The King of the Woodland Realm sat quietly in his usual seat of honor in the feasting hall. The tables had been moved aside after the meal, as usual, to make room for the evening's entertainment. There were minstrels and dancers and storytellers — the usual performers, along with the usual assemblage of spectators. The only thing that wasn't usual was the small cadre of guards that stood at attention beside their king. After spending an entire afternoon being chased, kissed, and fondled, Thranduil had decided enough was enough. He'd politely ignored all the curious looks he and his sentinels had received from his people throughout the evening... as well as the lovelorn glances from members of the Fellowship, all of whom had thus far shown great restraint by keeping their hands and lips to themselves.

The mood, which had started out rather lively, with many toasts and well-wishes for the Fellowship, quickly shifted to one of sadness when Thranduil revealed that Mithrandir had been lost in the Mines of Moria. The minstrels then sang of the wizard's kindness and wisdom, and the storytellers regaled eager listeners with tales of Mithrandir's greatest adventures. It was a fitting tribute to one whose presence had left a trail of warm, cherished memories behind.

An impromptu choir had just begun to sing a traditional lament when Galion appeared at Thranduil's side. "My lord," he whispered. "Radagast has been escorted to the main conference room."

Finally, some answers!

Thranduil quietly excused himself from the hall, his guards in tow. When they arrived, he bade them to remain outside the chamber; the conversation at hand was most definitely for no one's ears but his own. Bracing himself, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Radagast was seated at the head of the large, beautifully carved wooden table. His normally shabby attire was now in tatters. His sleeves hung off his arms in long shreds; it looked as though one side of his hat had been blown completely off; his face and hands were covered in soot, and his eyes... those friendly blue eyes that always seemed to have a slightly maniacal cast to them looked... well, they looked rather unfriendly at the moment.

"What in Eru's name happened to you?" Thranduil asked.

The wizard glared at him. "Your guards happened, that's what."

Entirely confused, Thranduil blinked at him. "What?"

"I was in the middle of formulating a very volatile potion when they arrived," Radagast explained. "Did they ask permission to enter? No. Did they explain their sudden appearance? No. They simply barged in, grabbed me by the arms, and whisked me away from my cauldron. Without the proper incantation, the mixture I was working on destabilized. I'll be lucky if I can salvage any of Rhosgobel's structure after that explosion."

Thranduil felt suitably guilty. "I offer sincere apologies for this misfortune. You will be compensated with supplies and personnel to help you rebuild."

"I should hope so," the wizard groused.

Taking a deep breath, Thranduil continued, "My need for your counsel was quite urgent, however."

"What could possibly be so important that you felt the need to have me hijacked?"

"I believe something went wrong with my wish!"

The first sign of a smile tugged at Radagast's lips. "Ahhh, the wish. Did you receive what you asked for?"

"Yes," Thranduil said, "but—"

"Well, then it worked!"

"I also received something I didn't ask for!"

Radagast sat back in his chair, eyeing the king most amusedly. The maniacal glint was back. "My dear King Thranduil, why do I get the impression that you were not listening carefully when we bartered all those weeks ago?"

"I heard you perfectly well."

"Even the part about the consequence?"

Gritting his teeth, Thranduil closed his eyes and counted to ten, desperately fighting back a wave of panic. "Refresh my memory," he finally murmured.

"As I told you," Radagast began, "the mushroom contained no simple spell. It was blessed by the Belain, and when you're dealing with higher-ups, there is no such thing as a free lunch."

Thranduil's brow furrowed.

"If they are asked to interfere with the goings-on of Middle-earth in order to grant a wish," the wizard clarified, "the recipient of that wish must be prepared for a sacrifice of some kind in exchange — at the discretion of the Belain, of course."

Thranduil fumbled for words, his thoughts swirling frantically. "Is there... is there some way to minimize the negative effect, or reverse it altogether?"

Radagast shrugged. "I don't know. I imagine it would all depend on what they imposed upon you."

Pulling out a chair, Thranduil sank into it, feeling far wearier than he ever had before. "All I wanted was to see my son again," he whispered.

Leaning forward, Radagast asked, "That was your wish?"

