Thranduil stood silently inside the guesthouse beside the window, watching his son and his betrothed walk along the lantern-lit stones. He had a great many things on his mind; sometimes he found that the only way to collect all of them and see them was to stand utterly still and focus on each one at a time. From experience, Thranduil knew quite well that he would never be able to sleep with so much weighing on him. Best to address each one. The Elven King was an excellent reader, of thoughts, of people, of animals, of things, and he could see many details that others would miss.

First and foremost, his son seemed deliriously happy. He could picture in his mind the kiss Legolas had stolen from Enguina within the walls of the garden today shortly after Enguina's arrival there. He was calm, thoughtful, teasing…everything Thranduil would have expected his son to be with the woman he intended to marry, the woman he clearly loved. There was no doubt at all that Legolas loved her; it was clear in the way they moved near each other, in the way he looked at her, and furthermore, in the way he spoke of her and his eyes dazzled when he thought about her. His son was in love.

And Enguina, she was a sight to behold. The Elven woman loved his son, and she was kind, caring, and good. She was easily embarrassed, and with the faint blush that appeared on her cheeks, he could see why Legolas enjoyed teasing her. He looked forward to getting to know her more over the next few weeks, but he liked her enough already to know that she was wonderful for Legolas, she would be a perfect mother for his children, and she was as beautiful as the sunrise. Watching her steal the kiss that Legolas had invited earlier had been sweet, and there was something that welled up inside him thinking about it.

Thranduil was a reflective elf; he knew more about himself and his feelings than most, and he spent an awful lot of time in reflection. He knew very well the feeling he had been experiencing earlier, he was choosing not to admit it at the moment. So pleased for his son and his new wife, he had no right to be thinking about his own loneliness. He had been lonely for a very long time…and he had no idea why he was even still here. In fact, by all accounts it made no sense at all. Every time he was confronted by the memories, he shoved them away; like a festering sore, they continued to haunt him. There was no healing to be found; he ran from the pain and held it at bay with a seriousness, a callousness that protected his heart. He was not the man he used to be…and he hated himself for it.

Resting his brow upon the window glass with a heavy heart, he thought that tonight was not a good night for battling his demons. He was tired from many days of journeying, and though he thought that Legolas was glad he was here, there was some awkwardness between them. There always would be from that time when he had— Thranduil shook his head. No. He was not going to go there; he would not think of how he had hurt Legolas during that time. They had settled that years ago…and yet there were still unpleasant feelings there…years of hurt that could not be undone.

He lifted his head and his attention was caught by the two of them drawing to a halt upon the stones before another guesthouse. Moments ago, Legolas and Enguina had been walking, their fingers interlaced as Legolas swung their hands gently between them. Thranduil watched as his son drew her hands to his chest and she gave him a sweet smile. Then, she wrapped his hand in hers and tugged him up the steps and through the front door of the house.

When Thranduil finally blinked, he had no idea how long he had stood at the window; he had no idea how long he had been watching that front door, watching for his son to step back out the door…but he did not. Nor did Enguina. He felt uncomfortable, as though he had witnessed something he should not have. He felt as though he was prying, interfering where he did not belong, where he had not been invited. Legolas was his son…and it was just days before they would be wed…for propriety's sake…

No. He stepped back from the window. He should not interfere. Legolas was his own man, had been for hundreds of years. He could make his own choices…but a nagging voice kept eating him as he hovered around the tunic he had brought for sleep. Should those choices not be good choices? Right choices? Had he not taught his son of all appropriate behavior? Again, he forced away that voice as he finished preparing for bed. Who was he; his son was old enough to choose for himself. He had no right to get involved. No right at all.

But the nagging voice kept on Thranduil long into the night.

"What's taking you so long, laddie?" Gimli grumbled.

The dwarf was seated in a chair not far from the front door of the tailor's shop on the third level. To Gimli, it seemed an awful long way to travel simply to fit a tunic for a wedding, even if it was a wedding. He was growing exceedingly grumpy as the hour drew on, especially when the young woman tried to get him to try on some finery. Gimli had to draw the line somewhere; he had plenty of nice things to wear, and he was not about to purchase something else.

