Legolas was not used to pain in his life. His father had always made sure of that. Every bruise and scrape was tended to by Thranduil himself, never by the palace healers. Every hurt feeling, there was his father, ready to talk it out and find out what had made Legolas feel so. For as long as Legolas could remember, there was his father, always two steps behind, ready to catch him if he fell. The incident with his mother had been the lowest point in his sheltered life. Never had he strayed far from his home, from his friends and family, from his father for very long. Yet, now he wanted to.
He wanted to run away and be free. He wanted to breath fresh air and sleep in the wild under stars. All too quickly, the forest he loved so dearly felt suffocating. The trees had wrapped their comforting branches around his neck, squeezing tightly until a love had become his greatest nightmare.
And it was one he couldn't escape, for every day he had to walk through these halls. Every day, he could see his mother's touch. For the longest time, Legolas had been grateful to still see his mother's influence everywhere he went, but no longer.
Perhaps leaving wasn't such a bad idea. He was nearing three-thousand years old and had travelled enough with different woodelven companies. He could handle an extended holiday on his own. But even with the pain this forest was causing him, it was the sweetest pain he'd ever known. He wanted to leave, that much he knew.
Still, his soul was engraved in each and every tree, flower, animal, and every grain of dirt.
He wanted to leave. He needed to leave.
He didn't want to leave.
Yes, he did.
No, he didn't.
Yes, he did.
And he would, for a time. Whether that time was five years or five-thousand years, Legolas would venture out of the forest, bow in hand, ready to face the world and all the glorious tragedies it had to offer. Perhaps he would visit the realms of Men. Perhaps Rohan, where there would be little trace of anything elvish. But not until after the wartime that threatened his kin had passed. Once the dwarves officially claimed Erebor, then he would leave. He would bear no more witness than necessary to the love affair of Tauriel and Kili, nor would he wait to see when his father would at last move in on Violet.
At least there, Legolas had the assurance they waited until after Legolas understood his mother's true demise. They were free to love as they wished now, and Legolas would congratulate them for it. What an interesting family they all would make together.
The tension went up in his body. The congratulations he felt didn't decrease the nervousness of someone else being his adar's bess. (father's wife)
What would life look like now? With new elflings running after Violet, calling her naneth and tugging on her dress when they wanted to be held? Violet and his father singing to them when their tummy hurt at night and they couldn't sleep?
He smiled. He had always wanted little siblings.
But as quickly as the soft smile appeared on his face, it disappeared.
Legolas used to do that with his own naneth and he would never get that chance again.
Grabbing his bow, he walked to the one place he knew would surely release the tension in his body. The archery field had been Legolas's safe place in the large palace. It was where he spent most of his time after his mother died, set on becoming one of the best archers in Middle-Earth. It was where he went every day.
The targets were already set, with various elleths and ellons bustling around, grabbing their own practice time. There was a light breeze in the air, blowing his hair off of his neck. When he looked up, the trees moved with the wind, revealing one of the many watchtowers his father had stationed throughout the kingdom. Tauriel was supposed to be in that one, much like how Legolas was meant to be in one at the end of this week until the beginning of the next.
This was his home. This was where he was meant to be.
But surely I can leave home for even just a short time...
Legolas shook these thoughts off, walking to grab a quiver of practice arrows where the practice bows lay for the other trainees. Slinging them across his back, he walked to his favorite target. He took his handcrafted bow in his hands, notched his arrow in his bow, aimed, and shot.
Bullseye.
He notched the second arrow. Aim. Shoot. Bullseye.
And again.
And just like everyday, after a few minutes, he felt eyes on his back. He knew exactly where it was coming from. He could recognize the presence of his father any day. A few weeks apart did not diminish that, nor could it ever.
Legolas knew if he just turned around and looked up, his father would be sitting there watching him through a second story window. All it took was one glance. He wanted to forgive him. He longed for it. His heart ached for it. His mind wouldn't let him.
Despite being the source of all of his current heartache, the presence of his adar was a comforting one. Legolas craved a hug from him, like the ones he used to get as an elfling. As he aged, turned into a fully-grown ellon, he rarely searched out the same comfort he needed as a little boy, but he needed that now.
Legolas never knew just how much he needed his father until it felt like he had lost him. He had grown used to the idea of losing his mother, one-thousand long years would do that to you. Shifting from the hope of seeing her once more to the reality of it never happening again would never have been an easy one, but he always thought he would have his adar to help him through it.
And he supposed he would have, had the great Elven-king not hid the true nature of his wife's demise from his family for all that time.
