Disclaimer: I don't own any characters that you recognise, of course, nor am I making anyprofit from this story. It is all for entertainment purposes – and I hope it does entertain you!

Timeline: This is set c. II 750, give or take a few decades! Because Tolkien gave us so few dates to work on with Legolas and his family, I have studied events they were involved with and come to the conclusion that Thranduil could have been born either in the First Age or the first thousand years of the Second. In my stories, his birth was around seven hundred years or so into the Second Age

Warnings: Surprisingly for me, there are none for this story! A few tears here and there, but nothing that requires you to be forewarned.

Notes: This is something different from what I normally do. I'm fed up with giving Legolas a new family structure for every story, so I've started work on a series in which his mother/siblings/etc will always stay the same. This is the first story, and I've planned many others which will take us up to the WOTR. I hope you enjoy!

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The cries of a woman were just audible from behind a set of heavy wooden doors which hid dramatic scenes from inside the birthing room of the healing wing in the fair city of Lindon. Elves forced to pass it on their travels did their utmost best to ignore the sounds of agony – unsurprisingly, males more so than females – by burying their faces into books which remained unread, or raising their voices to converse with companions who did not listen to the words spoken to them. Most of all, the passers-by kept their eyes averted. From the doors, and from the unfortunate family of the woman, who waited outside that infamous room.

Tonight, Lady Felith was the pained soul in question. Nobility herself since birth, she had married Lord Oropher, the eldest son of a once influential and well known house, some centuries after the Fall of Doriath at the end of the First Age. He had witnessed that devastating rape on the beautiful, once hidden, city. With his parents and grandparents slain, he had left for Lindon with his brother and then infant nephew, and a small number of survivors. Felith had been one of them, injured, afraid and alone. With experiences to share and pains too similar for them not to become inseparable, the pair had soon captured each other's hearts. Love had been inevitable, though marriage was held at bay by long years of friendship, courting and only then, true love. Now another five centuries on, their first child was being brought into the world. It was terrifying.

Oropher took a seat beside his nephew, but he was on his feet again in an instant as a piercing scream assaulted his sensitive ears. "Vehiron!" He spun to catch his brother's arm, barely noticing when the younger Elf patiently removed his fingers. "Vehiron, why is so much time passing by? Hours have gone, and I have yet to hear a child's cries. What is happening?"

"I am hungry." Those petulant words had come from the only youth present, Saeldur. Dark of hair and with sharp green eyes a shade lighter than his uncle and father's, the young Elf had been sitting in the corner in sulky silence since being snapped at a while back to stop lamenting over the book he had not brought with him. Apparently he could have finished it in the time they had been waiting. "It feels as though we have been here for days. I need food. I want food."

"Will you cease?" Vehiron asked quietly, though it was clear he had made no request. "If you have nothing civil to say, hold your tongue. You will not spoil what should be a happy occasion."

"Sorry," Saeldur muttered.

Oropher's eyes did not miss the face his nephew made as his brother turned away, but he dismissed it immediately. There were far more pressing matters at hand than an insolent boy. "Muindor-nín, please do not torture me by leaving my questions unanswered. What is happening to my wife and child? I must know."

"Of course," Vehiron empathised. "I have lived through it myself once already – and once was quite enough – so I do understand the many emotions you are feeling. Your fear is not a strange thing. On the contrary, it is natural. To not suffer it would be strange."

"So I have heard time and time again, though the words do little to assure me." Oropher raked both hands through his dark hair, a panicked gesture rarely seen in one so stoic, and gave the closed doors a baleful glance. "Why can I not see her? Felith needs me. She must be so afraid, surrounded by strange Elves and… Valar, I need to see her."

The younger of the two smiled, though it was faint as though the past held him tightly in an iron grip. "Do you recall Saeldur's birth? I tried to creep inside to see Telirias, and Mother gave me such a slap. She never struck me so hard even when we were Elflings. No, brother. Let the women tend to Felith. It is far safer – for you as well as her."

"Aye. Maybe you speak the truth," Oropher murmured. He considered this in silence for a moment; when he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its previous worry. "Listen to you. My little brother, giving me advice. Never did I think this day would come."

"No, but I was the first by many years to marry and father a child," Vehiron smiled. "You were too slow, my friend."

The older Elf returned the grin, the light banter drawing his attention and holding it away from Felith's cries in the room beyond. "Why rush when we live forever? My wife and I were quite happy to move slowly, thank you very much. We have not regretted it once."

