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Chapter Text

Thick pillars cast shadows across the floor of the throne room, perfectly concealing the lithe figure of a young elf. Hidden in their shade, Legolas tucked a strand of white-blonde hair behind his ear as he watched the three Elven noblemen speak with the King of Mirkwood.

"The Misty Mountain has come under the possession of dwarves, Majesty," said one.

Thranduil, the elf-king, shifted in his seat. "And what ruler do they answer to?"

"Their king is named Thror, styled King Under the Mountain. A most mighty warrior, or so his envoys say."

"And what does he want?"

Legolas watched the three elves glance at each other.

"Nothing, sire. Nothing yet. We only thought it wise to inform you of his presence."

Thranduil nodded curtly. "Very well. In three days we shall leave for the Mountain and pay our respect to this...new king." He cocked his head. "Is that all?"

"That is all for now."

"Then leave."

They left; gliding across the smooth stone floor like a water strider through the surface of a pond. Legolas watched them go. The large doors shut behind them; now he was alone with the king. His father.

Thranduil looked up. "Legolas."

His son peered out from behind the pillar, expecting perhaps a sharp reprimand or an order to go. But instead Thranduil said "Come here."

Legolas came, approaching the foot of the throne cautiously. So seldom was he ever alone with his father, and especially never here, in the throne room, where the king ruled from his seat and where all the action happened. Thranduil looked down at him; Legolas looked up.

"Have you finished your studies?"

"Yes, father."

"And rather than play in the gardens, you came here?"

"I wanted to see if there was anything exciting going to happen," the prince said in a small voice.

Thranduil said nothing. He just regarded the boy with a sardonic expression.

Finally the king scooted over just a little bit on the throne, leaving a space next to him. "Sit over here."

Legolas' eyes widened. This was a new development. Almost as far back as he could remember there was always one unspoken rule: nobody sits on ada's chair.

Except for Ada.

Thranduil raised his magnificent eyebrows at his son, and Legolas scrambled in next to him. He got settled, folding his hands in an effort to stay still.

Silence descended on the throne room. Legolas shifted, realizing that, surrounded by all these tacky antlers, he was not completely comfortable.

"You had better get used to this seat, my son," Thranduil said, "For one day, it will be yours."

Legolas only nodded.

But something told him this seat wasn't really where he belonged.

Chapter Text

Legolas sat at the dining table, swinging his legs back and forth. His father paced nearby.

"When will Nana be home?" the prince asked.

"It should be any minute now," Thranduil said tersely.

Legolas' mother Itaril was the queen of the woodland realm, but she had been the Commander of the Elven Guard for far longer than that, and still led her elf-scouts to secure the borders of the kingdom from fast-growing numbers of Orcs and other evils. She took her job very seriously. In fact, it was second only to looking after her son.

At long last the door swung open, admitting an upright and beautiful Elf woman with raven-dark hair and clad in green armor.

"Bennig*," she sighed, "I'm home."

"Nana!" exclaimed Legolas, running to her. At once the queen's tried face lit up in a smile, and she lifted her son into her arms.

"Hello, my little leaf," she said, kissing his cheek. Legolas wrapped his arms around his mother's neck and put his face in her hair. Although most elves let their locks grow long and straight, the Queen kept hers short and choppy. A practical look and a far cry from her husband's radiant tresses.

Thranduil took her hand. "You're late." He paused, then added, with more concern, "You look terrible."*

"There were many orcs," she said sadly, carrying their child to the dinner table. "I lost many fighters tonight." The family seated themselves to fruit and vegetables and clear spring water.

Thranduil made a noise of frustration. "Again? We can't keep losing people like this. Our kin were not meant to die like flies, like mortals--"

Queen Itaril raised her spoon. "That's racist. And, Thranduil--"

"-- I told you, Itaril, do not lead the Guard too far outside our territory!"

"Thranduil--"

"Your task is to defend, not go hunting for trouble where it springs from, provoking further death and violence..."

"Thranduil," said Itaril impatiently. "Saindis and Cúmen were killed by orcs."

Thranduil paused. "Both of them?" Itaril nodded.

The king exhaled bitterly. "They were the last of their family line."

"I know, and though they took this mission willingly I cannot help but think I am to blame," Itaril said sadly. "But their line does not end yet. They have a child. A daughter."

"And this matters, why?" Thranduil said indifferently.

"Because she has no-one left. The rest of their family have departed Westward long ago." Itaril looked her husband in the eyes. "Cúmen died in front of me. Before he departed he begged me to look after his little girl. He made me promise. This I must do, Thranduil."

"In short, we now have to take care of a child that is not even ours," Thranduil said flatly.

"That is exactly what I mean to say."

"You mean I would have a sister, Nana?" Legolas piped up.

"Not a sister," the king interjected. "If we take in this girl, she will be nothing more than an honored guest, on an extended visit, living under our protection. But bear in mind that she is not our daughter. Those are my terms, Itaril."

His wife opened her mouth as if to say something else, but closed it and nodded.

"Yes, my king."

"Very well," Thranduil said. Silence descended on the dining table.

Legolas at last tugged on his mother's sleeve. "What is the girl's name?"

Itaril smiled. "I believe he said her name was Tauriel."

Chapter Text

Tauriel came to live the royal family, but her presence didn't change much. That was exactly the way Thranduil wanted it. The last thing he needed was for some unseen variable to throw everything out of left field when it was all going so well. At least, relatively well.

Still, he was the king, and he had a duty to this wretched little orphan whose parents had been killed (on a mission led by his wife, no less.) And while he would absolutely not treat her equally to his son, the prince, he could still give her the essentials.

An education, for example.

