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Chapter Text

Lump in his throat, hands hanging useless and clenched into tight fists at his sides, tears threatening to spill over.

The King of Mirkwood stands before the casket that holds his beloved wife.

Pale and cold in death, her beauty that lingers haunts him like a ghost, makes the hurt in his heart and his head all the more sharp.

The guilt that gnaws at his soul and threatens to swallow him up makes him dizzy and sick as he looks on the deceased, delicate body, and his only wish is to turn back time.

A small voice is heard by his side, a tiny hand tugging his own.

He can't bear to look upon his son, or see the sharp resemblance Legolas has to his wife.

It hurt to think about just what Legolas had lost when she died, what he lost.

Thranduil ignores the small elfling, though it brings him great anguish and misery to do so, and he's ever grateful to his faithful Galion when he hears his soft voice.

"Come, little prince," Galion says quietly, no doubt taking the babe's hand in his own to lead him away despite Legolas' tearful protests.

Thranduil is left alone for hours (or is it centuries?), standing, staring.

Completely and utterly powerless and useless.

As he studies her almost gray skin, her closed, unseeing eyes, he vows to never love again.

•••••••

Despite many years having washed over, Thranduil still doesn't have the strength to look at Legolas for even a minute.

It doesn't mean he doesn't care.

He makes sure that Galion is unfailing in ensuring that Legolas succeeds and learns from all his lessons. He eats meals with the Elfling, or at least most meals. And although they sit at the ends of the seemingly mile-long table and although Thranduil will never make an attempt to interact with his son, it's enough for the Elvenking.

It still hurts to see Legolas, even for the briefest of moments, to see his failure in his child's innocent face, and his mistakes.

•••••••

More time has passed, and the sadness and pain has faded.

Or the Elevenking has finally grown accustomed to these torturous feelings.

He hides them as well as he can, only keeping his face impassive to all and keeping his heart guarded.

A drop of feeling besides anger, bitterness, or mere nonchalance is not seen from the Elvenking of Mirkwood, and many of his subjects begin to whisper, say that he'd lost his heart when he lost his wife.

But Thranduil wasn't cold to all, as the only two people who've seen an ounce of emotion from him since his wife's death were Galion and Legolas.

The first had been an accident.

Thranduil had indulged in too much wine the night of his wife's death anniversary, and had nearly drank his own cellars dry.

When Galion (poor, faithful Galion) had tried to take the bottles from him, Thranduil broke into an angry, passionate fit.

"How dare you take those from your king?" he had shouted, attempting to stand. The room had been spinning at the time, and his knees were weak. It was no mystery why he collapsed at his butler's feet after only a few seconds of standing.

"Please, my lord," Galion said, voice pained as he knelt down before Thranduil, dropping the bottles of remaining liquor and putting a hand on his shoulder. "You are..unwell.."

Thranduil completely broke down at those words, sobbing as Galion hesitantly pulled him into his arms, stroking his back gently as he tried to comfort him.

The second time had been a choice (or, more rather, a poor attempt of show).

The closest he's gotten to showing Legolas he wasn't made of stone was when the child passed his Elvish test with full marks, and he showed it off happily to him.

Thranduil had tried to smile as encouragingly as he could, as he truly was proud of his sweet darling. But he couldn't miss the look of despondency on Legolas' face when he only quietly acknowledged it with a nod and said smile, and his heart grew heavier with each slow, sad step the Elfling took to leave his father's throne room.

Thranduil wishes with all of his being that he could change his relationship with the only remainder of his wife's love, but he's knows he's not strong enough.

Distant they remain and the Elvenking weeps at night to think of just how much of a disappointment he is, to his wife, his people, and most of all to his own son.

••••••

It's springtime, and the gardens are warm and beautiful, full of lush, thick grass and the very few, rare, remaining colorful blossoms trees.

Thranduil watches Legolas from his balcony, watches Feren attempt to teach the little boy archery.

Legolas small arms can barely pull back the string of the bow, much less release the arrow farther than a few feet.

Thranduil can see his baby's face flush in embarrassment and irritation after a few tries, and he watches as Feren kneels behind his little leaf, covers his small hands with his own strong ones and helps him draw back the string.

His hand barely feels the marble railing as he clutches it in jealousy.