"Would that I was able to speak the same words without lying," Vehiron said quietly. The light in his green eyes had dulled and intensified at the same time, as tumultuous emotions from a tragedy long past awoke in him. "Telirias and I… We did rush. We only had each other for a few short years before… I do regret that."

His wife and the mother of his only child had perished at the cruel hands of Orcs. He himself had come close to succumbing to his infinite grief, nearly letting it drag him into a dark and inescapable abyss. Were it not for his infant son, he surely would have lost his very life to sorrow. As the unspoken words and so much more hung in the air, Oropher touched a hand to his brother's shoulder. He did not need to say anything. He just waited for the younger Elf to swim through the mire of misery, and come back to the surface.

"Uncle?"

The addressed immortal felt a flash of irritation as his nephew's sulky voice broke the silence. He raised both eyes to find the boy standing expectantly at his side, and he bit off a "What is it?" with no smile to remove the edge.

"When your son or daughter arrives, will all of your time be taken up with it?" Saeldur asked quietly. "Will you spend all day and all night caring for it?"

"I do not doubt that when he or she is here, I will have much of my time taken away, yes," Oropher replied pointedly. He paused at the hurt which danced across the younger Elf's face, and some of the coldness left his own. "Do you fear our relationship will change, penneth? Do not think so. You are still my favourite nephew."

Though both his uncle and father smiled, Saeldur's green eyes narrowed to slits. "I am your only nephew, and since you will not be receiving another one, you would do well not to forget me."

"Child!" Vehiron's hand shot out faster than an arrow, and he gripped his son's upper arm, rendering escape an unthinkable option. "You and I will be having serious words when we get home if you do not change your attitude now. Oropher, forgive him. He is at an awkward age. Nevertheless, he should not be so disrespectful."

"No matter," Oropher murmured. He spoke slowly, as though in a dream state, and his eyes were fixed unwaveringly upon the closed doors. "Do you hear that? Silence. There is nothing to hear, just… Oh!"

As Felith's agonising cries were replaced by quiescence surely too deathly to be a good omen , Vehiron tensed. As that hollow emptiness was taken over by a babe's wails, a smile spread across his fair face. And as his brother wrenched open the doors and burst through them into the next room before a healer could even look out to admit them, a delightful laugh flowed from his lips. The child has come! He himself felt as much excitement as an Elfling at a Yule festival.

"Wonderful. Now we can return home."

The words cut into him like individual daggers, and the Elf's eyes were just as sharp as he pulled his son close to hiss against a pointed ear, "Don't you dare, Saeldur. Don't you dare. My brother and his wife have been awaiting this moment for too long, and you will not ruin it with your childish remarks. Do not forget that you are still young enough to be pulled over my knee."

At that threat, the young adolescent's green irises darkened in fear, and he tried to take a step backwards. Tried. "You would not?"

"You know I would, so do not challenge me," Vehiron snapped. "Now, get in that room. If there are no kind words from you, you will feel my wrath. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Saeldur lowered his gaze to the floor, and raised a hand to rub ruefully at his shoulder, where his father's strong grip had surely left an imprint. He did not have to do that, or threaten me. I am no Elfling. "I am sorry, sir."

The older Elf's eyes narrowed, and they remained so as they watched his son enter the birthing room. Though he had not been told so outright, he had a fair idea as to the justification – if it could be called that – behind Saeldur's recent behaviour. Since coming to Lindon as a babe himself, he had been the only child in a close family of adults. Now he would have to share that with the new arrival. It was, perhaps, a selfish and immature reason, but it was a reason nonetheless, Vehiron acknowledged grudgingly.

'I will speak with him,' he thought, reluctance touching his silent vow. 'He needs reassurance.'

As he followed his only child's path into the room so often avoided by males, everything fled his mind like a rabbit chased by hounds. Felith was sat in the bed, propped up by pillows behind her back. Though perspiration drenched her slender frame, she was hale. In her arms lay the babe, silent now and wrapped in a soft cloth. Oropher knelt at the bedside, and as he raised his eyes to look at his brother, the younger sibling swore that he had caught a flash of delighted tears in the green pools. A fond smile touched his lips at the uncharacteristic emotions.

"Well?" he pressed gently. "Do not keep me waiting. What is it?"

"A little boy," Felith whispered. Loose strands of honey coloured hair hung in front of vivid blue eyes, forget-me-nots on a summer's day, and she raised an elegant hand to push them from her vision. It was a fast movement – she replaced her hand under the child's head as though afraid he would fall.