"Is this wise?" Itaril said uneasily as they watched the pair handle a training bow and arrow each, supervised by one of the Elven scouts.

Thranduil shrugged gracefully. "How old were you when you first learned to shoot?"

"Fair point."

Tauriel had nocked her arrow successfully. Their instructor corrected her stance.

"She's a natural!" exclaimed Itaril. Thranduil snorted. He fixed his eyes on his son.

The young elves now took aim. Tauriel drew back on the string, released, and the arrow bounced on the ground. Legolas' arrow fell out before he could even draw.

"Aï," said Thranduil dryly. Itaril shot him a look.

"You could be more supportive toward your son, Thranduil."

Legolas picked up the arrow and tried again. This time he managed to do better, but the arrow fell short several yards. Tauriel's landed farther.

"Better!" called Itaril encouragingly. Tauriel blushed.

Legolas went red, too. He didn't want to be upstaged in front of his parents. In front of his father. Thranduil's grey eyes were riveted on him from underneath his unparalleled eyebrows and their message was clear: Do the thing, my son. Do. The. Thing.

He nocked the arrow, focused at the targets, drew and released.

Both bow and arrow flopped out of his hands and clattered to the floor.

"Hm," Thranduil said. "Watch the children, my love. I have important business to attend to..."

Months passed. Tauriel and Legolas trained every day. If you were to ask Itaril, she'd say they were definitely getting better. If you were to ask Thranduil?

"My son has no future in archery."

"Oh for Valar's sake," said Itaril. "He's just beginning, Thranduil, what do you expect?"

"Well, when compared to Tauriel?"

Already, the young red-headed elf had pierced several targets, and was close to making her first bull's-eye. Whereas Legolas was lucky if his arrow even got close to the target. One time, it nearly killed a scout high up in a tree. Another time, it got caught in the antlers of Thranduil's elk.

The king was not amused.

"I think my ada is disappointed in me," Legolas told Tauriel one afternoon.

"Why do you say that?" she queried.

"Well, I can't shoot an arrow to save my life..."

Tauriel laughed. "Ah, not yet. But give it time, Legolas, and I think you will be one of the greatest archers the wood will ever see."

"Truly?" He was surprised when Tauriel put an arm around him, laying her head on his shoulder.

"One day," she declared, "you will be good enough to save not only your life, but all those in Middle-Earth as well."

He chuckled. "And when is that ever going to happen?"

"You never know." Tauriel looked up at the bright day sky. "The world is big beyond the woods, and full of surprises." Her words, and the promise of adventure, sent Legolas' heart racing excitedly.

"And one day...we're going to see all of it," he said brashly. "Let's swear an oath, Tauriel. When we're grown, we're going to travel all over Middle-Earth together, and nobody-- not even Ada-- is going to stop us."

"Aï!" exclaimed Tauriel. "I will hold you to your word, my prince." She grinned at him mischievously. "But first, we work on your archery skills, yes?"

Her smile made Legolas smile. "Yes. All right."

Thranduil may have said that Tauriel was not to be his sister. But he never said anything about her being his friend.

Chapter Text

I was not built for a throne, Itaril thought, as she slashed through the giant spider's underbelly and sent it toppling over with a screech. I was always meant for battle. Here at the head of the Elven Guard do I belong, protecting this realm instead of ruling it.

One of the Guard's biggest and peskiest problems were the huge spiders that crawled about the border. On occasion they would leap out of the trees and attack traveling elves. That sort of thing had to stop at once, or they would breed in the forest. And they bred fast.

"How many, Laïa?" she shouted at one of her captains.

"Twenty-six engaging," the elf responded, "and if I'm not mistaken, eight more approaching!"

Oh dear. Itaril breathed in and braced herself for more.

Come on, you love your job.

That was when one idiot spider surprised her from behind, disarmed her with one sweep of its wretched forelegs and knocked her to the floor.

As it started wrapping her up in strong silk, Itaril decided she loved her job a little less than usual.

The silk wound its way around her long legs, around her hips, constricting her arms into her torso, and rapidly closing around her chest. Itaril struggled, to no avail. Around her she could see her troops meeting the same fate. Her mind went white with panic.

No no no I cannot die like this what about Legolas what about my son--

In the distance, she could hear an animal's trumpeting. Not a horse, or a deer, but close...an elk.

Elk?

"Forward!!!"

Thranduil led his forces charging through the trees, chasing the spiders off. The big beasts screeched, dropped their prey, and met their deaths at the sharp glint of steel or force of arrowhead. The king leaped off his mount before it even stopped, and skidded to a halt in front of Itaril.

"You foolish woman."

"I love you too," she managed to gasp out, as Thranduil cut her free of the cocoon she lay wrapped in.

"I thought I told you not to provoke those creatures."

"We didn't! They made an appearance on the south border; we attempted to drive them away. I did not expect there to be so many."

"Oh, yes, and that was what you said about those orcs last month, and the month before that." Thranduil rolled his eyes. "For Valar's sake, Itaril. Whatever possesses you to be so reckless?"

"I was doing my duty," Itaril said levelly. She pushed open the door to the corridor that led to the royal family's quarters.

"Your duty! As Commander of the Guard, yes, but not as the Queen! Never as the queen," he raged.

"Well, I am sorry," said Itaril, "but that just isn't where my heart lies." She stopped walking, forcing Thranduil to break his own stride. "Before I was queen, I was already the commander of the Guard. I am still the commander of the Guard. And as long as I remain so, I will do my duty as such. I made a commitment."

Thranduil raised his eyebrows sarcastically. "Did you, now." He seemed to have calmed down already. "Well, know this, my dear. It can only be one or the other."

