Summary: Fluff, one-shot. Whether in Greenwood or in Minas Tirith, whether Elf or human, kings are fathers first. Characters: Thranduil and Aragorn, with brief appearances by Legolas and Eldarion.

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I didn't create this and I don't profit from it.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, Calenlass, for advice, suggestions, and patience with questions.

Homecoming

Greenwood, Around Year 2500 of the Third Age

"And there is still the matter of payment to the Men of Esgaroth."

Thranduil, who had been about to get to his feet and disperse the Council, cast a pleading look at Istuion. The dark-haired Elf looked back at him unrelentingly, and with a soft sigh, the King sank back into his chair.

"Of course," he said bleakly. "Payment to the Men of Esgaroth. I do not foresee any problems with that."

The last statement was made with a hopeful glance at the Elves gathered around the long table. It did no good; one of them indicated that he wanted to speak. Thranduil heaved another sigh and nodded.

He found himself not listening to a word; normally he would have paid attention, but today he was worried. Five days – they should have returned five days ago. He had not been concerned at first; warriors were often delayed when their duties took them more than a few leagues from the stronghold, and Legolas was leading a dozen archers nearly as far as the southern border.

But there had been no word from the birds of the forest, and the trees had refused to say anything other than, "The Elfling is well."

Minas Tirith, Year 35 of the Fourth Age

Aragorn was trying not to scream. Eldarion had gone on what was supposed to have been a day-long hunting trip with the other youngsters. Neither Aragorn nor Arwen had thought twice before giving him leave to go: two of the weapons masters of Minas Tirith would be with them, and they would not be going far.

But it was now nearly midnight, and they were to have returned at dusk. Aragorn had sent riders out, but they had not yet returned or sent any message, and he could feel himself growing tenser with each passing moment.

He heard soft footsteps behind him and turned, expecting to see Arwen. Instead, he saw Thranduil, arms crossed, watching him with an inscrutable smile.

"Forgive me, my King," Aragorn mumbled. "I did not mean to be a poor host, especially not on your first visit to our city –"

"Sîdh," Thranduil said, noting with a small shake of his head that Aragorn, despite having become a formidable warrior and a King in his own right, could never bring himself to address the ruler of Eryn Lasgalen as anything other than "my King" or "my Lord." "I understand fully, Estel. There is no need to apologize."

For the first time that evening, Aragorn grinned.

"Aye, my King, I suppose you do understand. I begin to feel sorry for you and my father. We did not give you an easy time of it."

"You were better than Legolas, penneth," Thranduil said. "Elrond usually managed to get news of you somehow. But that delinquent son of mine..." The Elven-king smiled again, this time with a mixture of affection and exasperation. "He still does it."

"He always came back safely," Aragorn reminded his friend's father. "Or at least alive."

Thranduil laughed.

"So he did." He patted Aragorn's shoulder. "So will Eldarion, Estel. Do not worry."

Greenwood, Around Year 2500 of the Third Age

Thranduil gazed around the big dining hall. It was full of Elves, mostly the younger warriors who lived in the stronghold, laughing and teasing each other and occasionally baring a knife or a sword in mock-threat. You could always gauge the situation in Greenwood by the mood in the dining hall. When the Shadow was at bay it rang with laughter and cheer, and when the orcs and spiders were making too many forays into the Wood-elves' realm it was sombre and quiet.

He loved the dining hall when it was like this... It was a sign that he was doing his duty as King. But nothing could match the joy he felt on the occasions – which had been far too infrequent of late – when Legolas took a break from his duties as an archer and Thranduil and his son shared a quiet meal in their private dining room.

"Return soon, ion nîn," Thranduil murmured under his breath.

"I'm sure he is fine, Thranduil," said a voice beside him, and Thranduil turned to smile, with more than a hint of resignation, at the commander of his armies.

"I'm sure he is, mellon nîn," he admitted. "The forest has been quiet and we would have had word by now, if there had been any serious trouble. But you can never be completely certain with that idiot son of mine... If there is a way to break a limb or get an arrow through some part of his body or get bitten by spiders or poisoned by orcs, he will find it."

Arbellason laughed.

"He may surprise you this time."

"If he does, I will give him anything he wants as a reward."

Minas Tirith, Year 35 of the Fourth Age

"How did you do it, my King?" Aragorn asked as he paced the room restlessly.

