The White Shores

Once-Elf

Legolas did not bother to protest as the guards roughly dragged him into the entrance. He could hear their distaste at him traveling with a dwarf and knew they had absolutely no idea who he was - that he was a part of the Fellowship of the Ring, or that he was the lost prince of Mirkwood.

"Lego-" Gimli began, as a particularly mean elf prodded his side with the feathered side of his arrow.

"Shush," Legolas hissed quickly, begging Gimli to understand with his eyes. If his father knew that it was him that was caught wondering his lands, he might kill Legolas without a second thought, before hearing his story. Their hands were bound - thick rope around Gimli's pudgy wrists and a shimmering twine around Legolas' pale hands. The guards forced them to their knees, and Legolas thought he heard a distinctive cackle.

"They seem more orc than elf," Gimli complained.

"That's what I'm worried about," Legolas replied quietly. "Are you ready to meet my father? Let me do the speaking, I implore you."

"Ah, fine," Gimli groused, "But I don't like it when elves insult our kind."

"I know, friend, I know," Legolas wished to place a reassuring hand on the dwarf's shoulder, but he could not, "Just this once."

"So this is the reckless elf whose been playing around with dark magic," Thranduil swept into the room. Legolas' heart almost stopped. Seeing his father brought back a torrent of memories, not only bad. His father used to be kind, and good, and fun. After Tauriel had become a part of Legolas' life, however, he had grown more distant and mean - until he had almost banished Legolas.

Your mother loved you.

Do you, Ada? Do you?

Tharduil still had not noticed Legolas, still had not set his eyes upon him, "And I hear he travels with a dwarfish friend. How wonderful."

He could tell his father's eyes would sweep over him in less than a second, that they would lose the element of surprise, so he forced himself to speak.

"Ada," his voice was hoarse, and soft. The word felt unused in his mouth, but it was a beautiful feeling to again use it. "Ada."

Thranduil turned completely, his eyes widening in shock. He mouthed the words, 'Leave us,' and though no sound came out, the guards nearly ran from the room. Tears formed little droplets in the corners of his eyes as he gaped at Legolas, not even breathing. Then with a gasp, he let out a sob, rushed at Legolas, and grabbed him. The hug was breathtakingly tight. Thranduil did not even bother to appear collected as he gasped,

"My son. Legolas. You have come home. Mui réd."

"I told you that your mother loved you," Thranduil began, still searching for air, "I did not tell you that I feel the same. I did not even know till you left. Díhen- nin, anon."

"Of course, Ada," Legolas could not deny that his eyes were begin to wetten as well. Even the dwarf was not dry-eyed. Thranduil couldn't bring himself to stop holding his son for many minutes to come.

"If you are not the elf that has been performing dark magic, then who is?" Thranduil pondered, while personally removing the bonds from both Legolas and Gimli. He seemed reluctant to talk with Gimli in the room, but Legolas had convinced him that Gimli was a friend and, as Thranduil himself put it, he had once worked with dwarves before.

"That is what I came to your court to investigate," Legolas admitted, somewhat sheepishly.

"You think the rest of the elves could not feel the call?" Thranduil asked, amusement coloring his voice, "I have looked through each of my elves. Each magic is as light as before."

"Then all the elves are accounted for," Legolas said.

"Not all," Thranduil said, his face grave. "What if a once-elf performed this magic? Would we feel it?"

Legolas felt as though they were back in his lessons, his Ada teaching him the workings of the world. It was not an unpleasant feeling. "I do not know, Ada. We do not have any once-elves."

"We have one," Thranduil said grimly.

"Arwen," Legolas breathed, just as Aragorn burst in through the throne room doors.

Ada - father

Mui réd - my son

Díhen- nin, anon - Forgive me, son