"You would have me choose?" she demanded.

"That is exactly what I am asking you to do."

She knew exactly what she wanted in a heartbeat, and almost felt guilty of it. "The Elven Guard needs me. That is my calling, and I will not abandon them."

Thranduil seemed satisfied. "Understood. But you will still answer to me. You will make no move without my knowledge and approval."

"And you will not judge my decisions in the field," Itaril bartered.

"Very well."

"Very well." Itaril pushed past him and into their room. She was surprised to find Legolas sitting on the bed.

"Mother?" He asked. "Were you and Father fighting?"

Itaril paused. Behind her, Legolas could see Thranduil bend to the side slightly so he could peer behind the open door.

"No, my child," she murmured, "we were only reaching an agreement."

Later on, Itaril realized that while that spider was wrapping her up and preparing to eat her, her only thought was of her son. Her husband had never even entered her mind. Why was that?

She knew perfectly well why.

"I love you, too," she said aloud, as if to remind herself, and was not completely shocked to find herself uttering a lie.

Chapter Text

Over the next few months, there were five things that Legolas then watched happen between his parents:

1. Mother moved out of the room she had previously shared with Father.
2. She settled down in a smaller house, like a cottage, closer to one of the barracks of the Elven Guard.
3. The barracks that was farthest away from the royal hall, that is.
4. Mother did not share meals with Father.
5. They spoke to each other less and less.

Soon, Legolas had to grow accustomed to running back and forth between both dwellings to see either one of his parents. But rarely ever did he see them at the same time.

"Are you and Mother...angry at each other?" he finally asked Thranduil over supper.

The king looked up. "Hm? No...no. Why would you say that?" It was the first time his son had ever caught him off-guard.

"Well, she no longer lives in the palace," said Legolas slowly, "and she doesn't eat with us. Have you driven her away?"

"I have done nothing of the sort," Thranduil said crisply. "Your mother simply chose to move out. Somewhere closer to where she can do her job better. You understand, don't you, Legolas?"

Legolas frowned. "I think so."

"I should hope so," Thranduil replied. "You're eighty-seven years old now."

They continued their meal in silence.

"Well," Legolas said at last, "don't you think Tauriel should join us instead? We have an extra place for one more person at this table, with Mother gone. I think she would like that."

Thranduil set down his wineglass (his fourth wineglass) a little too quickly. "No, I do not think Tauriel should join us."

Legolas stared. "Why not?"

"Because she is not royalty, she is merely our guest."

"She is my friend," Legolas retorted, "and Mother has never treated her any different from me."

I don't have time for this, thought Thranduil. He rolled his eyes.

Legolas rolled his, too.

A figure entered the dining hall. "Am I interrupting anything?" It was Itaril.

"Nothing, Itaril," Thranduil said graciously, but not warmly. "Come in...is it urgent?"

Legolas' head darted between his mother and father. Since when did Ada start speaking to her like another one of his vassals?

"It can wait. I came to remind Legolas it is nearly time for his training session," Itaril said. "Run along now, my little leaf. Tauriel is waiting."

"Finish your berries," Thranduil said.

Legolas pouted at him. "No, I rather think I've had my fill, Father." He slipped off his chair and walked out the dining hall.

That left his parents alone together.

"You should show more affection towards him," Itaril ventured, referring to Legolas.

Thranduil stood. "I do."

"It doesn't seem like it."

"He does not listen to me."

"Perhaps you do not listen to him either." Itaril said. She folded her hands. "Thranduil, when we pledged ourselves to each other we promised to love each other. More than anything. More than life itself. I understand that such a promise means next to nothing now, at least where I am concerned. But Legolas is a whole other story, and he still needs you. For his sake, show him that you love him."

"He knows," Thranduil said, more to himself than to his wife.

"I doubt it," Itaril said. "He senses your contempt for him, your dislike of Tauriel. If you're not careful, Thranduil, you may lose your heir."

Thranduil made a dry laugh. "Lose him? Where would he go?" He saw his queen smile sadly.

"Middle-Earth does not only consist of the woodland realm," she told him. "It is far bigger and wilder than we can both imagine. And our Legolas-- well, he has the heart of a wanderer..."

"Legolas is a young elf. If you wish for us to understand one another, there will be plenty of time for that." The king took a sip of wine. "Now, were you going to tell me something other than what you just told me?"

Itaril tightened her lips. "My scouts report existence of an Orc fortress in Gundabad. It's the source of all our problems, and once we strike them there, never will they emerge again. The borders will be safe for years, perhaps longer." She looked at him. "I ask permission, my liege, to wipe out the enemy from their source."

Thranduil considered it. For about three seconds.

"Too dangerous," he said. "No, Itaril."

"But we can--"

"Itaril." Thranduil glared at her. "Ever have your requests been reasonable, but opportune moment though this is, it would be suicide. I forbid you from leading an attack. Understood?"

Something flashed in his wife's eyes-- resentment, disappointment, frustration, Thranduil would never know. But she only said "Yes, my king. Understood."

Chapter Text

Legolas had been training in archery very diligently, learning to match his keen sight with the strength of his arm. With Tauriel's help, he was beginning to be able to filter out peripheral distractions and take aim more quickly.

He was sitting in his room one night, polishing his bow, when he heard the door creak open. Legolas turned and saw his mother at the threshold, clad in the armor of the Commander of the Guard, holding her Elvish dual knives.

"Nana, where are you going?"

"Shh," soothed Itaril. "Not so loud, Legolas."

"What's the matter?"

"The scouts have returned. They know where the evil is stemming from-- a fortress in Mount Gundabad." He knew what she meant. Evil= Orcs. Always. It could never be another thing.

