Title & Chapter Number: The Weeping of the Trees (Part 1 of the 'Pilgrim' story arc) 9/12
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: The Woodland Chronicles
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Middle-earth and all its inhabitants are Tolkien's, not mine. I'd risk bankruptcy to own Legolas, though. How much would he cost me? Would they give me Haldir as a bonus? Or at least for a reduced price... A girl can dream, right?
Warnings: Incest! Don't like it? Don't read it! Simple. Also: consensual bondage, heavy sap, and angst.
Betas: Jilly! You rock! Yes, you do!
Cast: Elladan/Elrohir, slightly Legolas/Thranduil, Elladan/Elrohir/OC, Elladan/Elrohir/Thranduil implied. Oh, and Haldir's there, too. :-)
Timeline: Third Age, approx. 440 years prior to the Fellowship.
Spoilers: Nope, I don't think so.
Summary: Elladan and Elrohir travel to King Thranduil's court in Mirkwood to attend the feast celebrating Legolas's coming of age. Not only will this event change the young Prince's life forever, but that of several other Elves as well.
Notes: Curious which twin was who? It *can* be figured out, you know... Just read attentively.
Dedicated to Elisa and Jilly. You have both inspired me, in your own way. Thanks!
Chapter 9 - A Father's Memory
Mirkwood, July 2580, T.A.
"What are you doing here?" the newly-arrived twin asked again.
"That is pretty obvious, isn't it?" the other replied. "Question is, why do you disturb us, and why did you walk in so insolently?"
"*That* I would like to know," Anyriand offered, still aware of his lover's heat inside of him and silently wishing the other twin had arrived just a little later.
"Because you asked me to come, Anyriand," the new arrival said accusingly, turning to the confused Lórien Elf. "I was delayed downstairs so I could not come immediately. But I came... and see what I find!"
"Did you invite him here?" the other asked Anyriand incredulously.
Anyriand tried to think clearly, but this was really too confusing. "No! I... You... I invited one of you," he stuttered.
"Me!" 'Elrohir' said.
"Well, he asked *me*, too!" 'Elladan' stated.
Anyriand looked from one to the other. 'Elladan' then left him and crawled off the bed to stand beside it, exposing Anyriand *and* himself to 'Elrohir's' gaze. "Release me," Anyriand said, tugging at his bonds.
"Let me get this straight," 'Elladan' said, ignoring this command. "You asked us both to come? What kind of sick plan is that?"
"No!" Anyriand protested. "I invited only Elladan... I think. Which one of you is Elladan?"
"You mistook me for him?"
"You mistook him for me?"
Anyriand's mind spinned. Which twin had said what? He turned to the naked Elf beside the bed. "Look," he said impatiently, "I really didn't mean to cause all this confusion. It was my intention to have Elladan here tonight, and I'm sorry if I let your likeness confuse me. Whoever you are, work your brother out of the door and finish me."
"Now wait a moment," the other protested. "That won't do at all. No matter what happened, fact is that you asked me to come. So here I am and I will get what I want."
"But *I* will, too!" 'Elladan' stated.
"But... that is not possible..." Anyriand said.
"Why not?" they said in chorus.
"Well, because you are... brothers! Wouldn't it be a bit obscene to pass a lover back and forth between the two of you? Especially in one night."
"Is obscene per se bad?" 'Elrohir' said. He moved towards his naked brother. "My brother and I share everything, you know." He stood in front of his twin and then did a most unexpected thing. Sliding his hands admiringly down his brother's chest until they rested on his hips, he leaned forward and gave his sensitive ear a slow, erotic lick.
Anyriand stared at them, completely stupefied. For a moment, he expected 'Elladan' to push his brother away, but he did no such thing. Instead, he moaned wantonly and, grabbing his brother's shoulders, pushed his hips forward. Apparently seized by a sudden desire, 'Elrohir' forced his brother's hips firmly against his, grinding their cocks together, and claimed his mouth in a lascivious kiss.
Anyriand licked his lips and suddenly remembered that he should feel disgusted by this. But it was the opposite. His arousal returned with full force as he watched the two beautiful Elves in their erotic embrace.
"Do you find this obscene?" 'Elladan' asked as his twin devoured his neck with his mouth. "Does it bother you?"
