Hey ya'll! I am finally back after an extended hiatus that wasn't really meant to be one. School is absolutely hectic and I'm finding that the only time I have to write is on the weekends when all I'd like to do is sleep in and not think about anything. Anyway, I'll try and do better! Let's see if I can't get some good stories going soon.

I also want to start writing a multi-chapter story; it might be my next one, but no promises. So far I've found that I'm pretty comfortable with one-shots because sticking to plots and developing characters sounds daunting. I'd really like to tackle that challenge and face that fear!

This took me an eternity to write for some reason so I hope I didn't mess it up too badly. Hope you enjoy!

Oh and Legolas is the human equivalent of four years old in this!

~Erlossivor

Once the golden sun set far beyond the horizon, bright, glittering constellations unveiled themselves to act as guides to weary travelers journeying far and wide on this cool autumn night. However, in the case of the Prince of Mirkwood, those same stars served the purpose of extending a certain little elfling's bedtime far past what it was normally allowed to be.

If one were to look, they would find that child curled up on his father's chest, marveling at the stars floating far above the stone balcony the pair were laying on, while following his Ada's long finger as he pointed at and named numerous constellations in the night sky.

"And if you look to the right a little bit, penneth, you'll see the light of Earendil," Thranduil murmured as his finger traced a path across the inky canvas that was the heavens to find the star. Legolas gaped at the vast, black ocean, wonder shimmering in his big, blue eyes.

The Elvenking smiled softly at the expression decorating his son's countenance, recalling a time when he was an elfling himself and his own Ada would take him for midnight walks through the lands of Lindon nearest their home. Those were the memories of his childhood which he treasured above all others. He could distinctly bring to mind the nigh-inaudible sound of the wind gently rustling the smooth leaves on sleeping trees, as well as the cool, fresh scent of night air wafting throughout the land. Thranduil could also remember how furious his mother would become each and every time he returned home, carried in his father's steadfast, unwavering arms, far past his bedtime.

The sound of his son's sweet, quiet, inquisitive voice brought him out of his reverie.

"Ada?" Legolas asked.

"Yes, penneth?" came the voice of the Elvenking.

"Why do the stars shine as they do?"

Thranduil had to stifle a hearty laugh. He could recall muttering the same question to his own father once many, many, summers before, in time far out of mind. He had no better answer for his own child than his father had for his.

"I do not know, little one. Perhaps they shine to give light to wanderers who need help finding their way home. Maybe they shine to give the sun a rest after a long day of lighting the land," he motioned smoothly to the sky, "It is also feasible that they shine to give little mischievous elflings a safe, lit path on which to escape from their rooms." With that last comment he directed a partly-teasing, partly-rebuking glance at the blonde-haired bundle burrowed into the folds of his robe.

At least the elfling had the decency to appear just a tad guilty.

"Come, tithen las. It is far past the time you should have been asleep," Thranduil said as he sat up, cradling his son to his chest. He smiled softly as he felt little arms entwine themselves around his neck and a warm face nuzzle into his shoulder. The small figure sighed contentedly as a fuzzy blanket was wrapped tighter around his body. Thranduil shifted his son in his arms so that he could rest there more comfortably.

These were the moments he lived for. He loved the quiet moments he got to spend far away from all of the hustle and bustle and stress of ruling a kingdom and simply spend a few with his little, playful son. Unfortunately, those times were growing to be few and far in between. Shadow had begun encroaching on the forest once more, and Thranduil found that most of his time was being spent setting and approving patrols and negotiating with other lands for much-needed supplies and weapons. The fact that his 22 year-old son was constantly vanishing and causing exasperating, yet altogether harmless, trouble throughout the kingdom was not helping either.

In the past, the great Elvenking prided himself on fearing nothing – except perhaps his own councilors; they would call their king out on his inability to sit still during exceedingly tedious negotiations, threaten to overload him with mindless paperwork when he was being either overly stiff or overly demanding, and report to their queen if Thranduil was needlessly severe or frightening. Pointless to say, the Elvenking was a bit petrified of his wife as well.