Still, Legolas's heart longed for his father and the comfort only he could provide. He wanted him to hug him close, telling him that everything would be alright and not to worry, because they had each other.
Perhaps he could find a comfort similar. His father loved every part of the castle and every part of the forest, but there were few places he truly cherished. There were few places in the castle that purely said Thranduil and not King Thranduil. The stables was one such place. His father's chambers was another. His father's study was another.
And the music room was the last.
Legolas kept his feet firmly planted on the archery grounds. If he ran off now, it wouldn't be long before he was a sniffling mess in his father's study. His father should come sniffling to him, not the other way around.
But he has. Multiple times, and you've turned him away each time.
There it was again. That voice that sounded distinctly like Violet's. Every time thus far, he had ignored his instinct to rush to his father. And every time, her voice would play through his head, reminding him that he had the power to mend the rift, just like his father did.
Had he not given her similar advice once? Told her that she hadn't given his father the chance to ask forgiveness after their first real argument? Had he not tricked her, led her exactly where his father was, and left her stranded there so they would be forced to make up? That seemed too simple a solution for the complex situation they had found themselves then.
Everything was simpler then. It was when he knew nothing of his mother, nothing of Tauriel and Kili, and he could live in blissful ignorance of his father and friend, because nothing had a chance of happening.
Everything was simpler then.
For not the first time, with his father's eyes on his back and his bow in hand, he wished for the gentle tone of his mother, whispering in his ear. She would know what to do here. She always did. He would never have that again.
He felt the tears burn in his eyes and tightened his grip on his bow. The last arrow flew.
Outer ring.
Keeping his eyes straight, he ignored all elleths and ellons that were looking at him as if he was a zoo animal. It was unnerving, having his every move watched, all because his personal business was now public knowledge. Even the dwarves were watching him!
Yet, none were as unnerving as the eyes of Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, and Gandalf. They all looked at him as if they knew exactly how this situation would end, yet they would not give a singular hint to it.
He pushed the doors open to his father's palace, making a beeline for his destination. His bow was clenched in his left fist, and the inside of his lip between his teeth. He passed Violet, Flufflepuff, and her family in the hallway, brushing her off, and telling her he would be alright and they would speak later. As he continued walking, he saw Harry nudge Violet on, tearing her concerned eyes away from his figure.
Flufflepuff gave an low whine that he could hear, like he wanted to be with Legolas and give him all the comfort in the world. But some things Legolas needed to face on his own, and this was one of them.
When he reached the music room, he laid his bow against the wall, taking slow and careful steps into the room, as if something in here would kill him.
It had his father written all over it. It was neat and organized, an unlit hearth in the wall with a small chair and lap desk in front of it, with an emerald green throw hung over the back of the chair. All of the music was stacked neatly on top of one another in cubbies and in the middle of the room was his father's prized grand piano. Legolas trailed forward, running his fingers along the top of the dark wood. Songs of happier times floated through his head, the beginning notes harmonizing together.
He sat down on the bench, running his fingers over the keys. The crescendo was beginning to build, hitting it's all time high when his eyes came up to the music stand.
All was silent. Multiple compositions were sitting on the stand, but Legolas could only see the one on top. The beginning notes of a darker tune were taking place.
When he was younger, his father tried to help him learn music, but Legolas wasn't interested. Music was not his forte. He wanted to be in the trees, bow in hand, and finding what mischief he could get into. His naneth always said that was just like his father when she first knew him, but Legolas always struggled to believe her. Still, being the son of Thranduil, an ellon who adored music more than most things and people, he knew a thing or two about compositions.
Without a second thought, his fingers were on the move, looking through the rest of the papers. On the bottom sat a sheet with four words written at the top.
'For my darling Violet.'
The dark music Legolas heard came crashing down, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.
'For my darling Violet.'
The same darling Violet that held him as he cried. The same darling Violet that tucked him into bed. The same darling Violet that comforted him every time he felt lonely, only to crawl back into his father's arms every time she left him.
With a large bout of anger, Legolas snatched the papers from the music stand, taking a closer look at the rest of them. Directly in the middle sat the most damning of all the evidence: a song telling the story of a confession of love. Moving quickly through the hallways of his home, he went to find his father. Ellons and elleths alike quickly moved out of his way, seeing the look upon his face. Even the guards at his father's doors moved out of his way, allowing him to swing them open.
His uncle was there. "Legolas!"
Legolas ignored him, slamming the papers down in front of the great Elven-king. The happy smile on his father's face disappeared, his skin going as white as a sheet. It was a funny piece of irony how fear and rage could be the same color. Authanar placed his hand upon his shoulder, sighing when Legolas shrugged him off.