Thranduil nodded. "I'd hoped my wish meant he would survive the quest. Instead, the entire Fellowship of the Ring was redirected here. Their journey to Mordor has barely begun."

"That was a very heartfelt request, my lord," the wizard offered gently. His eyebrow quirked as he gazed upon the Woodland King. "So... what went wrong, if I might ask?"

"The members of the Fellowship have spontaneously developed amorous feelings for me," he answered, staring blankly at the table top. "Rather intense amorous feelings."

Moments later, Thranduil was startled from his haze of self-pity when Radagast suddenly burst out laughing. The wizard nearly doubled over, pounding on the table in his mirth. "Oh, I never would have imaged they had such a sense of humor!" he cackled.

"This is not funny!" Thranduil countered, his ire growing. "My own son is amongst my paramours!"

"Oh, dear," the wizard said, covering his mouth, though he continued to chuckle. "That is a problem."

"Problem, indeed! How am I to fix this? As ardent as their declarations have been, I cannot imagine they will leave here willingly, and there is a quest that must be completed!"

Struggling to get his amusement under control, Radagast managed to say, "Ah, but the solution seems rather obvious to me."

Thranduil glared.

Still smiling, the wizard continued to gaze evenly at him. "You must give in."

"What?"

"You must accept the advances of one of them," Radagast explained. "That is the sacrifice those naughty Belain appear to be demanding of you. Once you have, I would guess the unwanted effects will disappear as quickly as they began."

Thranduil swallowed thickly. "Is there no other way?"

Radagast pondered a few moments, but then shook his head a bit reluctantly. "If there is, I'm not seeing it."

After a very expectant pause, Thranduil pushed his chair back and stood on legs that were just a bit shaky. "I will take your suggestion under advisement."

"Well," the wizard began, obviously understanding that their discussion was officially over, "as I appear to be without a home for the moment, may I request a few days' respite within your Halls, my lord?"

"Of course," Thranduil said, snapping out of his shocked stupor. "I will be sure the appropriate arrangements are made, both for your stay and for your home. In the meantime," he continued, "I think perhaps the evening's activities in the feasting hall might be of interest to you."

Radagast cocked his head, curious.

"Mithrandir is no more," he explained sadly, knowing the two wizards had been good friends. "He was lost three days ago, a casualty of the quest to destroy the One Ring. Many have gathered to honor his memory."

All remaining amusement drained from Radagast's expression, a mist of tears glazing his bright eyes. Slowly, he removed what was left of his hat and held it over his heart. Even the song birds seemed subdued, burrowed quietly in their nest. "I think..." the wizard trailed off, and then started again. "I have a few stories I could share. Grand adventures the two of us undertook..."

Mindful of the fragile atmosphere, Thranduil spoke softly. "I am quite certain everyone would enjoy hearing them."

Nodding, Radagast got up from his chair and followed him to the door. Galion was waiting just outside, ever faithful. After making sure the butler was fully informed of all that needed to be done to aid the wizard, Thranduil took his leave of them, his mind turning back to the matter that left him reeling.

You must give in...

Thranduil was not opposed to casual encounters by any means, but not having a say in the matter made the whole situation more than a little unpleasant. Who should he choose? Legolas was out of the question, of course; not even the Belain could demand that of him. The dwarf? Thranduil snorted as that possibility crossed his mind. If all Gimli wanted was a strand of his hair, he would gladly surrender one in order to end this madness, but what if that wasn't all the dwarf wanted? Really... the Elven-King of Mirkwood sharing a bed with a dwarf from Erebor? The notion was beyond absurd!

His thoughts then wandered to the hobbits. He knew they were all adults by Shire standards — the Council of Elrond would never have sanctioned the help of children on this quest. Yet, they all looked so young... And what of the humans? Aragorn, he knew, was deeply in love with Arwen of Rivendell. To accept his advances would surely cause much discomfort for both of them in the aftermath. Thranduil would never willingly be the cause of disloyalty for anyone where matters of the heart were concerned.

That left Boromir. He was the only logical choice.

