“Legolas, be careful. Don’t overexert yourself,” Elladan cautioned, keeping a firm grip on Legolas’ arm.

“I’m fine. I got this,” the elven prince said, totally ignoring the other’s obvious concern for him as he shakingly staggered forward on the thin supports of his legs. The twins moved alongside him, flanking either side. Between them, the two brothers helped support the Legolas’ frail body up by his armpits, his arms thrown over both their shoulders.

Over the many weeks of rehabilitation since waking out of his coma, Legolas had begun to regain more use of his legs. With each passing day he became stronger and more confident in his returning abilities. But despite all the time and effort spent thus far, he still had yet to walk on his own fully unaided.

He slowly stepped a shaking foot out and gingerly shifted his weight onto it before than following that one with the other. Moving in a limping, hobbled stumble, the prince continued his advance, his eyes determinately locked on the other side of the room. His legs stung and burned, but he played little attention to the pain. He was going to make it.

He hardly even noticed the brothers helping him anymore. All he could do was focus on the other side of the room – his intended target standing a taunting mere fifteen feet away. Nothing was going to keep him from reaching it. Nothing.

Strands of long blonde hair that had loosened themselves from Legolas’ braids sometime during the last hour of physical therapy with the twins hung down around his face, damp and stringy with perspiration. Sweat beaded along his forehead and rolled down his face. His breathing was labored, coming in short gasping rasps. His lungs burned with the effort of forcing his withered leg muscles to support and carry his body across the room. His legs burned. They hurt. He could feel tears of pain beginning to build in the corners of his eyes from the fiery agony screaming up and down every fiber and sinew of his legs. But he grit his teeth against the pain and willed himself to ignore it.

He couldn’t give up. Not now. Not when he was so close to reaching his goal. He had almost transversed the entire length of his room. He had never managed to make it this far before.

Staggering one foot in front of the other while still leaning on the offered support of his friends, Legolas continued to totter his way to victory. He still depending on the twins to help steady and support his body to walk, but he had begun to find himself having to rely on them less and less each day.

He was now within almost ten feet of reaching the other side of the room.

In his anxiousness to reach his goal, Legolas quickened his pace. He lurched forward, pushing more effort into his already screaming leg muscles. But as Legolas began to shift his weight from his left foot up onto his right to take another step, Legolas felt his legs finally succumb to overexertion and suddenly crumble out from under him. An involuntary cry and pain rang out as he stumbled forward. He tried to catch himself but his legs were nothing more than limp dead weights beneath him now. He felt himself begin to fall and saw the ground begin to rush up to meet him.

But he did not fall far; for Elrohir and Elladan immediately felt Legolas’ legs give out beneath him and easily caught the collapsing elf. Legolas cried out in pain again as the twins quickly righted him and supported his now completely limp body between them.

A whistled hiss of pain escaped the elf’s tightly clenched teeth. He weakly kicked against the ground, desperately trying to get his legs back up under him to stand. But his legs throbbed mercilessly and refused to support his weight any longer. “Ahh!” Legolas screamed in agony as his legs once again collapsed out from under him like a pair of wet noodles despite his determination to press on.

“Alright. That’s enough,” Elrohir finally announced as he reached out and wrapped an arm around Legolas’ waist to keep the exhausted elf from sagging down between him and his brother. “You’ve done enough for today.”

“No. No, I can do more,” Legolas panted weakly, still stubbornly trying to right himself and stand on his own power.

“No, you can’t,” Elladan said, seeing the undeniable exhaustion written across the other elf’s gaunt face. “Come on. Let’s sit down for awhile and rest,” he suggested as he and his brother hauled the almost completely limp prince towards a nearby chair they had positioned there for just such a purpose.

Gently easing Legolas back into the chair, Elrohir and Elladan slid the prince’s arms from off around their shoulders. Despite his attempts to hide his fatigue, Legolas immediately fell back into the chair panting weakly, his eyes closing in exhaustion as he tried to recover his strength.

“Legolas, you’re pushing yourself too hard again,” Elladan sighed as he gently pet back some of the stray hair from his friend’s face, “You have to stop doing this. Pushing yourself to the limit like this isn’t going to get you up and walking on your own any faster – you’re only hurting yourself.”

“But I almost did it,” Legolas whispered softly with something of a small smile creasing his exhausted face as he slowly cracked open a pair of heavy eyelids and looked up at his friends, “I almost walked the entire room. Didn’t you see? I almost did it.”

“Yes, we saw. You did very well,” Elrohir praised as he stepped forward with a damp rag he had gotten from a nearby table and patted it across Legolas’ sweaty forehead. “You are making progress.” Legolas smiled tiredly as he leaned his head back against the back of the chair and let Elrohir gently sponge his face and neck with the cool cloth. The damp rag felt good on his overheated skin. As he sat trying to recover his strength from the strenuous ordeal of crossing the large guestroom, Legolas could feel his previously ignored exhaustion begin to seep down into his bones like a lead weight.

When Elrohir finally finished and set the cloth aside, Legolas willed himself to ignore his weariness and sit up straighter in his chair. “Have you noticed I don’t have to lean on you as much anymore?” he asked softly in a tired voice as he looked up at the two with a victorious smile beginning to pull at his lips despite his obvious fatigue.

