(Set a few decades to a century following the epilogue.)
Inladris sat with her chin propped in her hand, head angled toward the green and gold pouring in through the window, a furrow in her brow deep enough to plant flowers.
Thranduil's eyes flicked toward her, from his desk to hers, and noted the stack of papers at her elbow from which she'd withdrawn her attention. Something out the window which didn't exist seemed to have absorbed a great deal of her focus, but he couldn't imagine what. At last he said, "What in particular occupies the depths of your mind today?"
She inhaled to answer, paused, then the crease in her brow deepened. One of her fingers tapped the corner of her lips.
"It's long since you," he remarked, still sorting papers of his own, "have been shy with me."
She softly chuckled. "Indeed." She sighed.
"And?"
Her lips pursed as she thought. "I want another child."
Thranduil's eyebrows rose. "Ah."
He sat back, hands stilling as they folded over his stomach, considering. The window offered him no insights further than those he could glean from his bookshelves. Another glance to Inladris gave him surprise, though. Clearly she had been ruminating over this desire for some time—or he presumed she had—and her fervent cogitation now was, he suspected, more over how to share this desire with him than in an effort to satisfy her own wishes.
What surprised him most was that this eventuality hadn't occurred to him earlier. Inladris was not prone to veiling either her thoughts or her feelings. So why, then, had she neglected to share this feeling in particular?
Momentarily, he worried that she had been afraid of what he would say on the matter. But then he closed his eyes, amused, because he knew it was no such thing. Inladris had been concerned not about his opinions on her having more children, but on his having them, since this was, these days, equally her house as his, and he would be committing just as many years to an additional child's upbringing as would she, if not nearly so many hours.
The corner of his mouth twitched up. Thranduil lifted his pencil again and returned to his work. "When will they arrive?"
She started, her chin lifting from her palm as she looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"
He inhaled. "Nelide's intention was to have numerous children. I prepared for and welcomed that eventuality. We have plentiful resources here, in space and money and you."
His gaze flicked up and he noted the warming of her eyes.
"I come last, do I?" she teased.
"I wanted to be sure you heard the rest. At any rate, it would be a shame for those resources to go to waste."
Inladris blinked, wiping her eyes on her fingers. "But what about my work with you."
Thranduil made a dismissive sound, flipping a hand. "I survived before your assistance. Do what you can, and expend no worry on the rest."
Inladris sniffed. "But what about you?"
The side of his mouth drew up again. Minimally, but present. He knew exactly what he meant, and exactly why she'd never mentioned this before. "I have grown."
Inladris wiped her eyes again. "Tauriel told me about that—what you said about loss. I thought it a very apt way to describe the phenomenon."
"I'd had a great deal of time to consider it. And a lot has changed in the last thousand years."
Inladris stood, strode behind his desk and cupped his left cheek so she could kiss the right one. Her cane tapped the rug as she swiftly left, and Thranduil smiled into the words arranged across his desk.
When Inladris returned, two hours later, she was accompanied not only by the boy on her hip, but the toddler's twin sister in the arms of a maid right behind her.
Thranduil regarded her calmly, quill frozen in hand. "When I said 'they' I was merely being cognizant that I was yet unaware of the sex of the singular child on your mind."
"They're siblings," Inladris explained, leaning on her cane. The maid came to stand beside her, hiding her smile.
"Mmhm." He looked over the two—eight months at most. "How much did you pay for them?"
Inladris stroked the cheek of the boy on her hip, momentarily relying on the balance of only her feet, cane hanging from her hand. "Their father, a rockslide. Mother, an injury obtained while hunting. No close family, and friends don't feel equipped for children, at their age."
Thranduil snorted, shaking his head at her. "This shall be an enjoyable challenge for you then."
Inladris turned upon him the warmest of grins.
He chuckled. "And their names, dear nanny?"
"Misilen and Farronen," she said, sinking onto the couch with the latter and indicating for the accommodating maid to hand her the former.
"Send word if you need any further assistance, My Lady," the maid said with a smile. "I live right next to their house—it's no trouble."
"Oh I will have to have their things delivered, and I'd like someone more familiar with the family than I to set their home to rights. They may take as long as they need. But it wouldn't be right for me or my people to decide what to keep and what to give away."
"I'll make it known, Lady Inladris. May your stars stay bright."
Inladris smiled her gratitude at the woman as she saw herself out, then with less comfort at the two small children nestled against her. "Perhaps I should only have taken one."
"You would have them separated?"
The boy—Farronen—tugged at the front of Inladris's gown, patting over the curves of her chest. Thranduil smiled, and Inladris replied, "I've already got milk warming in the kitchen." She pursed her lips. "And no, I'd not wish them separated. But...."
Already the self-doubt had crept in. "Thranduil, I can't even carry them both at once without endangering them both. Was this a disservice to them?"
The king laid down his quill again. "Is this because of your balance or because of your age?"
"Hush—you are centuries older than I am. I can't give to either of them the kind of care I gave to Legolas or Tauriel. Was it wrong of me then to take them anyway? I could find them a home together if I pushed—it may take a while—but I could do it. There must be others, even strangers, who are just as willing as I to raise a stranger's children. And they'd be able to give them the security of carrying them together. Thranduil, what if I stumble while carrying one? What if—"
"What if it's simply been so long since you've raised a child that having two variables changed from the last two times has for some strange reason shaken your faith in yourself?" He nodded. "I agree that looking after two simultaneously when you've only ever looked after one at a time before is intimidating, and I recognize and validate your fear regarding your balance. But you are well-accustomed to life with your cane these days, and I would hope you don't suggest that those without all of the faculties most are born with are incapable of childrearing."
Inladris gaped at him. "That is not what I was suggesting! Merely that I am not yet comfortable with doing so."
"Inladris. You can accomplish anything regarding people to which you set your mind, I assure you of this heartily."
"But—"
"Inladris you have just added two needy members into our household in under two hours' notice. I'm having a bit of a rough day myself and would appreciate not having to comfort you in addition to comforting myself."
To her own delighted surprise, Inladris laughed. "Yes yes all right. I suppose I know a person or two willing to babysit if I have a bad day." She took in a deep breath. "We can do two at once, can't we?"
Raising his eyebrows, eyes closed, Thranduil enunciated, "Yes, Inladris, we can. But mostly you. Do not forget that."
{Author's Note: This is all for now. I AM planning a story including more for Legolas, but since it chronologically comes before this story (starting more or less where Pretend Mother left off) and this story would include major spoilers, I can't continue this one until I finish the other. I'm sorry! Sit tight. Probably for a while. But you know. I still love you.}