"Yes, I find it obscene," Anyriand replied. "And yes, it bothers me that I can't be part of it!" He struggled against his bonds anew. "Please," he begged, "finish me. One of you, the both of you, I don't mind!"
"The both of us?" 'Elladan' said with a smile. "We've never let anyone in our bed before. We would consider doing that now, but we would ask something in return. A compensation."
"Compensation?" Anyriand got the distinct feeling that he was being lured into a trap. "What nonsense is this?"
"If you do not agree..." 'Elladan' began to slowly undress his twin, looking him deeply in the eye. "How would you like to remain bound as you are, Anyriand, and watch as I take him?"
Anyriand looked at them for a brief, silent moment, then started to laugh. The twins looked at him in surprise and he laughed even harder. "All right, you two," he chuckled. "What is this all about? If this was about playing a game with me, then you have succeeded. Very well played. But something tells me that there is more behind this. We're all adult Elves; now, tell me frankly why you chose me, and what this compensation would be."
The twins grinned. "You're co-operative," 'Elladan' said. "Very good."
"We chose you," 'Elrohir' said, "because we find you beautiful... and because you can supply us with the information we need."
"Information? So this 'compensation' is about something I know and you don't?"
"Exactly."
"So, why not just ask me instead of playing this game?"
"Are you kidding? What's the fun of that?" 'Elrohir' laughed.
"And what kind of information do you desire?" Anyriand asked.
"Something trivial, really," 'Elladan' said as he continued to undress the other.
"Word on the street is that you and the King are quite good friends," the other said just as casually, as if his leggings weren't being pushed down his legs by his twin brother.
This was unexpected. "So?" Anyriand asked.
"The information we desire is about him," 'Elladan' said simply.
"What do you want of him?" Anyriand asked suspiciously.
"What everyone wants of him, but is too afraid to ask," 'Elrohir' said.
Anyriand gaped at them, incredulous. "You want to sleep with him?"
'Elladan' sat down beside him and stroked his brow, fingered his hair. "Don't be insulted," he said gently. "You are not just an instrument to get to Thranduil. Our deal was that we would go through with this even if you knew nothing. And I was very much enjoying it; I felt truly disappointed when *he* walked in."
Anyriand smiled. "Well, that is a relief."
The other twin, now naked as well, studied Anyriand closely. "What an appealing sight," he said approvingly. "You have done your job thoroughly, brother. I can see why my arrival was a disappointment to you."
"He got me carried away," 'Elladan' admitted. "Why don't you have a ride with him yourself?"
"Maybe I will." 'Elrohir' now took his brother's former position between Anyriand's legs and threw Anyriand an inquiring look.
Anyriand smiled. If he played this well, then *he* could draw some fun out of this, as well. "So which one *are* you?" he asked.
The Elf smiled. "Does it matter?" He grasped Anyriand's hips, almost like his brother had done. "Did you enjoy him?" he asked then.
"Yes, very much," Anyriand said.
"Then you will enjoy me, as well. He is me, and I am him. We are equally enjoyable."
"Prove it," Anyriand challenged.
The Elf smiled and leaned forward. Took Anyriand's mouth in a kiss, then made it a double intrusion when he slid his arousal smoothly into Anyriand's well-prepared opening. Anyriand moaned, then heard the other twin's voice close to his ear. "Do you agree on our terms then? Will you give us the information?"
Anyriand laughed softly, breathlessly. "Maybe I will," he said. "If you try hard enough to please me."
The Elf slowly riding him chuckled. "He is cunning, this one. I like him."
"So do I... Do not exhaust him too much," the other said as he joined the two coupling Elves in bed. "I worked hard to prepare him. I deserve some satisfaction as well. And it was my idea, you know."
"I know. You do deserve it," his brother agreed, and he leaned forward to kiss him, never stopping his rhythmical thrusts into Anyriand's body. "And you shall have it!"
The night held much pleasure for these three Elves. As they celebrated life in this elven manner, the rain outside grew heavier, falling down in a thicker curtain. Raging storm clouds above Mirkwood. Howling wind around Thranduil's palace. But the three Elves, wrapped up by their passion, no longer noticed the rattle of rain, no longer wondered at the sudden change in the weather.
And why would they; they did not know what Thranduil knew.
~*~*~*~
Thranduil had been one of the last Elves to leave the party, seeing to it that everything went well, that all guests left for their (or others') rooms contentedly. Several Elves thanked him for the hospitality; all agreed that the celebration had been a success. Thranduil was pleased. Tired, but pleased.