“Yes we have,” Elladan smiled, indulging his friend with enthusiasm. He knew how much of a victory just walking across the room meant to Legolas who still sometimes struggled to remember he had been in a coma for the last five years and was no longer capable of some of the tasks he had been able to do before his accident – like just walking on his own. “Like Elrohir said, you’re making a lot of progress, “I can see you getting better every day.”

Legolas smiled again, tiredly letting his head loll back against the chair. “At this rate, I’ll be walking on my own in a few days,” he said with a wistful look of anticipation in his eyes.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves here!” Elrohir cried, holding his hands up in front of his chest, “I know you’re starting to be able to support more of your weight by yourself, Legolas, but you’re still nowhere near being able to walk on your own just yet. Your legs still aren’t strong enough.”

Legolas seemed to ignore Elrohir and just closed his eyes, feeling his exhaustion weighting down on his consciousness more and more with each passing minute. He wished he didn’t always feel so tired after his sessions with the twins, but he was determined to walk on his own again without the aid of anyone else. And if that meant pushing himself to the breaking point, than that was what he was willing to do.

“Legolas, I’m serious,” Elrohir persisted, mistaking his friend’s exhaustion for a careless dismal of his concern for his welfare. “Look at you. You’re about to pass out from exhaustion – and that was even with our help. I know you hate having to depend on others to help you, but it’s just too early for you to be thinking about walking on your own. Your legs aren’t strong enough for that just yet.” Legolas said nothing in reply and as he continued to lean back in his chair, slowly drifting off into unconsciousness. Slightly worried by Legolas’ lack of response, Elrohir took a tentative step closer to the elven prince. “Legolas, are you listening to me?”

“Yes. I’m listening,” came a tired reply, the blonde archer still not opening his eyes. “I’m just a little tired that’s all.”

The younger Imladris prince sighed and leaned down over his painfully thin friend. “Legolas,” he said softly as he smoothed back several wayward strands of hair from the other elf’s face, “You’re more than just tired. You’re exhausted.”

“Stop mothering me,” Legolas snorted in feigned annoyance. “And what have I told you about touching me,” he added as he swatted Elrohir’s hand away from his face.

Elrohir rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Will you please just promise me that you won’t try to walk on your own without Elladan, me, or someone else here? I don’t want to see you hurt yourself.”

Legolas slowly cracked open a pair of heavy eyelids and looked up at Elrohir with a steady gaze. “Why are you so worried about me all of a sudden? I thought it was your job to want to see me get better and be able to walk around on my own again.”

“I do want to see you get better, but I worry because I know you,” Elrohir replied bluntly, “I know the first chance you get you’re going to try and see how far you can make it on your own power without anyone helping you.”

“I’m not going to hurt myself,” Legolas retorted sharply, starting to become slightly irritated with the other’s alluded doubts to his returning abilities to walk. Elrohir however still seemed unconvinced. “Oh, fine!” Legolas huffed in exasperation, “I promise I won’t hurt myself by trying to walk on my own without you or someone else here to supervise me like some kind of nurse. There. Are you happy now?” he snorted snappily.

“Quite,” Elrohir replied with a satisfied smile. He could tell Legolas was starting to get cranky and short- tempered because of his tiredness, but Elrohir still could not help but find himself finding some kind of subtle amusement out of the other’s situation. Before Legolas’ accident, Legolas had never let himself be seen as anything other than the calm, cool-headed warrior prince of Mirkwood. So it was than a rare opportunity indeed for Elrohir to be able to get a playful rise out of his friend and know that Legolas was still as every bit vulnerable and real as any other living being. Finally deciding he should take some pity on his friend’s miserable state of exhaustion, Elrohir decided to trust in Legolas’ assurances of not trying to walk on his own and let the issue rest for the time being.

“Come on,” he said as he took a step closer to the side of Legolas’ chair. Slipping a hand beneath the prince’s arm, Elrohir motioned for his brother to do the same on Legolas’ other side, and together the two gently helped raise the other elf out of the chair back towards the large bed sitting on the other side of the room.

Legolas, by now, was too exhausted to try and aid in his journey back across the room or put up any form of protest to his ungracious mode of transport, and merely let himself be half-dragged, half-carried by the twins back towards his waiting bed. As the three slowly made their way back across Legolas’ room towards the large, comfortable looking bed, Elladan casually glanced over at his blonde charge.

“Aragorn wanted me to ask you, Legolas, if you would be willing to try and come down to the great hall tonight to dine with the royal family. We would have to help carry you down there of course, but father says you seem to be strong enough to join the rest of us for dinner.”

Legolas looked over at his friend in momentary surprise and then building excitement. Even though it had been over a month since his awakening, he still had yet to actually leave his apartments except to go out on the balcony. He had tried to hide his growing agitation from the others, but he was starting to feel restless and anxious like a caged animal from being so confined to his rooms for so long. All of his meals up until now had been delivered to him, and he only ever saw his friends when they themselves came to visit him. The prospect of finally being able to leave his room and join all his friends for evening meal was nothing short of a god-send to his ears.

