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Legolas was lonely. He had been lonely now for some time. The days passed in boredom and silence in the Halls of the Woodland Realm. Even the somber black wall hangings that covered all the colourful tapestries seemed to sigh mournfully. The people of the Greenwood were in mourning, none more so than the descendants of Oropher.

Most nights Legolas was unable to lull himself into a proper reverie. Without his Naneth to sing to him or Ada to read to him, there was nothing to distract him from his childish sorrow. Instead he lay awake, either sniffling quietly or petting his elfhounds. Naneth hadn't let the two dogs sleep on the bed with Legolas...but now their warm, furry presences were his only solace.

It had been three months since Ada had come home. He had not been the same warm, loving Ada who had left though. Thranduil seemed now a distant, almost scary figure. When Legolas had dissolved into sobbing wails at the news of his mother's death, Thranduil's embrace was wooden, like a puppet on strings. When Thranduil looked at his son, he did so without really seeing. His eye remained empty and far-seeing. The heavy bandages that covered the rest of Thranduil's face did nothing to reassure the grieving elfling.

That was back when Thranduil was still at all visible to others. With each passing day, the king withdrew further and further into himself. He rarely left his private quarters anymore. Thranduil spoke to no one, not even Legolas. Daeris kept on sending the finest dishes the kitchens could prepare in an effort to tempt the king into eating. By all reports though Thranduil was not eating but the very tiniest amounts required to continue living. The only person who saw the king with any regularity was Siroth, who would only say that Thranduil's wounds were not healing well.

Legolas for his part missed both his Naneth and Ada every day. He missed Ada in the morning when he was not there to greet him at the breakfast table. He missed Naneth in the evening when she was not there to sing to him and tuck him into bed. Even Aislinn was gone now, departed for the Havens two weeks ago. She had been Naneth's friend and Legolas's too, and the elfling grieved Aislinn's absence as well as his Ada and Naneth's.

These days Gurithon and Galion were the only ones who Legolas saw with any regularity, besides Daerchon every day for his lessons. Time spent in the library learning his letters were poor comfort to the bereaved prince though. Legolas's only happy moments lately were in the forest archery range. Gurithon had given up on trying to draw Thranduil from his solitude. A few days ago the Captain of the Guard had fair near broken down the door to Thranduil's apartments. Only a cry from inside had called Gurithon off; a cry that sounded more like a wounded animal than an elf.

Gurithon was a skilled teacher when it came to the bow and arrows. With so many empty hours to fill, Legolas likewise was a diligent pupil. The elfling practiced until the bowstring hurt his fingertips, but still he would come to the archery range again the next day. Gurithon had trained many archers in his long tenure as Captain of the Guard. Even so, he had to admit that Legolas showed enormous promise. The prince was only half Gurithon's height, but he was already striking the centre of the target more often than not at a distance of twelve paces.

"Lift your elbow, Legolas." Gurithon said patiently. In truth he had little to comment on; Legolas had uncommonly good form for a child, even a child of elf-kind.

Drawing in a deep breath, Legolas relaxed and let his shoulders relax. He sighted along the arrow shaft toward the target. Then he remembered Gurithon's advice from earlier about checking the wind. A slight gust stirred his golden-blonde hair; Erchelil had once commented that he had Gondolin hair. Legolas didn't quite know what that meant, but he knew that Naneth had looked strangely uncomfortable at the time.

With the faint breeze in mind, Legolas adjusted his arrowhead left just a tiny bit. It was a cool breeze, laden with the first hints of spring. The forest may be still and quiet under a blanket of snow at the moment, but soon the thaw would begin. Then Legolas would be able to play outside more often, and escape the oppressive melancholy of the Halls of the Woodland Realm.

After one more moment Legolas let out the breath he had been holding. His fingers slid off the bowstring, and the arrow sped past his cheek. The first time Legolas had tried shooting with the hard-fletched arrows from the range, he had cut his cheek by holding the flight too high next to his face. That had been almost ten years ago though. This time, just like the hundreds of times before, the arrow flew straight and true. With a 'thunk' it struck the target; just a finger's width from the yellow Bulls-eye.

"Well done." Gurithon approached from where he had been leaning against a nearby oak tree. The pale winter sun highlighted the creases of strain at the corners of the Silvan's elf's eyes when he smiled though.

Lowering the bow, Legolas looked up at his teacher. "Gurithon...when will Ada get better?" A lump came into his throat, and he swallowed hard. "I heard Siroth tell Maechenel that Ada is 'looking to follow the queen'. What did he mean by that?"

Gurithon stopped short, looking alarmed. Then, his shoulders sagged, and he knelt in front of Legolas. Taking one of the elfling's hands in his, Gurithon spoke gravely.

"Your father...your father is very ill, Legolas, very ill indeed."

"Ill?" Legolas looked confused, his small face scrunching in a frown. "But I thought he was hurt by a dragon. And don't only mortals get sick?"

Gurithon shook his head. His green eyes grew glossy, shining in the winter light. "Not ill in the sense of mortal sickness, Little Leaf. Your Ada's body is not sick...his spirit is. You miss your Naneth...yes?" Gurithon asked softly.

A tear welled up in Legolas's eyes, which he rubbed away with a sniffle. In a quivering voice he answered "Yes..."

"Your Ada misses your Naneth too. Your parents loved each other very much, and they were also each other's only family in this world, besides you of course. Legolas, sometimes..." Gurithon had to pause for a moment before continuing. "...Sometimes, when an elf is heartbroken, something happens to them that is known among our people as 'fading'."

