As spring blossomed into summer, Thranduil and the Wood Elves worked harder than they could ever remember having worked. The messengers Thranduil had dispatched returned bearing heartening news. Dale and the Lonely Mountain were rebuilding, and the new rulers, Bard II and Thorin III, sent their regards. Thranduil ordered that a modest selection of furs and leather be sent to each new ruler as a token of neighborliness and shared celebration of survival. The messengers from the west reported that the Beornings were also alive, and as far as they could tell, had been entirely untouched by the war.

Within a fortnight, the first contingent of the Galadhrim arrived in Eryn Lasgalen, and soon the settlement hummed with activity. Each Silvan household had chosen a fine, sturdy tree, and the Galadhrim found them apt pupils in the art of building talans. The Silvan Elves then modified the southern design, replacing the light windscreen with sturdier walls of woven branches that could be insulated with furs and blankets against the chill winters of the North.

Luindil's instincts concerning the fertility of the burned ground proved accurate. A month after the fire, new green grass shimmered over the clearings. The Galadhrim declared that the earth would soon be suitable for gardening and showed the Silvan Elves how to grub up the dead stumps and smooth the ground in preparation. "You will never have lush, abundant fields here," they cautioned, "but in a year's time, there will likely be plenty of small gardens yielding a variety of foodstuffs."

"That is precisely what we desired," Thranduil assured them. "We do not seek to give up the hunting life altogether. We wish merely to supplement it with cultivated foods for which we are beholden to no one."

The leader of the Galadhrim laughed. "You are every bit as proud as our Lord Celeborn made you out to be," he said. "But when I look over all that you have done here and how long you held out against the Enemy alone, I would deem that you have good reason for your pride."

As each tree-hut was completed, there was a flurry of scrubbing and packing as the Wood Elves vacated the King's halls to move into their own new dwellings. As often as not, the King was to be found among them, helping to carry a piece of furniture or a basket of clothing, or even simply keeping a child amused while its parents attended to last-minute details.

"It seems such an odd thing, to see your Lord playing with children," Tinwen, one of the aides from Lothlórien, told Galion. "One would think that there would be plenty of maidens eager to relieve him of that chore."

Galion smiled. "He does not see it as a chore," he explained. "Our King loves all his people, and he is happy to aid them in whatsoever they require. He especially loves the little ones, and I for one am happy to see him occupied with them."

"Why, when he could be at more pressing tasks?"

"At the moment, all tasks are pressing, and all must help where they may be useful," Galion told her. "That includes the King. I believe that the children do him good. They distract him from thoughts of his own son, whose absence weighs heavily on all our hearts."

Soft footsteps interrupted their discussion. Tinwen and Galion looked up in time to see Thranduil striding purposefully down the hall, earnestly discussing some issue of security with Inglor, all but oblivious to the sleeping baby strapped to his back. Thranduil acknowledged Galion's bow and Tinwen's curtsey with a quick nod before moving on. Galion smiled after him.

"Now that," he said, "is something I have not seen for many years. He used to carry his own son with him like that, while he attended to his business."

"He misses his son greatly," Tinwen observed.

"Far more than he lets on, I think. But still, he refuses to give up hope, and continues to believe that Legolas will come home."

"Think you that he will come home?"

Galion sighed. "I do not know what to believe. For my part, I think it unlikely. Had he survived the war, he would have sent word by now. But I do not wish to give in to despair, so I force myself to share in the King's hope. Whether that is wise or foolish I do not know. The King will wait forever, if need be."

"Let us hope it does not come to that," Tinwen said.

Summer ripened into fall, and the Wood Elves found that the circumstances of life began to ease a little. The tree-huts were completed, and the settlement was adapting to spending more time above the ground than on it. Most of the Galadhrim had departed once the huts were completed, but a few stayed behind to instruct their Northern cousins in the art of gardening once spring came again.

In the meantime, the fruits of the forest had returned. The gathering was not as bountiful as it had been in previous years, and Luindil declared that the forest would not recover its former fruitfulness for many years to come. Still, there were berries to dry, nuts and mushrooms to collect, and many varieties of edible roots. The Galadhrim, accustomed to cultivated vegetables and grain, were astonished at the amount and variety of food that the Wood Elves extracted from what appeared to be a rather inhospitable forest.