"I am taking my best warriors to annihilate them at their source," Itaril continued. "It should be quick. Easy."

"Does Father know?"

Itaril's lips thinned. "Father does not understand the gravity of the situation. This may be our only chance to wipe the Orcs out of our land forever." She kissed her son on his forehead. "Wait for me, child, I will see you at sunrise. And if not...always know that I love you more than life itself."

And then she was gone, slipping out the door with blades in hand, Legolas staring after her.

After some time, quite despite himself, he slid into sleep; but it was an uneasy sleep, and when Legolas finally awoke much, much later, it was already sunrise.

But his mother was not back yet. A feeling of dread settled over him.

Legolas got up and ran out of the room. He didn't stop to put on his boots, but raced out of his mother's dwelling and started to navigate the twisting staircases and pathways of the elves' underground home. Half an hour later he burst into the throne room.

Thranduil was already up. He was idly positioned on the throne, nursing a tall glass of wine.

The king was not rattled by his son's sudden appearance. "Now this is a surprise. What is it you want, my boy?"

Legolas released a sound like a dying dolphin. As expected, Thranduil raised his eyebrows.

"I thought you would break fast with your mother," he said, returning to his drink.

Legolas said nothing.

"Where is your mother?"

Legolas's eyes bulged. His father rose from his seat, immediately knowing that something was wrong.

"Legolas?"

"She went away," he managed to squeak out.

"Where did she go?" When his son hesitated, Thranduil walked toward him, raising his voice. "I will not ask you again. Legolas, where is your mother?"

The answer came out softly: "Gundabad."

For the first time, the king's face went slack with horror. "What?"

At that moment, the doors to the chamber opened and six members of the Guard entered-- wounded, exhausted, covered in black blood.

"What is the meaning of this?" Thranduil demanded. Neither he nor his son noticed the slim red-haired figure hiding by the doorframe, peering at the scene with bated breath. Tauriel had seen the group arriving and, instantly sensing something amiss, followed them.

"The Orcs have taken Mount Gundabad, my liege, and they have built a fortress there," said one Guardsman. He kept his head lowered. "We went there...to cleanse the place once and for all...but they had grown in number since--"

"Yes, yes, I know that, but the Queen?" snapped Thranduil.

"...we retreated in haste, and could not take the bodies of the fallen with us," the Guardsman replied. "I am truly sorry."

"You left her?!" This outburst came from both prince and king simultaneously. Tauriel was stunned by how alike they looked at that moment. Then the moment ended.

"Why didn't you protect her?" Legolas said desperately. He turned to the king. "Father, please, make them go back. Make them get her!"

"It's too late for that." There was a hollow tone to Thranduil's voice. "She has made her own choices. She decided to go into the mountains, she decided to leave even after I forbade her, and she knew full well that there was a chance she would not return, yet she left you behind!" That last sentence was louder than even he expected. Tauriel was now standing in the doorway with her jaw open.

"She deserves to be brought home," Legolas argued. "She's still the queen!"

"Not anymore. Your mother is no more the queen than I am a Mirkwood spider. And her reckless actions today prove just how little she loved either of us." Thranduil turned his back on his son. "No one is to go into the mountains ever again. That is my final word."

The king left. Just like that. He swept out of the throne room and left Legolas standing there.

As the Elven Guard made their stunned exit, Tauriel rushed in. The moment she touched his shoulder, Legolas began to cry.

There wasn't a grave. There wasn't a body to bury. There was only a ceremony held for the fallen warriors, to ease their passing into Mandos*. That was supposed to fix everything, right?

It didn't.

Tauriel was by his side the whole time. Legolas reached for her hand. "It's just me and Father now. Promise you won't ever leave me?"

She took his hand. "I never shall."

Chapter Text

Things were different after Itaril's death.

Tauriel and Legolas were trained under different instructors. In two opposite ends of the kingdom. According to Legolas' father it was time for him to start learning how to be a representative of royalty-- and that didn't just include learning how to lead an army or rule fairly. The fighting styles of the Sindar for example, different Middle-Earth tongues (except Khuzdul) and other things took center stage in the prince's education. The only upside to these new arrangements was that they were so rigorous that his daily schedule ran differently from the king's.

At least I don't have to be with Father all the time. He shook his head. No, I shouldn't think that...I've only one parent left, might as well be nice to him.

Caught up in his new studies, Legolas saw Tauriel less and less.

He was beginning to wonder if he still knew her at all.

But he still trained hard day after day, though he trained alone. From sword-and-knife play to archery (he was actually getting better at it!) to free-running to just standing still and listening to what the forest would tell him, Legolas lost himself in the world of Elvish warfare and found it thrilling, exciting, intoxicating, just like his mother did.

And so passed the next hundred years.

I wonder what Mother would say if she could see me now, Legolas thought, as he began target practice in the courtyard. And 'target practice' pretty much meant shooting at acorns as they fell from the trees. Legolas drew, sighted, fired, and didn't miss once. I've gotten so much better. Perhaps Father was right to separate my training from Tauriel's...

He loosed his last arrow and watched it pierce an acorn and land in the short grass.

Legolas straightened, suddenly noticing another presence in the courtyard. He turned abruptly to face his father, standing quietly to the side and regarding his son with a humorous expression.

"What?" demanded Legolas, before he could check himself.

"Impressive." The king tilted his head. "Since when did you become so good at archery?"

Legolas held back a growl. The first time in two hundred years that he actually bothers to come watch me train, and this is all he says. He put his bow and arrow down next to the rest of his gear without saying a word.