"A boy," Vehiron repeated softly, letting the word run off his tongue like syrup. "You have a son, brother."

Oropher was silent. He pushed the cloth back slightly to gaze into the babe's face, and a small, almost disbelieving smile flitted across his own fair one. "I do." His voice was husky, a rarely heard tone. "I do have a son."

"What name will you give him?"

The three Elves looked up as one, that soft voice pulling each away from the magic of the moment in an almost violent fashion. Vehiron could not help but wince at it. Though his hand had not come away from resting upon Saeldur's shoulder, he had forgotten that the boy was even there in the room with them. No wonder he is assaulted by fears that he will be neglected by us. The guilty father banished that equally guiltythought, and gently propelled his only child towards the bed.

"Look upon your cousin," he murmured. "You have not yet seen him."

Saeldur kept his eyes stubbornly averted until the curiosity which comes with youth got the better of him. He looked up, and immediately drew a sharp breath. It sounded loud in the quiet room. The babe was…tiny! And, he had to admit rather grudgingly, beautiful. Thin wisps of golden blond hair were dusted upon the infant's head, and eyes the shade of lapis gazed upwards. His lashes were long and dark, a pretty contrast to his otherwise fair colourings. Rosebud lips almost the hue of roses themselves were formed in a gentle pout; unbelievably small hands stuck out from the cloth.

"He…he is…" Saeldur shook his head slowly, unable to tear his gaze from the small creature before him. He looked positively shocked. "I have never before seen one. Pictures, yes, but never a real… How can something be such a size?"

"I am thankful he is," Felith replied dryly.

Vehiron grinned, and touched a feather light finger to one of the child's delicate ears. The point was barely visible yet. "He is truly beautiful. You must be so very proud to be his parents. He needs a name, though. Have you come to a decision, or was it made long ago?"

"Long ago. For a daughter we chose Vendethiel; for a son, Maethor." Oropher shook his head, and regarded the silent baby through worried eyes. "It is wrong, though. Maethor would not become him. We know that already."

"Did you have a second choice?" Vehiron pressed. When his question was met with an uncomfortable silence, he gave the new parents an emphatic smile, and continued gently: "It is no matter. A name – the right name – will come. Just give it some time and thought, and… Felith?"

The lady's blue eyes had drifted upwards in the direction of the window, and still they gazed out of the transparent sheets into the dark night sky far away. She chewed pensively on her lower lip with perfectly white teeth, quiescent, almost seemingly unaware that she had been addressed. It was not until a soft touch from her husband pulled her attention back to the three waiting Elves. She gave a rueful smile. "I was…thinking."

Oropher arched an eyebrow, and shared an unspoken look with Vehiron. "Oh. Dare we ask?"

"You need not sound so worried. I was recalling all of the names we have yet thought of, but none sound right. Not for him," Felith explained slowly, casting a tender look upon her son. "Then, I looked up. A cloud passed across the night sky, shielding the stars from my eyes, and… A name appeared in my mind."

"Tell me," Oropher whispered.

"Nay, I shied away from it, and I do not think it will be to your liking. It… No." The Elven woman turned her gaze away, and a faint blush made itself known upon her cheeks. Still she continued to gnaw upon her lip. "Forget I spoke, meleth-nín. Vehiron's words are true. The right name will come to us eventually."

"Not for a moment do I doubt that, but you do have me intrigued. Please, speak your mind," Oropher pressed. "It may be the perfect name for our son, yet how will we ever know if you remain silent? Maybe I will not approve of it. Maybe I will. Just, tell me."

"Thranduil."

"What?"

"I said-

The dark haired Elf raised one hand, cutting his wife off mid-sentence. He looked truly stunned; again, it was a rare expression to be found upon him. "No, no. I heard what you said, I…I just…" Silence fell. As he stared at his tiny son, the tense anticipation in the room felt almost physical. Even the healers working quietly around the family did so with bated breath.

"Uncle?" Saeldur began plaintively, "he does need a name before his first Begetting Day."

Rather than chastising his son's bluntness, Vehiron nodded agreement. "It is very true. Come, we are as eager for a decision to be made as you are. What think you of your wife's choice?"

Oropher looked up from the baby, and met Felith's blue eyes with his own emerald ones. As their gazes locked, he graced her with a tender smile. "I think," he murmured, "that the name is perfect. It far exceeds anything – everything – else that we have yet thought of. I do like it, darling. Of course I do."