He wishes he was the one teaching Legolas how to use a bow, although he much prefers to use a sword. He wishes he was the one steadying his son's aim.

But he knows he can't bear to be so close to Legolas, so he's resigned to watching the child learn and grow from far off, resigned to loving the little Elfling he barely knows.

It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, to think of just how much of Legolas' life he's missing.

••••••

One night, after years of estrangement and distance, it all changes.

The Elvenking sits in his bed after a long day, exhausted. He's alone, as usual, having sent Galion away sooner than normal. The fire that lights the room in its orange, golden light warms his body from winter's chill, as does the thick, numerous sheets and blankets.

They have yet to thaw his heart which remains ice.

He tries to focus on the book before his eyes, tries to force his tired eyes to read each word, but he's far too distracted at the moment, and he knows exactly why.

He can't bear to look at the empty side of his bed as he puts away the tome.

It starts with a knock on the large, thick wooden doors.

It takes Thranduil's breath away.

It's softness and tentativeness reminds him of his late wife's, how she'd be so hesitant to disturb him at any time of the day.

"Come in," Thranduil says, and he completely denies the slight tremble in his voice.

Legolas appears in the doorway, his small body covered in nothing but a thin nightgown that's being twisted in his small hands. The soft, pink lip between his teeth betrays his nervousness, and it hurts to see his son like this.

No, he tells himself. He doesn't feel any longer.

There is no pain, no love.

He could not feel.

He must not feel.

"What is it, Legolas?" Thranduil inquires, sounding colder than he intends.

Understandably, the young Elfling doesn't answer right away, simply keeps his eyes averted to the ground.

The Elvenking cannot deny the sadness in the depths of his soul when he sees Legolas' obvious hesitance, and he sighs.

"Come, sit," the Elvenking says, much softer than his earlier tone.

And the thought of having his baby so close to him for the first time in nearly forty-nine years...

Legos quietly complies, and he sits beside his father on his large bed, looking even smaller than before. Still he doesn't make eye contact with his father, and it greatly puzzles (worries) Thranduil.

"Legolas?" he calls his name softly, finally reaching out and gently touching his son's chin to lift his face.

The large tears that fill his crystal eyes floods the older's soul with pain, and to his horror, his heart begins to thaw.

He swallows in fear as it begins to throb painfully in his chest for the first time in nearly half a century.

"I miss you," Legolas quiet words finally steal back his attention, voice trembling.

Thranduil can't move, is frozen by the hurt and guilt that begins swirling in his soul like a hurricane. He once again sees how he's failed another person close to his heart, and the thought fills his dry eyes with burning liquid.

"Amin hiraetha," Thranduil breathes, and he pulls his Elfling into his arms, clinging onto him tightly. "Amin hiraetha, forgive me, my little leaf."

The familiar, soft scent of Legolas' still young body pierces Thranduil, and he chokes as he tries not to cry into his child's golden strands.

Only then does he truly realize how much Legolas had grown, realizing that he's not as small as he once was. He's definitely changed over the years; many other races would guess that he was only a boy of thirteen when in Thranduil's mind, he's still the confused, sad Elfling who had just lost his mother.

"Ada," Legolas sobs, clutching his father's silk clothing in his tiny hands.

"Don't let this sorrow weigh you down," Thranduil whispers uselessly, grasping at anything to try to soothe the younger.

Legolas only begins to sob more violently, and Thranduil stops breathing.

"It's alright, iôn-nín," the Elvenking whispers, stroking his child's back with his bejeweled hands. "It's alright to weep."

The melancholy that disturbs and fills Legolas' soul is so deep that the father can feel it, and it scares him.

His fëa is empty and far away, just like his beloved's....

"Please, my love," Thranduil begs, breath hitching as Legolas' cries do not cease. "I only ask that you let go of this sorrow before..before.."

He gasps sharply in fear, and he holds Legolas tighter.

"I'm here now," he promises.

•••••••

It's the first few seconds when Legolas wakes up.

Thranduil's sees the fear in his cloudy eyes, the way his small body jerks upright. He's quick to search the bed with his eyes, and Thranduil sees the tenseness of his body, the sigh of relief Legolas breathes when he realizes he's still in his father's bed.