"Well," replied Legolas from behind the hanging fabric not five meters from where the dwarf sat, "it has to look nice, does it not? You would not want Enguina to be beautiful and me to be—"

"You're beautiful enough!" Gimli chuckled. "Why don't you just wear your famous fellowship garb and be done with it!"

"I am not getting married in my traveling tunic and leggings," Legolas replied. "Honestly, Gimli, would you?"

"I'd have to find a lass first," he replied with a humpf, "and I'm pretty sure I don't have time for that right now. Besides, I wouldn't have time for my own wedding with you two around." Gimli paused a moment and then looked back to the curtain. "So, I've yet to see the Elven King. Where was he off to today, and why'd I miss him at breakfast? Who'd miss Arwen's sausages?"

Legolas smiled to himself as he eyed the tunic he was fitting. "Perhaps he did not know about Arwen's sausages. At any rate, after you left the King's House, Arwen offered to visit with him while we were busy here. She is very helpful."

Gimli grinned slyly. "Were you just trying to weasel your way out of spending time with your father, Legolas?"

"I most certainly was not."

"And where is Enguina? How did you manage to get rid of her?"

"Flowers. She and Éowyn are taking Annî to the church this morning."

"Éowyn is feeling better? Finally?" Gimli asked, surprised. "I thought she was supposed to be resting. Wasn't Faramir all sorts of worried about her this morning?"

"You are right, Gimli. But I think she is beginning to feel restless, and Enguina really did need help this morning." He shook his head. "She has not been sleeping well."

"It would be nice if ye'd come home once in a while," Gimli said gruffly. "Or are you going to spend every night there until the wedding?"

There was silence for a moment, and then Legolas poked his head out between the fabrics of the curtains. "Gimli, was that a serious question?"

"I suppose it wasn't, miserable elf!" Gimli shook his head. "Are you telling me that she wouldn't feel better if you weren't there? I mean, after everything that's happened—"

"That is why I remain," Legolas replied, and he tugged aside the curtains. "Well? What are your thoughts, my friend?"

Gimli stared at him. The tunic was silvery blue, a beautiful color that brought out the elf's eyes and shimmered when he moved. The dwarf had never seen anything like its color, and he sat transfixed by it for a moment. The elf turned, then turned back and frowned at him as he continued to sit there.

"Gimli…" he prompted. When the dwarf still did not respond, Legolas frowned deeply. "You do not like it. Is it the color? Does it not look right? I want Guin to like I, but if you do not than perhaps—"

"On the contrary," he mumbled, "I think your biggest worry at the wedding is going to be that you might be prettier than the bride!"

"Annî, give that here, please!"

From afar, Thranduil watched Enguina and Éowyn hang the flowers, Annî running around at their feet as she nearly floated from one end of the string to another, scooping up dropped flowers or misplaced stems, or anything else that she could snatch for the 'Wilderness Stew.' Arwen smiled as she heard Éowyn complain about Faramir and how she wished that he had not taught their daughter to make such silliness. Enguina laughed at her and Éowyn shook her head, explaining that things were going missing around the house and ending up in some sort of nasty stew Annî had been randomly making outside. Thranduil smiled.

Arwen did, too, as she took the flower Thranduil offered her, slipped the needle through it and began stringing it along. They were not real flowers; they could not be this early. The final stage of preparation would be the day before, and it would not include Enguina, Arwen, or Éowyn as they would have other things to prepare. These had been made of some sort of silk by several ladies under Arwen's instruction during the past month. They had been a pleasant surprise for Enguina who thought they were simply beautiful and had shed tears over them, much to Éowyn's delight.

"It was kind of you to offer to help today, Thranduil," Arwen said to him, quietly enough to keep the conversation between them.

"For a long time now, I have had a wonderful passion for flowers," he replied. "I was more than happy to assist you. It appears that you need all of the help you can get, it being only the three of you. Where are Legolas and Gimli today?"

