“My Lord Thranduil.” The elleth in the doorway greeted politely. Her soft doe eyes took in the tired form of the King, before flitting to where Legolas was playing on the floor. She knelt before him, bowing her head.

“Arassiel.”

“Adar-nîn…” she began softly. Thranduil could not help but wince and Arassiel flinched. “I am sorry. I did not realise… I should have done more for the Leafling,” she whispered, glancing at Legolas, “I did not know.”

Thranduil knew she had not known – Arassiel lived close to the northern borders rather than in the Halls – but he still resented her for it; if Thandir had not taken her away and thus made himself scarce, perhaps Thonnon would not have been allowed to spiral so far out of control. Wishful thinking, Thranduil told himself harshly, but still he could not help but feel that Arassiel bore some blame for the events of the past decade. He pushed the feeling away harshly.

“Arassiel… what will you do?” he asked, genuinely curious. Thandir might have been culpable, but he had not been outright cruel to the people – Arassiel herself was of Nandorin blood, and Thandir had always loved both sides of his parentage. Thranduil sighed. He had always liked Arassiel; the quiet yet spirited elleth had been a good match for his son, which he had heartily approved of, even if Thonnon had sneered at his brother marrying a lowly bowyer from the northern reaches.

“I will go away, Adar,” Arassiel sighed, getting to her feet. “I have kin in Lothlórien.” Thranduil nodded. He would miss her, he thought, even if she had not been his good-daughter for many years. Arassiel bit her lip indecisively, her hand going to her abdomen and Thranduil’s eyes widened in surprise as he realised what the gesture meant.

“You are pregnant?” he asked softly. Arassiel nodded, a single tear making its way down her face. “Congratulations, sweet one,” Thranduil replied quietly. “I am happy for you.”

“I had not thought to tell you in this manner,” she admitted, sniffling softly, “but I no longer trust Thandir to be a good father to my elfling and so I will raise her far away from here.”

“Arassiel, do mind that you have not been banished.” Thranduil said, catching her hand and squeezing her fingers gently. “If you choose to stay, I will not punish you.”

Arassiel shook her head.

“Thank you, Adar, but I think I will have to leave,” she said. “I… I do not wish to see my people look at me with the disgust they feel for my husband’s actions colouring their eyes. I do not wish for my daughter to be scorned for the sake of her father. It is better this way. Perhaps, one day, Thandir will be the ellon I wed once more, but for now… I am alone.”

Arassiel had obviously thought her position through carefully, and Thranduil could only agree with her assessment. Even if Thonnon had probably instigated much of the cruelty he had heard about – not just against Legolas, but also against the Silvans he considered beneath him – Thandir had not stopped him. Nor had he attempted to rein in his brother’s malicious tendencies… He did not like to think that his people would be cruel to an innocent elfling who had not even been born when the crime occurred, but he was not blind enough to consider it impossible, or even unlikely that some would hold an Adar’s actions against his daughter – even if she was the granddaughter of their King.  

“My Lord…” Arassiel trailed off, biting her lip. Thranduil gave her a gentle smile, permission to continue. He had a feeling he knew what was on her mind as her hand once more went to her belly, still flat, hiding the precious treasure growing within. Arassiel rallied, her brown eyes determined as she looked directly at him. “When the child is grown… may I send her to meet you? Thandir may no longer be your son, but…” An orphan herself, Arassiel would not wish her daughter to have no kin to call her own, Thranduil knew, nodding at his good-daughter.

“I would be honoured to meet any child of yours, Arassiel, and I will claim her as one of my line despite her father’s exile,” Thranduil promised quietly, watching her whole body relax at his words. “Go with my blessings, daughter. You will always have a home in my Halls, and you and yours will be welcome kin.” Thranduil got to his feet, reaching to run his fingers along the ridge of her ear in a fond caress. Arassiel bowed her head, making her way out of the room.

“Farewell, my Lord Thranduil. I am grateful for your mercy.”

A few minutes of solemn silence later, Galion cleared his throat and began his interrupted report anew, but Thranduil stalled him with a hand.

“Legolas, do you know who that elleth was?” he asked quietly, making Legolas look up from his teetering stack of wooden blocks. The elfling nodded.

