LOTR oneshots??

Legolas Fucking Dies (an au)

A/N: This is based on the books not the movies

It was a fine evening when I received the letter. I had been high in a tree rather than on my throne for once, to get away from everyone else, for a little while at least. I thought of dark things: Of Mordor, of my son. I wondered about my son. I should have given him a proper goodbye that day, that day when he left Mirkwood to give tidings that Gollum had escaped. I hadn't known that he wouldn't return. Where was he?
And this letter. Aragorn son of Arathorn had sent it weeks ago at the time, and I was only getting it that day. Some elf—one of mine, of course—had somehow known where I was. He had climbed onto a tree branch just below me. I looked at him, unamused.
"My King," said he, "You've got a letter."
A sense of dread filled me. This had been happening as of late, any time there were tidings from places outside of Mirkwood. No one knew this, of course, but it was there.
"A letter." I paused for a moment, forgetting my annoyance at the deliverer. "Give it to me." 
He handed the letter to me. There was no envelope, only folded paper. On the outer side in the middle, my name was written. Well, that would be me.
I opened the letter with what would be shaky hands, but my hands do not shake and I imagine my expression was quite stoic. It read:
'King Thranduil — I deeply regret to inform you that your son, Legolas, has been slain in Mordor fighting alongside the Men of the West and others. As of writing this it has been one day since. I am deeply sorry, and I would repay you in any way I could but I am afraid no amount of treasures can make up for the loss of a person; a son to you and a dear friend to us. Do with this information what you will.

Yours,

Aragorn'

I stared for a while without a word. The deliverer of the letter hadn't gone, and he was staring at me. I looked at him, and he appeared as grieved as I. Clearly he had read the letter before delivering it to me, but I hadn't the heart nor the strength to be angry. I stared blankly.
"Please," I began quietly, "inform the rest of Mirkwood."
He nodded and climbed down. I watched him go. I stared at the night sky, at the stars. Why? It didn't hurt. I didn't hurt. I didn't cry. I didn't mourn. Somehow I had known, all along, his doom. The moment before he left, I had examined him closely, for there was a strange look in his eye. Deep down, of course I had known he would not return to Mirkwood. I just… hadn't fathomed his death.
My son.
It hit me, then.
And I still shed no tears.

***

Everyone had been informed by morning. I held no funeral. I did not care that they wondered if I cared. I did not care if I cared. Of course I cared! It was difficult to process, nonetheless. And I was having trouble accepting it. Something tells me they knew. 
I did not sleep for many a week. I felt tired, terribly, unfathomably tired, yet restless. My people noticed that I was not okay. I did not heed them. It was as if I was watching myself from a different perspective, and yet, at the same time, everything felt so real. And I felt weak; no, I was weak. I had let something utterly inevitable affect me to a point where I wasn’t doing my duty properly anymore. 
So I attempted to mask my pain, and eventually I actually started to believe that I was okay. My people seemed relieved, and merry, once more, they were. Things were going well, and I had nearly forgotten my utter anguish. 
That was, until Elrond came.

It was a chilly morning, with Winter approaching and all. I stood outside in peace, with hardly a thought in mind. I was nodding, truthfully; the restlessness had not gone away though I had been okay now for weeks, but the weariness was beginning to catch up with me. I stared into oblivion, feeling the sweet bliss of elven sleep… 
Until I heard hooves approaching. 
I glanced in the direction of the sound, expecting Men, but lo and behold. Elrond. And he was alone, surprisingly. No one of Rivendell followed him. He didn't even come with Galadriel (occasionally, Galadriel and Elrond would pay a visit and we would share tidings and discuss matters.) 
I stared as he approached, and soon enough his horse stood before me. He dismounted and we stood face to face.
"Elrond," said I.
"Thranduil," said he. 
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" I asked. Now, it wasn't necessarily a pleasure to see Elrond. It was, in reality, quite distressing. 
"I wish to speak with you."
"Of what? And, if you wish to speak with me, why hasn't Galadriel come hither, also?"
"I haven't tidings. I haven't important matters to discuss…Or, I do; they're a bit personal. Walk with me?"
I would've said something, but he was asking, not telling me to. Though I had an option, I felt that there was truly no choice, so I went to his side and we took a slow stroll through the forest.
"Personal, you say. Personal to me, or personal to you?" I asked.
"Personal to you," Elrond replied. I turned my head to look at him, and he was already looking at me. Pity was in his eyes, no, not pity; empathy. "Regarding your son."
My heart sank.
"My son," I whispered. I looked at the ground, and his eyes seemed to burn into me. "What of my son?"
"It has taken me longer than expected to arrive in Mirkwood, as I have recently traveled to Gondor and then back to Rivendell. I, too, was grieved when I learnt that Legolas had been slain. I have come to know how you are taking this." Elrond's gaze did not falter.
"You, have come to learn if I am okay." He was acting as if we were good friends, which we were not. Or perhaps he just acted like this towards everyone? ?"Well, I am. If that is all you have to say, then leave me be."
"You're okay?" He asked,alt alhough it sounded more like an accusation of lying. "I know you, Thranduil. You do not like to appear weak in front of anyone. You are not weak."
"Cease! This is not..- I am not.." I fancied my cheeks feeling wet. My vision blurred, and my jaw quivered. I clenched it and attempted to subtly wipe my eyes. I lifted my gaze to Elrond and was just about to command that he leave…
"Thranduil," he whispered. 
I couldn't keep it together, for some odd, terrible reason. And I had no longer fancied my cheeks wet; I had known. Because tears were streaming down them. Because it hurt. 
**Because it was real.**
And Elrond stepped towards me, and he took my hands in his. Suddenly, a horrible weariness came over me and I fell into his arms. He did not push me away; he held me. I was horribly embarrassed, yet hurt, and part of me knew that Elrond understood and he cared. And perhaps I needed this. 
The tears became sobs, quiet but hard and painful sobs. I felt worse than I had in centuries. The pain felt raw and fresh. And I couldn't bear all of this, it was overwhelming, I was guilty and anguished and terribly sad; I should have given my son a proper goodbye.
My son.
My son! Legolas, my only son, my dearest child, and he was dead! Slain by the fell things in Mordor! Alas that he had ever gone. 
I sobbed harder and the pain was nearly physical. It took all of my will not to scream. My stomach and heart ached. I felt as though I would die then and there, and I would not be opposed to it. My eyes and cheeks burned. With every tear my head pounded harder and harder. I had nearly lost my voice, and still, I could not stop. The pain was too immense, and even thinking my son's name brought it on harder.
Curse me, for not properly expressing my love for him. Curse me for never uttering the words "I love you". He deserved the world. Who had I now? My wife and son were both dead.
Elrond did not tire of holding me for hours. I sobbed all into the night. I was silent, as I had lost my voice. Everything was BURNING horribly. I struggled to catch my breath. I was in such pain of all kinds that I could hardly bear it and yet I could not stop, however hard I tried. Elrond held me tighter. 
I could feel how much he cared. And I felt safe. I wouldn't tell him until much later, but I was glad he came. Gradually, over the course of yet another hour, my breath returned and my body lacked the sensation of burning. I was sore, and weary. So much, in fact, that I fell asleep in his arms. Not elvish sleep, but the sleep of Men. 
And I didn't die. 
And everything was okay.
My son, Legolas, my dear son; may he rest in peace.