Woodland Prince

Chapter 12

Thranduil

Some guards attempted to slow me down as I nearly sprinted for my chambers. They fell behind long before I reached the grand wooden doors. I could not answer Arthon. I couldn't. Once I slammed the doors closed, I slid down against them, slowly sliding onto the cool stone floor. The tears welled up behind my eyes and I felt them fall down my healthy cheek first, then into the scarred flesh of the other. I picked up a book and threw it at the desk. Feeling that scar brings back all the old pain.

"My love, I wish we would have had more time together. I wish that I could have seen Legolas and Arthon grow up to be great warriors like their father. You must be strong for them. Tell them that the world is a wonderful place and you all must live each day loving each other. Tell them that I love them."

I cannot stop screaming for help, my fingers desperately trying to stop the blood from leaving her fragile body. "You will tell them yourself, you must," I swore. I feel her leaving me, I felt it coming and yet I could not let go so easily.

"Thranduil, promise me," she demanded, a dying mother's last wish. "I promise, melamin," I said. I promise. And what a disappointment I have been to my sons.

I could not see her face through the tears. My memory is forever blurred and I cannot escape the despair I've been trapped in since that day. Since I broke my promise. I deserve every bit of the pain welling in my chest. I abandoned my youngest son and neglected the son I still had as well as the whole kingdom. I deserve the misery laid upon my shoulders.

The bottle of wine that sits on my desk has already been opened, so I finish it quickly and open another. And another. And another. Soon reality hurts a little less and I can breathe again.

"My lord! There is a stranger at the gates requesting to see you. He claims to be family," Hirandon calls. He must have heard it from someone else and come running. The young elf has been keen to impress it seems.

"I shall greet him from the throne. Find Prince Legolas and tell him to meet me there."

"Yes, my lord," he answers quickly. The footsteps grow softer as I rise from the door, gripping the desk for support. Why would you leave a child? My son's question left a gaping hole in my heart, maybe bigger than the one I ripped open when I sent him away. Had I believed my son would not return? Had I hoped to never see him again? I cannot believe that this pain is what I wanted, but the memories of his mother have left me blind to my kingdom. The ache left from her death has never dulled, except when wine takes me away from reality.

I straighten my robes and make an effort to stand tall, attempt to hide the wound I just reopened. Guards escort me to the throne room, a cavernous space in the center of the woodland realm. The antlers of my throne take up a majority of the space, commanding attention, a welcome reprieve today.

Legolas waits at the foot of the stairs, hands clenched behind his back but his posture ready for potential attacks. Even though all visitors are frisked and relieved of weapons before entering the gates of the kingdom.

"A visitor from Rivendell, milord," Hirandon declares, voice echoing in the great wide space of the cavern. A hooded elf with golden hair barely escaping from the cover of cloth. This chin is strong, smooth as ever.

"Harthor why do you return to the Woodland Realm? Did you lose something?" I call out as my brother-in-law nears. Legolas's shoulders tense ever so slightly, he was not expecting to see his estranged uncle.

"Thranduil. You're looking drunk as ever," Harthor spits at me. The guards grab him by the shoulders and force him to his knees for the comment. Legolas motions to let him go, but to stay close.

"You should know better than to insult me in my own throne room," I chuckle, tasting the wine on my breath. "What is it you want, dear brother?"

Harthor looks up at me, but I can see the disdain in his eyes. He had never forgiven me for sending my son away, even if it was into Harthor's care and not someone else's.

"My nephew has come to learn from your politics. After he left, I realized what a terrible idea it was and I have come to bring him home."

"Is that what he wants? Does he not speak for himself?" I call, laughing at the stupidity of the request. Harthor shall not take my son from me again. "The boy shall make his own decision and if I see your face again, you might find yourself in a cell. Am I clear?"

"You would lock up an innocent because he speaks against you? What does that say about the stability of your rule, mighty King?" Harthor taunts.

"It says that I do not tolerate criminals, especially those who undermine my authority. You will be assigned a room until you are satisfied that your nephew is as comfortable here as anywhere. Get out of my sight." With that fond farewell, guards lead him to a small room as far from me as possible.

"Father, how many bottles did you have before you came to this meeting?" Legolas asks, a crease permeating his brow.

"Only a few, Legolas. My full faculties are with me, have no fear of that." It takes a vast amount of wine, probably more than I keep in the cellars at any one time, to make me slur my speech anymore, let alone make alcoholic decisions.

"I can smell it on you, Father. I will not be the only one."

"I always smell like this, it is not any different from any other day."

"It is different. My brother, the son you said was killed, is here and is here to learn from you. I would say that this is decidedly not like any other day." He is keeping a calm face, but I can hear it in his voice that he is still angry. Not that I can fault him for that.

"You worry too much. No one will recognize him."

"Father, I have already heard whispers. People wonder why he was attacked when outsiders are always left alone. No one else draws attention like we do and everyone loves a scandal. Which is what he will be, a scandal. The kind that makes people riot." I glance around the cavern. I did not want a repeat of the events that nearly killed me decades ago...

"—and he needs to know what is going on," Legolas says with a that subtle tone he has when he's frustrated.

"I am sorry Legolas. I was not listening."

"Of course you weren't." He sighs. "Arthon must know his own narrative or he cannot stay. Are you going to keep to your story, or invite him back into the fold?"

"I am not sure, ion nin, I'm not sure."