"Do what, Estel?"

"Let him go." At Thranduil's puzzled look, the human said, "Legolas. How did you force yourself to let him lead patrols into the forest day after day? Right now, I feel as though I would like to ban Eldarion from ever leaving the city again! And I know I'll feel that way even if I find that he has come to no harm. More than once Legolas returned to you injured... How could you bear to let him go again?"

Thranduil sighed, gazing into the distance.

"I had no choice. I do not deny that I, too, wanted to keep my son safely with me... I cannot count the number of times I was summoned from meetings and negotiations to go to the healing wards. Every time that happened I felt guilty – what kind of father let his son risk his life while he stayed safe behind his great gates?"

Aragorn, noting the sudden darkening of Thranduil's eyes, dropped into a chair beside the Elven-king and said, "You had your duties, my King, as Legolas had his. You did ride to battle when you had to... But you had other duties; you had a realm to administer."

"And Legolas was a warrior." Thranduil smiled. "And a capable archer–"

"The finest archer in Middle-earth," Aragorn said, grinning. "I have had reason to be glad of that over the years."

Thranduil chuckled. "One way or another, to have held him back would have been unfair to him and to the realm. How could I ask my people to let their children go into danger in battle if I was not willing to send my son with them? How could I have faced Legolas and told him to abandon his duty for the sake of my peace of mind?"

Greenwood, Around Year 2500 of the Third Age

Thranduil rose early after a sleepless night, and went outside, hoping to find some comfort among the trees. Not far from the gates of the stronghold was a small grove of beech trees; there the Elven-king made his way.

Oropherion, one of the trees greeted him as he neared. Welcome. What has the Elfling done this time?

Thranduil smiled. How did you know?

You are worried.

A King has many cares.

We know you. You would not come here seeking our solace if you were worried that you were being charged too high a price for supplies from the villages of Men.

You are wise, mellyn-nîn, although young.

Young! The tree snorted. It is not our years that matter, Oropherion. The forest is old – far older than you – and it speaks to us.

Has the forest counsel for me?

What counsel do you seek?

Thranduil hesitated. He was worried about Legolas, yes, but there was more; and he was not sure even he knew precisely what he wanted.

I sense darkness growing in the forest. Shadows and fear and evil... Even the trees sense it. It is only here, in the vicinity of our stronghold, that you reach out freely and fearlessly with your spirits. My commanders tell me that the further you go from here, the harder it is to speak to the trees.

The tree seemed to hesitate. I know of what you speak... And yet I do not understand it any more than you do.

I am King! Thranduil burst out in frustration. I have to do something. I cannot let my realm fall into darkness. And then, with a sigh, Where is my son?

Do not fear for your young archer, Oropherion. He is safe. He will return soon.

Minas Tirith, Year 35 of the Fourth Age

"Tomorrow," Aragorn moaned, "I must get on with the business of ruling. The petitioners will come, the captains will talk, the nobles will complain and they will all expect me to do something... And I cannot think of anything other than finding my son!"

"That can happen," Thranduil said with a smile.

"My respect for you has grown a hundredfold, my King," Aragorn said, before adding hastily, "Not that I did not respect you before... But when I think of what I am suffering, raising my son while ruling a realm at peace with its neighbours, I realize that I cannot begin to imagine what you went through..." He shook his head. "Did it help at all that Legolas commanded your archers?"

"I don't know that it mattered," Thranduil said thoughtfully. "Had his predecessor been anyone other than Thorontur it may have been different... Thorontur was a fine commander, capable and trustworthy. Legolas was just as good in his own way, once he had learnt enough. Thorontur was far more practical and level-headed – he never lacked for courage, but he never took needless risks."

"And Legolas?" Aragorn asked, fascinated, wondering whether, in a few decades, he would be telling similar stories about Eldarion.

"Legolas would not order the archers into any unnecessary danger – but he would go himself, and they always followed him. They would have followed him even if I had forbidden it. I do not know whether it would have been better or worse, if it had been Thorontur who commanded the Colhador as the shadows deepened in the wood. We have lost skirmishes because Legolas was reckless where Thorontur would have been prudent, and we have won them because he held his ground in a hopeless cause and refused to cede an inch where anyone with prudence would have retreated."

"I wonder..." Aragorn hesitated. "I fear that Eldarion tries so hard to be a warrior because he thinks he must live up to us – to me, to Arwen, or to my brothers."