“She is the brown-haired one who told me my name,” he smiled, oblivious to the way Thranduil’s heart squeezed in horror at the innocent happiness on his face at the thought. “Thonnon hit her. Thandir was very angry and then I did not see her again.” Legolas turned back to the wooden building blocks in front of him.

“Her name is Arassiel,” Thranduil said quietly. “She is your good-sister, ionneg, and her child will be your niece when she is born.” He looked at Galion, who nodded obediently, “Ensure that an escort is found for Arassiel and take a message to Lady Galadriel. I want to know how she fares, and when the child is born I would be grateful for a notice. You may feed this gossip to the right ears, as well… Arassiel remains my daughter and under my protection.” With a silent nod, Galion sped off to do his King’s bidding, leaving Thranduil to play with his small son.

“My Lord, I have brought the noonday meal,” a quiet voice said a while later as Maeassel made her way into the room with a tray balancing on her bump. She smiled gently, bending to ruffle Legolas’ short hair in passing.

“Thank you, Maeassel,” Thranduil replied, turning his attention to the plentiful meal and coaxing his small son to eat the different treats. Legolas never seemed to dare touch any food that wasn’t specifically given to him, which meant Thranduil had to feed him carefully to ensure his son’s growth was not stunted. The impotent rage he felt every time he witnessed another tiny bit of evidence of the hard life his son had endured while his soul roamed the stars made him curse himself, the Queen, his former sons, even poor Thalion, whose death had started the whole chain of events. He sighed. In his mind’s eye he saw once more the red-haired ellon with green eyes – so like his mother – and imagined how joyfully Thalion would have played with the baby Legolas.

When Galion returned, the meal had been eaten, and Thranduil was reclining on his favourite divan, meditatively stroking Legolas’ small back as the elfling napped on his chest.

“Tell me, Galion, where is Rhonith?” Thranduil had considered trying to reach her with his thoughts, but he was still too weak for ósanwë.

“Lady Rhonith went to stay with Lord Durin in Dwarrowdelf, my Lord,” Galion replied, looking unhappy. “Lord Thonnon was most… unkind.”

Sometimes Thranduil wondered how weak he appeared to those closest to him; everyone but Bronwe seemed to attempt to couch their words in vagueness rather than risk speaking ill of his second son.

“Tell me plainly, Galion,” he commanded, annoyance hardening his voice. Legolas snuffled in his sleep and Thranduil forced himself to relax, keeping his agitation from waking the little boy.

“Well,” Galion swallowed, “he called her a wicked half-breed witch who should have been drowned at birth… among other accusations, my Lord.”

Thranduil grimaced; he could only imagine what Galion had left out. “The warriors going with Arassiel… have them ask for her at the Front Gates,” he asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “I should like to see her.” To apologise, firstly, but also to see for himself that she was well now that one of the strongest reminders of her early days had gone beyond the Sea. The thought was alarming, in more than one way, making his arm tighten involuntarily around Legolas.

“She sent you a letter, my King,” Galion said.

“Letter?” Thranduil asked, wondering why he hadn’t been informed of its existence sooner, but dismissing the mystery instantly; there had been so many tasks to be done, so much that needed his seal of approval, it was no wonder some things slipped through the cracks.

“Lady Rhonith sent a messenger some years ago, bidding Lord Thonnon to send word when you awoke, I think,” Galion continued, the words running together; obviously guilty that the request had not been fulfilled. Thranduil waved his concern away – Rhonith would understand the delay. “She said – the messenger said – she wanted her words to remain in your hands, not simply carried from mouth to ear,” Galion replied, a light embarrassed flush on his cheekbones. “The letter should be somewhere in your study, my Lord. I will fetch the scribe to find it at once.”

Thranduil nodded, his eyes falling shut almost of their own accord as exhaustion rose up, swallowing him like a wave and pulling him down into the Sea of sleep.

Rusgon knocked gently on the wooden door of his King’s study.

“My Lord?” the scribe called. Thranduil blinked, trying to bring his mind back to wakefulness from the depths of sleep. Legolas was still lying on his chest, no longer sleeping but seemingly content to stay there, looking at the room silently. He smiled at Thranduil, those blue eyes like looking into a mirror.

