A shadow lies on Thranduil and his forest, and only a power stronger than the darkness of old can save them.
Grief and loss have turned him into a king with a heart of ice, and if he is ever to find redemption, the chains of guilt and remorse holdin...
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"I have been searching for you!"
"So have I," Legolas mumbled into his father's shoulder as he allowed himself to sink back into the blissfulness of his childhood, even if it was to last only a moment in time. The warmth of his father's embrace took him back to those happier days that were now all but a long lost memory.
How much he had enjoyed the tenderness he used the receive from his parents, the strolls in the forest with his father and the cuddles with his mother in their cosy hideaway. His father would entertain him with endless stories of his youth in Doriath and Legolas would sit and listen quietly in awe, soaking up all the wonders of a city that was beautiful beyond his own imagination and places turned to legend through the ages. In the mild evenings of spring they used to sit by the fireside, the three of them, in a clearing so full of daisies that the grass seemed dotted with freshly fallen snow. He loved staring into the flickering flames as they danced before his eyes like tiny speckles of pure light and when his drowsiness finally turned to sleepiness he curled up in his mother's lap, the melodious voices of his parents carrying him to sweet slumber as they sang of starlight and the secret of the forest. And the buzzing of fireflies in the warm nights of summer with the balmy scent of wild flowers filled his childish heart with innocent joy. He inhaled the crisp air of late autumn, when the skies were a clear blue in scattered patches high above the spindly canopy of trees, oblivious to how fragile his happiness might actually be.
But then the change of seasons melted into one dreary cloud of muddled grey when his father returned from Gundabad, struck down by both dragon fire and grief. He was only able to catch a small glimpse of his father when he rode back into the palace, slumped onto his elk, which knew its path and carried its master back into the safety of his halls. But what he saw was enough to terrify him, never had he seen his father so gravely injured before, his armour broken and torn, his left side burned almost to the bone and the pungent smell of burnt flesh etched forever in his memory. The lengths of the Elvenking's usually impeccable hair singed and blackened waves of silvery gold cascading over his face. A face which he barely recognised after the dragon's wrath had left its merciless imprint on those graceful features. Clots of dried up blood clung to charred skin where it had not been completely melted away, laying bare sinews and white bones beneath. And his eyes! Never would he forget the harrowing emptiness of the ghostly white one staring at him and the overflowing sorrow within the crystal blue, the brilliant starlight inside only flickering weakly, like a smothered flame choking slowly, until it would be forever dimmed.
Beneath all the horror the worst part of it all just began dawning on him. His mother was nowhere to be seen. This could only mean one thing. She would not come back to him ever again.
Panic surged inside him and he shrank against the column as his father passed by him and guards, servants and a whole array of officials swarmed to the king's side. They pushed the small elfling ever further away and the bustle of voices drowned out his childish attempts at getting close to his father.
