The Witch's Destiny || Thranduil

Chapter XXIII

Legolas was not used to pain in his life. His father had always made sure of that. Every bruise and scrape was tended to by Thranduil himself, never by the palace healers. Every hurt feeling, there was his father, ready to talk it out and find out what had made Legolas feel so. For as long as Legolas could remember, there was his father, always two steps behind, ready to catch him if he fell. The incident with his mother had been the lowest point in his sheltered life. Never had he strayed far from his home, from his friends and family, from his father for very long. Yet, now he wanted to.

He wanted to run away and be free. He wanted to breath fresh air and sleep in the wild under stars. All too quickly, the forest he loved so dearly felt suffocating. The trees had wrapped their comforting branches around his neck, squeezing tightly until a love had become his greatest nightmare.

And it was one he couldn't escape, for every day he had to walk through these halls. Every day, he could see his mother's touch. For the longest time, Legolas had been grateful to still see his mother's influence everywhere he went, but no longer.

Perhaps leaving wasn't such a bad idea. He was nearing three-thousand years old and had travelled enough with different woodelven companies. He could handle an extended holiday on his own. But even with the pain this forest was causing him, it was the sweetest pain he'd ever known. He wanted to leave, that much he knew.

Still, his soul was engraved in each and every tree, flower, animal, and every grain of dirt.

He wanted to leave. He needed to leave.

He didn't want to leave.

Yes, he did.

No, he didn't.

Yes, he did.

And he would, for a time. Whether that time was five years or five-thousand years, Legolas would venture out of the forest, bow in hand, ready to face the world and all the glorious tragedies it had to offer. Perhaps he would visit the realms of Men. Perhaps Rohan, where there would be little trace of anything elvish. But not until after the wartime that threatened his kin had passed. Once the dwarves officially claimed Erebor, then he would leave. He would bear no more witness than necessary to the love affair of Tauriel and Kili, nor would he wait to see when his father would at last move in on Violet.

At least there, Legolas had the assurance they waited until after Legolas understood his mother's true demise. They were free to love as they wished now, and Legolas would congratulate them for it. What an interesting family they all would make together.

The tension went up in his body. The congratulations he felt didn't decrease the nervousness of someone else being his adar's bess. (father's wife)

What would life look like now? With new elflings running after Violet, calling her naneth and tugging on her dress when they wanted to be held? Violet and his father singing to them when their tummy hurt at night and they couldn't sleep?

He smiled. He had always wanted little siblings.

But as quickly as the soft smile appeared on his face, it disappeared.

Legolas used to do that with his own naneth and he would never get that chance again.

Grabbing his bow, he walked to the one place he knew would surely release the tension in his body. The archery field had been Legolas's safe place in the large palace. It was where he spent most of his time after his mother died, set on becoming one of the best archers in Middle-Earth. It was where he went every day.

The targets were already set, with various elleths and ellons bustling around, grabbing their own practice time. There was a light breeze in the air, blowing his hair off of his neck. When he looked up, the trees moved with the wind, revealing one of the many watchtowers his father had stationed throughout the kingdom. Tauriel was supposed to be in that one, much like how Legolas was meant to be in one at the end of this week until the beginning of the next.