Apparently Thranduil didn't give a thought to his son's concentration. "So you prefer double blades to a single one," he commented, looking over the assortment of weapons on the ground and noticing which ones bore traces of more use. "Have you no one to spar with?"

Legolas frowned. "No one today, Father." A sudden brashness overtook him. "But seeing as you're here, why don't you spar with me?"

Thranduil chuckled-- a real, sardonic laugh. "I don't think so."

"We've never done it before," Legolas said. "And between you and me, Ada, I think you could do with some practice, don't you?"

Now his father's eyebrows, ever so telling of his true emotions, quirked in irritation. "I see you're not going to give up." He strode over to his son. "Challenge accepted."

Legolas grinned. "Pick a weapon."

A few minutes later, the courtyard burst in a symphony of singing steel and flurried footsteps. The guards caught sight of the action and told the courtiers, and from there, the word spread. Soon an ample crowd had gathered at the edges of the courtyard, riveted on the duel. Thranduil with the single sword he had chosen, Legolas with his dual long knives.

From up in a pine tree Tauriel observed the pitched battle eagerly.

"You should have weighed the odds before challenging me, boy," Thranduil taunted. He wasn't even losing a breath.

"Why would I challenge you if I didn't think I could take you?" Legolas returned, dodging his father's blows with ease.

"Oh, a cocky little thing, aren't you?" Thranduil said. "Don't bother. This will all be over soon." His next strike was blocked quickly, bringing father and son face to face for a brief moment. "I'd hate to humiliate you in front of all our people."

A long time ago the realization that everyone was watching would have thrown Legolas out of his game completely. But he merely smiled and focused on the duel. Yes, he could take in every detail of every spectator's face, but none of that distracted him from what was really important.

But just when he thought he was succeeding in driving his father back and off-balance, Thranduil made a shocking comeback. In a split second, the king turned into a flurry of strikes, a single-bladed hurricane. And in another couple of minutes, he had disarmed his son one blade after another, knocked him onto his back and pointed his sword at him for good measure.

Tauriel watched, her breath hitching.

"One sword, one blind eye, centuries of only minimal practice," Thranduil said with a savage grin, "and I've still got it. Now, what say you, little leaf?"

He did NOT just use my childhood nickname in front of all these people. Legolas stared. "I yield, Father."

Satisfied, the king stepped away and formally closed the duel with a flourish of his sword.

"You fought well," he said. "I am impressed."

"Thank you."

Thranduil gave his son a casually approving look. "I think you are ready to ride at my side when next we go to battle."

Legolas looked up. "Father?"

The king smiled, tossed the sword aside and swept out of the courtyard. He passed the stunned spectators, inspecting the fingers of one hand. And I didn't even break a nail.

Legolas got up, gingerly. He made a mental note to never challenge his father again. All these years thinking his mother was the one better suited to battle, and suddenly his father proves him very, very wrong.

The king was a beast on the battlefield, make no mistake. More shockingly, he seemed to enjoy it.

And now he thought Legolas was worthy to join him.

This had turned out to be quite a productive day, as far as father-son bonding went. Perhaps it is time that I started to understand him better.

What further surprised Legolas was when Tauriel jumped off the pine tree and landed lightly next to him.

"What was that?" She exclaimed.

"An embarrassing moment," he said, picking up the knives.

"That was incredible. Your Ada was a blur!"

"Tauriel!" Legolas said, pained, and she put a hand to her mouth, giggling.

"I'm sorry," she said, and smiled. "I have missed you."

Legolas faced her. "And I have missed you, too," he said, smiling as well. "It's been far too long."

She was about to say something when someone called her name from the departing crowd, and Tauriel excused herself, patting his shoulder as she went. Legolas watched her go.

Tauriel, he noticed, had grown to be very beautiful in the last century.

Chapter Text

All right, thought Thranduil, hanging on tight as his elk burst through the main gate, that didn't work out.

Just because you keep yourself away from danger doesn't always mean danger won't come charging in at you. Example: the serpents of the North. Big, winged lizards with breath like flames and scales like jewels. One of the damn things started smashing up a good portion of Mirkwood, just a couple of miles into the kingdom's border. That morning the king and his son had led an army out to stop it. Legolas had been quite excited; it was his first time in a real battle.

They managed to drive it away, but not before a lot of people died-- and not before the dragon itself got very angry.

"We have to go! Go now!" was the last thing Thranduil had yelled at his son before the last blast of fire blazed toward them. Instinct took over; he'd pushed Legolas out of the way and felt a wave of heat surging at him, pain unlike anything he had experienced before tearing his face open. The blaze died out and he'd thought he was safe, until Legolas saw him and panicked. He gave the order to fall back and, lifting Thranduil atop the elk, rode back home.

The elk charged right into the throne room, and Legolas jumped off. He pulled his father off their mount and started yelling. "Healers! I need healers here, now!"

Three elves rushed to his aid at once. "What is wrong?" one of them asked anxiously.

"He was struck by dragon fire," Legolas said. He was so worried that he barely noticed when his father found his hand and wrapped his fingers tightly around it.

The king spent that night in the infirmary. Legolas never left his side. He waited for him to wake, to show some sign that he was safe now. Finally, just a little after sunrise, he stirred.

"...Itaril..."

Well, this was unexpected.

"No, Ada," Legolas mumbled, touching his father's arm. "It's me. You were injured by dragon-fire..."

Thranduil blinked several times, but Legolas was quite sure that he was completely all right because the next thing he said was "Mirror. Get...me...a mirror..."

He bit his lip. "Not a good idea."

"And why...not?"

"Uh, because--"

Thranduil tilted his head ever so slightly to face him. "Is it really that bad?"