As the air turned crisp and the leaves began to color, Thranduil began to lead his folk on hunting expeditions. Nearly every hunt netted at least one deer as well as squirrels and beavers. Much of the meat was smoked to preserve it for the winter, and the rich smell of smoking meat hung about the settlement for many days. There were fish in the river, and Inglor had discovered a bee tree, so there was honey as well. The storerooms in the delvings, which had stood nearly empty all summer long, began to fill once again. True, there were no imported delicacies such as apples or bread, and there were only a few casks of wine that had survived the battle, but there was food, and Thranduil cautiously allowed himself to think that there would be enough supplies laid in to last through the coming winter.

He knew that he owed the survival of his people over the lean summer to the Galadhrim with their generous gifts of lembas. The wafers of that strengthening waybread had sustained the Silvan Elves marvelously through a summer of hard labor and destroyed food stores. Now that the tight rations were easing up, Thranduil's thoughts turned to matters of propriety. The Galadhrim must be thanked properly for their aid and assistance. He decided that the best way to express his people's gratitude would be to hold a grand feast in honor of the Galadhrim. There was enough food now for a proper feast, and it had been long since the naturally high-spirited Wood Elves had enjoyed an evening of song, feasting and merrymaking.

As Thranduil had expected, the entire settlement, Wood Elves and Galadhrim alike, reacted with enthusiasm to the order for a feast. They outdid themselves in producing especially delicious dishes, and the children swarmed all over the Great Hall, weaving garlands of orange and gold leaves which they hung from every corner. Galion personally took charge of the venison roasts, improvising a dressing of chestnuts and mushrooms, since his usual apples and bread crumbs were not available that year. Musicians oiled and tuned their instruments, and everyone busied themselves preparing for what was sure to be a grand evening.

Thranduil found that he enjoyed the preparation for the feast, the more so since much of it proceeded without his direct involvement. He had been spending much time in his special clearing, gazing abstractedly towards the South. It was getting harder and harder to hold on to hope, but he steadfastly refused to give it up. One day, he told himself, the branches of the clearing would rustle in that special way, and Legolas would materialize out of the thickets. And then, Thranduil decided, he would take his son in his arms and never let him go again. He knew that all things happened at the time appointed by Ilúvatar, and nothing could change that, but he did hope that the appointed time would be soon.

But no Prince appeared, and in due course, the night of the great feast arrived. The Great Hall had been scrubbed from floor to ceiling, the banners had been washed, and the garlands glowed in the torchlight. The banquet tables were draped with fresh cloths, and laid with a startling amount of food. The dishes were fairly plain, as there were no extra delicacies to enliven them, but they had been prepared with great care and garnished with bright sprigs of pokeberries. One of the casks of wine had been tapped, and cups of wine and rose water stood at every place save that of the King, who would drink rose water only.

The feast was set to begin at sunset, and shortly before that, the guests began to stream into the Great Hall. Thranduil, standing at his place at table, began to feel strangely uneasy. Something was happening outside; he could feel the trees rustling and soughing among themselves, but in the growing crowd, there was no way to investigate or even to determine if the premonition was one of joy or danger. Several times, Thranduil had to shake his head to clear it of outside thoughts and focus on the grand feast.

At last, everyone was inside the Great Hall, save for a skeleton crew of guards, who had graciously volunteered to keep watch during the entertainment and had been provided with baskets of choice dishes for their pains. Some of the smaller children ran and shrieked, trying to see and investigate everything. Thranduil indulged their curiosity for a few minutes, then dipped his finger into a fingerbowl and ran it delicately around the rim of his glass drinking vessel. The resulting whine alerted the Elves that the feast was to begin in earnest, and the children were swiftly recalled to the table. Thranduil stood and looked out over the faces of his surviving folk.

"Hearken to me, Elves of the forest," he began formally. "We are gathered in joy and gratitude tonight. We celebrate the joy of our survival through these last dark days, and we give thanks to our Southern kin of the Golden Wood, for they have aided us greatly in that survival."