He'd lost sight of Legolas quite a while ago. He hadn't had much time to think his son's disappearance over, as he was claimed by his obligations as host. Now, as he retreated to his chambers, he wondered how Legolas was doing. Had he enjoyed the feast? Thranduil's father heart reached out for Legolas, but his mind told him to ban his worries.
It wasn't easy though. He'd seen the empty expression on his son's face and it unsettled him. He instinctively felt that something was bothering Legolas; had been bothering him for quite some time now. But it was something Legolas apparently did not wish to share with his father. It made Thranduil sad.
Thranduil sat down in his chair and stared into nothing for a little while. Wondered with a little smile what was going on in the different rooms of his palace at that moment. He'd seen Anyriand being seduced by one of the twins; he wasn't sure which one. And more Elves had left the party in couples. Whether Legolas had left in the company of someone, no one seemed to know; no one had seen the Prince depart. Thranduil sighed. He would miss Legolas's visit tonight.
Annoyed with himself, Thranduil got up again, determined not to think such things. He stood in front of the window and gazed outside. The storm hadn't decreased in intensity; it was the opposite, the rain seemed to come down harder. This unsettled Thranduil greatly; nothing in the weather today had announced a storm, and the last time such a sudden change in the weather had occurred... Thranduil's jawline hardened, and he began pacing the room up and down. Was it just an innocent, coincidental storm, or was there more behind it? Was everything well with Legolas? For a second, Thranduil wondered if he should go check on his son, but he instantly dismissed that option. What if nothing was wrong, and he interrupted Legolas in a certain activity? Just what he needs this night, Thranduil thought to himself; his overly-concerned father knocking on his door.
Perhaps it was best to start getting ready for bed, he decided. He was probably just seeing demons where there were none. He would talk to Legolas in the morning, and his son would assure him that everything was just fine. Still with worry in his heart though, Thranduil removed his crown and undid the complex braids in his hair, then removed his cumbersome robe.
The King took a hot bath, but, too restless to remain there, made it a brief one. He quickly dried himself and drew on his loose-fitting leggings for the night, plus a long robe, tied at the waist. To his dismay, the bath did not bring him the much-desired peace, and, unlike his usual self, he found himself pacing his bedroom again, too much restlessness in his gut to sit down. Restlessness, caused by his concern for Legolas, and, as a growing suspicion told him, by something else as well. Something that had been slumbering for a long time, but had been awakened in the last couple of days and especially this night.
Thranduil, although he'd wanted to forget it, had been a passionate Elf once. After his first night with his future Queen, they were agreed that they were both too young to settle. Arasien, trusting Thranduil's affection for her, had let him free to live his passionate nature with others; and Thranduil had done so, taking many lovers. Only males, for he did not wish to share his bed with women other than Arasien. For almost 2500 years, this had been the situation; until Oropher was slain. Thranduil had taken up his responsibility; was crowned king, had given up his passionate ways and had asked his first love, Arasien, to marry him. She became his Queen, and their marriage was one of great bliss and peace. Yet Thranduil could not deny that his body found it hard to forget the time that lay behind him, the memory of hard elven bodies against his in the night. But he demanded of himself to be faithful, and faithful was what he had been.
After the Queen's death, Thranduil felt nothing but grief over this loss, and worry for his son. It took a very long time before the desires of his body made themselves heard again, but Thranduil, seeing it as a betrayal to the Queen's memory, had ignored them. Had lulled them to sleep by concentrating on his tasks as a king and as a father. And thus he had lived for more than sixty years. He still missed her; but last week's events, the celebration and the merriment, had coaxed his body alive again, and with unexpected force. Thranduil was in conflict with himself; should he act on it? Was he ready for that? His body screamed yes; his mind hesitated. He knew he was no longer the passionate young Elf he used to be, quick to give his body.
Without being aware of it, Thranduil was almost as afraid as his son. Afraid of exposing his scarred soul. Afraid of losing control. Afraid of making himself vulnerable again. He remembered the joy it had given him in the past, but guilt and uncertainty and fear kept him from finding that joy again after so many years.
p He had unlearned how to love.