She smiled. "Hiding as far away from flowers as they possibly can. And I think Legolas has been trying to plot against Enguina before the wedding so he wanted a few moments alone to think." She smiled. "They are a bit inseparable, if you have not noticed."

"I noticed," he murmured, thinking of the past evening.

"I also think he was to have a final fitting himself today, so he would not wish Enguina to see him. So she is here, and he is there."

He sighed. "He should have invited me; I would like to have been there for that." Arwen smiled as she watched Thranduil become distracted by Annî again near the front of the church. "He is my only child…and he is finally getting married. You only…do these things once, you know."

Arwen watched him, listened to the sound of his voice and heard the sound of utter loneliness. She knew why; she knew the story of Glosvana and what had happened to her, how her death had nearly torn their family apart, and what her death had done to Thranduil. She knew that there must be times that he wished she was with him still…or that he was with her, dead, gone…at peace instead of aching with longing for her. It was how she would feel when she would lose Aragorn; but unlike Thranduil, no amount of help or prayers or peace would comfort her. Death would find her quickly.

"Yes," she agreed. "He has found his soul mate; I am very glad for both of them."

"You have known Enguina long Legolas said."

"Yes, she and I have been close almost as long as I have known Legolas himself and you. Strange that I never had the thought to introduce them before."

"There was never much opportunity before." Thranduil handed her another flower. "Our kin does not make the time to get together, and now we never will as there are so few of us left. But Enguina makes a good first and second impression," he added with a smile. "I like her."

Arwen grinned. "She would be happy to hear you approve. Legolas has been telling her that you are difficult to impress."

"She does not need to impress me. I do not…generally question Legolas's judgment. I would never say whether he was making the right decision unless he were to ask me. They have my blessing; they are very much in love." He thought about last night and watching the two of them enter her home together—was it really that much of a…yes, it was. He would have no choice but to address it with his son later. But that was not a conversation he needed to have with Arwen.

"Enguina has been dying to meet you; she is very glad you are here. We all are, Thranduil."

Thranduil knew she meant it. "Thank you. It…is good for me to pull my head from my own concerns and spend time worrying about others. It is good to leave Eryn Lasgalen."

He was lonely; she knew that. She could see it in his face and hear it within his voice. She was about to reach out and cover his hand with her own to comfort him, but then she noticed his eyes were focused on Annî again, watching her mime drinking tea with her doll.

"How long has it been since you saw a child?" she asked him and Thranduil shook his head.

"Longer than I care to remember, Evenstar."

"Annî is a very sweet little girl; I enjoy spending time with her."

"She calls you Tiriel. Such a title is not given lightly."

Arwen smiled and watched her, too. "She does not know what it means yet, but perhaps she will. She loves without thought, tries to share everything…she is a little darling."

Thranduil smiled. "And Éowyn has another on the way."

"Éowyn thinks it is another girl," she said softly, "but the midwives in the Houses tell her they think it will be a boy because she is carrying low and has struggled with her pregnancy. I do not think any of that matters to Faramir; he only wants them both healthy."

Thranduil looked sideways at her, trying to hide that he was looking. A good reader, he could clearly tell that Arwen was staring at the child quite wistfully. Of course, she and Aragorn had no children yet; he should have noticed that for what it was, but he had not. "What father would not?" he agreed. "Lord Faramir is right to yearn for that…it is all that matters, and he is a very lucky man to have a child and one on the way."

There was silence between them for a moment and though he reached to hand Arwen another flower, she was studying her nails quite diligently. He tried to put the flower anywhere in her line of vision, but he could not. Instead, he said her name gently to get her attention. He assumed she would startle, but she did not; instead she continued to study her hands.

"Thranduil, may I ask you something?" she said softly, and he stopped what he was doing at the seriousness within her voice.

"Yes."

She looked up and there was sadness in her eyes that he could understand; he may not have known why she was sad, but he could understand deep sadness. "It may be too personal."

"Ask, Evenstar."