“Yes!” Legolas cried without even a moment’s hesitation, “Yes, of course! I’ve been wanting to get out of this room for so long I thought I was about to go crazy!”

Elrohir and Elladan both smiled, unable to hide their mirth at seeing their friend get so excited just over dinner. “Good,” Elrohir nodded as they began to come up alongside Legolas’ bed, “Everyone’s been looking forward to you joining us again.”

For a moment, it seemed as if all of Legolas’ previous exhaustion had been altogether forgotten in anticipation of the coming evening. The brother’s could hardly help but smile at the look of utter excitement spreading across Legolas’ wearied face. He reminded them of an elfling on his birthday. But as the twins helped ease Legolas’ weary body back down into the comfortable sheets of his bed, it was like all of Legolas’ fatigue came rushing back to him like a tidal wave of exhaustion. Tiredly, he collapsed back into his nest of pillows. He lay completely still, his eyes closed, trying to regain his strength.

“Do you want me to give your legs a massage, Legolas?” Elladan asked as he stood straight from over the elf’s bed, “It will help keep them from becoming stiff from exercise.”

“No,” Legolas replied with a shake of his head, “I told you I don’t like being touched.”

Elladan nodded in understanding. Ever since coming out of his coma and discovering his new abilities, Legolas avoided any kind of unnecessary touch like the plague. He visibly shied away from anyone that made even the smallest sign of trying to touch him – even if it was by one of his closest friends. He allowed Elrohir and Elladan to touch him, but only in the context of his physical therapy. It was often frustrating and almost always disheartening to see Legolas cringe away from his friends as if he were afraid they would actually hurt him. Aragorn and Gimli had taken this new change in their friend the hardest. They continued to faithfully stand by their friend and visit him everyday, but the hurt in their eyes whenever the elven prince shied away from them was painfully obvious to anyone that looked.

Quietly stepping forward, Elladan pulled a blanket over his friend’s thin form. “We’ll come get you later on tonight when it’s time to go down,” he said.

“Alright,” Legolas replied softly, his eyes starting to slowly drift shut and grow distant with impending unconsciousness.

“Get some rest,” Elrohir advised as he began to turn for the door with his brother close beside him to let the prince rest in peace, “I’m almost certain Aragorn is planning on making tonight something of a celebration and welcoming back feast for you.”

“Sounds wonderful,” came a faint, whispery reply from the barely visible figure of their friend laying under a small mound of bedding in the large bed. The brothers said nothing in response and only turned for the door. They could tell Legolas was already drifting off into deep sleep to recuperate from the strenuous ordeal of his physical therapy and would probably sleep until late that afternoon.

And so, with a soft, barely audible click, the two brothers closed the door to Legolas’ room behind them, leaving the prince to find rest and rejuvenation in the peaceful dreamscapes of elven sleep.

******

Amroth stood at his post on the first gate of Minas Tirith looking out over the grassy plains of the Pelannor Fields beyond. It was only an hour or so into his watch, but he could already tell today was going to be boring like most any other day he was assigned to stand guard over one of the gates of the city.

The young man sighed loudly out of boredom. When he had first joined the White Guards as a youth of eighteen only several months before, he had dreamed of exciting adventures and great battles like those in the stories his father – another White Guard before him – used to tell him as a little boy. Little has he known that being in the king’s service was sometimes nothing more than a glorified watchman’s position.

Amroth glanced down at the small but steady stream of people passing through the mighty stone portal of the gateway below. It’s towering doors of steel and mithril stood open to the flow of traffic, allowing complete access both in or out of the white city. Once not too long ago those doors would have been the first opposing defense of the city, strong enough to withstand the assault of battering rams and sieging armies.

But not anymore. For after so many years of senseless bloodshed and war, Gondor had finally won itself an era of peace, and the city’s once grand and impregnable gates now really only served as a lasting reminder to those passing through it of all the past hardships and battles fought for the protection of the city.

Amroth sighed again. It wasn’t that he didn’t like peace as much as any of his fellow men, but that did not mean he didn’t wish for a little excitement now and again. Anything to break the monotony of his duties: standing watch, seeing to the flow of traffic trough the gates, and occasionally checking the paperwork and documents of merchants coming into the city to seel or trade goods. Other than that, that was about as much excitement as Amroth usually saw in any given day of regular duty.

Despite his boredom though, Amroth continued to faithfully man his post. The one thing he couldn’t complain about was the view. From his perch atop the parapet of the outer wall of the city, the young guard could almost see the entire Pelannor Fields spread out before him in one huge, sweeping panoramic view.

Following with his eyes the straight line of the paved roadway that ran towards the east, Amroth could see fair Osgiliath peacefully laying on either side of the Anduin in the distance. Branching off from that main roadway between the two sister cities halfway out across the Pelannor Fields was another intersecting road that ran perpendicular to Minas Tirith from north to south.

It was as Amroth was silently taking in the quiet beauty of the rolling landscape that he happened to notice in the distance a small group of riders rapidly approaching the city from the north. He was instantly seized with curiosity. Though the group was still several miles or more out on the open plains, Amroth could tell they were riding at frighteningly fast speeds – faster than any other rider he had ever seen. Already since spotting them, the small company of riders had transversed probably a mile in less than a few minutes.

