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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Thranduil's hands sank to his sides and for a moment he felt the overwhelming urge to wrap them around the hilts of his swords, their polished metal the only thing to cool his boiling anger. Much to his regret he had left them behind in his chambers and it wasn't worth reaching for the small knife he wore concealed in his boot, so he resorted to what he knew worked just as well to intimidate anyone who dared to cross him. His jaw set square, his eyes had turned to glaciers and to his satisfaction Bilbo appeared truly frightened, slinking into the wizard's shadow, his hands gripping the cart's wooden handle. Thranduil had hoped this to be a smooth welcome of his son, but it was beginning to turn into a farce, and what irritated him even more was that the hobbit's obnoxious prattling seemed to greatly entertain Anna. From the corner of his eye he could see her rounded cheeks as she was struggling to contain her laughter, her body taut in an effort to maintain her composure. The crowd around them had fallen into an expectant silence, curious eyes darting from the king to the ominous cart as everyone awaited their monarch's next move. Whatever it was that loomed under that blanket now tried to wriggle itself free of its snuggly confinement, a vehement mewing accompanying its vigorous efforts. Thranduil knew those sounds all too well, and if he was not careful, his icy facade would melt like a patch of snow on the first warm day of spring.
"And what would you be hiding in this cart, Master Baggins? Are you trying to take advantage of my generosity?" His words cut through the silence with deadly precision. "Your old habit of being sneaky and stealthy appears hard to break, doesn't it?"
Bilbo opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, wordlessly lowering his gaze to the floor. He must have concluded that saying nothing at all might be the safest way for him to stay out of trouble. To Thranduil's surprise his own son suddenly came to the hobbit's rescue.
"Ada, please do spare the poor Master Baggins your anger, as this is not his doing, but mine." Legolas stepped forward with an apologetic glance, leaving Thranduil slightly baffled.
Thranduil narrowed his eyes. "Your doing?"
But Legolas had already proceeded to pull the cart closer through the parting crowd, Tauriel swiftly taking a hold of the cart's rear. The fleeting smile between them did not escape Thranduil's notice.
"Yes." Legolas liberated the squirming creature and pointed with a formal gesture at the emerging ball of brown fur. "This, Ada, is Aradan," he said, reaching down and gently stroking the head of a small elk calf.
A gasp went through the rows of elves around them and Anna let out a squee of delight, quickly clasping her hand to her mouth when Thranduil shot her a reprimanding glance.
For a moment Thranduil said nothing and simply gazed at the small animal, which had risen from its makeshift bed out of moss and blankets and stood now on shaky legs, staring up at him through wide brown eyes that told him all he needed to know. They spoke of a terrible loss and the struggle for survival, but also of gratefulness and hope.