"Legolas was your only child…"

"That is not a question, but yes, that is true," he replied. "Legolas was a wonderful child, but childbirth was very difficult and…we agreed that we would only have one."

She nodded slowly. "Did…" Her fingers pressed around the edges of the flower. "Did it take…were you married for some time before…?" She could not figure out how to ask him what she wanted to ask him.

"Yes," he said softly. "We were married for some time." He did not wish to address how many years they had pleaded and prayed and tried to have a child. No matter how long of a time Aragorn and Arwen had, it would not be enough if it took as long as it had for Legolas. "Do not worry, my dear," he told her gently. "You will have a child."

He watched as she bit down on her lip—hard. She stood almost immediately thereafter. "I need to take a walk," she whispered. "Thranduil, will you walk with me a moment?"

"Of course," he said abruptly. She headed for the door and he turned as he stood. "Enguina," he called softly, and both Enguina and Éowyn turned their heads.

"What is it, Thranduil?" Her eye caught a glimpse of Arwen's face as she was walking out the side door of the church and Enguina looked back at him, now worried as she got to her feet. "Is something wrong? Is she all right?"

"Fine," he replied. "I just wanted to let you know we were going outside for a moment of fresh air." Thranduil gave her a reassuring smile and even though she did not believe him for a moment, she smiled back.

"Do not be gone long. Éowyn and I still need your help." Thranduil glanced over at the other woman and she grinned at him, too.

"Yes, my Lord, we do need your assistance!" she laughed as Annî ran in circles around her.

He smiled back. "Thranduil, and yes, I can see that you have your hands full. We will not be a moment." He turned and headed toward the side door, too, knowing full well that Enguina's eyes were on him the entire time.

When he arrived, Arwen was leaning heavily against the stone wall, staring off the fifth level, watching gulls flying towards Rammas Echor. Her hands were curled over the stones of the wall, and Thranduil came to her side and rested his hand over one of hers.

"What is the matter, my dear?" he asked softly, and when she did not reply immediately, he assumed what she was upset about. "You and Aragorn have not been wed for very long; I am sure it is simply taking more time for you to have a child. I know you understand that it is difficult for our race to bear children, and I know you must feel as though you do not have much time. I understand. Is that what has upset you?"

"Yes," she whispered, "and no." Lowering her head, she could not look him in the eye. "Thranduil, I…I was with child…not five months ago." He stared at her in shock. "We had a son and I…I…" She could never say the word 'miscarried;' she had never been able to say it, and she did not know if she ever would. "He is gone; I was poisoned, and I lost him, Thranduil."

There was so much pain in her voice that he yearned to take her in his arms, yet she was clearly trying to hold herself together. Doing anything more than touching her hand would probably cause her more harm than good. "It is not your fault," he said gently. "You were poisoned; there was nothing you could have done. You did not lose the child."

"Sometimes I…I cannot do anything but blame myself," she whispered, and he saw a tear spill down her face. "I have…I have been told by both Healers and some citizens, in no uncertain terms, that it is impossible to become pregnant again. Thranduil, I feel so lost. I am so sorry to…my father is no longer here and I have no one to speak to of our race." His hand tightened on hers and she turned to look at him, her eyes full of agony and tears. "Am I barren?" she asked in a horrified whisper. "Will I never be able to bear Aragorn a son?"

He reached out and took her shoulder. "Arwen, sometimes it takes many years for one in our race to have a child, as you well know, but you are not barren," he told her gently. "A miscarriage, though painful, does not mean you will never have a child again. There have been several cases of this in the Greenwood, and though all of them were natural causes of miscarriage and not because they were poisoned, all except one eventually had children."

She looked at him and her expression did not appear relieved. "Except one," she repeated, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. She would be that one.

He released her hand and cupped his hands around her face. "Do not do that. Everything is going to be fine. Though you are an elf, and childbearing is very difficult, you must be patient. I understand your worries, your fears…Aragorn is mortal, and neither of you will live forever. You must wait for Ilúvatar's time; if he gave you a child, he will give you one again."

