Disclaimer: I do not own anything. It all rightfully belongs to Tolkien.

Author's Note: Feel free to read and review, but no flames, please. Enjoy!

It hurt. He could not breathe. He felt as though he had been punched hard in the gut and had had his heart ripped out at the same time. Valar no! Please do not let it be true! the elf silently pleaded and prayed. Once again, the father read the letter clutched tightly in his vice grip. Every word written in his son's elegant script drove the knife of fear deeper into his chest. When his eyes reached the part of the letter that explained his son's quest to travel into the very heart of Mordor to Mount Doom, Thranduil shut his eyes, and crumpled the letter, unable to read it.

A volcano of emotions bubbled to the surface. Anger, sadness, and terror all churned in his stomach. His throat burned from the hot lump that lodged itself there. Tears stung his icy, piercing eyes. The firstborn's broad chest tightened with panic and his regal body began to tremble violently. Images of legions of orcs flashed in his mind. Goosebumps prickled the elf's fair skin and his eardrums vibrated painfully from the recollection of the nazgul and their paralyzing screams. Worst of all, the picture of Legolas, his precious, beloved son, dying alone in a thousand different ways overwhelmed the father. My son might die in Mordor. And I will not be there to hold him, to tell him I love him...

This last thought brought Thranduil crashing to his knees. A sob threatened to escape. The elvenking buried his head in hands. All he wanted to know was why? Why did he send his son to Rivendell? Why did Legolas feel compelled to volunteer for this seemingly forsaken quest? Why did he not know that when Legolas left his halls weeks ago that was the last time he may ever see his son alive? Why did he not embrace his son just a little longer and harder? Why did he not tell his child he loved him one more time? "And now it is too late. He is gone." bemoaned the father bitterly.

The firstborn picked himself off the stone floor after several minutes. Numbly, he stumbled towards the prince's chambers. Upon reaching his destination, Thranduil eased open the ornate door that guarded Legolas' room and entered.

The bedroom was cold and empty, just like his heart felt. Yet, it seemed to magically bring back a tidal wave of treasured memories. The king's gaze drifted towards the large fireplace that served to warm the spacious, stone room. As an elfling, Legolas had spent many hours playing in front of the fireplace with his toys, and sitting by it at night while he listened to his naneth or Thranduil tell him stories. He was amused so easily and adored Aurilian's stories, the father reminisced fondly. Next, the elf's eyes traveled to the sturdy chest the prince stored his personal weapons in. It most likely only held a sword at this time. Legolas had taken his trusted bow and arrows on his errand to Rivendell. His son always preferred a bow over the sword. In fact, it was in this very room that Thranduil had given Legolas his first bow when he came of age. Both father and son had been immensely proud. A blossom of pride still stirred within the king at the memory. "Now, Legolas will be using the same bow to protect himself and his companions on his quest to Mount Doom," he murmured in a grim whisper.

The reminder of Mordor filled him with trepidation anew. His legs felt weak again, so he sat on his son's bed. Countless nights Thranduil had sat or laid on this bed in order to comfort Legolas and chase away the nightmares and fears that dared haunt his son. Wistfully, he fingered one of the blue tassels hanging from the bed spread. It always warmed his heart to hold and comfort his elfling no matter how old Legolas got. He ached to hold his son now, but alas, he could not. Legolas was thousands of leagues away, traveling right into the jaws of the enemy. And unlike those stormy or nightmare filled nights, there was nothing the father could do for Legolas. He could not comfort him, and he could not protect him. This knowledge wounded Thranduil far more than any blade ever could. He was helpless. It made him feel like a failure. "Oh my son! I am so sorry. I did not know. I did not know when I sent you to Rivendell that this would happen. Ai! What I would not give to have you here, or at least to be there with you."

The father turned his grief-stricken countenance towards the balcony. Bleary eyes distinguished the road that stretched past the balcony and into the dark, majestic forest. It was the very road he had watched Legolas disappear down. Thranduil seized the moment to cement that particular memory in his mind. Even if his child never returned to him, he wanted to always recall Legolas' proud, lithe form, his pale blonde hair, the clear ocean blue eyes, and the smile that never failed to bring him joy. He could only pray that he would see that smile again one day.

Silently he got up and walked onto the balcony. He grasped the railing tightly. Peering down the road and out to the horizon, he whispered, "Namarie, ion nin. Know that no matter what, my love goes with you always."

Author's Note: It is my hope that this story provides both comfort and the reminder to treasure your loved ones while you still have them. I very recently found out one of my loved ones is not doing well health wise. This story is both an expression of my feelings and a dedication to her. God bless and Merry Christmas!