"Nothing to say?" Legolas asked, gritting his teeth together. The ellon stayed silent, eyes glued to the papers in front of him. "No? Truly nothing? Not even an attempt at denial?"
"I would not deny the truth from you," his father said. Legolas scoffed. "Anymore."
"How long?"
"Nephew--" Authanar started, but it made Legolas round on him.
"And how long have you known?" His uncle said nothing, and the young ellon felt his eyes narrowing in anger, looking at his father once more. "You could not even wait longer than a month?"
His adar was silent for a few moments. When he spoke next, it was quiet. It was so quiet, that Legolas didn't hear him. Thranduil repeated, louder this time, "'Tis been longer than a month, ioneg."
"How long?" Legolas repeated.
"Close to three and a half months," Thranduil spoke, looking Legolas directly in the eyes. It felt refreshing, seeing the father he knew. The direct and honest ellon, as opposed to the one who had the look of a kicked puppy since their falling out.
"Do you love her?"
"Yes."
"Do you truly love her? Like you did with my mother?"
"Nephew, I do not think that piece of information is something you want to hear."
"Yes, it is. Do you love her like you loved my mother?"
"Saying loved in the past tense is incorrect. I will always love your mother, Legolas. She was my first love, and, for a long time, I was certain she would be my last. Yes, I love Violet like I love your mother. I never thought there would be space in my heart to love another, but she carved out her spot without even trying to."
Somewhere deep inside of him, Legolas knew he felt relief. Maybe it was the officiality of it all, like somehow knowing what they felt truly was real and wasn't just a game.
Real didn't matter right now.
"When exactly were you planning to tell me? Was it after you were married? Your first child? Or were you just planning on leaving me in the dark, just like how it was with my mother?"
"Legolas," Authanar tried to intervene once more, but it just set the angry young ellon's eyes upon him.
"Again, I ask, how long have you known?"
"Legolas," Thranduil warned, "Leave your uncle alone. He has nothing to do with this."
Legolas didn't move. Authanar sighed. "A little over a month."
The young prince scoffed, turning to face away from his family. The silence lasted for a moment, and when he looked back at his audience, he shook his head and walked out the door. He heard his father's chair scrape quickly across the ground and the sound of robes swishing, along with some low talking, but the door never opened and Legolas never stopped walking.
He had one more person to confront.
-
Legolas hadn't left Violet's mind since she saw him in the hallway. He looked as if he was ready to cry and every instinct in her body told her to comfort him and make sure he was alright. He was her friend. It was what they had done for each other the first time they met and it was what they had done for each other since she arrived in Middle-Earth.
"You cannot fix everything Violet," Hermione said from where she laid against Ron's lap in the garden, book in hand. It was sunny, a rare thing since the season had begun changing. From where her own head was in Bombur's lap, she could see Tauriel and Kili walking through the forest, hands attached together.
"I can try," the witch protested. Her head bobbled around as Bombur laughed.
"The lass is right," he said, tossing a squeaking Flufflepuff to Harry, "Don't smother the boy. He's grown and can handle things by himself."
"How are you going to call him a boy? He's almost three-thousand years older than you!"
"And can't grow any facial hair!"
"Neither can I."
"Aye, but I like you." He winked at her and she shook her head with a fond smile on her face. She listened to Flufflepuff's squeaks and watched Bombur catch him right before he landed on her face.
"When are you all leaving for Erebor?" she asked.
"Soon. In the next few days, I reckon. Thorin is beginning to get antsy. It's making him lose that temper of his easier."
Violet raised an eyebrow, sitting up. She was ready to question Bombur on that, until she saw a certain blonde ellon walking towards them.
"I noticed that too!" Ron said, looking at Bombur and pointing, "He got angry at me yesterday for walking too quickly."
Harry began sharing his own experiences, but Violet didn't hear either. That blonde ellon was Legolas, who looked angry, and he was staring right at her.
"You could not even bother to tell me?" he asked harshly when he made it to her.
It felt like cold water had been dumped over her.
"You know," she breathed out. A cold laugh came from Legolas.
"Perhaps if you wish to hide your relationship from someone that is family, you shouldn't leave romantic music lying out." Violet quickly moved to get off of the ground and walk towards Legolas, but he stepped further back with every step she took towards him. Tiny paws made their way up her leg until Flufflepuff sat on her shoulder, low whines coming out of his mouth.
"We wanted to--"
"You sure were taking your time. Three and a half months? Is that right?"
She looked down. "Yes."
"Do you love him? Truly love him?"
"With everything in me."
Legolas nodded, jaw clenched. "Are there any more secrets I should know about?"