"I am…I am so afraid," she said. "I try to have Aragorn's faith, but it is difficult when sometimes I cannot even breathe from the pain of it. Sometimes I live moment by moment, trying to trust in Ilúvatar's time. It is so hard. And the time…we have no time, Thranduil."

"Seven years is a short time, Arwen," he reminded her, even while seeing the worry in her eyes. "You must trust that Ilúvatar is going to give you time."

"I am trying…" she whispered. "I do trust him; I try not to worry about tomorrow. There are moments when everything is fine, when I am not thinking about it and I can breathe normally…and then…"

"I…know… Even as encouraging as I am being," he told her gently, releasing her face and resting his hands upon her shoulders, "there is something else I should say. Though there is nothing that says a woman cannot conceive after such an event, you have to understand that it might be…more difficult." Tears pricked her eyes at his words; he knew those were the words she had been praying not to hear.

"I know, and it is hard enough."

"Complications during child birth are often extreme for our race." He sighed. "It is one of the reasons why I only had one son. I could not bear it again." He frowned painfully as he cut himself off. "It is difficult to think of, even now."

"I am so sorry," she whispered, "I did not mean to make you think of her, but I…sometimes the pain of the loss is so staggering. Sometimes I dream about him and I…the grief is so terrible, I do not know how I am still breathing." Her eyes closed. "Aragorn holds me, and it helps to have him near, to comfort me, to remind me to rely on Ilúvatar for strength. How can I…is there any way to…will the wound ever heal, Thranduil? Even a little?"

He looked at her so sadly. "I do not know if you want to ask me that question."

She swallowed and looked down. "I do mean to ask you. My father was able to accept that Celebrian was gone, but she was—"

"Not gone," he agreed, knowing the next words were going to cost him greatly. "Elrond knew that someday, he would see her again. That was one of the reasons he was so upset that you would not ever journey to the Undying Lands. You he would never see again." He sighed, knowing the next words were going to cost him greatly. "Arwen, there are times I do not even know why I am here, how I am here. I watch the sunrise, and I watch it set, and some days I can sit and experience it with peace and some days…I have wept." He shook his head slowly. "I should answer your question. The wound will heal a little, but there will be times when it will ache as though it just happened. When we experience things, they do not fade as quickly as the race of men. That is our curse in times of despair."

"I am so sorry, Thranduil," she whispered, and looked down. He bumped her chin up with his fingers.

"You are young, Evenstar," he said kindly, "and I am old; some at one time may even have said wise, though I might question how much wine they may have consumed at the time. You were not wrong to ask me. I have tried everything to accept the loss; I do not know if there is a way. I will, however, as the old are charged to do, give you advice, though I have all of your father's age and none of his foresight or apprehension. You must allow Aragorn to keep you in the light; that is first and always foremost."

She tried to smile. "No, Father would never have said that."

"And second, remember that dreams only last for a little while," he said, lowering his voice, thinking about his own. "And no matter how awful and painful that dream is…you can always wake up; you can always retreat into reality." He smiled humorlessly at her. "At least, that is what I tell myself, and there Aragorn will be waiting for you. Ilúvatar brought the two of you together for a reason." He stroked her cheek. "He would not have taken the Evenstar from her people for nothing, now would he? No, he would not. Everything he does has a purpose."

"Though we may never understand," she whispered.

"No, we will not," he agreed.

In another moment, she had slipped between his arms and had hugged him close, and he held her as well. She released him and looked up into his face, "Thank you. For your encouragement and your advice, even though you did not wish to think about the past."

"I try hard not to live in it," he told her, "but it is difficult sometimes. You have much to live for yet; things will get better. I know it is challenging, but give it a bit more time." He gave her a smile. "Shall we finish some flower strings before our companions wonder what became of us?"

The two of them reentered the church then, and Annî came running straight to up to them, leaping into Arwen's arms and shouting.

"Where were you, Tiriel? I was waiting for ages!"

Éowyn had been feeling well enough tonight that she and Enguina had cooked dinner together. The food had been exceptional and compliments came from every corner of the table for the two of them. It so happened that when dinner had ended and the parties were heading home for the evening that Thranduil and Legolas found themselves outside with Enguina walking between them. Suddenly, her hand shot up to her forehead.

