The Silvan (Lord of the Rings-Legolas)[Wattys2016]

Chapter 47: I Wished

Legolas dozed fitfully, for sleep would not come. He was too nervous, felt too vulnerable, and he was still stunned at the chance meeting with his father.

The extraordinary face floated before his mind's eye. The finely chiselled features, the strong brows and noble nose, the curved lips so like his own and the perfect, porcelain skin that shone with a brilliance few elves could boast. His hair was almost silver, lighter even than his own and the sum of it was was nothing short of breath-taking. This was the father he had rejected all his life, the one he had hated, and then had come to think of with cold indifference.

He was Sindarin, there could be no denying it, for features aside, it was his bearing, his expression. The deep blue eyes held long wisdom, the set of his jaw spoke of pride and authority and Legolas rather thought that in times of peace he would be lovely, and coveted, but in times of battle, he would be terrifying to behold.

It was not what he had been expecting - but then what had he expected? he asked himself. Had he even stopped to think about it?

He heaved an irritated sigh and sat up with a quiet groan, so as not to wake Melven who dozed beside him. It was the dead of night and his restlessness took him to the small window on the other side of the room.

The moon was full and cast a soft blue haze over the courtyard beyond and he suddenly wanted to be there, outside, feel her soft caress upon his skin, sooth his chaotic mind so that he could once more think straight, put some order to the mess of thoughts and emotions that would not cease to plead for his attention.

With one last look at Melven, he floated from the room, wrapping his cloak clumsily around himself and flipping the hood over his head.

Soon he was outside, perched upon a stone bench that sat in a quiet corner and although he was surrounded by stone, the view of the sky was unhindered and he tilted his head back. His skin felt the blue light, absorbed it; he seemed to flare in joy at its touch, and in spite of his conflicting emotions and the bone-deep anxiety that gnawed at his gut, he smiled softly.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Thranduil sat in his study, but today he did not sit at his paper-strewn desk where he would normally be found; he sat instead upon the window bank, one knee folded under his chin with his other leg left to anchor him to the stone floor below.

He looked so young, mused Aradan from the door, vulnerable even, an adjective he would never have thought to use with the king and yet it was the truth. There was a melancholic air about him this morning and the advisor knew he would not have slept, not with Handir so sorely injured.

"Good morning, my Lord," he said with a bow that went unnoticed and Aradan did not insist, rather he turned to the table and sat before it, waiting for Thranduil to acknowledge his presence.

Soon enough the king turned silently and rose, gliding over to the table and catching the advisor's eye.

"He is here," he said quietly.

"Handir, yes," said Aradan with a frown, wondering why the king would state such an obvious thing.