As the mysterious company of riders continued to draw ever closer to the towering white gates of the city, Amroth could begin to make out features of the unknown riders.

There were no more than six of them. From their proximity now Amroth could see they wore no visible sign of armor or chain mail, but rather were dressed in clothes of varying shades of green and brown. Several banners of green and gold all bearing the stylized design of a leaf intertwined with vines snapped in the air above their head as the company flew across the plains at breakneck speeds.

The group was now within only moments of reaching the gate and showing no signs of slowing.

Suddenly feeling apprehensive of these unknown riders, Amroth turned and sped towards a set of stone stairs that would lead him down to the streets below. He flew down the stairs, his plates of armor clinking together noisily all the way down.

As he finally reached the bottom, a loud, authoritative voice rang out behind him. “Amroth!” it roared, “What do you think you’re doing abandoning your post?”

The young man quickly turned around and saw his captain stalking towards him. By the look chiseled into the older man’s face, it was obvious he was not happy with his newest guard’s actions.

“Sir!” Amroth cried, rushing towards him, “There is a company of riders rapidly approaching the gates. They do not appear to be merchants and do not show signs of slowing. They only carry green banners of identification.”

The older man paused and considered this. This sounded like some kind of group of visiting dignitaries, but he had not been given any notification from the palace to expect any such arrivals. Just as a precaution they should probably investigate the matter. After all, he was in charge of security of the gates and was not about to let any suspicious people into his city – especially if they were approaching as recklessly as Amroth said and were offering no form of identification.

“You two!” the commander barked at two nearby guards, “Come with me. You too, Amroth,” he said pushing his way towards the open gate of the city. Amroth hurried to follow as the two other guards and his commander hurried to stand in a line just inside the gates. The small company was now clattering up the stone roadway towards the gates. Now at ground level with the group of riders quickly bearing down on them, Amroth suddenly wished he was still standing up on the parapet, out of the way of action.

As the group drew nearer, the young man was startled to see that these mysterious riders were no men but rather elves! Manes of long silken hair flowed out over their shoulders and flew in the wind behind them. He could now see they used no form of bit or tack on their horses. But they did not seem to need it, for the riders masterfully sat astride their mounts, using only gentle touches to direct the animals.

Amroth was suddenly overcome with a mixture of awe, fear, and curiosity. He had never seen elves up close before and it was an awesome sight to behold the approaching company.

It was then he noticed the elf that seemed to be leading the company and his breath almost caught in his throat. The elf in question was a sight the young guard of Gondor had never seen before. He had long golden hair like most of the others elves in the group, but it was the physical aura of power Amroth sensed radiating off the elf and the look of utter determination brewing in the being’s ancient eyes that made the young man suddenly want to slink away and hide in intimidation.

For a moment, it seemed as if the company of riders were not going to stop and were just going to run over the small line of guards standing in their path. People milling in the gateway quickly scattered or jumped to the side to get out of the way of the coming horses. For a moment, Amroth thought he was about to crushed by the charging horses. But finally, at the very last moment, just as Amroth was about to send up a final prayer to the Valar, the lead rider pulled his charging white mount back and came to a skittering stop just on the threshold of the massive gates only several feet in front of the guards. The other elves in his company also came to a stop behind their lord, their horses neighing and prancing under the gate’s archway in protest to the abrupt halt.

“Let me pass!” the blonde-haired elf demanded. His ancient blue eyes flashed threateningly at the line of opposing guards as his mount nervously pranced beneath him. Amroth was sure that if the elf had been speaking directly at him, he would have surely cowered away in fear and just let him pass. Luckily though his commander did not seem so intimidated by the mysterious elf and stepped forward to address him.

“We cannot until we know what business you have in the white city,” he said evenly, earning himself a scathing glare from the elf that probably would have ignited him in flames if it were physically possible.

“My business is my own,” the elf snarled, immediately focusing his wrath on the lone guard brave enough to address him.

“Why were you approaching our city with such haste?” the guard inquired persistently, seemingly unaffected by the other’s intimidating aura.

“I have business in the Hall of Kings,” he ground out between gritted teeth, “Now move!” he screamed, urging his horse forward so that he was towering directly over the man. Still the man did not back down.

For a minute, Amroth almost thought the elf was going to brandish his sword and end his captain’s life. For several long breathless heartbeats of tense silence, the two just stared at each other. Finally though, as if accepting the elf’s explanation, the man made a small side-step and moved to the side. “You may pass,” was all he said in reply. He then turned and motioned for Amroth and the other two guards to do the same.

Amroth blinked in surprise. He was just going to let this elf into the city without a better explanation? Not too reluctantly though, the young guard followed orders and hastily stepped out of the elf’s way.

Only wasting a final parting glare at the commander, the elven leader quickly spurred his horse into a full gallop into the streets beyond. As the party of elves disappear from sight into the winding streets in direction of the Citadel high above, Amroth looked over at his captain.

“Sir!” he cried in incredulous astonishment, “You’re just letting them go?”