"I almost forgot!" she exclaimed as she came to a dead halt. "I have to go back in the King's House. I have to talk with Arwen for a moment."

Legolas tilted his head suspiciously at her. "Why?"

"Because."

Both men were silent, but Thranduil raised his eyebrows. "You were with her all day."

"I just remembered," she confessed honestly. "Seriously, I will be right back."

"Why do we not just all go back—" Legolas began, taking a step after her.

She planted a hand in the center of his chest. "No…this is a secret! You will spoil it if you come inside with me. Stay here with your father."

Legolas's eyebrows popped up. "Now I am definitely coming inside."

"Legolas," she groaned as she turned back from the stairs, but Thranduil caught his arm.

"He is going to stay out here, Enguina; never fear," Thranduil said. When he received a look from Legolas, his father shrugged. "You would not want to ruin your own surprise, would you?"

"Definitely." He gave her a wicked grin over his father's arm. "I shall weasel it out of you later," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

She blushed furiously as Thranduil laughed and pulled him away as Enguina hurried across the porch and inside. "Come," he said, tugging him. "Leave some things to mystery. Where will your excitement in life come from? Furthermore, we can talk until she comes back out."

Legolas appeared intrigued. "What is it?"

"It is a difficult subject, but I must ask." He cleared his throat. "Why did you not tell me that Aragorn and Arwen had lost a child?"

Legolas tilted his head and then shook it. "I…never would have thought to tell you. I do not think it was my story to tell."

"It would have saved me a few moments of, what shall I call it, awkwardness with her this afternoon. I walked right into it, and I could not ask her to explain what had happened." He frowned at Legolas. "She was poisoned?"

He nodded. "It is a bit of a long story, but one name will answer all the questions. You cannot have forgotten Calendur."

There was such a fire lit in Thranduil's eyes that Legolas had to take a step back. "That fiend? Returned?" Thranduil snarled, his voice low and cold as the wind through Caradhras. "I hope to Ilúvatar that he is dead or I swear by the blood of every elf he killed during his revolution—"

"He is dead, Adar," Legolas said. "Gimli saw to that. Calendur's plan was fairly simple. His goal was to destroy the heart of Gondor, the Queen and her child. Relying on stealth instead of strength, he drew away the people who he knew would stand in his way. They took Enguina and rode off toward the land of Mordor, pulling Aragorn, Gimli, and myself away from Minas Tirith. Calendur's brother attacked while we were away and poisoned Arwen. Sadly, no one knew of the poisoning until it was already too late; Arwen miscarried the child and was near death when Aragorn finally arrived home. She has struggled to recover."

"That is why she seems so different to me," Thranduil said a bit more softly, though anger was evident in him. "I wish I had killed Calendur when I had the chance; I wish I had been able to find him."

"You could not have found him," he reminded him. "Calendur's ambush almost cost you your life, Adar." He shook his head. "It was my responsibility to hunt him down, and we were unable to find him. We searched for so long…"

"I remember." Thranduil let out a breath and with it, most of his anger. "Enguina, was she all right? To be with Calendur for even a short period of time must have been terrifying."

"She was quite ill when we found her," he whispered, "and had been wounded by him. I was afraid that she would not recover, but she is…stronger than I knew. Aragorn was able to heal her, but there are…some things that we never fully recover from." Thranduil eyed him and then looked down, thinking. Legolas tilted his head. "What is it, Adar? You are…contemplating something very hard."

"I am unsure how to…discuss the subject with you."

Legolas stared at him. "Unsure—? What is this about?"

"You are going to become defensive," he said softly, and he watched his son's eyes harden. "You have every right to make your own choices, Legolas. I...but I would be remiss if I were not to say something to you." He sighed. "Yes, something must be said."

