world.
"Yes. I'm the CEO of the Swarovski in all of the west coast," Thranduil says as if it's not a big deal. "...One can say I have a penchant for shiny things."
The wine glasses and the wine bottle arrive, placed carefully by the butler on the oak desk. While the butler unscrews the cork of the ten year-old wine, Legolas studies the crystal-embedded stem of the glass.
"You don't say," Legolas says.
There are damn Swarovski crystals everywhere in the mansion.
"It's usually a long, harrowing road to the top. I had my ways," Thranduil takes a sip of the Amarone. "Nice guys never finish first."
The butler hands Legolas a full glass while Thranduil contemplates him with skeptic eyes. Legolas shakes the glass in a circular motion, giving the wine a swirl, bothered by his father's statement.
"You seem successful with what you do. Umm, congratulations," Legolas says and tips the wine glass slightly towards Thranduil.
Instead of saying thanks, Thranduil asks him, "Can you say you are successful yourself?"
Legolas doesn't think twice.
"Well I have a rock band and a girlfriend whom I have healthy relationships with. Even though my band mates are a pain in the ass sometimes. I work as an arbourist up in Thousand Oaks and I love it. I enjoy working outdoors. So yes, I'm confident to say I am successful as well."
Thranduil does not answer for what seems like the longest time, slowly blinking at Legolas over the rim of his wine glass. He puts the glass down on the desk and clasps his hands together.
"What is your net worth?" he asks.
Legolas' eyebrows furrow at him. He suddenly feels extra aware of himself. "Excuse me?"
"What is your financial status?"
"I don't know. Ok, I guess. Enough for me to live comfortably."
"'OK' and 'comfortably' are never good words to keep and use in your vocabulary."
"So let's revise that to 'mind-blowing' and 'excessively'," Legolas breaks into a weak smile.
Thranduil stands up from his seat unannounced, scaring Legolas and the butler. He takes a couple of steps to reach the most unnecessarily expensive window Legolas has ever seen and gazes out, lost in a shallow thought.
"There seems to be a vast world of difference between us, don't you think? It makes me wonder if you really are a descendant of my blood or just someone who looks a hell of a lot like me," Thranduil says, his profile highlighted in faint pink.
Legolas dips his head in hurt. "You're quick to conclude. We've barely exchanged enough sentences that would warrant a full conversation." He pulls out a folded piece of paper from his pocket and surrenders it on the desk. "Here is the legal document that states you're my biological father. I got it from Adoption Foundation of California." He pouts before he follows suit, standing up and ready to make an exit.
Thranduil faces his son almost at eye level. There are two inches of height difference between them. Thranduil is six foot five. "You sound like a highly intelligent man, Legolas. Very articulate. You can make money work for you."
Legolas stops a scoff from escaping his throat and shakes his head, flicking imaginary dirt on his windbreaker sleeve.
"Look, I didn't shamelessly roll in here with my heart in my hand to be lectured about money and how rich I should be. I don't need a financial planner, I need a father. Sorry we wasted each other's time."
Legolas reaches in his front pocket to pull out a hair tie and wears it on his wrist. He then turns around and sloppily collects his long bleached-blond hair with both hands. Once he has gathered all his hair up neatly, he reaches for the hair tie on his wrist.
This emits an odd noise that is a mixture of a squeak and a gasp. Legolas swings his head back to notice Thranduil covering his mouth, but unsuccessful with covering the twitch of his eyes.
"I don't have a crown nor a tiara, so I'd have to make do with a hair tie," Legolas says sarcastically. He does not look entertained. Thranduil is so fixated in Legolas that the flippant remark eases through his ears.
"What's that...on the back of your neck..." Thranduil asks the air between him and Legolas.
Legolas' feet are now frozen and the hands holding his hair together refuse to move. "Oh my god. Is there...a bug...on my neck?"
He could feel Thranduil move closer behind him that he feels his breath on his skin.
"Sweet jumping Jehoshaphat," Thranduil adds without really thinking. There is a scuffle and the butler is now also inches away from his neck and pretty much cheek to cheek with Thranduil. "Is that what I think it is?"
"...I'm not even going to bother asking who Jehoshaphat is," Legolas says quietly.
"The event that we assumed would never come to fruition is here, master Thranduil," the butler says mysteriously.
Legolas blows a puff of air in exasperation. "Alright. Enough of this Twilight Zone. I have reached my freak-out quota for today," he says firmly and finishes tying his hair. "I am out of here!"
"Wait. Give us a moment...master Legolas," the butler pleads with an emphasis on 'master'.
"Awesome. So what exactly am I a master of?," Legolas says with a mischievous smile.
He feels the pressure of a hand on his shoulder, preventing him to step away. He turns around to face his father and then shrugs him off.
"Legolas, are you aware of this unique mark on the back of your neck?" Thranduil inquires.
"Yes. That's my birthmark. It looks like half an anchor," he answers.
Thranduil appears like he's about to break down and turns around, lifting his ponytail up to reveal the back of his neck to Legolas.