"Legolas," Thranduil whispers. The young boy looks into his eyes sharply, his own eyes widened with shock for a moment.

"Sorry, Ada," he finally whispers, lowering himself back into the older's strong arms when Thranduil opens them in invitation. "Did I wake you?"

"I've been awake," Thranduil confesses softly, caressing his son's hair in one hand and his back with the other.

Legolas nods quietly, and he shyly wraps his fingers in Thranduil's long, soft hair, stroking it wordlessly in his hands.

It makes Thranduil's heart ache, to think that Legolas most likely feared the event from earlier that evening was nothing but a dream.

It's a while before the older clears his throat. "Well," he begins, voice still barely above a whisper, "you fell asleep, so we didn't get to speak much earlier--"

"I'm sorry," the younger apologizes.

"It's fine, melamin," Thranduil assures him. "But I...I have to apologize to you."

It bruises Thranduil, to feel so vulnerable and attempt to show his feelings, as he long had kept them hidden.

But it's the least he can do for Legolas.

"I haven't been the father you deserve, iôn-nín," he murmurs ashamedly, closing his eyes and tipping his head back against his soft pillow more.

His caressing hands pause for a moment, and he swallows the lump down his throat when he says, "I shouldn't have shut you out when...when she..."

A small, loving hand encases the side of his face, and he opens his eyes to see Legolas propped up on one of his elbows against Thranduil's chest, his hand gently stroking the Elvenking's soft cheek.

"It's alright, Ada."

Legolas forgives too easily and it burns to think that this is the child he's long been neglecting.

"No, it isn't, my tithen-las," Thranduil whispers through his tight throat, tears blurring the vision of the angel resting on his chest.

He brings his hand hastily up to rub the liquid away, much too used to trying to conceal his feelings, but he only feels like a sniveling, little child when he does so.

"Don't cry," Legolas pleads, and he already sounds close to his own tears as he wraps Thranduil's long neck in his small arms and presses his forehead against his temple. "Please don't, Ada...it scares me."

His arms subconsciously wrap tighter around his precious angel, and he swears to never let him go again.

•••••••

It's the Feast of the Winter Solstice.

And Thranduil has never felt more peace and joy in the last half century.

Of course, he maintains his appearance as the unfeeling, cold and distant King of Mirkwood, as he still wishes to guard his heart.

Legolas and Thranduil don't talk or interact much in public, but the Elevenking attempts much harder to finish his work more quickly. On good days, this leads to him having more free time to teach Legolas in archery and swordsmanship, or to simply take his darling on long strolls in the gardens.

Thranduil had forgotten how beautiful it was, to love and to be loved, and the moments when he remembers this the most is when he lies in bed at the end of the day, completely exhausted but exuberant with peaceful joy, as his little angel cuddles closer to him, his ever growing body radiating with warmth and love.

It breaks his heart and mends it just as quickly to think that this was what was missing all that time, that this could've pulled him out of the darkness much quicker than all else.

•••••••

It's when Legolas reaches his majority that it begins.

A large party is held, one of the largest that has even taken place in even Thranduil's halls.

At first, Legolas tries to assure his father that he had neither need or desire for a party of that volume, that even a day of strolling with Thranduil through the realm and a quiet evening of fine food and deep sleep would be enough, but Thranduil insisted adamantly, ensuring Legolas that even the Valar would wish to be present at his coming-of-age party.

Many had been invited, Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien, Lord of Rivendell and his children to name a few.

Thranduil had been relieved to see that Legolas had gotten along with Elrond's own children, even though they were a few decades older than him.

"My sons are enthralled with your own," Elrond says with a soft laugh, watching as his twins fawned over the beautiful Prince.

Thranduil nods with a smile. "He seems to have that effect over many."

"Indeed," Elrond agrees before he looks around the halls of Mirkwood. Many elves crowd the place, drinking, dancing, playing music and so forth. The scene was extremely lively, and any who witnessed such a party would all agree that it seemed to be a party celebrating a great being, perhaps even one honoring one of the Valar.

"Many have traveled to see your son reach his majority," Elrond notes as he gazed upon the vast crowds.

When Thranduil laughs, the Lord of Rivendell continues. "Of course, what can you expect, when so many petitions for his hand had poured in from every land ever since he began to speak?"

