Fathers and Sons

Chapter Seven

"Silme..." Thranduil turned at the whisper of the elven word for starlight. The voice uttering it flooded his mind with memory and grief. As he turned around, standing on the precipice, he saw her standing before him, looking as she had the last time he had seen her, clad in her hide armor, her bow at the ready. The day she had marched away from him, to war.

"Why are you here?" he demanded harshly, taking a step back as she approached. He didn't want to spend another second looking at this illusion that brought so many memories back to him.

"My silme, you have forgotten me," the one who was his wife, his beloved, moved as gracefully as the shadows as she came closer, not put off by his resistant reaction to her. Her eyes searched through him for answers. "My name has not graced your tongue since we parted."

"This is an illusion." Thranduil refused to give in to this, refused to accept that Tinnurrien could really be here, could reach out to him from beyond the realms of the dead. "I refuse to take part in this trick of the mind."

"And if it is no trick?" the elf raised a brow before reaching up and brushing Thranduil's cheek. "Do you remember when our paths last crossed? When our heated words caused my flight? Will you risk it again? Come find me in Gundabad. Come find me..."

Thranduil winced as the image faded away. He didn't like to be reminded of the battle he had refused to partake in, the one she had rushed off to partake in and never returned...

"What happened?" Legolas demanded as he strode into the hall of healing, Drizzt hot on his heels. He stopped short when he saw Thranduil lying prone on a sickbed. The sight caught the elf prince off guard. Never in a thousand years would he ever think he would see his father in such a state.

Thranduil was unconscious, a thin sheet draped over his body. His skin was pallid in appearance; his golden hair covered his bare shoulders as it hung limp from his head. Legolas couldn't take his eyes from the sight.

"He seemed in pain," came a deep voice. Legolas turned to see Zaknafein standing near the bed, watching the healers tend to the king. "We were talking and suddenly he fell to the floor and began convulsing."

Legolas regarded the drow suspiciously as Drizzt moved forward to stand beside his father. "You were the last one in his presence before this?" he said evenly, narrowing his eyes. Zaknafein only crossed his arms across his chest as his son glanced between him and the elf.

"I was not the cause of this," the older drow proclaimed, seeing the accusations in Legolas's eyes.

Legolas reluctantly accepted Zaknafein's innocence. He realized they had been quick to trust the drow, these elf-like warriors they knew nothing about, but as he and Drizzt had become such close friends, he was certain that they had no ill will towards them. Then again, Zaknafein and Thranduil did not exactly get along.

Thranduil didn't get along with many people, Legolas reminded himself. He knew that the elven king had plenty of enemies, but none would dare make such an attempt on his life within his heavily fortified fortress.

"He does not wake," the healer explained as Legolas faced him. "We have tried spells and magic. We don't know what caused this. We fear it may be beyond our skill to understand, much less treat."

Legolas swallowed and cautiously approached Thranduil's bedside. Looking over the prone form of his father, seeing his pale lifeless face, his head drooped to the left; the prince was overcome with emotion. He wasn't sure how to digest this. He knew that he and Thranduil never really got along, that they kept each other at arm's length, but in this moment, Legolas didn't see a king, he saw a father, the elf who raised him, who cared for him despite their differences.