“Yes?” Thranduil called hoarsely, glancing at the doorway.

“Steward Galion said you sent for me, my Lord?” Ducking inside, Rusgon hunched his shoulders slightly; he wasn’t overly tall, but he had a tendency to attempt to make himself appear smaller than he was.

“Yes, Rusgon” Thranduil replied, remembering, “the letter Rhonith sent me. Find it.”

The red-haired ellon nodded once and immediately went to follow his king’s command, the sound of rustling papers issuing from the small library that Thranduil had inherited from his naneth and continued to use as a study.

Thranduil could read, though most of his subjects could not. The Sindarin and Silvan Elves tended to prefer to remember their history through songs and poems rather than keep it in dusty tomes, however, and those in Greenwood who could read were few and far between. They used numbers for tallies, and there were certain signs used to mark paths through the Forest, but actual letter writing was rare and considered an unnecessary skill to most. The King, however, had been brought first up in Doriath and had learned the art of letters from his naneth, who taught him to write with the letters created in Aman. Not to be outdone, Oropher had insisted he also learn the letters of Daeron the Poet, who had lived in Doriath.

“Here, my Lord,” Rusgon said, brandishing two scrolls still bearing Rhonith’s interlocking runic seal. “Lady Rhonith’s letters.”

They were written in Tengwar, rather than Cirth as the Dwarrow used it, but it was recognisably Rhonith’s strong hand, even if the first letter was slightly shaky, and the ink had run in spots.

Dearest Atheg,

Nínimeth sailed this morning, and I am overcome with grief. I know I will not send you these words until I am back in the bosom of my mother’s home, but know that she was lucid once more before she left – aware of what was happening to her. Her thoughts were for you and the Leafling; she made me swear to stay behind when – for a word – I might have followed her out of love.

My tears have dried upon this paper as I rode east from the Grey Havens. Lord Círdan was most kind to me, and your warriors executed their duty with all honour. I have bid them return to your side, while I journey onwards. The Dwarrowdelf is calling me home and I aim to spend some time with my kin there. I had a most disturbing visit from my mother’s Maker when I last entered reverie, and I think I am needed there, if only to assuage my own heart.

Father of my Heart, do not grieve my absence. To walk your Halls without Thalion’s laughter or Nínimeth’s bright smile, to miss the gentle sound of your voice would be unbearable. I am sorry that I am not stronger than this grief, for I wish I could be with you once more every day. I hope little Leaf is being well cared for while I have exiled myself from your side.

In hope that you will find your way back to us soon,

Rhonith

Dearest Atheg,

It is clear to me that I should not linger in Greenwood overlong under its new interim ruler; Thonnon is not the young ellon I remember, and my heart lies uneasy in my breast as I pen this… I am kept far from Lassig, and…

Her pen had splattered, then, as though she had been interrupted in the writing, and the letter continued in a swift slant, words running together with urgency and the signature a barely legible scrawl.

Hopefully, my absence will soothe tempers, and I shall await word of your awakening – I pray it will not be an overlong wait!

My path is unclear, for now, but know that in my heart, I will remain your daughter.

Bear my love for you in your heart always,

Rhonith Hwiniel

The day his sons left his Halls for paths unknown, Thranduil did not leave his rooms, remaining inside with Legolas all day.

Instead, their departure was observed by Bronwe – as well as anyone who didn’t have pressing duties elsewhere – standing stern and implacable by the large Front Gates of the caverns.

Thonnon’s wife, Calardes, whom Thranduil had always found disagreeable, had elected to follow her husband into exile, taking their two children with them. Thranduil would be saddened by the absence of his granddaughters, but, in the end, it was not his choice to make.

The Elvenking of the Woodland Realm did, however, see Lady Arassiel safely mounted on one of his smaller elk a few days later, waving her off on her journey south. The child she carried was yet young and did not weigh heavily on her small frame, but the long ride would not be particularly comfortable. With her went a letter to Lady Galadriel, asking her to send word when the elfling was born, to let the Realm celebrate the birth and naming of another scion of his line.

