Building Ithilien [Legolas] LOTR

Do Not Go Gently

Aragorn met Thranduil's eyes once again, this time in all seriousness. "You see, Legolas told me that night that he and Miredhel had bonded."

"Spiritually bonded, Thranduil. Their feas..."

"I know what it means!" Thranduil snapped. "Better than you, I'd wager." He squeezed the fingers on his sword arm into a tight fist and then covered it with his other hand. A visible shudder rolled down his back, and for a moment, his eyes spoke of centuries' torment and longing. Then just as quickly, the moment was gone, and Thranduil schooled his face into an expressionless mask.

Aragorn's eyes softened. He and Thranduil had butted heads many times over many different things (but mostly Legolas' best interests), but he knew how much the king loved his son.

Aragorn added, "Then you know... what Legolas risks. He did not want to upset her that night because she has suffered from Grief. She still suffers..."

But Thranduil was already on his feet. He pounced on his nearest advisor.

"Drop those charts and remove my things from my tent. Send someone to the healers' tents. I want Lady Miredhel moved to my quarters at once!" Thranduil's surrounding elves buzzed into action.

"Wait!" Sounded Thranduil in a booming command. "King Aragorn and I will see to moving the Lady ourselves!" He and the King of Gondor hurried to the healer's tents without delay.

Now Miredhel rested in the palatial comfort of Thranduil's own tent. The elf king himself had gently lifted her from her pallet in the healers' tents and carried her here. He had overridden Legolas' protests that the prince should carry her, and instead turned his son over to Aragorn to have the wounds on his back treated with new bandages.

Legolas probably would not have let her go to anyone less than his father, but Thranduil he trusted. She would find more peace in the lavish comfort of the king's own tent. It would be less hectic than the busy healer's quarters. Legolas' father believed in traveling in high style, but he had given that up without pause for his Miredhel.

After Thranduil had settled Miredhel amid his splendid trappings—a gloriously plush divan strewn with feather soft pillows- he did not leave right away as he had planned. He lingered by her side and studied her with what many of his subjects would consider his typical aplomb. At first glance, his expression would seem both vague and a little serious too. But a closer consideration would reveal the softening of the fine lines around his eyes and the usual tension in his jaw dissipated.

This was his son's beloved.

And now she lay grievously ill, perhaps even dying.

Even so, she was lovely in grief, Thranduil thought, and strong too. It was true that she was no great beauty, but her hair was thick and golden, and her face was fair with a light dusting of freckles across her nose, which Thranduil found to be very fetching. He knew her eyes to be a deep forest green, and her lips were a soft pink and just a little petulant. The old king could understand why his son was so taken with her. She would have to be high-spirited to keep Legolas in check. She was everything his son needed and deserved. He leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. "Sleep well, my daughter," he whispered.

Miredhel stirred, her eyes fluttering open. "Legolas?"

Thranduil took a step back. "No, dear one. Though many have said Legolas resembles me the most of all my children.

Miredhel swallowed thickly. "Your eyes...perhaps the most, sir...um, Your Majesty."

Thranduil smiled kindly. It was a gesture not often used by him, but in this instance, it was genuine and heartfelt. He knelt by Miredhel's side and picked up her hand.