“Bite your tongue, soldier,” the older man snapped. Amroth immediately complied. “You don’t know who that just was, do you?” the captain then asked as he turned to look the younger guard right in the eyes. Amroth shook his head dumbly. “That was King Thranduil of Mirkwood,” the older man explained, watching the boy’s face closely for dawning comprehension.

“Thranduil?!” Amroth squeaked in surprise, instantly placing the name, “Father of one of the Nine Walkers?!”

“Ugh huh,” Amroth’s captain grunted in affirmation, “I immediately recognized him as he was riding up the roadway. It would probably be wise if you also learn to recognize such important people before rising the alarm like that again,” he then added with something of reproach in his voice for the young recruit. Amroth hung his head in shame.

Thranduil. Father of Legolas, one of the Nine Walkers that had accompanied King Elessar on his quest to destroy the One Ring several years ago during the War of the Ring. He had heard these stories ever since he was a boy. How could he be so stupid? Why hadn’t he recognized him? Elves had become almost permanent fixtures in the white city ever since the end of the war almost eight years before. Surely he should have seen Thranduil before. After all, his son was one of the king’s closest friends.

“Take heart,” his captain then said in a slightly softer voice, as if deciding to take pity on the poor boy’s innocent mistake. “Just be glad you made it out of this with your life. Few ever survive an encounter like that with King Thranduil of Mirkwood,” he then added with a bit of wry humor.

Amroth swallowed hard, remembering the fire burning in the elf’s eyes when they had stood before him, blocking his way into the city. He knew his captain was only joking, but somehow he didn’t think it was really that far from the truth.

“What are you still standing here for?” his captain suddenly barked in his ear, startling the young man out of his trance. Amroth visibly jumped. “Get back to your post!” the older guard ordered, pointing up towards the empty parapet above the gate.

“Yessir,” Amroth stammered as he rushed to do as he told. As he ran back up the set of stone stairs leading back to his post on the wall, Amroth suddenly decided that his little encounter with the infamous king of Mirkwood had given him more than enough excitement for one day.

******

Thranduil hardly even reigned his horse to a stop before leaping off its back as he and his escort of soldiers clattered into the Hall of Kings’ front courtyard. Not wasting a moment, the elven king turned and all but ran for the doors of the Citadel, totally ignoring curious glances from several servants and guards that had been going about their business in the courtyard when he had first rode in. No one made a move to stop him though. Something shining in the elf’s ancient eyes told them that anyone that even tried to get in his way would somehow probably end up in the House of Healing.

Bursting into the Hall of Kings, Thranduil immediately began to rush for a large center staircase that led up to the upper levels of the palace. He was only half way across the large entryway when a voice suddenly called out to him from behind. “Thranduil!”

Thranduil barely even paused to spare a glance over his shoulder as Elrond appeared out of an adjacent hallway to the main one he stood in. It took all his will power to actually stop and turn back around to address his fellow lord. “Elrond, I just received a message from you saying that my son has woken out of his coma. Is it true?” he cried in barely contained emotions, his usually proud and even voice cracking in urgency as he spoke. His face was a jumbled confusion of emotions: panic, apprehension, desperation, worry, anxiety, and others that Elrond could not immediately identify or name.

Elrond nodded with a smile. Though he and Thranduil had never been good friends, the sight of the proud elven lord’s anguish over the many long years of Legolas’ coma had made his heart ache with sympathy for him. And now to finally to be able to give Thranduil the news he had been wanting to give for so many years of waiting made Elrond feel proud and almost somehow responsible for such a miracle taking place. “Yes. It’s true. He came out of his– ”

But he got no further than that. For at that first little word of affirmation, Thranduil abruptly turned and ran – yes ran!– for the nearby staircase, not waiting to hear anything else Elrond might have said. The darker-haired elf lord stared after Thranduil in momentary surprise.

“Thranduil, wait!” he called as he took off after the other elf. “Wait! There is something you have to know about Legolas before you see him!” he called, racing after the distraught father up the stairs. But Thranduil seemed to ignore the other elf’s calls and just continued to literally fly up the stairs with Elrond following in hot pursuit.

Elrond managed to keep up with Thranduil for most of the uphill chase, but as the two finally reached the third floor where the royal guestrooms and living quarters were, Thranduil suddenly put on an extra burst of unforeseen speed and pulled ahead.

Through the darkened hallways of the grand palace Thranduil ran, his eyes and heart determinately locked on reaching a single doorway standing just at the end of the hall. He could hear Elrond following somewhere close behind him down the hall, but he did not slow in the slightest to let him catch up. He couldn’t. Not now. Not when his son was so close! Elrond had said he had finally woken up! He had to see Legolas. He had to see him first to believe it was actually true.

Finally reaching the door, Thranduil grabbed the handle and twisted it open with a swift jerk of the wrist. Using his own weight like a battering ram, Thranduil slammed himself against the door and spilled into the well-lit room beyond, stumbling a bit as he struggled to regain his balance. Looking around hurriedly and still panting slightly from his run through the palace, Thranduil’s eyes immediately alighted on the large bed of his youngest son’s room, desperately searching out the one he sought.

What he saw made his heart stop dead in his chest.

 Legolas lay motionless on his back beneath a thick blanket. His hair was fanned out over the pillow beneath him head. Vacant blue eyes stared up at the ceiling through the narrowed slits of his eyelids.