The Elven woman laughed, a joyous sound like the tinkling of silver bells, and bestowed a kiss first upon her husband's forehead, then her son's. Though weary from long and painful hours of birth, she did not appear to be anywhere near ready to embrace sleep. Indeed her already bright eyes sparkled with renewed light, and a healthy flush had returned to her face. She would, Vehiron reflected as he and his own child moved away from the new parents, suit motherhood well.

"I like the name," Saeldur admitted quietly. "I think it will suit him."

"Aye, they have made a good choice." The older Elf paused, and his gaze travelled towards the window. The cloud hiding the stars had moved on; the tiny beacons shone like a thousand winking eyes. "Star-shadow. It is beautiful, but I wonder if it may be a portent of things to come."

"What do you…? Why?"

With a final glance at his brother and the new babe, Vehiron touched a hand to Saeldur's shoulder, gently guiding him from the room. His voice, as he spoke, was pensive. "Fair and dark. Light and shadow. Good and evil. Like the meaning of his name, these are sharp contrasts. No doubt I am wrong, but Felith may well have some maternal foresight in her. If so, I think that small child in there will one day grow up to have such a contrast as a great part of his life. And he will devote much to it."

Saeldur was silent as he struggled to comprehend the words, but they made little sense to him. As he said as much, his father started as though coming out of a deep reverie, and gave a quiet laugh. No, he did not understand it either. But he knew, somehow, that the future of Thranduil Oropherion was bathed in beautiful white light, and shrouded in darkness and pain too.

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After their arrival in the city of Lindon from a destroyed Doriath, many Sindarin nobles – though they held no power in their new home – employed unnecessary numbers of serving staff to wait on them in houses far more majestic than they had previously owned. None, even themselves, truly understood why they insisted upon such pomp; although it was thought to be their way of showing the Noldor they now dwelt with that they were no less inferior, that they were equals. An understandable reason, perhaps, as the old division between the Noldor and Sindar had been devastating in the past. Now they wanted security, and paid high prices for it too.

Oropher and Felith, however, had not demanded such pageantry for themselves. Servants were not for them. They were not royalty, they said, and so they would not raise themselves onto invisible pedestals to be waited on hand and foot. And though they lived in a large house near to the palace, where Oropher represented the Sindar of Lindon as a councillor to the High King, they had just one maid who worked less days than she did more, and only then when the chores became one too many.

Even the cooking Felith undertook herself. She enjoyed it – apparently it was a relaxing pastime – and much of her time was spent in the kitchen. So it was that when Thranduil was brought home for the first time and a small family gathering was held as celebration, she prepared the meals alone, despite her husband's vehement protestations that she should rest. A roasted pheasant there was, with vegetables and a sauce spiced with strange herbs; fruit pies also, with warm elderflower cream on the side. It was as though she had never spent hours giving birth just a few short days back.

"You surprise me every time," Vehiron remarked, as he pushed his empty dessert plate away. "Would that I had your talents in the kitchen. Unfortunately, Saeldur and I too often find ourselves relying on the cook."

"I thank you, but your praise is unwarranted," Felith smiled. "As for your poor culinary skills, I have offered to share my knowledge, yet always you refuse it."

"Well, yes," the dark haired Elf nodded. "I have no wish to don an apron!"

There was laughter from around the table, the sort which dies away after a few seconds with subtle traces of its existence left behind – a barely audible chuckle, a faint smile upon a face flushed with amusement – as normal conversation is resumed. Wine was poured into three of the four goblets on the table; as Oropher received his, he gave his brother a sideways look. In spite of the humour less than a minute back, his expression was strangely serious.

"How go the councils with High King Gil-galad in my absence?"

"Do you miss them so terribly already?" Vehiron jested. "Or, do you doubt my ability to speak for the Sindar in your stead?"

Though Oropher gave a smile, it did not quite reach his green eyes. "Neither," he replied quietly. "I know what happens if we do not present our arguments correctly, and defend ourselves strongly enough. There are too few Sindarin Elves here, too many Noldor."

"We are not in a war," Felith chided gently.

On the other side of the table, Saeldur looked up in interested. He allowed a second to pass by, lest one of his elders had something to say, before voicing his thoughts. "Why did you ask, Uncle? Would High King Gil-galad treat us unfairly if he could? I thought he was a fair ruler."

"He is," Vehiron murmured, "but his Noldor advisors are not too fond of us."