As they arrived at the entrance to his private chambers, Thranduil turned to his guards. "Your services are no longer required here," he told them, "but I want guards posted near the guest quarters at all times. Keep them in their chambers." Thranduil hesitated a few moments before continuing, "Master Boromir, however, is free to wander where he pleases."

"My lord?"

"Those are my orders," Thranduil stated firmly. "Dismissed."

The guards turned and left immediately, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls. Thranduil stood rooted in place for a few minutes, wondering if he'd made a grave error. If this didn't work, he couldn't even imagine how difficult life would be for all of them. Eventually, Thranduil slipped into his suite, purposely leaving the door ajar by a finger length.

The comfort of routine settled him somewhat. He bathed and dressed himself in a silk robe of the purest royal blue. A glass of wine, enjoyed slowly, warmed him, as did the fire in his hearth. He stood looking out the window in his bedroom for hours, memorizing every detail of the trees beyond. His mind was willfully blank — it need not be engaged at all for the rest of the evening; he was quite certain his body would respond well enough without it.

Well into the early hours of the morning, Thranduil finally heard the distinct shuffle of someone quietly entering his chambers. He knew it wasn't Galion; his trustworthy butler was polite to a fault, and would have knocked first to make his presence known. Anyone else in his kingdom wouldn't have dared to enter at all without permission. No, this was precisely who Thranduil had been waiting for — the sound of the door closing and the lock being engaged confirmed that.

He waited, still peering out the window while a flutter of nerves churned in the pit of his stomach. Footsteps approached, a whispered, "Beautiful..." washing over him as lightly as a morning mist. Taking one last sip of his wine, Thranduil blindly set the goblet on the chest of drawers beside him. He stood perfectly still until he felt the presence of the other directly behind him. Then, before he could change his mind, he whirled around, grasping the man's face and pulling him into a searing kiss... which lasted mere moments before Thranduil pulled back, shocked and confused.

His eyes widened, jaw dropping open while he struggled mightily to form even a single word. But words didn't appear to be necessary — not to his companion, at least, who very quickly moved to finish what Thranduil had started. Eager lips descended upon him in a kiss filled with such fiery passion that he melted against his lover, succumbing at last to the sweetness of the moment.

Thranduil reclined amid the tangle of sheets on his bed, lazily fingering the headboard behind him as he watched his lover stumble about, picking up and then donning his pristine raiment. A lascivious grin touched the Elven-King's lips as he tossed back the bedding and stood, entirely unselfconscious of his nudity... or his very obvious state of arousal. Slowly, he stalked towards the other, employing every last drop of sensuality he possessed. Naturally, his tactic worked.

Perfectly.

His companion stopped what he was doing, captivated by the scene before him. That made it far easier for Thranduil to invade the other's personal space, maneuvering both of them until he had his lover trapped snugly against the wall. Leaning in until their lips almost touched, he softly purred, "You are most certainly not dead, my dear Mithrandir. To that I can attest with great confidence."

"Yes, well..." the wizard mumbled, clearing his throat. "I'm a bit surprised by it all myself."

Thranduil closed the distance, offering a light, teasing kiss that held the promise of oh, so much more. "Had I even suspected what kind of... vitality... lay beneath your robes, I would have invited you to my bed centuries ago."

Mithrandir chuckled, somewhat nervously. "I'm not entirely certain what came over me last evening — not that I'm complaining, mind you," he added quickly.

Smiling, Thranduil captured his lips once more, thoroughly plundering until the wizard was quite breathless, and even then he didn't stop, offering playful nips that left the wizard visibly trembling. Finally pulling back, he trailed long fingers down Mithrandir's white robes, murmuring, "I could have sworn these were grey the last time we met."

"Ahh, they were, yes."

Thranduil quirked a brow.

Mithrandir looked a bit sheepish. "The whites were a gift. From a lady friend."

Feigning jealousy, Thranduil narrowed his eyes. Only the grin that tugged at his mouth gave away his true feelings. "Surely they would look far better draped across a chair, don't you agree?" His wandering fingers moved to undo the clasps, only to be stopped by the other's gentle grasp.

"I really do need to be on my way," Mithrandir told him, "and the members of the Fellowship are overdue for their meeting in Lothlórien."