A chocked sob escaped Thranduil’s constricted throat as he took a staggering half-step backwards away from the horrible scene he beheld.

No...

It was the same... Nothing had changed! It was exactly the same!

At that moment, Elrond finally managed to catch up with Thranduil and came to a halt in the doorway behind him, panting slightly to catch his breath.

No! No no no!!! The tiny voice inside Thranduil’s head began to scream louder and faster until it was all Thranduil could hear as he continued to stare in silent horror at the scene of his youngest son – laying there before him just as still and lifeless as he had for the past five years. No no no nononononono!

“Why did you lie to me?!” Thranduil screamed as he wheeled around on Elrond suddenly. It was like whatever emotional string buried deep down inside him that had helped hold him together through all the long years of Legolas’ coma had finally snapped. “Why did you lie to me?!” Tears of such rage and helplessness began to fill the elven king’s eyes, Elrond at first could not find the words to respond.

“Thranduil– ”

“Why did you lie to me?!” Thranduil cut off sharply, too hysterical to listen to what Elrond was trying to say. His clenched fists were beginning to start to shake at his sides. “You told me he woke up! Why– ”

“Father?”

Thranduil wheeled around in surprise. There, laying propped up on his elbows and looking up at his father in bewildered confusion from the confines of his bed was the king’s youngest son, Legolas. Only moments before he had been suddenly startled awake out of a deep sleep by loud shouts coming from the door to his room.

For a moment, father and son just stared at each other, neither knowing what to say. “Legolas...” Thranduil whispered in teary disbelief. With no concern for the one standing in the door watching him or giving his son any kind of warning, Thranduil swept forward and sat on the edge of Legolas’ bed, swiftly wrapping his arms around Legolas’ frail body and crushing the startled elf to his chest. “Legolas... Legolas, oh by the Valar, Legolas!” he cried, chanting his son’s name into the elf’s thick mane of gold and white-streaked hair. “I thought I was never going to see you awake again,” he sobbed into Legolas’ hair as he began to unconsciously rock his son back in forth in his arms.

Legolas was altogether startled by his father’s unnatural display of emotions and sat there in utter bewilderment as Thranduil swooped down to wrap him in his embrace. In his warped reference of time, the last time he had seen his father was only three seasons ago. Legolas was so surprised by Thranduil’s actions that he only finally realized what was going on when the air was suddenly knocked out of his lungs by the force of his father’s crushing embrace. Legolas immediately tensed and tried to pull away from Thranduil.

“Father! Father, please!” Legolas’ muffled cries sounded against Thranduil’s chest. He began to struggle as Thranduil tightly pin him up against his chest. “No, father, please! You shouldn’t– ” He desperately tried to pull away from his father, expecting at any minute to see a sudden flash of light in his head. But Thranduil only clutched Legolas tighter. “Father please,” Legolas begged helplessly, “Please, I’m alright. I’m fine. Please, just let me go.”

But Thranduil did not lessen his hold or even seem to hear his son’s desperate pleas. He did nothing to stop Legolas’ string of feeble protests and only hugged him closer, as if trying to actually coax out more of his son’s plaintive cries. He felt almost desperate to hear his child’s voice. He had waited five long years to hear Legolas’ voice again, and now to finally hear it was nothing short of music to his ears.

Realizing he was helpless to get his father to release him, Legolas finally relinquished his struggles. He stiffly sat there in defeat as Thranduil continued to rock him back and forth in his arms, softly whispering into his ear. He sat and waited in fearful silence, expecting at any moment to see a brilliant flash of light explode in his mind from Thranduil’s touch.

But no flash or vision ever came.

Realizing he was not going to experience one of his visions, Legolas slowly felt himself begin to relax and then actually melt into his father’s embrace as Thranduil continued to gently rock him back and forth and stroke his head. It was in that moment as Thranduil sat hugging his son to him that Legolas suddenly realized how much he had been starved for touch up until that point. Until that moment, he had shunned any and all forms of physical contact with others. He was constantly afraid of what he might see if he allowed anyone to touch him. And he was afraid of seeing that look of fear in the eyes of everyone around him because of his new powers again. But now to be held and comforted like this with no fear or reserve suddenly made Legolas only crave more of Thranduil’s touch, and nestled deeper into his father’s embrace.

As Thranduil felt his son’s rigid body finally relax in his arms and then actually lean into the embrace, the elven king felt a choked sob escape past his defenses. My son... Thranduil felt his throat constrict with a rush of unbidden emotions. His child... How long he had waited and prayed for this to happen – to have his son awake again. Rocking his son back and forth, Thranduil felt another hollow sob escape his lips. Several tears slowly rolled down his cheeks and into Legolas’ hair where his cheek gently rested atop his son’s head.

Gods... He had given up all hope of ever seeing his son awake again. He had actually wished at one point that Legolas had died in that accident. He had almost been ready to ask Elrond to release his son... Oh gods, he had honestly almost did it! He had almost killed his son!

Legolas... Legolas...

He had almost killed his son – his own child!