Thranduil's laughing ceases, but he smiles still. It hides the sudden, deep pang of melancholy that strikes him when he murmurs, "I blame his mother's beauty for that."

"That may be," it's Elrond's turn to laugh, "but have you ever considered that a mix of her fairness with your own would attract hundreds to your son like flies to honey?"

Thranduil rolls his eyes but he grins still, clearing his throat when he looks at the rising moon and realizes that the dinner would begin soon.

He excuses himself from the conversation, quick to glide through the crowds, nodding at those who bow or greet him by formal title.

It's not long before he finds his son, a small congregation of Elven subjects and royalty around him as Feren speaks to him.

Out of curiosity, Thranduil listens in for a moment, wishing to hear the conversation that seems to have Legolas so deeply captivated.

"It's very dangerous, my Prince," Feren says but his voice suggests the hidden pleasure in whatever they seem to be speaking about. "But I must admit, the thrill of protecting your homeland, those you love at home, all the while serving our majesty is one of the most noble and enjoyable occupations."

"Perhaps your father will let you accompany us on our next patrol," Meludir suggests, "seeing that you've reached your majority by now."

"That would be amazing!" Legolas cries happily, and Thranduil's sees the light of wonder glow in his child's ocean eyes.

It nearly makes him sick.

"No, no," Elrohir shakes his head teasingly, "patrolling the borders is much too dangerous for one as important and beautiful as you are."

"Yes," Elladan, his mischievous twin, agrees with a wink. "Prince Legolas, if you'd be willing to listen to much smarter suggestions, I'd suggest you bless painters from distant lands to gaze upon your beautiful face and allow them to take inspiration from the fairest of all the lands! I'm sure they'd pay bags and bags of gold and precious jewels for even a glimpse of your fair countenance!"

Legolas rolls his eyes, but Thranduil can see the dust of blush across his fair, soft cheeks.

It's only when the Elvenking realizes that his son is being seduced that he steps in, as gracefully and impassively as he can, determined not to show his their words affect him, how much they sadden and anger him.

"Come, my son," Thranduil says quietly with a soft (false) smile, heart warming the smallest of degrees when Legolas grins back. "I believe the kitchen is ready to serve dinner."

Like that, the sons of Elrond disappear to their tables at lightning speed with the promise of food, the rest of Legolas' admiring crowds slowly dwindling away as Thranduil takes his hand gently and begins walking to their table. He feels Feren follow them, as his designated place of seating isn't far from theirs.

He sends Legolas ahead once the crowd thins with a promise of following, making sure his angel is well distanced before he pauses, grabbing Feren's arm tightly when he passes.

He sees how the warrior pales, and his white lips barely whisper out Thranduil's name when the Elvenking steps closer the Captain of the Guard. His lips nearly brush the shell of Feren's pointed ear when he growls, "I'll see you in my chambers after dinner."

••••••••

All the fine, salted meats, the freshest vegetables imported from Rivendell, and even the fine, chocolate desserts and cakes do nothing to distract Legolas from what Feren..poisoned his mind with.

To inflame a desire to go into the world! How foolish could his Captain of the Guard be? Thranduil's perfect, white teeth grit together as he tried to think of a punishment strict enough for him.

"It would be so amazing, Ada," Legolas breathes dreamily, chin rested in his palm and lashes fluttering as he gazes at the moon through the large gaps in the ceiling. "To see the world, to travel across our borders and explore!"

"Such a thing is not so lightly taken upon one," Thranduil tries not to hiss, "as the world is not some joke."

"Oh, I know there are dangers!" Legolas assures, pressing his hand against his father's clenched one in his lap. "But--"

"Legolas, let us forget of this meaningless conversation," Thranduil says sharply, a bit more snappish than he had hoped. He sees how Legolas deflates quietly and slowly, how he shakily withdraws his hand from his father's and turns back to his plate silently and without a word.

Thranduil, feeling the horrible ache of guilt in his heart, excuses himself from the table, from the whole party, and decides to retire to his chambers.

He tries not to cry as he thinks of how he's beginning to lose Legolas.

•••••••

It's quite late when Legolas slips into his father's bedroom. Thranduil hadn't fallen asleep, instead, he's wide awake.