At that point, an unexpected sound came from the doorway. Thranduil, started from his reverie, turned. When he saw it was Legolas standing there, he felt both relief and fear, but the latter quickly prevailed; Legolas was in his usual sleeping garments and looked as sweet as ever, but Thranduil instantly knew that his son had been crying. His expression was one of misery and sorrow. Thranduil's heart contracted when he saw it.
"Legolas," he said, "what is wrong?"
Legolas still stood hesitating on the doorstep. "May I come in, adar?" he asked softly.
"Of course, of course you may." Thranduil walked over to meet Legolas halfway the room. "Don't you know you can always come to me if something is wrong?"
The next moment, Thranduil found himself crushed by his son's embrace. He enveloped the slender young Elf in his arms and held him to him, his fear increasing when he felt Legolas's despair so clearly.
"What is it, Legolas?" he asked gently. "What is the matter? Did you not have a good time tonight?"
"Yes... yes," Legolas whispered, hiding his face against Thranduil's neck. "But I don't... I just don't know what to do, adar," he said and his voice broke. "I just - don't... know."
Thranduil felt another spasm of ache near his heart. He took Legolas's head between his hands and gently forced him to look at him. Legolas met his eyes hesitantly, and Thranduil's heart bled when he saw his son's tears. "What do you mean, Legolas?" he asked. "Why don't you know what to do?"
Legolas was unable to reply as sobs claimed him, made his chest heave in gasps for breath. Thranduil hadn't seen his son cry so sorrowfully in a long time, and he instinctively leaned forward to kiss Legolas's tears away. Legolas closed his eyes and let him. Thranduil, in his heartache and helplessness, kissed Legolas's forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks; tasted the salt of his son's sorrow as he still held his face between his hands.
And that was when it all fell apart. The moment when the lives of both father and son took a dramatically different course.
Both would spend many dark hours of wondering how it possibly could have gone so wrong. Especially Thranduil would blame himself for not acknowledging earlier the way things had been developing in this direction. As the older, more experienced one, he should have seen it coming. As Legolas's father, he should have acted on the uncertainty he'd seen in his son's behaviour. But he hadn't, and he knew he would feel eternally guilty for that.
It happened naturally, without thinking. Who initiated, neither would remember later. If one of them initiated at all. It happened so quickly; too quickly even for Thranduil's elven senses to register what happened exactly. All he knew was that suddenly, in a moment in which the whole world around him turned surreal, their lips met, moved slowly over each other. The kiss tasted of salt. Legolas, who was still crying, did not pull away. Nor did Thranduil. For one eternal moment, they stood there, and kissed.
Thranduil had never desired Legolas, as a lover. Nor had Legolas ever thought of his father in that way. But they had grown so close throughout the years, so close... The love between them had grown so strong; still, it should have stopped there. This line should not have been crossed. But in their despair, their uncertainty and their longing for love and intimacy, they had once more turned to each other for comfort. And this time, in a split second, it had all fallen apart. Both had been plagued by feelings of desire for quite some time; both felt an emptiness, an inexplicable need they did not know how to handle. And it made them its victim, right then, right there.
In the years to come, Thranduil would often jerk out of a nightmare, haunted by the terrible memory of the desire he'd felt at that moment. Shameful desire coursing through his body and taking hold of him. He'd never been so severely and so irreversibly been betrayed by his own body. His own hands, holding Legolas's face. His own lips, moving over those of another for the first time in sixty years. But of all the Elves he could have chosen... it shouldn't have been him, not Legolas. Not his son.
And still, neither made any effort to stop this. Tears still leaked from Legolas's closed eyes, but the sobs had stopped. At first he was quite unresponsive, uncertain under the touch of lips; then, softer, more yielding. His breath was warm on Thranduil's face. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the warmth of his body, the familiar scent of him... it made Thranduil's heart swell in his chest like a self-inflating balloon. How often did he not wake in the night, roused from restless sleep by the terrible dream image of Legolas lying dead on the ground. In his dreams, he always reached out to touch his son's face; and it always felt cold. Its features uncharacteristically rigid. No heartbeat perceptible in the long, pale throat. Thranduil would clutch Legolas to him but his body would remain unresponsive and still. And cold... It was Thranduil's worst nightmare. And yet here his son stood, breathing, warm and alive. A sob threatened to rise in the King's chest but it never broke free. He inhaled his son's breaths and silently thanked the Valar for each and every one of them.