Comforted only slightly by the obvious regret in the wizard's tone, Thranduil closed his eyes. Much as he hated to admit it, Nenya could do more to shield the Fellowship than he could here in Mirkwood. The company would be far safer there, Legolas included.

Thoughts of his son and the impossible quest at hand tore through the aura of contentment Thranduil had basked in since Mithrandir's appearance. It was as painful as a dagger slicing through a vulnerable expanse of skin. He'd made his wish, and it had been granted. There was nothing more he could control, no new wish he could utter to keep Legolas safe. The only thing left to do was to let his son go.

When he reopened his eyes, he found Mithrandir watching him carefully, kindness and understanding written in his expression. "Hope is a very powerful emotion, even in the face of seemingly irrepressible darkness," the wizard said. "Do not lose that hope, Thranduil. Ever."

The Elven-King inclined his head respectfully, acknowledging the wisdom of Mithrandir's words.

Producing a scroll from his pocket, the wizard handed it to Thranduil. It bore the seal of Lady Galadriel. "The time is not right for me to reveal myself to the Fellowship," he continued. "They mustn't know that I was here. This missive will alert them to the timeliness of their business in Lothlórien without giving away my presence."

"Why did you deliver it personally rather than sending it by bird?"

"I wanted to be sure they were all right," Mithrandir said. "Of course, I never expected such an enthusiastic welcome."

"No regrets?" The Thranduil asked, amused.

The wizard grinned wryly. "None."

Reaching up, Thranduil cradled one of Mithrandir's cheeks, stroking the skin he found there. "You will always be welcome here, Mithrandir," he offered, his voice lowering to a whisper as he finished, "especially here."

The wizard chuckled, turning his head just enough to place a quick kiss on Thranduil's palm. "I intend to hold you to that, my lord."

Thranduil watched him turn and leave, despair once more threatening to take control of his heart. He fought against it, though, knowing he needed to exude his usual confidence and strength during the day's farewells. It simply wouldn't do to let Legolas continue on his journey with anything less than his father's full support. With one last look around the room, and all the warm memories it brought back, Thranduil set about dressing himself for the day.

Thranduil's appearance just outside the main gates caused a bit of a stir. Guards snapped to attention, many of them shuffling back to their posts after having been caught visiting with the Fellowship. He couldn't really blame them; the company was about to continue on a quest some of the younger Mirkwood warriors could only imagine in their dreams... and one some of the older warriors relived all too easily in their nightmares.

The members of the Fellowship were huddled near the steeds they'd been given for their journey to Lothlórien, many of them tossing nervous glances in his direction, their faces heating with shame. Thranduil almost smiled at that. Instead, he placed his right fist above his heart and bowed, closing his eyes to impart the depth of his silent message. There were no hard feelings... none at all.

Legolas approached then, looking quite wretched. It was an uncomfortable moment for both of them as his son came to a stop, unable, at first, to meet his gaze. "On behalf of the entire Fellowship, I would like to formally apologize for our behavior—"

Thranduil placed his hand on Legolas's shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. "There is no need, ion nín. What happened was nobody's fault but my own."

Legolas looked up at him, startled. "Then... you know why we all acted so inappropriately?"

He sighed heavily. "It is a very long and bizarre story, one for which you do not have time, unfortunately. But, yes, I do know why."

It took a while, but Legolas finally grinned. "Knowing that, I think I can forgive myself for jumping you."

Thranduil's eyebrow rose just a smidgen, his blue eyes sparkling.

"But," Legolas continued, his own eyes filled with mirth, "I'm having a much harder time reconciling the fact that my father owns a set of silks."

"They aren't mine."

Legolas shot him a dubious look.

Thranduil let his statement hang in the air for a bit, teasing, before he finally admitted, "They belonged to your mother. And that," he insisted when Legolas's eyes widened impossibly, "stays between you and me." He nearly laughed outright at the shade of crimson that spread across his son's face all the way to the tips of his ears.

After another awkward pause, Legolas's humor returned. "That's quite a revelation," he replied thoughtfully. "Not the sort I expected on the cusp of such a perilous adventure."

"You were envisioning something far more valuable?"