He lies on his large bed under the thick blankets that keep out the autumn chill, and it (unfortunately) isn't the first time he's ever felt as small and lonely as he does now.

He keeps his eyes shut as he hears Legolas approach, his breathing deep and slow. But he knows that his child knows he's awake. He can't seem to hide from Legolas' knowing eyes.

Legolas is quick to strip down to his undergarments, hesitant to slide under the covers into Thranduil's bed. He remains an arm's length from his father, simply stating at him for the first few minutes.

It feels like eternity before Legolas speaks.

His voice is soft, a bit sad. "I'm sorry for angering you, Adar," he begins slowly, hesitantly.

Thranduil opens his eyes to look at Legolas, and he swallows, the honesty and openess in his son's eyes only makes it worse.

"I'm sorry as well," Thranduil murmurs in reply, looking down as his shame eats his heart. "I shouldn't--I shouldn't have--"

"It's alright, Ada," Legolas forgives too easily (again), sliding closer to his father and grasping his light robes in his hands tightly, pressing his face against his chest.

Thranduil's wraps his arms around his child silently, and holds him like he's still afraid that he'll lose him.

A thought occurs to him.

"Do you want to leave me?"

The question is heavy with pain and realization, indeed, Legolas had grown a considerable amount, but never had Thranduil thought of the possibility of Legolas wanting more freedom from him.

He... King of Mirkwood and overbearing father to Legolas...

"Of course not!" Legolas looks up at him and says too quickly, and Thranduil can't tell if he's only saying that because he sees the emotions twirling in his icy eyes.

Thranduil sighs softly, stating at his child for a moment before moving forward and pressing his lips against his forehead.

He feels Legolas tug his neck with his slender hands gently, and he moves to press another reverent kiss to his Prince's cheek, but Legolas dodges, and presses his own to his father's.

It takes Thranduil by surprise, as he'd never kissed his child on the lips ever since Legolas was only a babbling Elfling.

"I want to stay," Legolas murmurs against the King's lips, pressing loving pecks with every word.

"Iôn-nín," Thranduil whispers and he tries to hold Legolas back when the younger presses his lips fully to his and tries to kiss him deeply. Something feels so...different. Thranduil can't deny the innocent delight Legolas' gentle kisses bring him, but it's so strange...in the wrongest way possible.

"It's okay, Ada," the younger whispers, grinning when Thranduil freezes. His next statement is an echo of a whisper.

"I'm here now."

Chapter Text

Like everything golden, beautiful, and perfect, it doesn't last forever.

It only takes a couple of short decades before Legolas brings up the subject of "exploring" the world, of leaving his home in search of adventure.

It gives Thranduil sharp headaches and migraines, brings tears to his eyes to think of what would happen if Legolas were to leave.

His happiness, his love.

Gone, again.

••••••••

Legolas' beautiful eyes are wide and innocent, his rose lips that move with pleas so soft and velvet.

How could Thranduil refuse him anything? Especially after his little leaf asked so properly on his knees for hours? For days?

••••••

On the night before Legolas' first patrol, Thranduil's worry knows no bounds.

It makes his stomach curl and tighten within himself, his lips and chin tremble as well as his hands.

They flit nervously over Legolas, smoothing his clothes, his hair. Legolas winces and tries to guide away his father's cold, alabaster hands with his own warm ones.

"Adar, I'm fine," Legolas assures his father for the millionth time, smiling a little as he clasps Thranduil's hands. "I'll be fine!"

Thranduil swallows and nods too quickly as if he's trying to make the worry dissipate. "I know, iôn," he agrees shakily.

He finally pulls himself away from his little leaf and looks around Legolas' room nervously, trying to think if his son was missing something.

He knew what he himself was missing, of course.

His non-existent chill.

"Ada, don't worry," Legolas says in a soft voice from behind him, an equally gentle embrace enclosing his waist as the younger pressed himself behind him. "Feren and Meludir and all the others will take good care of me. You know they will."

Thranduil almost rolls his eyes. If he heard those words a good three decades ago, he would've put his son in the humans' so-called mental institution.

"I know," Thranduil murmurs and he turns to enclose his little leaf in a tight hug. As he presses his cheek against his son's head, feels the cold metal of his circlet pressing against his cheek so sharply, he lets out a shuddering sigh.

