"Here you are, hir nin."

Legolas took the tomato from the farmer and wiped it on his tunic before he took a bite. Juice dribbled from the side of his mouth and he threw his hand up hastily to catch what he could. The farmer chuckled.

"Save some for the festival."

Legolas grinned and took another bite. "I will see you later on today. Thank you."

The farmer waved as Legolas jogged back into the forest. Light, fresh as the breeze that blew his hair back from face, projected flawed patterns on the forest floor. He felt light on his feet. That night was the harvest festival, his favorite celebration. Birds flew parallel to his route, weaving between trees and singing joyfully. His heart was lifted. He jogged to the gates, and the guards bowed their heads as they pulled them open. Within was hustle and bustle, the autumn chaos that Legolas reveled in. People greeted him as he passed them, and he greeted them in return. The halls were decorated in the fall leaves of Mirkwood, and elves sold their autumn wares in the great halls. Products of the successful harvest, as well as clothing, jewelry. Young elflings ran around him and giggled, hair and fabric all Legolas could see before they were gone.

"I am sorry, hir nin," an elleth said as she trailed after the rogue elflings. She looked back at him, apologetic. Her grey eyes were tired, but lit up her face nonetheless.

"Think nothing of it."

She grinned and chased after the children. Legolas' smile faded. There was a strange emptiness in his heart. A tugging of a heartstring that he did not know he had. A hand was on his shoulder, and he flinched, torn violently from his thoughts.

"Hir nin, are you alright?"

It was Arthon, Legolas' friend and fellow member of his patrol squad. Arthon stood out in a crowd in Mirkwood, with hair black as the enchanted river and eyes green as the leaves of the wood. His family was of Ossiriand back in the early years of Middle Earth and held a reputation still of their valor and honor. But Arthon was young, youngest of the patrol. He was yet to earn his valor.

"I am fine, just thinking."

"Are you ready to get back on patrols tomorrow?" Arthon asked as Legolas began moving toward the royal wing.

"As always," Legolas said, disappointed he forgot they were due back on patrols the following day. The guards before the doors to the royal wing were heavily armored, their faces veiled by mithril chain and their torsos blocked by large shields and spears. All that could be seen was their eyes, which registered their prince swiftly. They pulled open the doors and Legolas nodded to them before his stalked toward his father's room. Arthon stopped before the doors.

"I shall see you at the feast!"

Legolas waved his hand in agreement and pushed open the door to his father's room. Thranduil lay on the ottoman that he had dragged to face the window that looked out at the forest. He was in his finest regalia already. His burgundy cloak of velvet rolled over his broad shoulders and flowed onto the ottoman, and finally to the floor, a pool of fine fabric at his side. Hs hair was delicately braided in white strands of royalty and Sindarin lineage. His crown of autumn leaves and copper twigs adorned his head, circling his ears. Thranduil turned his head slightly, enough for Legolas to catch his cerulean gaze under hooded lids, and he turned the page of his book.

"You are late."

Legolas chuckled, "and you are early. Why did you dress so far before the festival?"

"I fell asleep, and the servants came in and told me it was time. Clearly, they were mistaken."

"Clearly, they wished to get you out of the way to ready themselves."

Thranduil dog-eared the page he was on in his book, and sat up. "You must be excited."

"Entirely."

Thranduil smiled and stood, approaching his son. "Well, since the servants have left on us, you should probably get ready."

Legolas' gaze looked up into his father's boundless insight. His eyes were seas of wisdom, kindness… gallantry, intelligence.

Legolas smirked, and his father brushed his hand over his head. Legolas made his way out into the hall and to his room. His festival attire was already hung on the wardrobe for him, his circlet on the shelf. He shook his head, and pulled on his outfit in haste. His father entered, and Legolas turned to face him as he laced up his boots. He stood, and exhaled dramatically as his father looked him over.

"You need to do something with that hair."

Legolas rolled his eyes playfully and spun around so Thranduil could braid his hair. His hands gently combed through Legolas' knotted locks, and Thranduil sighed.

"What is it, Ada?" Legolas asked.

"I am delighted by the festival, but saddened by your departure tomorrow."

Legolas' head fell, and Thranduil tugged it back up by the hair in his hands.

"I do not know why I said anything, Legolas. I am sorry."

"I am sorry I am leaving. It is only for a month this time."

"Yes I know, ion nin." Thranduil said as he tied off his braid. Legolas looked at the braid his father weaved in the mirror. It was complicated, but not nearly as intricate as his father's. It was the prince's braid.

He turned to face his father and Thranduil smiled and rested his hand on Legolas' cheek.

"Let's go."

The hall was filled with eager and drunken elves, and rose for the arrival of the royal family. Thranduil and Legolas found their seats at the head table. From the ceiling hung silk curtains of red and orange, fall leaves covering the heavily decorated tables. Many danced to the lilting music of a successful season, and Legolas danced with them. He laughed and talked and engaged, letting the stress of the patrol melt away. He felt his father's proud eyes on him at times, as he sat serenely at the head table.

From where he stood as he spoke to one of Mirkwood's finest students, he spotted the girl that apologized on behalf of the elflings, on the other side of the room. She was dressed in fine blue, her light auburn hair was the color of the forest, and it fell down her back in waves. He excused himself from his conversation, and pardoned his way across the room to her. She was speaking to another elleth. As he approached she turned, and her eyes widened.

"Hir nin-" she stuttered and curtsied. He bowed his head to her, and her silver eyes found his. She had black kohl around her eyes, and her lips were deep red. Her fair skin grew red as she began.

"I am so sorry, my lord, the children-"

"Think nothing of it. They are but children."

She grinned gratefully, and pushed her loose hair behind her ear.

"Are they your children?" he asked, a grain of hopeful wonder falling into his voice.

"No, I work at the orphanage and sometimes teach at the school, so I am consistently surrounded by elflings."

His heart warmed at the thought of her tending to the kingdom's orphans, and he smiled.

"That is admirable of you."

"Oh no," she blushed, "I enjoy them."

"What is your name?" he asked her.

"Baineth, my lord."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Baineth. I am truly glad that we have crossed paths."

She smiled, "It would be great to see you at the orphanage sometime. I think the children would be excited to see you."

"I must go on patrol for a month, but when I return I fully intend to."

She curtsied again and he smiled and bowed before turning to return to the head table. His father had a mischevious grin on his face, and Legolas grew defensive.

"What are you smiling about?"

"I see you have met Baineth, the director of the orphanage."

"She is the director?" Legolas mused, his eyes wide.

"Yes. She teaches westron to elflings in the military school as well."

"How have I never met her before?"

"She is the silent soldier. Behind the scenes." Thranduil murmured as he sipped his wine.

Early the following morning, Legolas was packed and in his patrol captain uniform. His bow was restrung and ready, along with his freshly sharpened twin knives. Thranduil stood proudly in the doorway.

"It never gets easier to watch you go."

"And I hope I never have to watch you go," Legolas said.

He approached his father's lean form, and Thranduil put his hands on either side of his son's head.

"Come home safe, ion nin."

Legolas nodded, his lips pursed. He loved the forest, but hated what his departures did to his father. With the growing darkness in the forest, there was always a chance he would not come home, and it almost seemed like a matter of time to them both. But they remained silent, and Legolas left without another word.

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