Another World

Chapter 61

Thranduil stood like a tall and unmoving statue before the arched window of his private study, looking like he had been carved by the dexterous and skillful hands of a famous Renaissance artist. A crystal glass of the finest Dorwinion was clutched in his slender hand as he gazed out at the cornflower blue sky beyond that was tinged with cotton candy pink on the horizon, signaling that twilight was fast approaching.

His thoughts centered on Legolas and their meeting three hours prior – a meeting that had filled his heart with immense joy. When Legolas had departed two months ago, Thranduil had not known how long it would be before he returned home again and had resigned himself to the fact that it would be months, maybe even years before he laid eyes on his son again.

But now that Legolas was home once more, a tightness had settled around Thranduil's heart, for he knew that the ensuing conversation he was yet to have with Legolas was not going to be an easy one, especially considering that the subject of their conversation would be centered around Charlotte.

Legolas' love for his mother had burned fiercer than the fires of Mordor, had shone brighter than the Evenstar, and Thranduil greatly suspected that there would be a certain amount of resistance on his son's part. That was to be expected.

Regardless, Thranduil still felt torn. In all his infinite wisdom, this was something that he had not considered, at least not in great depth.

What was he going to do if Legolas was dead set against Charlotte?

Thranduil's bond with Charlotte would make it virtually impossible to walk away, both emotionally and physically - not that he would ever consider doing such a thing. His love for her was engrained into his very core – he needed her as much as he needed air. Without her he might as well crumple to the ground and fade from the gaping hole her absence would cause.

But Legolas was also an integral and important aspect of his life. His son was everything to him and Thranduil loved him more than life itself. If Legolas chose to walk away now and never look back, Thranduil knew it would all but darken and taint his fëa, making it a wound that would never heal.

Thranduil closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, the twisting sensation in his gut coiling tighter. He prayed that Legolas possessed the maturity and grace to accept the situation with a certain amount of understanding. The alternative would be unbearable otherwise.

He opened his eyes, gazing with unseeing eyes at the lands beyond as he absently swirled the deep red wine within his glass before downing it in one gulp. It flowed smoothly down his throat like liquid honey, searing a trailing blaze of heat all the way down to his belly, though doing little to soothe his unease.

Thranduil abruptly turned and went to refill his glass, agitation mounting as the minutes ticked by. He disliked being kept waiting, even by his own son, and though he knew this conversation was necessary, a large part of him wanted to delay it as much as possible.

A soft knock sounded at the door, interrupting Thranduil's inner turmoil. By the distinct sound of the knock, Thranduil knew that it was Legolas who stood on the other side.

Thranduil swallowed down a mouthful of the potent wine and turned to face the door.

"Come in, Legolas," he called out, his voice smooth and rich like the glass of Dorwinion he held in his hand, hinting at none of his disquiet. He stood tall and proud as he awaited his son's entrance, the very picture of being in control. Inside, though, he felt anything but.

The door opened smoothly and in stepped Legolas, his features set into that of a neutral mask. He closed the door behind him and turned to face his Ada, his hands clasped behind his back as he waited.