Unspoken ( A Legolas Love Story )

2.1: The Elvenking

King Thranduil rode slowly on a majestic white horse. The king was melancholy and the horse was by all appearances exhausted.

In the first few days, following the devastating news that accompanied the raven, Thranduil had remained hopeful that he might still see his son alive. He had ridden with such urgency, that the accompanying party of elves had struggled to keep up. But the horses were now spent and their riders drained, having had little respite in two weeks. In the last few days, all hope had been drained from the elvenking. He had arrived at the realization that he was riding to retrieve Legolas's body. His only hope was that they might do so, before his son's body was either buried or burnt, by whomsoever he was with, at the time of his death.

The elven party that accompanied him was silent. Little had been said between them and they avoided speaking to the King at all costs, for fear of driving him into a rage. A rage, that they had witnessed several times they had left the Greenwood and had no desire to experience again.

The wood elves, unfamiliar with lands so far from the Greenwood, had stopped briefly at Rivendell, to enquire of the Greenwood prince's whereabouts. They had received information from the Sons of Elrond, that Legolas had last been seen with the Dúnedain, in a small village of Rangers, North of the Shire. The wood elves had been advised to make their way in the direction of the ancient city of Fornost and thus find the Dúnedain nearby. Although, as they had since discovered the Ranger village was well concealed.

In the last three hours, the King had sent out scouts in various directions. The King however, was unable to remain idle in the same place, and now the party was following his lead and wandering aimlessly in a northly direction.

The King clenched his teeth. He had suppressed his thoughts and emotions while he had ridden in haste to see his son, but now that their pace had slowed, his regrets were overwhelming him. The harsh words he had spoken, the many choices he had made, the barriers he had put up around him, had all led to this. The acute pain that he had felt so long ago, when he had lost his beloved, had returned and had begun to engulf him yet again. He felt it draining and weakening him. His eyesight was blurred, as he looked to the horizon and blinked, as he tried to regain focus. It could not be, surely.

His guards had seen the approaching figure, long before the elevenking had become aware, and they had moved forward to intercept it. But as soon as nature of the stranger had become apparent, they stepped aside and respectfully deferred, by bowing their heads.

Thranduil gave an almost imperceptible shake of his own head, as if to wake himself from a dream. There was no one else in Middle Earth, that this tall blond reflection of the king's own image, could possibly be. But having already let him go, Thranduil was now struggling to grasp hold of the present moment.

The figure leapt off his horse and with one stride was at Thranduil's side. He then reached up to grab Thranduil's hand.

"Adar*..."

Thranduil flinched, as if the touch was white hot.

"It is I, I am not dead."

His voice brought Thranduil back to reality. The elevenking slid down from his horse and grasped his son by the shoulders.

"Legolas, my son, is it truly you? Do you live by the very air that I breathe?"

"Yes Father, I am here."

Thranduil, having presumed to have lost everything he held dear in Middle Earth, and in an instant regained it; flung wide his arms and drew Legolas to his chest in a powerful embrace. Legolas was surprised by elevenking's uncharacteristic show of emotion and touch. He was briefly stiff in his Father's arms before he returned the embrace, the first that he could remember, since the loss of his mother.