Accompanying Arassiel, Thranduil sent four of the warriors who had accompanied Nínimeth and Rhonith to the Grey Havens, entrusting her safety to one of Bronwe’s lieutenants. Their duty was twofold; firstly, to see Arassiel safely settled in Lothlórien and, secondly, to find Rhonith in the Dwarrowdelf and invite her to come home.

Thranduil longed to see her, even though he knew her arrival would bring fresh grief over Nínimeth’s departure. He wanted Legolas to remember her, but mostly he wanted the company of the one he called daughter to ameliorate the longing for his wife in the way the presence of his sons should have done.

Thranduil sighed, once again swearing a fervent oath that he would do better by Legolas than he had apparently managed with the twins.

The Elvenking returned to his Halls, restoring the peace of his people’s daily lives.

“Yes, ionneg?” Thranduil replied, making the small face light up. It was a constant struggle not to let Legolas see how much it pained him every time the boy was happy not to be addressed as ‘elfling’ – the way his soft smile carved scars of self-loathing in Thranduil’s chest every time Thranduil called his name, called him his son. He should have been stronger than grief, should have been stronger, period. Perhaps, then, he could have helped Nínimeth find peace, could have had his lovely Queen back, could have shared with her all these moments of watching their son grow. Cupping Legolas’s face, he pressed a kiss against the small forehead, stared into blue eyes so much like his own. Sometimes, he wondered, would it have been better or worse if his last leafling had looked like his Naneth instead of Thranduil himself? Or would he, too, have found it difficult to look at the elfling without seeing the ghost of his death brother? Would Legolas have had two parents if his hair had been crimson and his eyes had been green?

“When I’m bigger, is my hair going to look like yours?” Legolas asked, completely unaware of the dark thoughts whirling in his father’s mind. The question broke through the haze of thoughts, startling Thranduil all over again, and making him laugh. Legolas frowned at him. The leafling did not like to be laughed at, Thranduil remembered, suddenly, feeling guilty for his mirth.

“I think so, Legolas,” he replied seriously, “you look a great deal like me, after all.”

“I do?” Legolas smiled, far too pleased by the simple recognition of fact for Thranduil’s peace of mind. Did the elfling not know? But then, who should have told him, Thranduil chastised himself mentally, when those meant to love and care for him had not even told Legolas that he was Thranduil’s son! Rage filled him, but he pushed it away to smile at Legolas, who was looking up at him like he had all the answers, such trust in someone who had already failed him so grievously. Thranduil wrapped his arm around Legolas’ back, bringing him close to his chest. Standing abruptly, he kept Legolas cradled against him, holding the Sceptre of his rule in the other as he made his way down from the Throne he’d been lounging on – it was important that he be seen out and about, even if the stairs up to his seat took far too long to scale – and continued back to their private rooms, nodding cordially to the Silvans they passed.

“You do, ionneg,” Thranduil promised, stopping before the mirror that Rhonith had once gifted her sister; a full-figure reflection staring back at them. “You see?” he asked, pointing at their images. Legolas leaned forward, reaching for the elfling in the glass. Thranduil smiled. His son was so curious, just like Nínimeth. “You have my hair,” he said, bringing a few strands forward and trailing them down the side of Legolas’ head, making his son laugh. “You have my eyes,” Thranduil pointed to the blue-grey eyes in the mirror. “You may not see it yet, but I think – when you grow – you will have inherited my jaw and my cheekbones too.” Legolas nodded, but then his small face creased in a frown.

“What about my…” Thranduil nearly held his breath, but the boy did not say Naneth, or nana, as he had hoped, had tried to teach him, “…the Queen? Do I look like her?” Legolas asked.

“You share some of her traits, ionneg, but no.” Thranduil admitted, still wondered whether the fact hurt more or less than the opposite might have. “Perhaps when you are older, you will show more Silvan characteristics from Nínimeth’s blood, but for now you look like me.” For a moment, he worried that Legolas was going to be sad about that, but the boy simply nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

“Can I have a crown too?” he asked instead, one of his hands still wrapped in Thranduil’s hair. The Elvenking laughed.

“I don’t see why not,” he chuckled, picturing the small head disappearing beneath one of his own crowns.