"Say it then," he demanded. Thranduil easily knew there was no point in saying another word; his son was headstrong. Criticism in any form was hardly his strong suit, but he was Legolas's father. How could he let this go? Legolas, on the other hand, had been thinking the entire time that this moment was going to come—a moment when he would have to defend Enguina to his father. He assumed that his father would find something to disapprove of, and here it was. Thranduil could practically see him preparing for the fight.

He sighed. "Legolas, I am your father," he said, far more gently than he had been speaking, "and as your father, there are certain things that I taught you since you were a child that…I believe were important lessons. You have lived for many years, and you have made many choices, mostly good, and have grown into a man that, many times over, I have wished I was." He looked down and then back into to Legolas's eyes. "Which is why I must tell you that while the choices you make are your own, and you are certainly old enough and mature enough to make them, taking this sweet girl to your bed, to be your lover, without being in wedlock is…not proper behavior for someone who knows better, who is close to the One, and has believed that same statute their entire life."

Legolas's face flushed red and he stared at his father. "What in the name of Morgoth are you talking about?"

"I noticed you and Enguina last evening; I could not help but watch you, and I saw you both enter your home and…not come out until daybreak." He shook his head. "It is but a little over a week until you are wed. Could you not wait just a little while longer? I am sorry, Legolas, but this I cannot approve of. You should be waiting to share yourself with this woman on your wedding night, or you should start doing so now; it is what is right."

The admonition, no matter how untrue it was, how absurd it seemed, and no matter how kindly it had been said, infuriated Legolas. "How dare you tell me what is appropriate, what is proper," he very nearly snarled. "You have no idea what is happening here! You base your conclusions on something you think you saw—"

"Perhaps you are right," he said gently. "Perhaps I should not have assumed you were lying with her. But I saw the two of you together late at night. Even if you were not taking her to your bed, for her to spend the night in your home, for you to stay with her at night, is still not a suitable way to behave. It is not something a gentleman should be—"

"Do not judge me," he snapped.

"Legolas, calm down," Thranduil said. "You would never have brought a woman to your bed—"

"And I have not yet!" he cried angrily. "You do not understand what your eyes are telling your mind you think that you see! It was not even my bed; it was hers." His blood was boiling; he was so angry he could hardly think straight. "I am spending the night with—no. No. Why in the world do I need to explain myself to you? You do not understand, and you never will. You have no idea what is happening, and no right to tell me what I should or should not be doing. This is exactly…this is exactly what happened with Tauriel, and I did not feel for her half of what I am feeling now for Enguina."

His son turned away and Thranduil stepped immediately up beside him. "Do not bring her into this; Tauriel was like my child and you were my son. To have made a life with her was…would have been unfair to both of you. Legolas, can you not explain to me and I will understand? Can you not even try?" he asked reasonably. "Please, do not turn aside; talk to me."

The last thing Legolas wanted to do was to be reasonable. "Always, you are overreacting. Seeing things were there is nothing! Or judging someone where there was no reason to assume guilt! Sometimes, it is as though you do not even know me!"

"Legolas, I do try to understand," he insisted. "I am sorry that I leapt to that conclusion; I did not mean to assume the worst, and I was not attempting to judge you. I know what you believe, and I was surprised that you would make such a choice. If you only did not overreact, it would not be like this."

"I am overreacting?" he snorted.

"If you only explained—"

"Why should I explain anything? You would not understand anyway," he grumbled, glaring at his father. "Mother always said we were too much alike; that was why we could never get along."

Unfathomable pain crossed Thranduil's face, and for half-a-moment, Legolas regretted bringing up his mother. "Do not…do not mention your mother when we are having a conversation like this."

Legolas crossed his arms. "You mean when we are arguing? It does not matter when I bring her up; we could be sitting outside around a fire or having dinner or arguing as we are now. You never want to talk about her." He suddenly laughed and threw a hand into the air. "It is an excellent way to get out of a conversation with you, though. Just mention mother and you run."

Behind him, Enguina appeared on the porch of the King's House and stopped when she noticed Legolas's hostile posture. Thranduil shook his head but did not notice Enguina. "Legolas, I am so sorry…I cannot—"

"You have never been able to," he continued. "All these years have passed and we have never talked about what happened; what you did." Thranduil remained silent, his eyes closed as Legolas glared at him. "You are going to say nothing?"