"Does that surprise you?"

"It grieves me. I have had a hard life, but I had a wonderful childhood. Imladris was a haven of peace and beauty that I can never hope to replicate here. I was raised with all the care and love that the Eldar lavish upon their children – and that same care I long to give Eldarion, but here among the children of Men it would embarrass him. I had no companions to laugh at me if my family fussed." Aragorn chuckled a little wistfully.

"Aye," Thranduil said, smiling at the man affectionately. "You were brought up as any young Elf would have been. There were times when this worried Lady Gilraen – she feared that you would be unable to understand your people."

"She always said it would be difficult." Aragorn leaned back in his chair. "Arwen worries about Eldarion more than I do. She... She has never known life anywhere other than Imladris and Lórien; I do not think she even realizes that Men are raised differently. They have to grow up... Sooner. And Eldarion has heard stories of the war, no doubt greatly exaggerated. He thinks he must be a fearsome warrior to be worthy of his heritage."

"Eldarion is a fine young man," the Elven-king said. "And he has far more wisdom than you did at his age, Estel. I do not think you need to fear for him."

Aragorn laughed.

Greenwood, Around Year 2500 of the Third Age

Thranduil hated meetings.

He did not know how they always managed to last so long, how there were Elves who always managed to have something to say long after everything that could possibly be said had been said.

Unfortunately, his place at the head of the long table in the Council Chamber gave him a perfect view of the gates of the stronghold. The room had been constructed with that aim in mind, so that the Elven-king could see any strangers as soon as they entered. The Dwarven architects had not realized that for an Elf the sight of the trees would be a constant distraction.

He tore his eyes away from the window and glanced at the Elves around the table. Most were looking at the speaker, but Thorontur and Arbellason, who had had their eyes on him, gave him small smiles of commiseration.

Arbellason scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment and pushed it at Thranduil. The Elven-king looked down and read:

He's talking about reducing the number of warriors on the southern border and the answer is no. There are still too many orcs and spiders in the forest and we cannot take the risk of being overrun.

Thranduil shot his friend a grateful smile and tried to look as though he had been paying attention all along.

He had not planned to let his attention wander again, but when he heard raised voices outside he could not keep his gaze from straying in the direction of the window. Thorontur, always alert for threats despite having given up his duties as a warrior, looked up as well, and Arbellason tried to peer over his own shoulder without actually turning around.

The gates were being opened; several riders were outside. Thranduil held his breath –

And let it go when the arrivals rode in and he saw the evening sunlight glinting on the golden head of the lead rider. Legolas did not seem to be in any difficulty, so if he was hurt, it was not serious.

Thranduil smiled. Of course, there had to be a reason for the delay, and he would have to find out what it was and deal with it. But the duties of a King could wait; as soon as this meeting ended, he would enjoy, for a few hours, being no more than a father.

Thranduil watched the warriors dismount – a quick count suggested that they had all returned safely – and exchange farewells as they gave their horses into the care of the two young ellyn who came running up to collect them. Then they dispersed, and Thranduil, still smiling manically, gave his full attention to the meeting.

Minas Tirith, Year 35 of the Fourth Age

A loud rapping on the door woke Aragorn from the fitful doze into which he had fallen. He scrambled to his feet and glanced at Thranduil, who had put down his book and raised his head.

One of the guards opened the door and Eldarion ran in and flung himself into his father's arms. He was followed by a sheepish-looking weapons master, who bowed to Aragorn and Thranduil and then waited quietly while the King of Gondor welcomed his son.

Aragorn has eyes for neither weapons master nor Elven-king; he had thrown his arms around Eldarion and practically lifted him off the ground.

"Ada!" the youth protested. "I can't breathe!"

Aragorn released Eldarion, only to take him by the shoulders and look him over.

"You don't seem to be hurt," he said at last, reluctantly. "What happened?"

"We had a small accident, my Lord," the weapons master said. Aragorn nodded without looking up. "One of the boys broke his arm falling from a tree. It has been set, and he has come to no permanent harm, but it delayed our return."

"We worried," Aragorn murmured, still looking closely at Eldarion. "Is something wrong with your hand, penneth? Are you sure? When you did not return by nightfall, we feared the worst. The countryside is still not as safe as it ought to be."