"You speak lightly, brother. 'Not too fond'? I would be loath to use those words," Oropher snorted. "They look down on us as if we are scum, but they have no reason and no reason at all to do so. We must all live in the same city, though they cannot accept that. They seem to think we are just lodgers. No, Gil-galad is not the problem, Saeldur."

"Then, I do not understand."

Vehiron pushed his goblet of wine from one hand to the other, rolling the smooth vessel almost noiselessly across the table top. He gazed into the red depths of the wine, as though an easy explanation lay hidden there. "If a king has ten advisors who suggest he should raise taxes, and just two who believe he should lower them, which path would he be more inclined to follow, ion-nín?"

"He would raise the taxes," Saeldur replied slowly.

"Exactly. Ruling a kingdom cannot be an easy task, and that is why advisors and councillors exist," Oropher continued. "They help the king make decisions, although those decisions are not always right – especially so when the king listens more to persuasive voices than his own heart."

"Is Gil-galad guilty of that?" Felith contributed. She tried her best to avoid politics, but with both her husband and brother-in-law involved with affairs of the kingdom, it was often impossible not to become tangled in the web herself.

Vehiron glanced at Oropher, and they both nodded an affirmative. "Yes, unfortunately for us," the younger of the two sighed. "Do not forget that he was born only near the end of the First Age. He is young, and young kings can rule too recklessly, refusing help, or too guided, accepting too much help than is good for them. He falls into the latter category."

"Perhaps you should be thankful," Felith suggested softly. "It is the lesser of two evils, I deem."

"Maybe." Despite that, Vehiron did not look convinced. He played with his wine goblet a moment longer before setting it down and turning a smouldering green gaze upon his elder brother. "Do you recall Melthoron? The brown haired one, quiet, almost timid? He revealed a different side to himself the day before yesterday. He raised the subject of King Thingol's ban of Quenya in Doriath."

Saeldur chanced a glance at Oropher. His uncle was silently seething, emerald eyes narrowed to mere slits. "What happened, Ada?"

"He suggested that Gil-galad return the favour and ban the use of Sindarin," Vehiron answered. His voice was quiet, quietly furious. "I always thought Melthoron was one of the more sympathetic Noldorin advisors, but Valar, I was very wrong. Thankfully, the High King took that as a slight against us, and suitably rebuked Melthoron. As did Lord Elrond."

"An ally?" Saeldur pressed eagerly.

"For all the good it will do us! Though he is Gil-galad's herald and close confidante, he spends much time away from Lindon," Oropher snapped. "He is looking to build an Elven refuge somewhere to the west."

"Quiet," Felith hissed. "You will disturb-

Her warning came too late. A basket made of wicker wood sat a short way away from the table, and sure enough, an infant's wails filled the room in an instant. As baby Thranduil wept as though his continued existence depended upon it, three pairs of exasperated Elven eyes turned upon Oropher. He met them all with a muttered apology, before pushing his chair back and going towards the basket. Kneeling beside it, he lifted his small son out and held him close.

"Did Ada wake you?" he whispered. "Oh my beautiful child, I am sorry. Hush, hush. Stop your tears, Ada was just being silly."

Vehiron gave a soft laugh as his brother kissed Thranduil's forehead, though it was not mocking. He had grown up with Oropher, but the older Elf had never shown such a display before – to his younger sibling, his nephew, anyone. Affection, especially affection this tender, was rare. To see it in him now, so open, warmed the heart in a way that fire in a hearth could not.

"He was not so sensitive to me even in the early days of our courtship," Felith confided in a low voice. In spite of the words, her voice was warm. "This side of him I adore."

"That does not surprise me," Vehiron agreed.

Thranduil's wails had not subsided. If anything, they had increased. Shifting him from one arm to the other, Oropher rose and faced the table helplessly. "What can I do? He will not stop crying. Am I not holding him correctly?"

"You are," Felith answered quickly. "Mayhap his cloth needs to be changed."

"I do not think so. Could he just be angry that he was woken?" the dark haired Elf wondered aloud. "Is he hurt? Are you sure that this is the appropriate way to hold him?"

Vehiron watched the new parents flounder for a few seconds, only vaguely amused at their struggles, before suggesting quietly: "Neither of you have yet considered the obvious problem, have you? He needs feeding. He is hungry."

"Hungry?"

"Give him food," Saeldur suggested.