He sighed and handed him a mirror. Thranduil lifted it up gingerly, examined his bandaged face. He started to tug off the bandages.

"Look, Father--" began Legolas, but it was too late.

The king took in his exposed flesh, his missing cheek and blinded eye. He dropped the mirror.

"The healers did everything they could," Legolas started to explain. "But they could not save your eye."

"Legolas," Thranduil said, "I would like to be alone for a while. Please."

"What? No," Legolas said, miffed.

"You heard me. Get out."

"But father--"

"Get out, boy," the king hissed, and for a second Legolas did not recognize his own father, with his horrid and ghoulish half-mask. "And for Valar's sake, don't look at me!"

He rolled over, turning his back on his son. But Legolas would not budge. He only leaned forward gently.

"Ada?"

"I thought I told you to--"

"Ada, it's all right."

Thranduil grumbled. "I can't see in one eye and I resemble a half-rotten fruit. What kind of king looks like a half-rotten fruit?"

Legolas managed a smile. Humor him. The way Mother used to until she started to lose her patience. To him, the damage didn't look so bad as it must have hurt. "Ada, really, it's nothing. We'll find a way to hide it if that's really what's important to you. Besides, even with that burn, you are still better looking than me."

Thranduil faced his son thoughtfully. "You are absolutely right."

Now Legolas really laughed.

Thranduil had to admit, the sound was infectious.

Chapter Text

The healers had managed to create an illusion that would conceal Thranduil's scars, but no amount of talking (or laughing) would help him forget the trauma he had been through. The following few hundred years passed with the elves of Mirkwood retreating ever deeper into the woods, in relative safety, not inclined to go out for any particular reason.

The next time Thranduil did bother to lead an army outside the confines of his kingdom, it did not end very well.

"I still cannot help but think that was cowardly."

Legolas frowned. "Tauriel. Father was just trying to protect us. You know how much he has lost these past few centuries."

"Our pact with the dwarves may have soured," Tauriel said, "but what kind of king would turn his back on those who need help?"

Legolas said nothing. His father's actions-- or lack thereof-- had caused him to ask himself some serious questions.

"You weren't there, Tauriel. You did not see how big the beast was, how easily he wrecked the dwarves' mountain city. My father has seen what dragon-fire can do; had he led the army against Smaug, too many people would have died."

"Too many people have already died," Tauriel retorted. "But I suppose that matters little, so long as they are not our people?" Legolas sighed.

"The human town of Dale was also full of innocents," Tauriel continued, "and now they have no homes. Should your father not have welcomed them here?"

"I'm sure he has his reasons," he said. "After all, Father's always put this entire kingdom before himself...he would rather concentrate effort on protecting this realm than wiping out threats altogether." Yes...he and Mother always disagreed on that. But who was right? Mother went off to eradicate the Orcs, and she died doing so.

"And what did you do, Mellon, when he ordered the retreat?"

"I hesitated. Told him to reconsider. But my father was adamant."

"So you followed him."

"Of course," Legolas said. "He is my father. My king. And I-- I have a duty to obey him," he finished lamely.

Tauriel regarded him with a look akin to pity. "My dear Legolas. In our youth you would have been adamant as well, perhaps led the charge yourself. You have changed."

"He's all I've got," answered Legolas sharply. "He is my only family left, Tauriel. And no matter how things may seem, I must still follow him. He's our king, and for that I must trust him. Are you not loyal to him as well?"

The tone in his voice brought out a hurt expression on Tauriel's face, but she said nothing. Legolas turned on his heel and, in a swish of silver-blonde hair, was gone.

Chapter Text

For the first time in centuries, the king sat at one end of the long table, and the prince, on the other.

"So." Thranduil passed a wineglass from one hand to the other. "You requested to dine with me." He fixed his son in a piercing gaze. "You. Requested to dine. With me."

"Yes, I did," Legolas said quietly. "I am eight hundred and fifty years old today, after all."

"Indeed," said Thranduil. "Well I am certain that going to all this trouble means that you wish to ask something of me."

Something flickered in his son's eyes. "You guessed."

"You are my son, I think I deserve credit for knowing you," Thranduil said silkily. "So what shall it be, ion-nin?* You wish to marry? To travel? To take up the crown and rule this realm, and allow your father to sail to the Undying Lands at last?"

Legolas met his father's eyes. "But you don't even want to go to the Undying Lands," he said.

Thranduil laughed. "You're right. I don't. Not yet, at least."

The prince spoke. "You intend to tighten protection around Mirkwood so that, should peril come to surrounding lands, at least here our people will be safe."

"Yes."

"And you have no wish to involve our army in affairs of other realms."

"Yes, Legolas," Thranduil said, rolling his eyes. "If an explanation for what I did at the Lonely Mountain is what you want, then allow me to explain it to you." Thranduil steepled his fingers and spoke before his son could. "Once upon a time there was a last alliance of free races in Middle-Earth. It was war of the likes you have never known. My father died in battle, as did many of our people. Despite our victory I knew I had seen enough of such destruction and vowed to never cost the lives of my kin again. That is why I provoke no enemies beyond our borders. That is why I will not risk the lives of my people to help the dwarves."

"You never...liked the dwarves," Legolas pointed out.

"Once I might have been willing to respect them, but King Thror still has something of mine that he never bothered to return. White gems, a...a royal treasure." Thranduil cocked his head, signaling a change in topic. "Now if you have anything to say about the way your king rules his domain, you would do well to remain silent. Unless there is something else you want?"

Legolas counted to three before speaking. "I don't want to sit in here idly and wait for a worthy call to arms," he finally said. "I understand that as the prince, I must stay here and be safe, but that just isn't where my heart lies." Now he noticed something flicker in his father's eyes, something old and deep and unreadable. "I would have wanted to lead armies out to destroy Smaug, to defend other realms against evil. But since you refuse to do so, I...I have decided to do the best I can with what I have."