However, after Legolas came to join the family, Thranduil began to realize that he was never again going to be able to pull off his fearless façade. Since the day the golden-haired child was born, he was causing some sort of impish fright, whether it be chewing on his Ada's hair until there were semi-permanent dents left in it, somehow managing to hide all of the papers Thranduil needed for court, or simply disappearing from all knowledge and sight until the king had spent all of his energy turning the kingdom over in a mad search for an elfling that had only learned how to walk within the past couple of years. Legolas still occasionally tottered and wobbled down the halls, stepping without the surety that he wouldn't fall.

Most of the time, Thranduil had no idea what to do with the child. Before Luinnell died, with the exception of goodnight stories and cutting up the food his son ate at breakfast, he mostly had no choice but to leave the little rascal to her everlasting patience and knowledge on how to handle children. She had been the one to feed him, bathe him, dress him, and entertain him. She made sure the elfling visited his Ada in his study at least twice a day and made sure that Legolas was never tucked into bed without getting a goodnight kiss from his father.

She had always been the one who knew exactly what Legolas wanted or needed exactly when he wanted or needed it. When the elfling was but an infant, she taught Thranduil how to hold their son without the fear of dropping the precious bundle. She taught Thranduil what each one of Legolas' cries meant – which one signaled he was hungry, which one signaled he needed to be changed, and which one signaled he simply needed to be held. As confused as Thranduil often was back then when trying to appease his son, he never used to stay muddled for long. His wonderful wife was always there to help.

After she died, Thranduil regularly found himself unable to understand just what it was Legolas wanted and needed from him. His little elfling would occasionally stand by his father's chair expectantly while his Ada worked, and Thranduil could do nothing except uncertainly inquire as to what he wanted. Many a time the Elvenking had to take his elfling to Renglas, the commander of Mirkwood's armies and Thranduil's oldest friend, to get a translation. Renglas was currently raising an elfling himself – his son Colthon was just a few years older than Legolas – and the experienced warrior was fluent in the secret language that children spoke. Thranduil found the assistance unbelievably helpful.

But every once in a while, he didn't require Renglas' assistance. Some days, he knew just what to do with his elfling. Some days, he got it perfectly right - just like today.

*flashback*

Thranduil was sitting upright on his bed, blissfully enjoying the large book he was so contentedly pouring all his attention into. He was enjoying the quietness of the room and the peace of being left alone for a little while at last – being king meant that he was almost permanently unable to escape from contact with his councilors or subjects for prolonged periods of time. He was immeasurably pleased to be absent for the night.

His heavenly peace and solitude did not last long though. He was miserably interrupted by an incessant tapping on the back of his book. Clearly, someone wanted his attention, and desperately. He shoved down an involuntary feeling of irritation when he realized that the only person who could be hiding behind the volume was his son.

He gently lowered the book to reveal the tiny elfling on the other side, and what he saw was the last thing he expected to see. After pulling the book down, he was met with wide, blue, watery eyes and tiny sniffles that threatened to quickly turn into blubbering sobs.

The king was startled, but he refused to show it, not wanting to frighten Legolas. Thranduil immediately scooped his pint-sized elfling into his big strong arms and rested the child's head on his shoulder. The tears came like a waterfall as soon as Legolas' tiny body rested in his Ada's embrace.

The young prince cried for a good long while, and Thranduil was at a complete loss as to what could have brought on his son's distressing weeping. He knew that it was of no use trying to quiet the child down, so he just cradled his little leaf in his sturdy arms until Legolas had cried himself out. Every once in a while he'd interject with a soothing "Hush tithen las," or a comforting "Ada's here; Ada's got you."

After a few minutes, the loud cries diminished to quiet sniffles and the occasional watery hiccup. Thranduil tucked his son's golden head under his chin and continued to stroke his yellow hair, as he had been doing nonstop since the waterworks began.

"Now what's got you all worked up, ion nin?" Thranduil enquired.

He was met with a soft, almost soundless murmur. No one but an Elf could have heard the noise leave Legolas' throat. Thranduil gently revolved his son to face him.

"What was that, child?" he said as he lightly wiped away the salty trails that remained on his son's chubby cheeks and gave him a small, reassuring grin.

"What brought on this sadness?"

Legolas just stared at him, completely silent. It was clear that Thranduil was getting nothing out of him without a little encouragement.

"All right, tithen pen, you've gathered my attention. What's got my little leaf so upset?" Thranduil attempted once more to relinquish an answer from his son.