“Legolas... Legolas...” he sobbed into his son’s hair, holding the young elf to him as if afraid to let him go, or trying to somehow apologize for giving up hope of him ever returning and entertaining such dark thoughts of ending his son’s suffering. Oh, my son, I’m so sorry... He had wanted his son dead. He had actually wished Legolas had died! What kind of father wished that on their child?

And now to have his son in his arms once again – speaking, talking... awake! – Thranduil suddenly realized just how far his thoughts had strayed during those dark years of Legolas’ coma. He felt a fresh sting of tears building in his eyes. How could he ever look at Legolas now without somehow remembering how he had almost given into despair and extinguished that small, lingering light of life without giving it time to return to him? Oh Legolas, Legolas, Legolas, I’m so sorry...

Thranduil did not know how long he sat there holding his son, but after awhile he finally felt some semblance of control return to him. Gently releasing Legolas and holding him away at arm’s length to look at him fully, Thranduil suddenly realized he couldn’t remember what he had wanted to say to him. Over the years, he had spent countless hours going over in his head what he would say to Legolas if he ever woke up. But now that he actually was, Thranduil suddenly felt as if his mind had gone completely blank. With a deep, steadying breath, the elven king looked down into his son’s bright, sapphire blue eyes – eyes that were no longer dead and empty, but now alive and full of life as they stared up into his. He could feel a small, trembling smile slowly begin to spread across his still tear-dampened face at the sight.

“Legolas, my son...” he said softly in a slightly trembling voice as he forced himself to find his voice and wiped away the drying tears from his face, “How do you fare...?”

******

It had taken several hours to finally pull Thranduil away from his son, but Elrond had finally managed to get the elven king out of the room and alone with the excuse that Legolas still needed to rest. After initial pleasantries, father and son had spent most of their reunion talking. Thranduil had spent most of the time recounting to Legolas all the news and happenings of his family back in Mirkwood over the past five years. Legolas on the other hand had remained mostly vague and ambiguous on details concerning the details of his awakening and his new powers, and had limited his own part of the conversation to his progressing physical therapy. He did not want to have to tell his father about his new abilities so soon after just seeing him again for the first time in several years, and chose to remain quiet and let his father do most of the talking which Thranduil did not seem to notice.

Elrond had remained in the room during that time despite several “delicate” hints from Thranduil for him to leave. Like Legolas, Elrond also had lingering concerns of Thranduil inadvertently discovering Legolas’ new abilities without first being warned of them. Such a thing could potentially prove disastrous. It was only by shear luck that nothing had happened when Thranduil had first rushed into Legolas’ room and hugged him. Now, however, with Legolas once again peacefully resting and Thranduil’s initial anxiety over his son’s welfare staved, it was time to talk to the elven king and inform him of his son’s condition.

“Thranduil, come, sit down,” Elrond directed as he motioned to a nearby chair positioned beside the one he himself comfortably sat back in. The two elf lords were currently in Elrond’s private study which Elrond had led Thranduil to after finally convincing him to leave and let Legolas rest in peace once again. What he needed to discuss with Thranduil was something personal and not something to be overheard by others, and the sanctuary of his personal study would provide just the sort of privacy the two elves needed.

Thranduil glanced over at the plush, velvet covered chair Elrond motioned to and hesitantly shook his head. “I really shouldn’t be here...” he said as he longingly looked back over his shoulder towards the closed door to Elrond’s study, “I should be with my son. I don’t like leaving him alone like this so soon after finally seeing him awake again. I should be there with him...”

“He’ll be fine, Thranduil,” Elrond assured, “His body is still very weak from his coma, and his physical therapy with my sons consumes a great deal of his energy. He needs to rest regularly like this to keep his strength up. I assure you he’ll be fine for the next couple minutes so that you and I can talk.”

“Talk about what?” Thranduil demanded, feeling a sudden stir of apprehension in the pit of his stomach from underlying tone of gravity he detected in the Imladris elf’s voice. “Is something wrong with my son?”

Elrond noticeably hesitated. “Why don’t you come and sit down so we can speak face to face instead of me talking to you from across the room,” he instead said.

Thranduil immediately crossed the room and sat down in the proffered seat across from Elrond. “What? What is wrong with Legolas?” the elven king demanded, a hint of fear now lacing his sonorous voice. A shine of panic had begun to show in his eyes.

Elrond gave a small inward sigh of and slowly leaned forward in his chair to look the other elf lord straight in the eyes. He really didn’t want to have to tell Thranduil about Legolas’ current condition so soon after Thranduil just saw his son awake for the first time in years, but Thranduil had to know. The sooner the better. Thranduil had to be told about his son.

Elrond slowly took a deep, calming breath to harden himself to the task at hand. Thranduil was now sitting on the edge of his seat, anxiously looking at Elrond with a mixture of dread and apprehension in his eyes. Elrond heaved another sigh. “Legolas seems to be suffering some adverse after-effects of his coma,” he finally said in a low voice.

The fear and anxiety that had been slowly building in Thranduil quickly came rushing to the surface. “What? What is wrong with him?” the elf lord demanded, fear immediately gripping his heart.

“Legolas seems to have suffered some brain damage from the accident,” Elrond explained calmly.