One string that attaches their hearts to one another snaps.

••••••••

When Legolas returns, the light in his eyes shine all the brighter, the wide smile on his sweet face washing away all the worry and sorrow Thranduil carried for the little Elfling during the two weeks of his prince's absence.

"It was so amazing, Adar!" he declares during their first dinner in two weeks, not paying attention to the food in front of him despite its quality, still riding the high of his excitement and exhilaration. "The world is much bigger than I expected it to be!"

Thranduil nods silently from his side of the long table, unable to take his son's hand to anchor both he and himself.

He smiles because it makes him happy to see Legolas so enchanted and in love with the earth they live in.

If you ask why he tears up, it is because, at that very moment, he realizes where and to what Legolas' precious heart really belongs.

••••••••

The little outbursts of desire for freedom remain infrequent, but as decades pass, so does Legolas' patience.

Lately, there're many instances in which Legolas refuses to hold his tongue, instead on-slaughtering his father with absurd demands for leave of the kingdom.

He doesn't want to leave permanently, he says.

He only wishes to see more of the world and its horrors and sorrows that Thranduil had so carefully hid from him, the Elvenking supposed with a heavy heart.

The thought of Legolas being scarred so deep and permanently like he had been scares Thranduil to no end, and though he's allowed his little child to accompany a few patrols, he wishes for Legolas to go and explore no further.

So they live together, the tension thick between them, the boundless love that had once set their hearts on fire and enabled them to stay with one another for so long all but faded in Legolas' heart, replaced with an unquenchable thirst for life outside of his father's safe embrace.

One day, it all shatters.

Thranduil is hastily walking (no, definitely not fleeing) out of his throne room, away from his servants' sights, Legoals close behind him.

Thranduil's being ridiculous, and he knows it.

He doesn't need his little Elfling shouting it at him.

"This isn't fair, Adar!" Legolas cries as he follows his quickly pacing father down the halls, ignoring the questioning and concerned looks of the servants passing by.

They know not to stare, at least.

Thranduil knows, without even having to glance, that Legolas is red-faced, ocean eyes turned navy with his rage.

Legolas has already blown up (or is in the process of said blowing-up) but Thranduil fears the worst is to come.

He's quick to enter his chambers, his hand shaking (barely visibly) as he pulls out the silver key in his pocket and unlocks the heavy doors.

"You can't just keep me locked up here in your halls for as long as I live!" Legolas shouts as he hastily follows his father into the room, shutting the doors with a loud slam.

"Can I not?" Thranduil retorts, voice keeping steady and indifferent though his heart races as he moves quickly to the table with his wine.

"You know how many patrols there are, Adar?" Legolas voice has quieted a bit since they are in close proximity, but it's still racked with anger. "Four patrols every week of every month! And how many have I been on?"

"Please, refresh my memory."

Legolas bristles with rage. "Five, Adar! Five! By rights, I should've been on at least 500 by now!"

Thranduil turns his head towards his son sharply, eyes narrowed. "Who are you to say what your rights are?"

"I--"

"It matters not," Thranduil interrupts him, looking from a Legolas and back to the wineglass in his hand, breaking his own rule of reverence and respect for one another. "I am not only your King, but also your father."

Legolas grows silent (worryingly so), and it's only their heavy breathing and the loud, white noise of the thick tenseness between the two.

"That's what you are first, aren't you?" Legolas suddenly speaks, voice trembling with both pain and sadness, the anger only a transparent veil over the words. "Every one here, all of your warriors, your people, your servants, Valar, even I! We're only pawns and bishops in your--your little game of chess you play. At the end of the day, we're only pieces of means to an end!"

The anger that burns in Thranduil knows no bounds, and is so intense, it could devour everything and anything. He can barely keep himself from bursting out in a rather improper manner, even with years of keeping these intense emotions under check.

How dare Legolas make such a false comparison? How dare he even consider that what he was saying was true?

Thranduil keeps his lips pressed tightly together, he won't even turn to look at his child in fear that he might do something foolish like throttle the little thing for even suggesting something like--

"I'm leaving," Legolas declares, and his statement is firm, concrete, like letters in a gravestone. Unwashable, unfadeable, unexpected.