"Which is?" Thranduil said. Troll's buttocks, this boy can talk.

Legolas lifted his chin. "I want to join the Elven Guard."

Thranduil stared. "Truly?"

"Yes."

Well. The leaf doesn't fall far from his mother's tree after all, thought the king, but it does fall miles away from mine. "This is...a very serious choice, Legolas. Are you sure?"

He nodded.

Thranduil fixed his son in a serious gaze. "If I am to allow you to do this, I have to make sure you will not be reckless in your actions. An overhastiness to destroy evil can often end regrettably."

Legolas knew he was referring to what had happened to his mother. He regarded his father solemnly. "I will be careful. If losing me is what you fear, then I promise-- you won't."

Bless this boy. He can see truth-- even when it should not be seen. An uncomfortable silence fell. Thranduil decided to change tack. "Eight hundred and fifty years ago to this day, you were conceived." He paused. "On this table, in fact."

Legolas' jaw dropped. "Father."

Thranduil indulged in a long, hearty laugh at the look of shock on his son's face. "It's a true story," he said, then sobered all too quickly like a darkening sky. "In any case, I hope this sudden choice is nothing to do with Tauriel joining the Guard as well."

Legolas blinked. "She did, Father?"

"You mean you did not know?" Thranduil said. "Am I dreaming? Does this mean you two are not as close as you once were?"

"You separated us as young adults," Legolas pointed out, "and it's been seven hundred years since then."

"Ah," said the king. "Then I trust she will not distract you from your duties."

It was Legolas' turn to roll his eyes. "No, Father, I promise. So will you allow me this?"

"What else is there to say?" Thranduil responded. "Yes, Legolas, if this is what you want. Indeed, I should have known that you would want it."

His son bowed his head slightly. "Thank you."

Another silence fell. Father and son continued to eat-- slowly, deliberately, watching each other's every move as if they were sparring again.

"And when you tire of running with the Elven Guard?" Thranduil finally said. "Ah, I needn't ask. The future is uncertain, even to those of us who live outside the grasp of ordinary time. I suppose you're going to do whatever you want."

Legolas nodded. "I suppose I am."

Tauriel was sitting atop a rocky outcrop on the east border, watching the sun come up, when Legolas came and joined her. She turned her head, seeing that he was wearing the green armor of an Elven guardsman.

He smiled, almost apologetically. "Hello."

"You joined the Guard," Tauriel said, surprised. "Your father let you?"

"Yes." He sat down next to her. "I wanted to do my part for our kingdom. But my part, it seems, is not to be done on the throne or anywhere near it. I'm better suited to defending Mirkwood."

Tauriel nodded. "So am I." She smiled slightly. "Well, here we are again. Just like when we were children. Side by side."

"Side by side," Legolas agreed. He glanced at her. "Do you still dream of traveling Middle-Earth?"

Tauriel shook her head. "No, Legolas. I know now that my place is here. And you?"

"Perhaps..." Legolas said. "Perhaps someday. But not yet."

In silence, they watched the sun rise.

Chapter Text

Thranduil watched his son turn around and leave, a silver-haired silhouette against the dull sky. He had grown so much, he realized, from the wide-eyed child who had shared his throne for a few minutes all those centuries ago. The distance between king and prince grew steadily, sealing their fate, and Thranduil turned away before it hurt too much to watch his boy vanish to a speck in the distance.

So Itaril had spoken truly. He did end up losing his heir.

No, Thranduil thought, skirting the dead Orc bodies. I did not lose Legolas. I just let him go.

Maybe it was for the best. And if anything, he had his father's blessing and the knowledge that his mother had always loved him. More than life. And more, it seems, than me.

Later he found Tauriel weeping over the body of the Dwarf she loved, with a despair that nearly broke his own heart. She asked him the questions he never thought he'd be able to answer.

"If this is love, I do not want it...take it from me, please," she begged. "Why does it hurt so much?"

Suddenly it clicked, and he understood.

"Because it was real," Thranduil told her softly.

Almost at once, a look of hope broke over the young elf's face. She kissed the fallen warrior gently and stood, stronger than ever.

Thranduil smiled. "Come on, now,"

"I thought you had banished me, my lord," Tauriel said uncertainly.

The king tsked. "Perhaps you were not so deserving of that as I had thought you were. I take it back, Tauriel. Return to your people. It is enough that my son has taken leave of me; must I watch his friend walk away as well?"

Tauriel dried her eyes. "Legolas left? Why...where did he go?"

"He has the heart of a wanderer, and was not content to remain in Mirkwood," Thranduil said. "I believe neither of us will be seeing him again."

She was silent for a while before speaking up. "And I may truly come home again?"

"Of course, child." He paused. "My wife, the queen...she cared about you. I have begun to think that perhaps it is time I started to, as well."

To his complete and utter surprise, Tauriel let out a strangled sob and threw herself into his arms. She wept into his chest, and the elf king gingerly put his arms around her.

What on earth is this?

Presently she stopped and broke away. "I-- I apologize for that, your majesty," she mumbled.

"No need," Thranduil said with a wave of his hand. "You are grieving, I understand..." He leaned in. "But we shall never speak of this again."

Tauriel nodded, and he straightened. "Good. Mark the Dwarf as one of our honored dead. We will bury him tonight. But for now, there are other matters to attend to...come with me." He walked away.

"Where to, sire?" Tauriel asked, running to catch up with him.

"You will see."