"I was worried as well, my Lord," the weapons master said. "But we were fortunate enough to meet Prince Legolas and his party on their way to Minas Tirith, and their company made our journey swifter and safer."

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked, finally looking up. "What was he – Legolas!"

The Elf, who had entered just behind the weapons master and who had not said a word so far, grinned at the King.

"Mae govannen, Estel."

Aragorn stared at the Elf, wondering whether to welcome him, thank him or ask what he had been doing near Minas Tirith. He finally settled on saying, "You're here."

"I had noticed," Legolas commented with a wry smile.

Before Aragorn could say anything further, Eldarion demanded, "Ada, can I go now? I'm tired."

"Of course," Aragorn said, patting his son's back. "You must be. Go to bed, and we will discuss this in the morning. Are you hurt?"

"No, Ada."

"Go on, then."

Eldarion gave his father a brief hug, inclined his head to Thranduil and the weapons master, and, on his way out of the room, paused beside Legolas to stand on tiptoe and whisper in his ear something involving the words archery and tomorrow.

Legolas chuckled.

"Ae anírach, tithen pen. But only if you are well rested."

Eldarion flashed the Elf a brilliant smile and scampered out of the room, followed by the weapons master. Aragorn finally turned his attention to his closest friend.

"What are you doing here?"

"That's a nice welcome!" Legolas said. "If you don't want me to stay, I'll just leave, then."

Aragorn shook his head.

"You know I want you to stay. But I did not expect you now."

"If you must know," Legolas said, unstrapping his quiver and dropping into a chair, "It was meant to be a surprise for your begetting day – which is next week, in case you had forgotten. Arwen and I have been planning it for some weeks."

"So that's why Arwen wasn't really worried about Eldarion! She knew you would be on your way to Minas Tirith and bound to meet them." Legolas only smiled. Aragorn crossed the room and sat down next to his friend. "Le hannon. If you had not found them –"

"But we did," Legolas said calmly. "And so do not worry any more. I promised Eldarion I would see that you did not fuss unduly. You're getting as bad as my father."

Aragorn glanced at the Elven-king, whose face had broken into a wicked smile at Legolas' comment.

"My King, we cannot let that pass."

"Of course not," Thranduil agreed. "Legolas, on your guard."

"What!" Legolas yelped as Aragorn yanked him to his feet. "No! I am a battle-weary warrior. I must rest!"

Greenwood, Around Year 2500 of the Third Age

Thranduil paused only to tell Galion to have dinner sent up to Legolas' room. Then he went straight to the royal quarters and knocked on his son's door. There was no answer, so he knocked again, and finally pushed the door open and went in.

The room was empty, but the balcony door was open. Thranduil went outside. Legolas was standing on the balcony, hands resting lightly on the parapet, looking out into the darkness.

"Penneth?" Thranduil asked softly.

Legolas turned. "Ada."

"Are you hurt?"

In response, Legolas stepped away from the parapet and spread his arms. Thranduil smiled.

"Come inside, Legolas. I've told Galion to send dinner up for us. You may not be injured, but you must be tired."

"I'm fine," Legolas said automatically, but he followed his father back into the room without further protest.

Once inside, Legolas dropped into a chair. Thranduil glanced at him in some concern but said nothing, instead kneeling before the hearth to tip some kindling into the grate. He lit the fire and got to his feet.

"What happened, Legolas?"

"There were more orcs than we anticipated – and then the river flooded, because of melts in the mountains, I suppose. And when we –"

"Legolas." Thranduil sat down next to his son. "That was not what I meant. Is everyone all right?"

"Yes," Legolas responded softly. Thranduil held out his arms and the younger Elf snuggled into them with a sigh of contentment. "I missed you, Ada."

"I know, tithen las," Thranduil murmured, running one hand gently over his son's bowed head. "I missed you too. Don't worry about anything now; I can hear about it in the Council meeting tomorrow along with everyone else." Legolas smiled, his eyes beginning to glaze. "Sleep, penneth. I will wake you when Galion comes. Sleep."

In the flickering firelight, Legolas slept.

Sindarin Translations

Sîdh – Peace

Penneth – Young one

Ion nîn – My son

Mellon nîn – My friend

Ada – Dad/Daddy

Mae govannen. – Well met.

Ae anírach, tithen pen. – If you wish, little one.

Le hannon. – Thank you.

Tithen las – Little leaf

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