“Green?” Legolas mumbled, snuggling into his father. Thranduil sobered. He remembered a different voice asking the same question, when he had been staring at Oropher’s ostentatious golden circlet with no small amount of horror more than twenty years ago, feeling reluctant to wear it; it looked too much like the crown Elendil had worn, and he’d never liked the Númenorian ruler. Nínimeth had made the first crown, a wreath of branches and summer berries, and as the seasons changed, he had found new crowns made by his Queen’s careful hand beside his throne – wordless apology and support in each one – sparking a tradition he knew he would keep, a skill of Nínimeth’s he could teach her leafling.

The elleth laughed, but she never told him he couldn’t do things he told her he would. Unlike his playmate Alphel, who was a year older than Legolas and always rubbed her superior skills in his face, Rhonith believed in him and Legolas loved her for it. Rhonith’s approval was different to Ada’s, though equally coveted.

“When you have grown older and stronger, I’m sure you will,” she said, smiling, “but you’ll have to practice a lot; Oliphaunts are very large, Glasseg, they will not be easy to kill.”

“How large is it?” Legolas asked, skipping off to collect his training arrows. They were smaller than real arrows, but Ada had promised that he would soon be big enough to practice with a larger bow – still not an adult size, of course, but bigger than the small bow he carried now. Rhonith appeared thoughtful, sitting on the ground by the line that marked ten paces. Some of Ada’s guards could shoot 200 paces, Legolas had seen, but Bronwe had told him and Amathanar that all the Guard-Elves he commanded had also used a small bow at short distance to begin with, so Legolas felt confident he would grow big enough to train properly soon.

“An Oliphaunt, a male and fully grown has tusks that are about as long as your Ada is tall,” she said, Legolas stared. Thinking about his Oliphaunt toy, he tried to imagine something that big standing next to him.

“Is it taller than the trees?” he asked, craning his neck back to stare up at the green canopy far overhead. Rhonith laughed. Legolas smiled. Rhonith was often sad, but he liked it when she laughed.

“Yes, Glasseg, I believe it is. The people of South Harad use them to travel, whole families can fit all their belongings on the back of an Oliphaunt.” Rhonith explained, clapping when Legolas’ shot hit the center of the target. He preened.

“Could we fit? Me and you and ada?” he asked, aiming his next shot carefully. It went a little off-center, but still hit the target. Rhonith ruffled his hair, which usually annoyed him when other elves did – except Ada, of course, and Maeassel, which was Bread-girl’s real name – but Rhonith was different. He gave her a smile when she did it, feeling happy when she smiled back.

“We could fit,” she promised, “and you could bring Bronwe, and Maeassel, and Amathanar, as well as Alphel and her family, and there would still be room for a few more.” Rhonith’s smile had changed, like she was very far away. Legolas didn’t like that look much. He fired again.

“I hit it!” he crowed, pleased to see the arrow had hit the black center of the target.

“So you did, Glasseg,” Rhonith smiled, handing him another. Legolas grinned.

He practiced all afternoon, firing arrow after arrow as Rhonith watched, never growing tired of the game.

 “My son has found his favourite audience, I see,” Thranduil said mildly, running his fingers across Rhonith’s ear in greeting. She leaned lightly against his leg.

“Rhonith came!” Legolas informed him, rather redundantly. The adults hid their smiles. Legolas skipped off to gather his arrows.

“He is so different, even since last time I was here,” Rhonith whispered, “so joyous.”

“It lightens my heart to see it.” Thranduil squeezed her hand, folding his legs beneath him and watching the young elfling scamper around, trying to find the arrows that missed his target. “And this time he did not run away to find you,” he added drily. Rhonith chuckled.

“I’ve yet to work out how he even knew I was on my way. You did not, if I am correct?” she asked, a thoughtful frown on her face.

“I do not think so,” Thranduil mused. “You came from the High pass near Imladris… I had no scouts reporting you entering the forest, no. This time, yes, but only because the patrol did not know your face,” he scowled at that; he had been displeased that his adopted daughter was not recognised by the patrols meant to guard his forest, and Bronwe had been particularly put-out that they had not remembered which song was meant to signify someone welcomed by their king so he had punished the hapless fools hard. Rhonith laughed.