"What exactly is it we're looking for?" Tauriel asked, tossing gold pieces over her shoulder as she trawled through the piles of treasure in Smaug's hoard. Behind her, Thranduil paced slowly.

"It's a necklace," he said, "of white gems. Delicate as the dew, like a string of starlight."

Tauriel frowned. "Nothing like that so far."

"Well, keep searching."

The young elf continued to sort through the gems. "I hope it is not too forward of me to ask, my lord, but a little help would be appreciated."

Thranduil glowered for a second, then rolled up his sleeves with a flourish and began to sift through the pieces rapidly.

"I hope it has endured these centuries in one piece. It is a very fragile thing," he continued to explain. "And very...very important to me."

"I imagine it must be, my liege. Ever have you shirked away from war, yet today you led our people in battle to reclaim these gems, and these gems only." Tauriel ducked as he casually tossed a large ruby aside, nearly hitting her in the process.

"Ah...I did not expect you to understand." Thranduil paused for a moment. "That necklace was a commission I asked of the master Dwarf smiths long ago." He did not meet her eyes. "It was for the queen."

Tauriel did not know what to say. "...oh."

To her surprise, the king kept on talking. "The necklace was to be a gift, to show her that I still cared...to ask her if she would come back...King Thror said it would take a hundred years to make. I said I could wait. I never knew what would change in those hundred years."

"But they did not give it to you when they finished?" Tauriel inquired quietly.

Thranduil shook his head. "The dragon-sickness got the king full-force; he would not give up any of his treasure. And if I remember correctly, he did tell me there was no need to give me the necklace if its intended wearer would have no need of it." Suddenly his face brightened and he pulled his hand out of the pile. "Ah-ha!"

Clutched in his fist were the white gems. Their brightness nearly blinded Tauriel and took her breath away. The necklace was beautiful...no wonder the dwarf king refused to part with it.

Thranduil put it around his neck and beamed. "Found it!"

"Is that all?" Tauriel said, looking around at the multitude of other gemstones scattered about their feet.

Thranduil turned his nose up at them. "Yes, that is all." He swept past her. "Now, at last, homeward! Come along now."

Tauriel sighed, and followed her king as he sashayed out of the halls of the dragon.

Chapter Text

They met again at the Grey Havens, after many, many years. After many many years, father and son would finally be reunited.

"Come, Gimli!" called Legolas as he walked briskly to the port. Several yards away huffed his Dwarf friend, streaks of grey showing in his beard.

"Have you not yet learned to wait for me, laddie?" Gimli scolded, and Legolas laughed.

"Hurry," he urged.

They emerged at the harbor, where one of the last silver ships awaited them. The sea was calling, a gentle and soft purr as the waves came in, and its nearness sent Legolas quivering with delight.

"They come," Tauriel pointed, as she stood by the ship beside the Elven king. Thranduil saw his son approaching, and he smiled. That's my son, he thought. Hey, that's my boy.

"Father," said Legolas as he drew near, and bowed deeply.

Thranduil bowed as well, and took a good long look at him. "Legolas. You--"

"--haven't changed?" Legolas finished.

The king looked amused. "No, actually, I was going to say that you have changed so much. There is something different in your eyes, about your bearing." He cocked his head. "I have heard a great deal of your adventures."

Legolas beamed. He looked up past his father. "Hello, Tauriel."

"Hello, Legolas," she said, returning his smile. Long ago his heart would have sung for her love, now he only saw her as a friend. Had he stayed in Mirkwood, would anything have happened between them? Legolas supposed it was too late to think about that now.

They were interrupted by Gimli's noisy arrival.

"Here I am!" He gasped. "Aah...I clearly am not as young as I once was..."

Tauriel stifled a laugh, and Thranduil stared. "Is this--"

"Gimli," Legolas said. "He is coming with us, Father. He is my friend."

Thranduil raised his eyebrows as Gimli made a polite, but sloppy attempt at a traditional Elvish bow and tried to catch his breath. He turned back to his son. "Very well."

"All aboard," said Tauriel, as the little party climbed into the boat.

Legolas joined his father at the head of the ship and leaned casually on the bulwarks. "Since when did you and Tauriel become so close? I thought you had banished her."

"I realized that the events of the battle of the five armies had left us both alone," Thranduil replied, staring off into the distance. "She was heartbroken after Thorin's nephew was killed. It did not seem right that I let her deal with her grief alone, with none of her own people around her. So I let her come back." He glanced at his son. "I think I owe it to your mother."

"Yes. I think you do," Legolas said quietly.

Thranduil managed a smile. "Tauriel has proved herself braver and stronger and more loyal than I ever gave her credit for. She waited for me until I was ready to leave Mirkwood. Our people are going Westward now. There is nothing left for Elves in Middle-Earth."

Legolas sighed. "Well. I've had my fun."

"You certainly have. Finding Isildur's heir. Defending Helm's Deep. Saving Middle-Earth and traveling all over the world. Those who remain will sing your name long after you depart from this land." Thranduil regarded his son for a minute before adding, "You know that I am proud of you, don't you, ion-nin?"

Legolas stared for a second before collecting himself. "I...yes. Thank you, Father."

On the other side of the boat, Gimli was struggling to reach over and cut the mooring-line with his axe. Tauriel, giggling, helped him.

"Yes, if you could just give me a boost, lass, I'm not tall enough to-- no, no, you're no help! Let go of the beard! Let go!"

Legolas folded his arms and tried not to laugh.

And guess what Thranduil did? That's right. He rolled his eyes.

But then he smiled, too.

And he wrapped one arm around his son's shoulders as the wind filled their sails and sped the ship over the sea, the sea like silver glass, following the setting of the sun into the west.