A.N.: Just a short Sunday gift for you all.
The elves talk in Sindarin. No need to indicate it along the chapter, they won't interact with any non-elf right now.
=^.^=
Thranduil lifted his gaze from the report he was reading to answer the soft knock on the door.
"You might come in."
None would be stupid enough to interrupt him while in his studio if it weren't important or pre-scheduled. Actually, pre-scheduled meetings tended to be held in the throne room on the Council room, so important it was bound to be.
"My king."
"Gathrod." He acknowledged the presence of the ward, a tacit allowance for him to speak.
"A hunter asks for permission to report a finding, my king."
"A finding?"
"It's about the prince, my king."
"Bring him in!"
Thranduil wasn't easily disturbed. This was not the first time Legolas granted him headaches, but there was something unsettling this time and he couldn't figure out why.
He didn't have time to dwell on his dark foreboding, if foreboding it was. Gathrod came back, the hunter in tow, a young Silvan in day-to-day guise, visibly nervous.
"Thranduil king." The lad greeted, hand on heart and a deep bow.
"Welcome in. What may we call you?"
"Berion, son of Lenwë, my king."
Son of Lenwë. So many Silvan were named after the first leader of the Silvan that it was close to impossible to know to which Lenwë it pointed. Thranduil shrugged mentally and proceeded his inquiry.
"And what news you came to report, Berion son of Lenwë?"
The lad wet his lips and began to talk, almost stuttering. Most probably, never had occasion to talk to the king in person.
"I was hunting some days east of here, my king, to provide for the coming winter and…"
"We're sure this level of detail isn't necessary; please sum up."
Berion stumbled over what he was saying and did his best to go straight to the point. His king's impatience was well known amongst his subjects.
"Yes, my king. I found the remains of a dead horse, visibly eaten by some beast. The horseshoes were of our making, so I searched for any trace of our people, to figure out to whom the horse belonged, my king, to find out the owner's fate."
Thranduil's apprehension grew by the second at Berion's report. East from the palace, the shorter way to Erebor, even if not the safer one, and he knew Legolas had left on horse. The lad fumbled with his satchel and brought out a twenty-four inches long thin object, wrapped in a piece of cloth, and presented it to the king.
With trembling hands, he accepted the ominous package. Thranduil almost didn't need to unwrap it to know what the content was, as acquainted as he was with its weight and shape. It couldn't be any other way, as he used it for many a century before giving it away as a gift. The piece of cloth fell down from it anyway, revealing what he dreaded.
It was one of Legolas' fighting knives.