#dwelf-verse

“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.