Oropher held his still screaming son out to Felith; as she rose and settled herself in an overstuffed armchair to carry out her maternal tasks, Vehiron moved his chair closer to his own child's. A soft touch on the adolescent's arm drew green eyes towards his own emerald gaze. A moment's panic flashed across the younger Elf's face – he feared a rebuke in light of his blunt statement – but a smile from his father put him at ease.

"Worry not, you have done nothing wrong," Vehiron began quietly. "I just thought we should take this opportunity to talk. We have not had the chance to do so since Thranduil was born. Indeed, your behaviour on the night of his birth, the weeks leading up to it, was not acceptable."

"I apologised for-

"You did, I have not forgotten that," the older Sinda acknowledged. "But, why did you have to? All your life you have been spoilt, I will not deny that, but you have never been rude and disrespectful. Why now?"

"I thought you said I had not done anything wrong," Saeldur protested. "You are angry with me."

Vehiron raised a hand, and his eyes flashed in silent warning. "I did not ask for your defence, ion-nín. I asked for your reasoning. Answer my question, please. Why now?"

Over in the corner of the room, Thranduil had quietened now that his mother had given into his demands. With an expression that was close to desperate embarrassment, Saeldur watched his infant cousin. "Ada, I am ashamed to say it," he murmured. "You will either laugh at me or shout at me, and I am unsure which would be worse." He paused, and lowered his gaze slightly to stare at the back of his hands. "I just… I have always been the youngest, and yes, I am spoilt. I didn't want that to change, and I thought the new baby would… I don't know. I thought he would take my place."

"Then, it is as I feared," Vehiron sighed. "You were afraid that we would neglect you."

"I am sorry."

"No, do not apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for. This is my fault, I should have realised sooner." Silence fell between father and son, broken only at intervals by a hushed word from Oropher and Felith as they held their own soft conversation. When Vehiron spoke a moment later, his voice was tinged with accusation. "Why did you not say anything? You could have come to me, or even your aunt and uncle. We are your family. We would have understood."

"I did try!" Saeldur challenged vehemently, "for all the good it did me. You missed my archery tournament last month because you were busy building the nursery with Uncle Oropher. When I came to remind you, all I received for my troubles was a harsh command to stop thinking of myself. You know how I hate archery, especially when all the other fathers attend. I thought your presence might help me."

Vehiron looked genuinely surprised at the revelation that he had missed an event so important to the boy. He struggled to find the right words to speak, unsure of anything which would ease the hurt expression on his only child's face. He lifted his goblet and took a sip of spiced wine, the action buying him a few precious seconds longer to contemplate the situation and an escape route not yet clear.

"And that was not the worst you did, though it stung enough," Saeldur continued, his voice a mere whisper. "You always walk with me to the library when I have books to return, so I do not have to pass through the city alone. Last week you forgot to meet me. You were so caught up in preparing for the birth of your nephew that you forgot your son. I did feel neglected, and if that sounds selfish to you, I am sorry."

The painful silence from Vehiron continued for time uncountable. He was in shock. Yes, he had been as excited by Thranduil's impending birth as Oropher and Felith, but surely not so much that he had forgotten… As the truth hit him, he leaned forwards and pulled Saeldur to him almost violently in a tight embrace. He heard the younger Elf gasp, but he did not relinquish his hold, as though the strength of it would somehow make amends. He knew it would not, though. It would take a lot more than that to redeem himself and his actions. Not just in his son's eyes, but in his too.

"Valar, I am so sorry," he whispered into the raven hair that mingled with his own. "This will never happen again, ion-nin. Never."

Saeldur said nothing. His arms snaked around his father's waist, and he too held on the way he would a piece of debris in the ocean. There was no need for him to say anything. It had been too long since he and Vehiron had shared each other's company so closely, and the moment was far too rare to just be thrown away. As a gentle kiss was placed upon the top of his head, a smile slipped across his face. I missed this. I missed you, Ada.

As his son responded to the embrace, Vehiron released a soft breath he had not realised he was holding. Saeldur had forgiven him, though a voice in the back of his mind told him he did not deserve such mercy. He did not bother to push it away – he had earned that verbal punishment. As he raised green eyes, they met a similar pair across the room. Oropher caught his gaze and gave a delicate arch of one eyebrow, silently testing the waters of the situation. The younger brother just smiled.

"I think it is time for us to be leaving," he said quietly. As he pulled back from the embrace, his child flashed him a bemused glance. "I am sure we can find a chess board at home, and partake in a few games. Failing that, do you still have any wood carvings left which you need help with?"

