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The lilting sounds of the dual harps hardly reached Thranduil’s ears. He was barely present in this time, in this place. He felt thinned, like a cloud wisping out over a valley. He sat in his throne, leaning to one side with his fingers pressed to his temple. He thought of nothing in particular, and yet his memories took forms of fleeting impressions:
A morning so early that the grass appeared grey
Clasping her thighs to help her down from a branch
Tiny hands tugging on his braids
He scarcely noticed when the music stopped. Slowly, excited voices rushed in. By their tones, it didn’t sound like danger.
“My king! The prince has returned!”
He hummed, not heeding their words.
“Your son, my king!”
The noises grew louder, and singing swelled up in the distance. He wondered what they were going on about. A hand lay on the arm of his throne, not daring to touch him.
“Legolas is here. We are going to greet him. Please make haste, your majesty!”
He was left alone. He felt it without looking up.
Legolas…
He had departed to attend the council in Rivendell, and he never returned, not even to say goodbye. He sent a letter saying that he had gone on the quest. That was the last Thranduil heard from his son for the next five months. He could not sleep, not knowing if he was safe. Ill whispers passed to him; news of members of the fellowship dying or going missing. Even Gandalf had fallen, although it proved to be temporary.
When Sauron was destroyed, he felt it. It was carried on the wind and through the earth. He stood, shivering for a long time, staring into the sky. His people rejoiced that night, and he drank with them. But he could never be truly happy until his son was safely returned.
Your son…
He jolted as if woken from a deep sleep. The whole palace was rejoicing. The words of their song welcomed the prince home.
Thranduil stumbled off of his throne. He did not have much strength of late, but he used it now to race along the passageways. His people parted like waves before him. When he burst outside, he saw throngs of elves gathered on the lawns and trees before the palace, the principal group gathered around a brown horse. Legolas was sitting atop it, grinning at those close to him. A dwarf sat behind him. As Thranduil approached, Legolas’ eyes lifted. Seeing his father’s visage, his smile faded to almost nothing. Concern replaced the mirth in his eyes.
Finally reaching him, Thranduil grasped his son by his tunic and pulled him directly off the horse. The graceful prince landed on his feet, but his father could not stay on his any longer. His knees buckled, and both of them sank to the grass.
For the first time in a long time, Thranduil felt the real world around him, crisp and vibrant. Legolas’ hair was soft under his hands. They both breathed heavily, chests rising and falling. The breeze seemed loud, as all around them had gone completely silent. Time meant nothing to the king, and he could not have said how long they sat there for.
“Are you well, Father?” Legolas said softly.
Thranduil almost sobbed at the sound of his voice.
“I am now, my child.”
Fighting the tumult of emotions in front of his subjects, Thranduil turned his face into Legolas’ hair.
“Are you well?” he asked his son in a scratchy voice.
“I’m very well. Valar be praised, I was not seriously injured, and neither was my companion, Gimli.”
Thranduil leaned back to look at him. He almost wished he could turn the boy back into a child and sling him to his chest. Legolas smiled reassuringly. Thranduil blinked the tears away and looked over at the dwarf, who had dismounted the horse. Having been acknowledged, he bowed.
“I am Gimli, son of Gloin. It is an honour to visit your venerable house, King Thranduil. Your son has been a fierce friend in battle, and a companion without equal.”
“I’m sure he has,” Thranduil answered with more of his old tone.
He shifted his weight to stand up, and Legolas helped him to his feet. He could not help feeling embarrassed at the display of weakness in front of his subjects. But it meant nothing, as they all knew that his fëa had faded. They had been forced to witness him slip further and further into melancholy despite their attempts to give him hope or brighten his spirits. Now that the cause of his sorrow was undone, he had the wits to concern himself with how he was perceived.
Legolas kept an arm under his. He did not begrudge the support if it kept his son close to him. He looked into his face before tearing his gaze away to address Gimli.
“I met your father, Gloin, was it? He was with Thorin’s company many years ago.”
“He told me of it,” Gimli said, eyes beginning to twinkle, “Legolas also gave an account of that adventure. It was interesting to compare the two sides.”
“Of course, Bilbo Baggins also wrote about it in his book,” Legolas added, “We are all entangled in the tale.”
“I wonder which one you favor, Gimli,” Thranduil said.
Gimli shrugged good-naturedly. “To not offend any parties, I shall say bits of all of them.”
“Well, I am pleased to welcome Gloin’s son in far gentler circumstances than his father. My house is open to you. Will you stay a while before going on to Erebor?”
Gimli bowed and thanked him.
The small party walked to the palace, and servants took the horse and supplies away. Singing filled the woods and palace again. A feast was prepared quickly. Legolas and Gimli attempted to recount the full story of the quest during dinner, but there was not enough time. The elves could have kept on, but Gimli needed rest.
That night, Thranduil came to the prince’s room to wish him goodnight. They sat on the bed, and Legolas curled up against his father’s side. Thranduil petted his hair and began to sing softly. Legolas fell asleep that way, and his father did not leave his side until morning.
The brook babbled pleasantly. Thranduil sat cross-legged, meditating to its melody. Legolas lay on his back with his head on Thranduil’s thigh, making a bracelet of grass.
“Father.”
“Mm?”
“I wish to go to Erebor with Gimli.”
Thranduil did not respond. Legolas looked into his father’s stoic face.
“You mean to stay there for more than a few days.”
“He has spent a month here.”
“You worry I will fade again.”
“You were not well when I returned. I cannot leave you if–”
“Go. All will be well.”
“Father, even now, you cannot be apart from me.”
“I am not a suckling babe.” The words sounded harder than the tone which delivered them, though his disappointment was apparent. “I will not die now. Besides, you will only be northeast of the wood.”
Legolas was quiet.
“Perhaps you love too easily.” Thranduil said after a moment. His son frowned at him. “Our departed Tauriel, and then Aragorn, and now Gimli.”
Legolas gave a clipped laugh. “I was not in love with Aragorn. And Gimli is only my dear friend.”
Thranduil raised a brow. “Is that so?”
Disliking his father’s tone, Legolas sat up and faced him.
“I am not so fickle, Father.”
“I would never imply such a thing. On the contrary, your heart is very full. I only hope that you’ve found someone who has as much feeling for you.”
“Gimli –” Legolas began, and then stopped, “I assure you, he’s very steadfast. No one is as loyal as a dwarf.”
Thranduil laughed. “You sound like one!”
Legolas cocked his head. “I suppose I do.”
“Go with your friend to Erebor. Meet his family. Perhaps you’ll have news for me when you return.”
“Political news?”
Thranduil brushed a hand over his son’s hair. “You must pack your fine clothes. I will help you.”