"Now is not the time—" Thranduil began in his most reasonable voice, but Legolas was not hearing it. He knew that voice and he was not going to let him get away with it, not with him.

"You will always say that and things will always remain the same."

Thranduil's eyes popped open and he stared evenly at his son. "You always tell me that I do not understand you, that I judge you. Perhaps part of the problem is that you have a very difficult time understanding me."

"You never wanted me to," Legolas stated clearly, staring back at his father. "You never even tried to explain; not once. Whenever I tried to speak with you, to understand, you always ran the other way. After mother died—"

"Legolas, please…"

"—you retreated from the world. You ran away and hid from everyone, including me, in a moment when I truly needed my father." Legolas gave him a hard look. "You forgot that I lost her too, that I was also in pain. And then, when you did come back, you were never the same."

"I am more sorry than I can say," Thranduil whispered, "and you may never, ever be able to forgive me…and no one would blame you. But I cannot do this now."

He nodded, his face very serious. "Of course not."

"Do not do that, Legolas," he stated, finally getting a bit riled himself. "Offer me some respect. You have…you have no idea what sort of pain…what kind of existence it is to live…to be…" He shook his head, and Legolas turned away to see Enguina standing at the top of the stair, hand on the railing, simply watching their exchange.

Legolas did not appear at all embarrassed that she had heard his conversation, but she was embarrassed she had. He looked up at her and extended his hand; she did not know what else to do but take it. He was angry; she could feel it in the grip of his hand, but she did not need to fear him. His quarrel, his irritation, was clearly not with her. She looked into his face as she stepped down beside him.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, and though she glanced over towards Thranduil, he did not look up, nor did he attempt to engage them in conversation.

"Fine," he stated, his tone clipped. "It is late. Are you ready to go?"

She nodded, and he began to lead her away with him, heading towards her guesthouse. There was no way she could pass Thranduil without saying something, and as Legolas had said everything was fine though she knew very well it was not, she invited him to walk with them. "Are you going to walk with us, Thranduil?" she asked softly, but he shook his head.

"Good evening, Enguina," he replied, and she followed Legolas. He could not pretend things were all right between them; Legolas was angry, and Thranduil supposed he had every right to be. He straightened, setting his shoulders and clasping his hands behind his back. He closed his eyes and simply stood in the moonlight.

"Thranduil," called Arwen's soft voice from the bottom of the stairs to the King's House, and he turned his head to see her standing there, Aragorn at the top of the steps, leaning against the porch. "Would you like to sit with us for a while? We would welcome the company."

He smiled sadly at her. "I am afraid, my dear, that I would be poor company at the moment. My little brawl with my son has left me…tired. Forgive me." He bowed his head.

"There is much on your mind," Aragorn said gently, and Thranduil nodded.

"But nothing that I would be willing to discuss."

Arwen frowned. "I wish there was something we could do."

"Nothing changes the past, my dear," he told her gently. "But do not worry; we will sort ourselves before the wedding. Good night, both of you." And with those words, he walked away silently into the night.

Arwen watched him go and then climbed the steps to stand at Aragorn's side, leaning her head upon his shoulder. "It upsets me to see him so…sad, so lonely. He is so…changed," she said sadly as she felt Aragorn rest his head upon hers. "If you had only known him before, you would see it as clearly as I have."

"Despair, grief," Aragorn said gently, "these wounds never truly heal. Thranduil has never found a way to live with the grief; he survives instead."

"He has no idea why he is still here," Arwen sighed. "Sometimes I still wonder whether I am living or surviving."

"We are living, my love. Living." He kissed her forehead and slipped his arms around her as she laid her head against his chest. He sighed as he then laid his head upon hers and dragged his fingers lazily through her hair. "How do you want to spend the rest of this evening?"

"Read to me tonight?" she whispered softly, and he smiled.

"Of course," he replied. "Come inside, beloved."