The Elvenking was anxious that he would not get one.

Just when Legolas appeared as if he truly would not make a peep, he spoke eight little words: "Caundur says I'll never be good at archery."

Thranduil was stunned into silence. The room was completely empty of sound save for Legolas' fading sniffles and the rustling sound the wind made when it moved through the leaves of the trees, who arched their long branches over the king's balcony.

Legolas had only begun his first lessons with a bow just last week. His son could not possibly be attributing one week of unskilled archery with a whole lifetime's worth, could he? The elfling was only just beginning to learn the skills he would require to use a bow effectively. No one expected him to be able to draw the bowstring back on his own yet, let alone master the art of archery in a matter of days.

Thranduil was so surprised that Legolas expected so much of himself in so short a time that he barely knew what to say to the fledgling Elf. He settled on taking an approach he believed his wife may have taken in this situation.

"Is Caundur taking archery lessons yet?" Thranduil queried.

Legolas' countenance was painted with confusion; he was clearly struggling to see how that applied to his problem at all. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if he were a fish out of water struggling to breathe, while he searched for the correct words to say.

After a few seconds, the answer came.

"Well, no. But he's always right, Ada! Or at least he says he is," Legolas trailed off at the end of his sentence.

Thranduil smiled gently at the boy.

"Legolas, suppose I told you that the sky was green. What would you say?"

The child looked befuddled for a moment; he couldn't see what this question question had to do with Caundur's remark either.

"I'd tell you that you were wrong; the sky is blue," Legolas articulated after a moment. His tone made it seem as if he thought his Ada was losing his mind if he thought the sky was green.

Thranduil hummed in approval.

"Yes, and what if I told you that I was right and you were wrong and that it was quite obvious that the sky is green? What would you say then, ion nin?"

Legolas got a certain reflexive gleam in his eye that communicated to his father he was about to say something quite impish.

"I'd say that you probably shouldn't be in charge of a kingdom if you think the sky is green, Ada. I'd have to take you to the healers and have Astoren look you over."

Thranduil just chuckled at that. He had anticipated that something similar would come out of his young son's mouth; the elfling did listen to his head councilor Glamren speak far too often for Thranduil's comfort. Whenever he heard snarky words leave his son's lips, Thranduil knew without a doubt that those words had escaped Glamren's own first.

"Just because Caundur says he's correct, doesn't mean that he is, penneth," the king said, "Besides, he does not get to have an opinion on your archery skills."

Legolas looked muddled once more.

"Why not, Ada?"

Thranduil ruffled his son's yellow hair affectionately and pressed a kissed to his forehead.

"Because Ada says so, and whatever Ada says goes."

Legolas just giggled and said, "That's what Glamren said about you yesterday!"

Yes, Thranduil was definitely going to have to have a chat with that councilor.

The Elvenking quickly stole a glance to his right, out of the windows, and into to the world beyond, which was veiled in the dark cloak of night. He knew the stars were shining brightly, and he convinced himself that Legolas deserved to escape sleep for just a few moments more.

"Tithen las, how would you like it if Ada watched the stars with you tonight?"

The enthusiastic, cheerful gleam that shone in his son's blue eyes was the only answer he needed.

*end flashback*

Thranduil carried his son, who at this was point half-asleep, on the short journey down the lengthy, dim hall from the king's chambers to the prince's own. The elfling yawned as he nuzzled his tiny face into his Ada's warm neckand tightened his hold on his father. Thranduil just smiled.

The torches in Legolas' room shone brightly, bringing a bright, warm glow to even the farthest, gloomiest corners of the room; Thranduil's son could rest assured that there would be no monsters lingering in the murky shadows under his bed or in his closet this night.

He gently set Legolas down on his bed, patiently waited for him to lay his golden head down on the plump, cushiony, beige pillow, and pulled the fleecy, snug blankets up to wrap them around the child's shoulders. Then, he reached over to the foot of the large bed and grabbed Bird, the wooly stuffed toy that Glamren had given Legolas for his first begetting day. The two had been nearly inseparable ever since – the toy was present during every single one of Legolas' meals, during afternoon playtime, and especially during story time with Ada just before bed.