"It is yet early," Saeldur pointed out.

"I know, but you and I have much to catch up on. I have made enough mistakes in recent weeks, and I will amend those," Vehiron promised. "I am sorry, penneth, for hurting you. I want you to see that."

The younger Elf smiled, and rose as his father did the same. "I do," he murmured. "I do, Ada."

Goodbyes and farewell kisses passed through the family of fair immortals; and the door which Oropher opened to let his brother and nephew out into the cool evening air allowed in a gentle breeze that caressed the long tendrils of his hair, pulling black strands upwards to tickle him like thin fingers. He did not bother to rearrange them. He knew Felith would make a fuss over it when he returned to her side, and her touch running through his hair made him shiver the way any kiss could. Not only her touch. Just looking at her sent pleasant prickles up and down his spine, and some nights when she had long lain in slumber, he found himself unable to enter the world of dreams, struck even after centuries by the beauty that lay before him.

Now, as he paused in the doorway to look upon his wife curled up in the armchair with their infant son nestled securely in her arms, an emotion different to any other washed over him like waves hitting the golden sands of a beach. Pride. A fierce desire to protect Felith and the child from any evil. Adoration. Awe that such creatures were his. It was love, unadulterated, in its purest form. It was the first time in his immortal life that he had been so assaulted, but it was a feeling he knew would stay with him forever, perhaps not always so blindingly clear, but always present in the deepest part of his soul, a love that would help him overcome every obstacle thrown in his path and keep him dry when the rain came down. The love of a family.

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The months passed too swiftly by far for Oropher and Felith, and though their son was still no more than a babe, more and more milestones were becoming just a part of their memories to look back on with eyes lit with tenderness. Thranduil's first smile. His first laugh. His first tooth. Those firsts fast became seconds, and those seconds became thirds. Now, a year on, the child was a master of crawling. Soon he would be taking his first steps. Then his second, then his third, then his…

Felith blinked, pulling herself from the almost sorrowful reverie as she stood in the large kitchen of her home, the place she so often named a lady's domain. It did not do to dwell on the inevitable, the unstoppable. It did not do at all. She allowed herself a rueful smile, and poured out a measure of deep red wine. Though her fingers wrapped around the flute, she did not lift the goblet. She was waiting.

Oropher was once again immersed in counselling High King Gil-galad at the palace; though he would never relinquish the job, he despised it. Meetings and councils lasted for longer periods of time than ever before, and the rivalry between the Noldor and Sindar was stretched to extremes. Ridiculous extremes. In the mornings he left early, in the evenings he returned late. It was not a routine either he or his wife had ever wanted for themselves, especially with a child in their lives, but there was no escaping it.

A long exhalation shaded with dark regret left Felith's lips, and she raised her goblet of wine. The crimson liquid winked at her, its pungent smells of blackberry and honey playing gentle games with her senses, silently calling her to drink. No! He will be home soon. It was late, later than usual. Oropher would not keep his family waiting if he could avoid it. If.

Indeed, the door swung inwards mere seconds after the sorrowful thought flitted across her mind. A gust of wind from outside drifted in too, an unwelcome visitor, catching long Elven hair and garments, noiselessly wrestling with them. Felith brushed her sandy locks back into place with slender fingers, and fixed her eyes upon the newcomer. Her husband. Making good use of the talent inborn into every woman, mortal or immortal, she said nothing. One look carried greater weight than any number of words.

"Forgive me, meleth," Oropher sighed. "I tried to escape earlier, but the High King would not adjourn."

"Someone should have very sharp words with him concerning his councils. He may not have family," Felith said shortly, "but his advisors do. Valar, I should not say that, but… Is Vehiron home? I hate to think of Saeldur alone again."

The dark haired Elf nodded, and tapped his fingers absently against the wall. Though he addressed his wife over the gentle, percussive rhythm, his mind seemed to be elsewhere. "Aye. He reached his home, and Saeldur was fine. Curled up by the fire with one of his books."

"Good. At least he had something to take his mind away from the solitude," Felith murmured. She gestured to the goblet standing between them on the table, and watched Oropher carefully as he took it. "What is in your head? I hope it is not your fool idea again."

"Why do you name it so?"

"Because that is what it is! I know you are unhappy in Lindon, but leaving for another home… It is preposterous," the lady hissed. "Had you suggested it before a child came into our lives, maybe I would have agreed. As it is, you do choose your moments poorly. We have a son now, responsibilities. We cannot think of ourselves."