Out of the corner of his eye, Thranduil could see a commotion at the entrance to the Great Hall. A guard was frantically signaling Luindil, who was seated by Thranduil's side. Thranduil nodded to his seneschal, who slipped out discreetly. Thranduil soldiered on. "Still, no celebration would be complete without giving honor to those whose sacrifice made it possible. I speak of those of our folk and the Galadhrim who gave their lives in the final battle against darkness, that we might live to see the triumph of the light."

A hissing conversation could clearly be heard from the entryway. "But he's filthy," one voice protested.

"That is not important now," Luindil hissed back. "Send him in anyway."

"I would ask --" Thranduil said, but his voice cracked. He tried again to speak. "I would ask that we . . . " His voice trailed off, and he looked toward the entrance to the Great Hall, waiting breathlessly, remembering the stirring of the trees.

Luindil appeared in the entrance, quivering with emotion, his eyes shining. "King Thranduil," he called. "I beg leave for one last guest to attend our feast. Your son has returned!"

A tall, slender figure wrapped in a travel-stained gray cloak appeared next to Luindil and bowed deeply. Thranduil opened his mouth, but no words came out. The figure straightened, then threw back the hood of the cloak, and there was Legolas, windblown and pink-cheeked from the crisp night air, but blessedly alive and whole. There was silence in the Great Hall for a long moment as a missing piece of Thranduil's world twisted and settled solidly into place. At last he found his voice. "Legolas," he said. "Come here."

"Oh Ada! Ada, I missed you so much!" And then Legolas was running the length of the Great Hall. Thranduil stretched out his arms and caught up his son, just as he had dreamed for the past year. He heard his own voice crying out, and he felt vaguely that tears were running down his cheeks, but he cared about nothing save the living warmth of his child in his arms. Legolas hadn't washed in quite some time, and he was spattered with mud, but underneath it, he still smelled of sunshine and new leaves. Thranduil breathed in deeply, not quite able to believe that his dearest wish had come true.

Legolas wriggled in his arms. Thranduil released him from the embrace, but kept one arm draped protectively around him. He looked into his son's bright eyes and tried to smile and weep and shout all at once. All around him, the guests in the Great Hall had jumped to their feet and were chattering excitedly. Luindil climbed up on his chair and raised his cup.

"This is a joyous occasion indeed, my friends!" he cried. "Come, let us drink to the health of father and son!"

"Bring wine for Legolas!" Thranduil called to Galion. The butler hurried over to them with a decanter of a glowing red Dorwinion. He filled a cup for Legolas, then looked a question at Thranduil.

"Wine," Thranduil told him. "On this night all my joy has come home to me." Galion snagged an unused wine cup standing at a place occupied by a small child and filled it for the King. Thranduil caught Luindil's eye. The seneschal returned the glance with one of his own which reflected Thranduil's own ecstatic joy, though tempered with love and wisdom. Luindil nodded to him and raised his cup of wine.

"A health to father and son," he said. "May all our joys and treasures return to us, and may we all find such completeness and healing."

The Elves cheered their approval. Thranduil drank, and felt only warmth and joy spread through him. He looked again at his son, alive and whole. Everything that he needed was in the Great Hall now; the Enemy had failed to take it from him. Thranduil had won, and he felt now that the war was, at last, truly over.

END

Yes, he did come home, as we all knew he would. Thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story.

In answer to a question I got, a seneschal can be an advisor of sorts. Technically, a seneschal is kind of an über-butler or major-domo. He manages and supervises the estate of a nobleman, keeps things running in good order, and may be a military adjunct as well. He is Mister Spock to the lord's Captain Kirk. Given the relatively informal hierarchy of the Elves which I set up, I chose to emphasize more of the chief advisor part of the role in creating the character of Luindil.

Many thanks also to those who have cheered Thranduil on throughout this story. His character and certain of his personal struggles are based on a combination of several people I know. Thranduil, I think, is one of Tolkien's most fascinating Elves. He is a member of a famously remote and perfected race who manages to display a stunning range of character traits in his supporting role in The Hobbit, being by turns suspicious, short-tempered, valiant, kind-hearted, generous, greedy and magnanimous. In short, he and his son are possibly the most "human" of all the Elves Tolkien ever wrote. I have tried to retain that sense of personality in this story, and I am grateful for all the kind words said about it.