Once Bird was tucked snuggly into Legolas' little arms, Thranduil reached over to his son's bedside table, which stood to the right of the bed, and lit a small candle that sat in a shielded container to ensure the flame would not spread during the night and that lit the room just enough for Legolas' own feeling of security.

Thranduil then seated himself on the edge of the elfling's bed and kissed Legolas' forehead lightly.

"Goodnight, tithen las," he whispered, loath to break the pleasant silence that had filled the room, and smiled gently, "Ada loves you very, very much."

Legolas just yawned contentedly and mumbled, "Love you…too…Ada."

Thranduil ran his long fingers through his elfling's silky, yellow tresses for a few moments more until the child's breathing evened out and his eyes glazed over, signaling he was now sleeping peacefully and, with any luck, dreaming merry dreams.

Thranduil desperately hoped his tithen las would be spared from nightmares this night, for the child had been waking up in the early hours before dawn crying and petrified almost every night for the past three weeks. It was rapidly wearing them both down.

Legolas had grown cranky and extremely bad-tempered due to his dangerous fatigue. He had started throwing tantrums every other morning when he was told that his father was unable to watch him that day due to massive stacks of papers to read over and an impractical number of councils to hold. He also refused to eat his lunch, and when Renglas offered one day to take him from his nanny and out to the archery greens to have his lunch with the novice warriors for a change of scenery, he shook his head vehemently, hid behind Ethiliel's skirts, and pouted for the rest of the day.

This behavior was tremendously out of character for the elfling, and the sudden change in temperament worried Thranduil immensely. He thought that it might be time to take Legolas to Astoren, the realm's head healer, and get his opinion. Perhaps he could give the child a draught of some sort to help him sleep or keep the nightmares at bay. Although the last thing Thranduil ever wanted was to have Legolas dependent on some sort of medicine to help him get through his daily life, the king was too concerned about his child to go it alone and forsake aid anymore.

But Legolas was not the only one suffering from this entire ordeal. Thranduil had scarcely slept as well, since he was the one who sprinted into Legolas' bedroom and cradled and comforted the child after he woke up screaming and thrashing around in his blankets. Some nights, Bird ended up on the other side of the room after his young friend threw him in fright.

Due to his tiredness, Thranduil had recently found himself having difficulty concentrating on anything during the waking hours and dozing off at his desk in his study. He was quickly learning that napping while bent over papers and texts was extremely uncomfortable and resulted in a neck so stiff he was unable to move it without excruciating pain. And, quite unlike his son, Thranduil's own exhaustion caused his temper to simmer down dramatically, which made him much more agreeable and friendly to emissaries from other realms and kingdoms who thought they could take advantage of Mirkwood's wealth and make outrageous requests. Glamren had been openly expressing his crushing disappointment for days.

Both father and son were completely miserable, and although it fell upon Thranduil to fix it, he found himself lost and conflicted on how to solve the issue at hand. He wasn't sure who to turn to. These were the times he greatly missed his wife and her clever, intelligent counsel.

The wind suddenly voiced itself quietly in Legolas' room, alerting the king that he had forgotten to make sure doors leading out to the balcony were shut and latched – Legolas had apparently not remembered to close them after coming in from reading outside under the sun that afternoon. It was one of the elfling's favorite activities, for he was a lover of stories and tales and enjoyed any fable anyone could tell him, whether the storyteller was sitting right in front of him or had written the words down on parchment.

Thranduil got up and silently pulled the doors shut, cutting off the relaxing sound of rustling leaves and babbling brooks that was floating up from the garden just below. He strode back across the room, his velvet robe – midnight blue like the dark sky outside – gliding across the grey stone floor with a low woosh sound, to turn out the torches, plunging Legolas' chambers into what would have been complete darkness if it weren't for the soft, orange glow of the candle and the moonlight streaming in through the crystal clear windows that looked out across the balcony and into the shadowed forest beyond.

The Elvenking stepped back to the bed where his son lay tranquilly; the elfling's mind, however, skipped and danced in Elven dreams; Thranduil's only wish was for it to stay that way tonight.

Pressing one last kiss to the crown of Legolas' head, the king stood and headed for bed himself. He knew he would need all of the rest he could get in order to deal with the traders from Osgiliath that would arrive in the morning.

I certainly hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to review if you'd like! Constructive criticism is always welcome as well!

~Erlossivor