"I do know that, and I do not dispute it," Oropher acknowledged with an incline of his dark head. "However, I am thinking of Thranduil also. I would rather he grew up in a place where prejudice did not exist."

"No." Felith's voice brooked no argument. "He is an infant."

Oropher slammed his goblet onto the table, and untouched wine ran over the rim in rivulets. He ignored it, turning away from his wife and attacking the opposite wall with his green glare. "I will not mention it again," he snapped. "Of course you speak truly. It would be wrong of us to drag Thranduil all the way across Arda, despite it being for his benefit as well as ours. Yes, you are right."

His tirade was greeted with silence, and Felith shifted uncertainly in its wake. "You are angry," she noted softly.

"Yes."

"With me."

"No." Oropher turned back to face the Elven woman. Though he smiled at her, his eyes were cold enough to betray him. "You are thinking of our son, and how can I fault that when I am doing the very same? No, I am not angry with you. I am angry with…the situation."

Felith let out a long exhalation of breath, and lowered her eyes until they rested upon her husband's abandoned goblet. She was unsure of how to go about consoling him, afraid that any words she spoke would darken his mood rather than lighten it. "Drink your wine." It was not the first thing to enter her mind, though it seemed the safest. "Mayhap it will calm you."

"No, thank you," Oropher sighed. "Where is Thranduil? Looking upon him is more calming than any drink. I have not seen him today."

"He is asleep. He has been restless since this afternoon, and it took me a long while to get him settled," Felith replied quietly. "Try not to wake him."

As her husband nodded acquiescence and left the kitchen, the fair lady set about cleaning up his spilt wine. She felt badly for dictating to Oropher that he could not see his own son awake, but she did not want an irritable infant on her hands tonight. If only the child's father could spend less time at the palace and more at home. Thoughts of leaving Lindon drifted into her mind, uncalled, unwanted, but too seductive to ignore. No! We cannot leave. This is our home. We cannot. Despite the vehemence of her silent protestations, the musings were not vanquished.

On the upper floor of his house, Oropher's thoughts also were dark as he walked along the corridor towards the nursery. The situation was worsening. Intimidated by Gil-galad's numerous Noldor advisors, many of the Sindar who counselled him had resigned from their posts, leaving just a handful behind. The opposition – it did feel like a war at times – used this to their advantage, becoming almost brutal as they countered their Sindarin colleagues' points with others of their own. They were close to… Oropher hesitated to use the word, but they were close to cruel.

He allowed a deep sigh to rush from his lips as he reached the nursery, but opening the door and looking upon his young son cut the exhalation off before it could progress any further. A wooden cot, carved by Oropher himself with some help from Vehiron, sat against the far wall. He took silent steps towards it, savouring the warmth which came and chased away the cold from his heart, and marvelling at it simultaneously. Even Felith could not sway his moods so easily.

"How do you do it, penneth?" he murmured.

Thranduil did not stir. He lay on his back, cerulean eyes closed to the world as he slept, as is the way with Elven children. One small hand was tightly clutching a soft toy in the vague shape of a horse; the other curled into a fist and firmly planted in his mouth. Oropher leant over the side of the cot to remove it, but he stopped himself just in time. He could not disturb his son. The infant looked like a porcelain doll. Another sigh left the Elf's lips, and he noted absently that it seemed to be happening a lot recently. Leaving Lindon was the only solution visible to his eyes, but deep down he knew that he had to accept what Felith had said. Travelling across Middle-earth with Thranduil would be both unfair and dangerous. He was just a baby.

"Not forever, though," Oropher said quietly. He rested his hands on the wooden rail of the cot, looking down at his son with steely determination in his bright eyes. "A time will come when you are of an age to travel, and when that time comes, Lindon will become a part of our history. I swear."

Blissfully oblivious to the oath sworn above him, Thranduil slept on.

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Well, as I mentioned above, this is the first instalment in a long series documenting the lives of both Thranduil and Legolas. There are more chapters to this story, which follows Oropher on his journey to Greenwood, and also serves as an introduction to OC's who will play parts in later stories. I will be updating every week starting in the New Year, as I'm going to Austria at the end of this month for a week. To the people who read my last story and were promised something new at the end of April… I am so sorry! I tried so hard to stick to my word, but I had so many problems with what I was writing. I hope this story and those that follow it live up to your expectations of me, and I hope also to hear from returning readers!

Luv,

Misto

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