"I don't understand, Ada's heart is broken?" Legolas asked tearfully. All the fun had gone out of the day's archery lesson.

Gurithon nodded. "In a sense, yes. And sometimes, our people can die from such a heartbreak."

"Die!?" Legolas cried.

When Gurithon did not answer, Legolas was besides himself. With a cry, he dropped his bow and ran away toward the main gates. Gurithon called after him, but Legolas did not even look back.

Now alone in the archery range, Gurithon did not rise to his feet. Instead he raised his face to the snow-laden arms of the forest. A snowflake fell onto his cheek, where it was caught and carried by a single tear.

Then warm arms encircled Gurithon's neck. Even without the stray lock of red hair falling past his gaze, Gurithon would have recognized that scent of cinnamon and bowstring oil anywhere.

"He needed to know." Thenniel said, speaking of the now-gone prince.

Leaning back into his love's strong embrace, Gurithon closed his eyes. They stayed like that for a long while, two children of the forest drawing support from one another. The snow fell like a mantle upon their heads and shoulders, but together Gurithon and Thenniel were warm.

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Inside the Halls of the Woodland Realm, Legolas ran without stopping, nearly blinded by tears. He dodge the guards, servants and other elves who called after him at every turn. Little legs pumping, he ran all the way to the doors of his father's private quarters.

"Ada...Adaaaaa!" Legolas cried, beating on the ornately carved doors with small fists. When there was no answer, Legolas did something he had always been told was very bad manners; entered his parents' closed quarters without being invited in.

He found his Ada beside the pool of still water that his Naneth had always loved. It's surface reflected dancing ribbons of light on the chamber wall, and on the ruined face of the broken elf who sat beside it. Thranduil was a ruin of his former self.

The king's long, silky tresses were wild, unkept, uncombed. His hands, always so graceful and expressive, lay still and limp in Thranduil's lap. Seeing his father so listless was not all that brought Legolas up short though. Siroth had removed the bandages from Thranduil's face. This was the first time Legolas had ever seen the full extent of Thranduil's injuries from the dragon's fiery breath. His Ada looked a fearsome, scarred, wretched thing.

Thranduil did not look up at Legolas's entrance, or even stir. It was as if the king was completely unaware of his surroundings. His one good eye stared endlessly at the surface of the water, unblinking and unseeing.

"Ada?" Legolas asked timidly. Thranduil did not move. He was like one dead, a statue that somehow still drew breath.

Remembering Gurithon's words, Legolas decided he was more afraid of his Ada dying than he was of Thranduil himself. Rushing forward, the elfling threw himself across his father's knees. They felt bony and cold through Thranduil's robes. Close up Legolas realized he could see all the blue veins on the backs of Thranduil's hands, spidery beneath the translucent skin.

"Ada, please don't die!" Legolas sobbed. "Please stay here, don't leave me alone! Please stay Ada, please stay!"

Legolas shuddered and cried, laying his head on his father's lap. When he was even smaller and had been afraid of the shadows at night, Thranduil would stroke his hair while Naneth sang to him. It had been their nightly ritual, to drive away childish fears of the darkness.

Then, something touched Legolas's head. The fingers were cold and bony, like the talons of a bird. It took Legolas a moment to recognize that the fingers belonged to his Ada. Suddenly alert, suddenly hopeful, Legolas raised his tear stained face.

Thranduil's one sky blue eye was in focus, looking at Legolas and truly seeing for the first time in months. The king's face was sunken, hollow, lending his gaze an almost feverish glow. His chapped lips moved, but the words were clearly audible.

"For you, my son...I will pretend to be whole. For you."

Then a shiver ran through Thranduil, like a statue shaking itself to life. He stood, dislodging Legolas from where he had been huddled. The elfling looked up at his father with wide eyes, waiting.

Thranduil closed his eye. He drew in a deep breath...and something strange happened. His face seemed to waver, like a reflection upon the surface of a pond. The terrible turns, the blind eye, they shimmered and were suddenly sealed over. No one knew how Thranduil could have done such a thing, but by some measure of magic innate to the Firstborn Children of Eru, Thranduil did indeed pretend to be whole. His disfiguring burns concealed themselves beneath an illusion; a mirage of beauty masking the damage beneath. The king of the Woodland Realm was once again fair, but there was a coldness to his face.

From that day on, Thranduil was an elf greatly changed. No more did his hands dance with animation as he spoke, and no more did his smiles reach his eyes. His voice, once warm and mellow took on a chill, aloof edge. If on a rare occasion the king did laugh, it was never a genuine show a mirth, but a veiled mockery of the act.

Some might have claimed that there was no love in Thranduil's heart after that day. They would be wrong though. Echoes of love did indeed remain, sealed away in a frozen corner of Thranduil's heart. For the sake of his son, Thranduil kept himself alive and preserved his heart by encasing it in a solid block of ice.

Legolas never complained though. Even in the years to come when he might have been feeling disregarded or alone, Legolas never regretted what Thranduil had become. His father was all that he had asked for, and he would accept him in whatever form he assumed. Over time Legolas grew and became a serious, dutiful prince. He carried with him though the memories of those golden years when his family had truly been one and whole.

Still, the days of joy in the Woodland Realm appeared for a time to have come to an end. Winter fell upon the halls of King Thranduil, even as the snows began to melt outside in the forest.

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