Legolas let out the smallest of sighs and his lips parted slowly. Thranduil's body, in response, stiffened slightly when it recognised the invitation. An invitation that had once been familiar to him. Once, when his life had been carefree. Before he realized what was happening, his treacherous tongue accepted the invitation and probed inside. A shudder passed through both their bodies as Thranduil did what no Elf had done before: taste the nectar-like sweetness of Legolas's mouth, savouring it; drinking of it... Legolas gave another sigh that was almost a moan and parted his lips further; his chest was heaving again, but not with sobs this time.
Thranduil's heart thundered like a frightened horse's galloping hooves, and his thoughts seemed to do the same, racing back in time and revisiting scenes from the past. Images flashing through his mind in quick succession; Legolas standing in front of the throne dais, listening to Belegor's speech and looking more like his father than he'd ever done before. Legolas sitting cross-legged on Thranduil's bed and looking up at him, laughing. His eyes free of tears. A passing Elf trying a light flirt with him and Legolas blushing deeply and looking away. A younger Legolas, frightened after a nightmare in which his mother died all over again, coming to Thranduil's bed at night in need of comfort. Thranduil holding him then and waiting for him to fall asleep in peace, listening to his breathing. Thranduil sitting with an exhausted Legolas on his lap, listening to the storm outside. The words with which the living nightmare began... "Adar, it's mother. She's in danger."
Thranduil's mind spun even faster. Further back in time. He heard Legolas's voice, but less deep, more childlike: "Adar, look, I did it, it's a bull's-eye!" And then his own: "Well done, very well done, son." Looking down at a delightedly smiling face. Pride swelling in his heart. His hand reaching out to stroke Legolas's hair, and his son ducking away, laughing. "Not my hair, adar! You'll ruin my braids!" Years earlier: Thranduil staring up at his son's green-clad body among the branches of a great oak tree. A stern voice. "Legolas, I will not tolerate these games any longer. I want to see you down here within five seconds or I will not take you out riding tomorrow!" "But adar, I don't want to go to classes..." "I don't recall saying you had a choice in this," Thranduil said. "Get down this instant, young man, unless you want me to come up myself, fetch you and march straight to school with you under my arm." That embarrassing image had been too much for Legolas, and he'd come down. And then later, soft tugging on Thranduil's arm at night. A whisper: "Adar, I'm sorry... are you mad...?" Thranduil rolling away from Arasien sleepily and cupping Legolas's chin with one hand for a gentle squeeze as he always did. "No, silly one... I'm not mad. Go back to sleep leafling..."
Playfully chasing Legolas in the corridors, following his high-pitched laughter and giggles and pretending he couldn't keep up with his son's pace as the boy trotted along on his short legs. Standing in feigned confusion when Legolas hid behind a column and purposefully searching in all the wrong places until Legolas couldn't hold back his laughter anymore. Then resuming the chase and finally, catching his prey and easily lifting him high in the air, Legolas's delighted shriek making him laugh. Tickling him until Legolas would clutch at his stomach, trashing helplessly in Thranduil's arms, laughing and gasping at the same time, "Adar... stop... I can't - breathe!" It was a game Legolas nor Thranduil ever tired of.
Legolas was a vivid dreamer, from childhood on. Excited reports in the morning, with all the required movements of arms and legs; "Adar, adar, do you know what I dreamt last night? I dreamt that I was a bird, and I flew over Mirkwood, and it was really high, but I wasn't afraid at all, 'cause I just spread my, er, wings and the wind carried me." He also had nightmares occasionally. One specific nightmare returned startingly often; he would wake up trashing and sweating, claiming he'd seen darkness, darkness lit only by a terrible red fire. He couldn't tell why it was terrible but it was... and in his dream, he would hear a loud *crack*; and then the darkness would vanish, and make place for light... but for some reason, the light would bring an even sadder and darker emotion than the darkness had done. A sense of loss... After a while, however, these nightmares ceased again.
Thranduil had been on an unexpected patrol to the northern border the night the Queen had gone into labour. When he came home at the first light of dawn, a servant came hurrying outside. "Sire," she panted, "thank the Valar, you've come back just in time... Quick... This is it, this is the moment." Thranduil had set a record as he sprinted all the way to the bedroom, and, not even thirty minutes after his arrival, he held his son for the first time. "How shall we name him?" the Queen asked softly. Thranduil was unable to take his eyes off the infant in his arms. He was a father now, he had a son... He hardly dared to breathe, as if any movement could shatter the beauty of the moment. "It's Gwirith [April]," he said slowly. "On the ride home, I noticed the first leaves of spring, uncurling in the branches. Do you think that's a sign?"