Thranduil seemed slightly taken aback by this. “Brain damage?” he repeated slowly, his eyebrows furrowing together slightly in confusion and dread. “But Legolas seemed to be perfectly fine when I was talking with him earlier. He did not seem to be suffering from any noticeable brain damage.”

“I know that, Thranduil,” Elrond said quickly, trying to find a different way of explaining it to Thranduil, “But that’s not really what I’m talking about. Legolas does not seem to be suffering any type of memory loss or speech impediments from the injury, but his sensory perception seems to have been radically altered because of the trauma he sustained.” Thranduil again seemed confused by what Elrond was trying to tell him. “Legolas’ head injury has altered the way his brain functions, and seems to have awakened abilities in him we never knew he possessed up until now,” Elrond explained slowly, watching Thranduil’s face for reaction.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the darker-haired elf. “What kind of abilities?”

“Abilities of second-sight,” Elrond replied softly.

At first, Elrond’s answer did not seem to earn any sort of reaction from the elven king. Thranduil just sat there, blankly staring at Elrond with an unreadable look on his face. Finally after a long moment, Thranduil broke out of his silence. “Second-sight?” he snorted incredulously, suddenly reverting from his anxious, worrying father self to his better known persona of proud, cantankerous king. “Are you honestly serious?” he scoffed skeptically, “My son may be many things, but he has never been an elf gifted with powers of second-sight.”

“I think you might want to listen to me on this, Thranduil,” Elrond persisted, “He has already shown on several different occasions now powers of clairvoyancy. I have personally seen one such instance with my very own eyes. I was also skeptical at first of such a thing being possible, but after seeing his eyes...” Elrond paused for a moment, trailing off. He then slowly heaved a deep sigh, unable to find the right words that could accurately describe the awesome, mysterious power he had seen radiating out from the depths of Legolas eyes that day after the prince’s awakening. “Thranduil, there is no way for me to make you believe me, but what I have seen is real. Of that, I no longer harbor any doubts.”

Thranduil sat for a long moment of silence, seeming to regard Elrond seriously for the first time. He had never known the Lord of Imladris to lie to anyone and to see such conviction shining in his ancient grey eyes made Thranduil begin to wonder if Elrond really wasn’t telling him the truth.

“Legolas’ visions seem to be restricted to physical touch,” Elrond went on to say now that he knew he had the other elf’s full attention, “He seems to be able to perceive things from the past or future of whoever he touches – some of his visions being quite violent. I honestly have never heard of any such power quite like his before in all my long years of healing or in any of the books and texts I have researched concerning elven foresight and long-term comas. I know it sounds impossible, but this is the only explanation there is to explain what is happening to Legolas and how he knows some of the things he does.”

Thranduil sat for several long moments of silence digesting Elrond’s words. He looked torn by indecision of whether to believe Elrond or not and lingering skepticism. He desperately wanted to not believe Elrond, but something deep inside him told him what the elf lord said was true. He had sensed it when he had first held his son in his arms. He had seen it in Legolas’ eyes when they had sat talking to one another for the past few hours – a sort of parental instinct deep inside that told him not all was right with his child. He had known even then of the strange change in his son, though he had desperately tried to ignore it. He so wanted to believe Legolas had woken out of his coma without any permanent injury or damage, but he knew deep down in his heart that he hadn’t.

Shaking his head in what looked like either helpless acceptance or stubborn denial of what Elrond was telling him, Thranduil turned his face away from the dark haired elf. “Gods...” he moans under his breath as he brought a slightly trembling hand up to his face and held his head in his hand. A shine of unshed tears began to form in his ancient grey eyes as he stared blankly down at the floor, his proud face slowly twisting in helpless anger and grief. “For five long years now my son has laid here in a coma with no hope of him ever waking up again. And now, when the Valar finally answer my prayers and return my youngest child to me, you sit here and tell me that he is possessed with strange and unnatural powers? Ai! Why does Eru torment me like this? What have I done to offend him? Why must my son suffer so much?”

“I do not know,” Elrond answered softly as he reached out and placed a comforting hand on Thranduil’s forearm. The elf lord felt his heart once again ache with pity for the anguished father before him. He could not even begin to imagine what it was like for Thranduil to wait so many hopeless years to see his son awake again and then only arrive to find his child so inconceivably changed and damaged. “I cannot tell you why Legolas was caught in that landslide or why he was made to sleep for so many years in that coma, but I believe these powers of second-sight were given to him for a reason. What that reason or purpose may be, I cannot say. But after what I have seen him do, I honestly believe that there is some higher power at work here.”

“Are you somehow implying that my son was meant to be in that accident – that he was fated to almost die that day and then lay here in a coma for five years?” Thranduil snapped heatedly, directing his feelings of misplaced helplessness and despair onto the other elf lord.

Elrond chose to ignore Thranduil’s unjustified indignation towards him and just stared into the elven king’s eyes with a steady, unwavering gaze. “I think, Thranduil, you will come to agree with me in good time. Legolas’ powers are uncomparable to anything else I have ever seen before. He has done things that not even the Lady Galadriel is capable of. He was given these powers for a reason. And I believe, that all too soon, you too will also come to see that...”

******

To Be Continued...

******

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