Summary: The young king of Greenwood makes a visit to Imladris...

A gentle breeze brushed the hilltop, combing the ruins of a castle, which had crumbled mere moments ago. Its maker stood over it, clearly holding back the cry of frustration he wanted to release. All the hard work he had poured into his creation had come to naught in the end. Tears shimmered in his clear grey eyes, and he blinked them back furiously. His tutor would be displeased; he had clearly not paid enough attention to the manner of building the fortification.

"What is wrong, nethben?" Thranduil knelt beside the boy, running pale fingers through his dark hair. "What happened here?"
"I worked so hard," came the muffled reply. "I worked so hard, and it's all gone..." And he had not worked hard enough, he told himself.

Thranduil nodded sympathetically, picking up the intricately carved wooden shapes which interlocked to form towers and walls. "Will you let me help you?"

"My tutor might be angry, sire..." The young Prince looked at the visiting King uncertainly.

"Not in the least," Thranduil said firmly. "In fact, I happen to know he likes it when you ask for help. Is it not so, pen-neth?"

 "Erestor likes it," the youth agreed reluctantly, "as long as I don't ask everybody too many questions." Thranduil nodded sympathetically. "Mhmm, well, you have not asked me 'too many questions', young Isildurchil. You will do well."

Valandil pressed close to Thranduil's side, as king and prince fortified the castle together. When they were done, it was a splendid structure, nearly as tall as Valandil himself, and the youth grinned at Thranduil. "I am glad Uncle Elrond let you come for a visit, aran-nin." Thranduil tried not to show his discomfort with the title, but he patted Valandil's shoulder and smiled. "I am glad I could visit with you, too, nethben."

Prince they might call him, Thranduil thought, but not for much longer. No...soon he would have to actually enter the house of Elrond, rather than lingering outside, and deliver the news to the Master of Imladris that the boy was no longer merely the heir.

More than a castle of blocks had been ruined; Thranduil's error was not so easily mended.

He had failed.

The End

End Notes: In Emma's and my-verse, Thranduil attempted to go to Isildur's aid and that of his sons, but came to the Gladden Fields too late. Here, he has accompanied Ohtar, Isildur's squire, to Imladris to deliver the shards of Narsil, and is delaying the inevitable a bit.