"It probably is." The Queen smiled. "The first leaf of spring speaks of a new beginning, of hope and strength. Of joy... He reminds me of that first green leaf."
"Legolas..." Thranduil said, looking up to meet her eyes.
She looked from him to their newborn son, then at him again. "Legolas," she repeated, smiling.
Ever further, further back in time Thranduil's thoughts sped. The pregnancy... her belly growing, together with the child within her. What a time that had been, what a joy to see it happen. Thranduil had been walking on air every day. Earlier that year: her body finding his in the night, embracing him from behind. A whisper in his ear: "The Valar have granted our wish, Thranduil... I am carrying your child..."
The images came faster and faster. His young wife coming to stand behind him when he was working late. Stroking his hair, silently massaging the tension out of his shoulders. His wedding. His coronation. The battles with which the Second Age had come to an end. His father slain... But before that, carefree years. Laying with beautiful Elves. Everything came to him without effort then; success on the practice fields, succes in school. Everyone liked him, loved him, wanted him... Thranduil laughed, loved, was happy, did not know that it would not always be so. His majority ceremony earlier. The long years preceding it. His longing... A moment of weakness in a dark, stuffy closet. *Do you really want to look back at your first time later with regret in your heart?* Oropher speaking sternly to him. *Regret, while it should be warmth and joy? Is that what you want?*
Thranduil's thoughts had come to an abrupt halt. His mind suddenly painfully clear. *Is that what you want?*
His son, standing here on the night after his majority ceremony. Being given his first kiss by his *father*!
*Is that what you want? Is it?!*
"No!"
Thranduil had said it out loud, tearing his mouth away from Legolas's and abruptly removing his hands from his son's face. Breaking all physical contact. The spell broken as well. Legolas's eyes flying open and revealing a look of growing fright and horror as he, too, came to his senses.
"Oh, no," Thranduil whispered as he slowly stepped backwards, "oh gods, how could I...?" He stared at Legolas and Legolas stared back at him, aquamarine meeting blue; reality hitting them both hard as realization came to them. Legolas was the first to move again; he did a step forward and reached one hand out for him. "Adar..." he said hesitantly, his voice trembling with fright. His eyes seeking reassurance.
And Thranduil, again, did something he'd never thought he'd do. It happened in a reflex: he did another step back, avoiding Legolas's touch, and averted his eyes. He instantly regretted his reaction; Legolas's hand fell back and tears began to fall anew. He slumped to his knees and, crossing his arms over his belly as if he felt pain there, wept heartbreakingly, bowing his head so that Thranduil could not see his face.
A starless, pitch-black night fell over Thranduil's mind. He had tried to convince himself that Legolas was a happy young Elf; now, all his beliefs seemed to crumble in his powerless hands. Legolas was not happy at all. And he, Thranduil, could have done something about it earlier, he *should* have done something earlier... And now it was too late. He'd even made it worse, now. Because of his weakness...
Inwardly calling to the Valar for help, he fell to his knees in front of his son. "Oh, Legolas," he whispered and he pulled the young Elf against him, praying that Legolas would not pull away. He did not, and Thranduil held him more securely, stronger, cradled him against his chest in an attempt for comfort. Legolas clutched at him, sobs claiming his body again. Thranduil felt the unspoken plea; Legolas begging him to say that it would be all right, like he had done in the past when Legolas had suffered a bad dream, or had hurt himself. He wanted to hear it from his father; if Thranduil said it, all *would* be fine. Thranduil had never lied to him...
"Hush, leafling," Thranduil whispered to him, "it's all right. It will be all right."
Did he believe it himself? He didn't know... but gods, he hoped it was true.
"Please tell me, Legolas," he pleaded, "tell me everything. Tell me what's wrong and we'll sort everything out... I promise... I am sorry my little one, so sorry... Forgive me..."
As Thranduil held his son, waiting in dread for Legolas to regain control over his breathing, he became aware of the unexpected, unpredicted storm raging harder outside. The rain was now clattering hard and loud against the window, and Thranduil knew that the following morning, the trees of Mirkwood would be weeping again.
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