Just like that, the fire turns into ice, the sky is ground and the earth is air, the intense red that blazed in his eyes now an intense blue of sadness.

It slaps Thranduil harder than any physical strike could, and he can't even gasp, can't even cry.

His throat is choked with Legolas' words, his soul tight with despair.

When he hears Legolas move to leave is the only time he can force himself to face his child, his beautiful little leaf.

He turns sharply only to see Legolas holding his circlet in his hands, tears that are stubbornly blurring his vision in his ocean eyes.

He drops the crown, his symbol of inheritance, of royalty.

Of his bloodline connecting him to his father.

When it falls to the stone floor, it lands with a thud that sounds like the very earth had been shaken to its core.

"I'm sorry, Adar," Thranduil thinks he whispers out before he turns and flees.

Thranduil lets him go.

What else can he do, as he falls to the ground in shatters of what he once was, as a lost shadow fallen from heaven once again?

••••••••

Thranduil learns of the quest his son joined, the suicide mission to destroy the One Ring.

It's stupid, and horrible, and so strange and wrong for his Legolas to do.

At first he was angry. He nearly sent his entire army only to fetch his little, rebellious child when he learned of what Legolas had done.

Then he realized that what he was dealing with was no longer a child, and no longer was Legolas his.

That's when the ultimate grief hit him, the feeling of a bottomless pit of desire and longing making him sick.

He sits in his throne now, silent and unmoving. Like a statue of ice, frozen. Emotionless to all but himself.

The horror. The anger. The all-consuming sorrow swallows his heart, his soul, his entire self every minute of every day.

He's lost all sense of time once again, reverting back to the young King who'd only lost his father and his wife a few years ago.

He's barely aware of what happens anymore.

All he knows is that most of his people had already left for the Undying Lands, and the last boat to that particular place was leaving.

"Please, my lord," Galion begs.

Beautiful, loyal Galion, always at his side.

"I cannot," Thranduil says softly, and he feels his heart ache a little when Galion lets out a heart-broken whimper as the tears he's held back for so long finally slide down his cheeks.

"I cannot leave without you... You are my--"

Thranduil shakes his head, "No longer, Galion."

He tries not to show his sorrow as he begins to let go of yet another person he loves. "I..." He licks his dry, chapped lips, melancholy increasing when he Galion buries his face in his hands and tries to stifle his sobs. "I release you from your duty. You are free to go, my dear friend."

Galion collapses to his knees and cries.

Thranduil swallows as he feels guilt wrack through his soul.

If only he could stop letting people down..

He quietly kneels in front of his former servant, gently placing his hand on his shoulder. "Come, Galion," he says softly, trying to offer and remember what exactly comfort was after being so cold for so long. "You must leave. You must forget me."

"I cannot," his friend shakes his head violently as he sobs and tries to rub the tears out of his eyes. When he looks up at Thranduil sharply with his soft, warm eyes shining like crystals of pain, the Elvenking's heart clenches painfully. "I cannot, my King!"

"Galion," Thranduil sighs, hesitating for a moment before tugging him into his arms, letting him cry on his shoulder.

"I cannot," he whispers over and over, clutching onto Thranduil like he's his lifeline.

"Do not say that." Thranduil's jeweled hands gently stroke his back.

It takes a while until Galion's violent sobbing ceases, and Thranduil forces himself to pull his dear friend away from him so he could look into his sad eyes.

"You must leave now, my friend. Or you'll miss your chance for...for a peaceful ending," he says quietly, staring into his deep coffee orbs for a moment.

Something like understanding, resignation flashes in his eyes, and Galion swallows tightly, nodding once.

They stare at one another for a moment, before a trembling sigh drains from Galion's lips, and he moves suddenly until they are pressed against Thranduil's cheek.

He keeps himself still like a statue when his friend pulls away, something akin to heartbreak and despair in Galion's eyes.

"Farewell, melamin," Thranduil says softly, and he nods once in acknowledgement before hasting away.

He wouldn't want his King to see him cry more than once.

••••••••

Thranduil lies on his bed, long fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the silver circlet in his hands as he stares out the window.

The leaves that sway with the breeze in the trees are distant, yet green and alive.

