Queen of the Woodland Realm [Thranduil]

Chapter 19: Father and Son

Author's Note: Oh my golly goodness, it's so good to be back!! I have to apologize, it has just been a crazy, crazy couple of weeks here. I try to stick to a schedule but now that we're getting into exam season, I can't make any promises about updates. Unfortunately, my updates may be a little sporadic from now on, but I'll try my absolute best to get the chapters done as quickly as possible. Thank you so much for understanding :)

So we're starting off where we left off, with Anona and Thranduil fighting over his isolationism. That will be a problem solved in this chapter. I hope you enjoy!! <3

Dedicated to @lotr_love , who is also an incredible writer here on Wattpad and a fantastic supporter of this story. Your comments make me smile ^_^ 

~~~

I slept in my dressing room that night and for several years afterwards—or, at least, I tried to sleep. No matter what I did, however, I could not escape from Thranduil’s face as I had left the room. When I had told him that he was just like his father.

So one night, I slid out of the sheets ad onto the cold wooden floors, padding gently to our bedroom. I wondered if after our discussion, he would be in the wine cellar, as he had been after I had run away from his confession of love. It was this that stilled my hand as it hovered towards the knob.

Steeling my nerves, I knocked. “Thranduil?”

The door opened faster than I was ready for, and my eyes shut against the sudden bright light. He had not slept; the lamp beside the bed was lit, and a book rather than a glass of wine was resting on the bed. I let out a deep breath and reached for him—

Before I could apologize, or even speak, a shriek cut through the air. We froze, equally tense in the tenebrous silence that followed. Then the scream rang through the halls again, and I heard Thranduil gasp. We both knew the owner of that voice.

I was too afraid to move. “Legolas?”

My husband was already rushing down the halls, his dressing gown cloak trailing behind him. I hurried after, my jaw clenched with the fear that there would be some horrible creature awaiting me when we entered Legolas’s bedroom.

The screams were tearing through the air now, sending the hair on my neck up. Thranduil nearly ripped the door off of its hinges in his hurry; I saw his hand hover towards the gleaming sword in his belt.

It turned out that the only creature that awaited us was one we could not see. It was in the mind of our son, who was twisting in his sheets in a terrifying dance, sobbing as if his limbs were being severed. Sweat streamed down his pale face, and each dry was like physical pain. The many shattering sounds we had heard on our way to his room had been the lamp, now lying across the colorful rug in tiny shards.

“Legolas?” Thranduil stopped in the center of the room, his hands falling to his sides. His voice shook.

In an instant, I was beside him, stroking his hair, begging him to wake. “Legolas. Wake up, my son.”

His eyes snapped open, and almost immediately, he went limp against me, sobbing. In alarm, I stroked his hair, muttering soothing Elvish gibberish under my breath, holding his tiny body close to mine. I almost did not notice Thranduil rubbing Legolas’s back, or the shocked and disturbed expression etched upon his face. Almost.

“What is the matter penneth?” He asked, and I looked up in surprise at his gentle tone. “Do you remember what you dreamt?”

He obviously did, for it only renewed his fevered crying. Fevered? I touched his forehead, brows furrowing as scalding hot skin met my cool fingers. “He is burning with fever.”