Mutely, Violet shook her head. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. Legolas was supposed to have the appropriate time to grieve, and then he could find out. Not like this. Not in the midst of so much turmoil and chaos.
The guilt whirled up in her stomach. She could have said no to Thranduil. She could have thought more of her friend and told Thranduil they had to wait. Or she could have told Legolas before he had to find out on his own.
She knew what it was like to lose a parent in a way. She knew the pain it caused; she should have told Legolas everything.
"I'm sorry," she said, feeling her eyes well up, "I never meant for this to happen."
"I know." Legolas looked past her, and when she followed his eyes, they were on his mother's rose bush. "I do not even care that you've both found love with each other. I care that you didn't care enough about me to tell me."
And with that, he left.
"Vi," Harry whispered, coming up behind her. She felt her lip tremble and when Harry's hand landed on her shoulder, she shook him off and left the garden. Her tears fell and her ever faithful Pygmy Puff companion did his best to wipe them with his fur and paws -- whatever he had at his disposal. Word may have not had time to spread like wildfire yet, but elves were no stupid beings. She was being stared at as she walked, and she couldn't bare to look into their eyes to see what they thought, especially when she and Thranduil ran into each other in the hallway.
His eyes held no life. When he looked at her splotchy face, she could see him crumble for a moment, before whatever wall he had already built up took its place once more. A small grimace-smile flashed at her, before the Elven-king nodded at her once and continued walking. Flufflepuff did a small cry himself then, and she reached up automatically to brush her hand across him and soothe him.
Authanar, who had been standing behind Thranduil the entire time, stepped forward. He placed his hands on her arms, thumbs rubbing back and forth, before he leaned forward and placed a small kiss to the side of her head in a brotherly fashion.
"I will check on them both, alright?"
She nodded slowly, and he continued on after Thranduil.
The day passed on numbly. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours, yet hours felt like seconds. She stayed in her rooms for it, caught between her own selfish desire to hide away and her desire to not cause more pain to Legolas by showing her face around him. Gandalf had come by, having heard what happened, but she sent him away.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron all tried as well, only to have the same thing done to them. Lord Elrond was next with the same fate.
After dinner, however, was when a strange trio showed up, and none were willing to take no for an answer. Galadriel, Bombur, and Draco all barged in without knocking, sitting themselves around her room, talking to each other about different things here and there.
"Leave, please," Violet whispered. They ignored her. "Please leave." She was ignored again. "Leave!"
And once more, she was ignored. They continued speaking like she wasn't there. Wordlessly, she turned back to the window, allowing them to do what they want.
"One time," Draco said, "I was turned into a ferret in fourth year by who I thought was Professor Moody, but was actually Barty Crouch Jr. posing as Alastor Moody."
"At least tell them why you were turned into a ferret," Violet said, pushing her food around on her plate and not looking up.
"Why don't you?"
"Your story."
Draco shrugged. "Then I guess they won't find out."
The witch huffed. "He was going to hit Harry with a spell when his back was turned. It's a dirty move."
"It's true," Draco said, "I wasn't a great person then."
"We have all done awful things in our lives," Galadriel said, smiling gently at Draco, "Some worse than others, but 'tis more important that you have turned away from that life and have properly atoned for it."
Violet cleared her throat awkwardly. "If you don't all mind, I'd like to retire for the night."
This time, Draco and Galadriel listened without fuss, saying their goodnights and leaving, still chatting amicably. Bombur sat still, just looking at her.
"Please, Bombur," she said, "I really would like to be alone."
"Just... Don't punish yourself forever, lass," he said, "Everything will turn out alright. And don't let yourself be distracted from what you came here to do."
Violet smiled, pressing a kiss to his bald head and squeezing her eyes shut. When she pulled back, she said, "Still plan on escorting me into Erebor yourself?"
"I wouldn't let anyone else," he said, winking at her. He ruffled Flufflepuff's fur once more, before leaving the room.
Around the time Thranduil usually showed up at her room, tea that would ensure a dreamless sleep was delivered instead. She used her magic to prepare it, allowing Flufflepuff to feed himself the lettuce that sat on the tray with it. She drank it, sitting back in bed with her Weasley blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
On the nightstand sat her copy of Beren and Lúthien from Gandalf. She charmed it to levitate on its own, pages turning when she needed it.
It opened, waiting for her to be ready to go further, but her eyes latched onto the words Gandalf wrote on the inside cover.
'For courage in the hard times. You are blessed, Violet Potter.'
The tears streamed down her face once more, and she barely made it twenty pages in before the tea and her tears took effect.
For the first night in a long time, Thranduil and Violet slept separately.