“I cannot say it was not a novel experience to be led here in bondage, but hopefully it will be the last time it happens. The story of Bronwe’s punishment has probably spread far and wide by now. No one will dare to forget the proper songs.” The topic was left behind at the return of the happily bouncing elfling, a fistful of arrows clutched in his hand.

“Ada, watch me!” Legolas exclaimed, turning to take up his place at the line, his energy flagging visibly. The arrow missed. So did the next tree. Legolas was getting upset; he’d wanted to show Ada how good he was getting!

“Ah, ionneg, come here,” Thranduil said calmly, when the fifth shot flew wide enough to hit the next target over. Legolas pouted, but returned to Ada, who caught him up in a hug and let him sit on his lap, playing the fabric of his robe. “Rhonith was telling me all about how you promised to kill an Oliphaunt for her.” Thranduil continued, sharing a glance with the younger elleth above Legolas’ head. The boy nodded. “Will you tell me about this beastie?” Thranduil said. “I have never seen one, you know.”

“You haven’t?” Legolas gaped. Ada knew everything! “It looks like my toy,” he said, listing things on his fingers, “it has four large teeth called tusks, like that boar that Bronwe killed. People can ride on them – just like I’m allowed to sit on my toy, but it walks, it doesn’t rock back and forth,” he added, looking up to make sure Ada understood. “People make houses on the back of them, and bring their whole family to live there!” he exclaimed, missing the way Rhonith’s smile widened. Ada hugged him.

“It sounds like a very big animal, ionneg,” he murmured. Legolas leaned back against his Ada’s warm chest, yawning slightly.

“Is,” he mumbled. “Taller than you. Taller than the trees! Taller-” Legolas’ stream of words ended abruptly, transforming into a light snore. Rhonith chuckled. Thranduil shook his head, arranging the small body in his arms as he got to his feet.

“Let’s get you to bed, ionneg,” he murmured, returning to the halls.

“I will have someone bring our food to your rooms in case he wakes,” Rhonith whispered, trailing her fingers across the tiny pointed ear and smiling at Thranduil. “I have missed you both.”

“Lady Míriel?” The Elveenking asked a few hours later, at the sight of one of the most graceful ladies in the halls appearing near tears as she stormed into the large cavern.

“My lord,” she curtsied, “I received your messenger, but…” she trailed off, looking like she wanted to cry. Thranduil began to worry.

“What is it?” he asked, worry making his voice harsher than intended. Míriel flinched.

“We never picked up the Leafling,” she whispered. “I have not seen him since yesterday. Alphel and I went to see if he wanted to play, but his rooms were empty. A passing servant told us he was with you.”

“What?!” Thranduil roared, jumping to his feet. Sick fear filled him. “Bronwe, I want everyone on high alert! Find my son!” he ordered, not even staying to watch the Captain begin barking orders, casting everyone in the room into a frenzy that spread like rings across water through the halls.

Thranduil was running. His heart beat double time, fear of loss that he had never quite conquered since the death of Thalion and the realisation that Nínimeth was bearing again, filling his soul. Where was his son? Panicked, he returned to their rooms, calling Legolas’ name and looking behind all the larger pieces of furniture.

It had been hours. Thranduil had no clear idea where he personally had searched, though it felt like everywhere. He was beginning to believe that Legolas had been kidnapped or worse; fallen into the roaring river that ran beneath his caves, perhaps, and been swept off, drowned in the rapids. His mind kept spinning up scenario after scenario, his hands shaking, longing for someone to blame, someone to threaten or kill until whatever enemy had taken his child returned him, hale and whole. Bronwe had forced him back to his rooms, pushed him down into a chair where he now sat, his goblet of Dorwinion untouched beside him as he stared into nothingness in front of him. Not another one, he thought, I cannot lose another of my sons, please Valar, not another one… not THIS one. He stood, abruptly, knocking the goblet to the floor in his haste. Maeassel put her hand on his arm, but he shook off the comforting touch angrily. Thranduil did not want to be comforted, he wanted his son! Thranduil stormed to the window, gasping in the clean night air. What if Legolas was scared, or hurt? What if he had been stolen away, never to return?