"I have the other half to your anchor!" he exclaims with a hint of excitement. Legolas cannot believe it. This man that he thinks is nearly deranged has the exact same birthmark flipped onto the other side, located on the exact same spot on the neck as him. He wrinkles his nose and pulls away.
"...Judging on how exuberant you are, this must mean something huge to you. May I ask what it is..." Legolas trails cluelessly as he watches a kaleidoscope of emotion flutter across Thranduil's face.
"I can't believe it. After so many years, I never thought I would see you again," Thranduil is trying to be calm and composed but there is an obvious light in his eyes that speaks volumes. "...my son!" He grants Legolas a genuine grin for the first time but doesn't move to reach for him.
All the balled-up sarcasm and irritation that Legolas has been churning inside since he entered the Oropherion residence have suddenly washed away, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of being accepted and welcomed and hopefully loved by his estranged father. Before he realizes it, he is blinking back a tiny tear bordering his eye. He is tired of talking and bickering and now chooses to luxuriate in relief and resolution.
Seeing that Thranduil is not the type to initiate any kind of contact, Legolas freely leaps forward to give Thranduil a full embrace, placing his cheek on his father's shoulder with a goofy smile on his face.
"Dad!" Legolas says warmly, tightening his hug and almost shaking Thranduil back and forth.
Thranduil is close to asking to be let go from the embrace but he flushes the thought away.
"Welcome back for the first time," Thranduil whispers.
He can't help but feel joyful, something he does not usually allow himself to feel, let alone has a chance to. His days are occupied by mostly business and money matters, and the upkeep and consequence of everything that comes along with being incredibly wealthy. He has a bit of space he keeps for love, but sometimes he is not even sure himself how much he feels for his girlfriend of a few years, Galadriel.
He looks down on Legolas who is still lost in simple happiness and lifts a hand, but leaves it hanging in mid air. The butler reappears at Thranduil's hand command but quickly comprehends what is unfolding, and backs off, hiding a smile to himself.
Thranduil appears uncertain of what he wants to do next, but he lowers his hand gradually and places it on top of Legolas' head. He begins to pat him in a playful manner until he relaxes and lets out a breath he didn't know he has been holding back.
It can't be. It's the infamous bat cave. He is beyond stoked. Who knew the bat cave was in Beverly Hills all along.
Thranduil and Legolas stand back as they watch two huge doors open automatically in front of them, triggered by motion detection. From the tiny gap in between the doors, Legolas is granted a glimpse into what is concealed in the 'garage'. Thranduil basically had to drag him there. He said there was something important he needed to show him. Something as important as the mother of all presents that is too many years overdue.
Legolas is the first to step forward and he already looks like all air has sucked out of him. He manages to skirt around a Porsche and a Lamborghini without a drop of drool off of his mouth. He then tears his gaze away and scans the rest of the row of cars that seem to stretch into the next block, shaking his head.
"You have one car per day for like, a whole month. Have you even driven any of these? How do you sleep at night?"
"Maybe once or twice. It's a nice hobby, collecting these things," he pauses to point at the red Pagani Zonda sitting by itself under a string of small spotlights. "That one is my favourite."
Legolas' eyebrow shoots up at how ridiculous this man sounds. "Hundred-thousand dollar hobbies. Not all of us are so privileged..."
Thranduil ignores him and waves his hand at the expanse of the garage that looks like a car show. "Please pick one, for yourself. Leave the Pagani, it is mine."
"With a hundred thousand dollars, I can buy so many bikes," Legolas says, calculating frivolously in his head. "There will be one in every corner of my apartment!"
Thranduil smiles yet again. "Bikes did you say?"
Legolas finds himself in another 'bat cave', waiting again for magical doors to slide completely open while his father stands behind, seemingly bored. Thranduil talks away about which cars he drove to which events in Beverly Hills, be it the Oscars, the MTV awards, and plenty of large business openings he was invited to. He tells Legolas he is not very fond of bikes but he has a bit of an assortment. They both step into the second garage and Legolas' face falls slightly.
"I only have five of these. Like I said, I'm not a big bike person. Since you like them, have all of them," Thranduil offers, nonchalant. "Go give the Ducati a test ride."
Legolas takes a couple of steps forward and turns around to give Thranduil a disappointed look.
"I don't like this kind of bike," he begins, inching towards the Ducati and running a hand across its leather seat. "I prefer bicycles. Mountain bikes I could take through rough terrain. They don't pollute so it's good for..."
He reflexively springs back because Thranduil has started laughing like a maniac.
"Oh right! You are a tree-hugger. That's great, son. Better you than me," Thranduil says as he turns to head out of the garage.
"So you don't have any bicycles," Legolas suddenly turns serious, running across the room to catch up to his father.
"Legolas, do you have a license to ride a motorcycle?"
"Yes. But I stopped riding during first year college. I've been sticking to bicycles ever since."
"Listen, I will have the Ducati delivered to your apartment. In two days I'm throwing a party, because I'm bored, and it's almost New Years. Brush up on your motorbiking skills, huh?"