He doesn't know that beyond his private gardens, a greener, new land awaits. No longer is Mirkwood deserving of such a name, no longer is a sickly shadow of gloom and despair cast over it.

When word of the success of the Fellowship of the Ring came to him from Lord Elrond (who still had yet to depart for the Undying Lands), a sense of peace washed over him as he learned that all members of what used to be some sort of suicide squad (I'm sorry) were alive and well.

That's all he needed to know, that his little Greenleaf that had broke his heart and mended it and broke it again was alright.

He finds himself missing Legolas even more nowadays (if that was even possible), as he lies idly, alone in silence. He finds himself quietly tracing the graceful engravings on the multiple, thin strands of silver entwined with one another on Legolas' delicate circlet, one of his only reminders of his fair child.

He stares at the sky with unseeing eyes, and all he can see is the cerulean of ocean crystals that echo the very shade of his eyes and his soul.

•••••••

Two decades pass as Thranduil sits in his throne, useless, still. Like icy stone or frozen death.

Or was it three decades?

Time and movement mean nothing to him, are nothing to him. He remains silent and dead as night, staring with equally dead eyes.

One day, it's different.

When he wakes, a realization dawns on him.

It's gentle, quiet, like the whisper of waking from a mother to her infant. It doesn't take Thranduil by surprise (in his heart, he's already known) and it barely evokes even a tear from the frozen Elvenking.

Legolas will never return to him.

It's so very simple yet painful, hard to fathom and difficult to swallow.

But the world still turns, the sun and moon still rise and set, the grass still grows.

Legolas' distance in both mind and heart are unstoppable and unchangeable things, and Thranduil's only choice is to accept that.

He knows that now.

•••••••

He finds himself walking (an unusual and worrisome occupation for someone as weak as he), footsteps light and almost nonexistent as he glides through his empty halls like a ghost.

The rust and stiffness of the metal and the out-of-control growth of plants make it a bit hard to get access to his cellar doors, but eventually he's in.

It's a room no one but he knows, a well-guarded secret full of forbidden substances of crushed Elven bones and fallen stardust.

He quietly glances at all of the jars on the shelves, noting the way they've collected more dust and rust than anything else.

He doesn't know what he's doing when he finds one certain jar in the very back and pulls it out, staring at the white, almost glowing dust through the old, cloudy glass.

Staring at it for a moment, he begins to slowly walk out of the room. He doesn't know why he bothers to lock it when he leaves and hides the key, but he continues to his throne.

A bottle of aged wine sits by his throne and he picks it up, swishing the remains of the liquid in the dark green bottle as he walks out of his castle, out of his kingdom, and into his forest.

As he walks, he hears the trees murmur. They whisper of the fallen Kingdom, of the lost Elvenking they once knew.

It's no surprise to Thranduil that they do not recognize him. With his simple silver attire and his lack of jewelry or crown to distinguish himself, he could very well be a simple Ellon.

As he moves through the forest, silent, he opens the jar and sprinkles a bit of the substance into the air, and the oxygen is immediately poisoned with the foreign drug.

The birds that chirp in the trees surrounding him sense the danger and are quick to fly away, but the plants of Mirkwood have no escape from their doom, just like he has none.

He continues until he's deep inside, and the forest is no longer as dark as he remembers, instead the sunlight pours through the leaves and pierces his heart like a lance.

When he finds an open pasture of grass, the trees sparse and far away, their whispers no longer screams in Thranduil's ears, he lies in the tall grass, simply breathing the air which he had spoiled with the chemicals.

The grass he feels under his body will soon decay into dust and then into nothingness, just like his body.

He hopes to be asleep before his forest dies with him.

Twisting the cork off the bottle, he brings the opening to his lips and takes a small sip, suddenly feeling tired and worn out. He barely has any strength left when he smashes the bottle against the ground, sighing in relief when it shatters.

The crimson that drips from his wrists as he traces the tips of the sharp glass against his pale, delicate skin warms his cooling body, but he can barely feel the pain in the action.

It's quiet when he closes his eyes, when he finally drops the shattered glass onto the floor beside him. He can't even hear the birds that were once chirping, he can't even hear the screams in the distance as he slips away with a silent word of farewell on his lips.