“I believe I’ve found something that belongs to you,” a voice said, quiet and calm. Thranduil whirled. In the doorway stood the most beautiful sight he had seen in years, he thought. Her mithril hair gleamed in the light of the lamps, the beads glinting with the flicker of flames. Her blue eyes were smiling as she pressed a finger to her lips for silence. In her arms, however, was the true reason for his rapture. The small body was fast asleep, his pale head curled towards her warmth, one of his hands wrapped in her shiny tresses.

“Sellig,” Thranduil breathed, reaching for what he was nearly certain was nothing but an apparition, a dream conjured up by his own desire to have his child safe once more. Taking two faltering steps, he had reached her, wrapping his arms around her solid form, hiding his relieved tears in her pale hair. When he let her go, she relinquished Legolas to his arms, though the elfling kept a tight grip on her hair. “Thank you,” he whispered, unsure if it was aimed at his long-absent daughter or the Valar who had allowed her to find Legolas.

“He found me in the forest,” she replied, answering his unasked question. “I did not think Legolas was old enough to wander alone,” she frowned. Thranduil sank back into his chair, barely noticing Maeassel’s exit.

“He ran away,” Thranduil admitted. “I spent the morning down by the Raft-Gate, and no one had seen him all day. We’ve been searching the halls for hours. I had only just ordered a wide sweep of the forest.”

“I was surprised to see him, wandering about an hour’s walk from here,” Rhonith said, stroking Legolas’ small cheek as she sat on the floor by Thranduil’s feet, leaning against his legs with a soft smile aimed at the sleeping elfling. “He told me he knew I was coming, so he’d gone out to find me… and got a bit lost, perhaps,” she chuckled. Thranduil joined her, relief flooding his overwrought heart until he was sobbing against Legolas, holding the elfling close to his chest.

“I thought…” he whispered. “Oh, sellig, I was so afraid.” Rhonith said nothing, simply gripping his hand tightly and watching Legolas sleep.

“Ada…?” Legolas murmured sleepily, blinking up at his father’s concerned face. “Rhonith?” he asked, when Thranduil could find no words. “Look Ada, I found Rhonith for you!” the small boy grinned, clearly expecting Thranduil to praise him.

“What did I tell you, Glasseg?” Rhonith asked, keeping her voice calm but adding a touch of displeasure. She had found him in the forest, almost dissolved in tears because he couldn’t find her or the way home, and she knew Thranduil and the rest of his caretakers had warned the elfling not to leave the Halls unaccompanied.

“That Ada would be worried where I’d gone,” Legolas parroted obediently.

“Worried?” Thranduil said incredulously, feeling that the word did not do his feelings justice one bit. “Worried?!” his voice rose as he jumped to his feet, still holding Legolas, and not hearing Rhonith’s pained cry when the elfling pulled her hair. “Legolas, I have had four hundred Elves searching for you for hours! We thought you had gotten hurt, or simply lost, or even been kidnapped!” Anger snapped through the words like the crack of a whip. The little boy began crying again, sobbing apologies when Thranduil crushed him to his chest, breathing hard at the resurgence of fear. He felt almost more scared now that he held his reckless son in his arms than when the boy was missing. Hugging Legolas tightly, he rubbed a soothing hand along his small back. “Hush, ionneg,” he whispered. “You’re back now, you’re safe now. Adar is here.” Legolas was clinging as tightly to Thranduil as Thranduil did to him, as he cried out the fear that had overwhelmed him when he realised he was truly lost.

 Earlier that day:

Legolas woke up to the sun shining through the green maple leaves outside the windows, feeling happy. He had dreamed that Rhonith would be coming today, though he didn’t remember it as having been a dream, simply a fact. The elf who brought him breakfast told him that Adar would be back later, but he could go play with Alphel, if he liked. Legolas liked playing with Alphel, but Rhonith was coming! Excited, he had barely finished his breakfast before he began running through the halls. At first, he had thought that Rhonith was already here, but when he had spent all morning searching the caverns without finding her – even venturing down to the scary dungeons that Adar used to store root vegetables during winter – he remembered that she was coming, not already arrived. Feeling proud of himself, Legolas ate lunch in the kitchens, stealing an extra bun for Rhonith before he set off, somehow avoiding anyone’s notice. He was a mighty hero off on a grand adventure to find the beautiful princess!

 An hour later, the grand adventure was becoming a little scary. The trees were very tall around him, and Legolas felt quite small. Nibbling on the currant bun he had taken from Maeassel’s tray, Legolas continued down the path, unaware that his small feet missed a bend while his eyes were staring up, up, up, trying to see the sky.

Legolas no longer liked his adventure. Heroes were all good in stories, but actually being one was very difficult, he’d found. He didn’t know where he was, he was cold, his food had gone, he was thirsty, and he wanted Adar! The last word became a shrill cry, as Legolas burst into tears, sinking down on the mulch of the forest floor.

“Ada, Ada, Ada!” he cried, feeling more alone than ever before. The shadows of the trees, no longer pretty with their red leaves but scary and darkening with the setting of the Sun, lengthened. Legolas kept crying, calling for his father. He got up slowly, hiccupping sobs as his small voice began to give out, telling himself that he had to keep moving, find the way home. Maybe Rhonith wasn’t coming after all?

 “Legolas?” At first, the little boy thought the voice was not really there, some magick of the forest meant to confuse him. A hand shook his small shoulder. “Legolas, glasseg, what are you doing so far away from the Halls?”

“Rho-nith?” he asked, croaking out her name as he finally dared to look up at her. Legolas didn’t think magic would scold him. “You came!” he cried.

At first, she had thought the whimpering animal in origin. Wanting to arrive – lembas was great for travelling, of course, but she had been hoping for a proper meal tonight – she would have ignored it, if not for the fact that the whimper sounded an awful lot like her name. Fear, fully formed in an instant, sprang to life in her breast. What if someone was truly hurt, asking for aid? Turning her feet, she headed towards the sound, calling for whomever it was to answer her.

“Legolas?” Rhonith thought she was seeing thing. What in the name of Durin was Legolas doing so far from home? And alone? The elfling shivered, but did not look up. Reaching for his shoulder, she kept her voice mild, hoping not to startle him. “Glasseg, what are you doing so far away from the Halls?”

“Rho-nith?” he asked, croaking out her name as he finally dared to look up at her. Rhonith felt her heart break a little at the misery on his face, mend a little when he gave her a wide smile. “You came!” he cried. Noticing the way he shivered, she picked up the small body hastily, clutching him against her chest as she wrapped her cloak around him.

“Ai, little one, why are you all alone out here?” she whispered, pressing kisses against his hair as Legolas clung to her, wrapping his arms and legs around her body.

“Want Ada,” he wept, burrowing into her warmth. Rhonith hummed soothingly, rubbing his back. The small body had not yet grown into an adult elf’s hardiness and imperviousness to weather. Legolas was chilled to the bone, she felt.

“Yes, we’ll go find Ada, Leafling,” she promised, dropping her pack to the ground as she began to run, her feet pounding the leaf mulch beneath her. “Atheg must be worried sick about you,” she whispered, when Legolas’ breathing told her he’d fallen asleep.

“Rhonith!” Bronwe hailed her when he caught sight of the running elleth, he mithril braids bouncing on her back.

“Where’s Atheg?” she asked, hardly waiting for his response.

“Legolas is missing, the King is in his study.” Bronwe said, perplexed by her urgency.

“I found Legolas,” she called back over her shoulder as she ran past him. Bronwe turned to follow, barking out orders to call off the search among the trees. “Send someone back for my pack!”

Opening the door, Rhonith found Thranduil leaning out of the window, gasping for breath.

“I found Something that belongs to you,” she said, making him turn, wide-eyed and stare at her. Shifting the cloak to reveal the now-rosy cheeks of Legolas, whose warmth had been restored, Rhonith smiled at the Elf she called father. Thranduil moved faster than her eyes could follow, his hands roaming Legolas’ body where it lay cradled in her arms, searching the small elfling for any sign of injury.

“Thank you,” he whispered reverently. Rhonith relinquished the sleeping elfling though his grip on her hair meant she could not move far – not that she wanted to, staring her fill at the little boy she loved above all other souls in Arda. Thranduil sat heavily in the chair behind him – Rhonith wasn’t sure he even knew it was there, as he stumbled blindly backwards.