A devious grin spread across the archer's face. "Oh, I'm quite sure this will be valuable. I foresee great inspiration in the darkest of moments to come: when in despair, Legolas, just remember the silks," he finished with a half-stifled chuckle.

This time Thranduil did laugh, a loud, heartfelt sound that caused all around them to smile in stunned surprise. It had quite literally been millennia since he'd shown that kind of emotion openly, but Mirkwood's King couldn't be bothered to care. He reached out and pulled his son into a tight embrace, one that was very enthusiastically returned. They stood like that for a long time, the light-hearted mood quietly dissipating into something more serious and profound.

When they finally pulled apart, Thranduil rested his forehead against his son's. "Please take care, Legolas."

Legolas smiled, patting Thranduil's arm. "All will be well, Ada."

"How can you have such faith, ion nín?" He glanced towards the Fellowship. "Such faith in a tiny hobbit that holds the destiny of the entire world on his shoulders?"

"Master Baggins's heart and soul are pure. That kind of strength is very powerful, especially against the evil we carry with us that must be destroyed," Legolas insisted. "He will succeed."

A moment of painful dread clenched at Thranduil's heart. "Perhaps if I came with you—"

"No, Ada."

"I know the lay of the land; I've been there."

"Ada, you cannot leave this kingdom so vulnerable. These are dark times — anything could happen. You are the strength and courage of our people; they need you here."

"Legolas..."

His son smiled softly then. "I know you wish to keep me safe, to keep the whole company safe. But this is a path I must walk alone. If it is my destiny to travel to the Halls of Awaiting, then I will gladly do so if it means that my life was forfeit in the name of peace." At Thranduil's tormented expression, Legolas gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "We will see each other again, Ada, either sooner or later. I'm betting on sooner."

Any further conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Radagast, who went to offer his well-wishes to the travelers. Legolas slipped away to join them, then, and Thranduil knew his precious moments with his son had come to an end. He gave the members of the Fellowship a few minutes together before he, too, stepped towards them. Silence descended as he approached, everyone bowing respectfully. With a small smile, Thranduil addressed the group of travelers. He spoke at length of courage and hope, of good and evil. He told them of his own experiences in Mordor, and how many of Mirkwood's warriors had been there so long ago, as well. He spoke of loss and sacrifice and honor, of selfless deeds — such as their own — that minstrels bring to life again and again in countless mead and feasting halls across Middle-earth. And then he wished them a safe and swift journey, finishing with a prayer to Eru Ilúvatar.

The company finally mounted their horses and ponies, and, with Legolas in the lead, began the next leg of their quest. Thranduil rode behind them on a black stallion through the woods of Mirkwood, his thoughts turning back to the mushroom, the wish, and all that had transpired as a result. Part of him was eternally grateful that he'd had the chance to be with Legolas, short as their time together had been. He'd been gifted with one last memory of his son's laughter, and one last embrace. He would cherish them deeply.

Another part of him couldn't help but wonder how the Belain could have been so indifferent to the pleas of a distraught father. Perhaps it entertained them to watch people suffer so. The wish they had granted had felt like more of an afterthought, a small bone tossed to a starving hound. He'd labored so long and so hard over the wish; he'd fussed and mused, vacillating between giddy happiness and utter despair again and again... he'd wept! And all he'd really wanted was just one small sign that his son's fate involved living a long and happy life here on Arda.

Thranduil slowed his steed as they neared the border. As much as he wanted to, it was not his place to follow any farther. The members of the Fellowship continued on quietly, single-file. Just before they disappeared around a bend, Legolas turned in his saddle and gave him a warm smile. The archer touched his fist to his heart and then held out his hand to him in farewell. Thranduil returned the gesture in kind, feeling his heart sink.

He sat there for a long time, still staring at the now empty trail, listening until he could no longer hear the sounds of their retreat. There was some anger and frustration and fear swirling in his heart, but mostly he just felt numb. Perhaps that was for the best.

Just as he was about to turn his horse around to leave, an unfamiliar chirping caught Thranduil's attention. Curious, he scanned the trees, searching for the source of the sound. When he finally beheld that which was singing so sweetly, his eyes widened in shock. There, perched in a low-hanging tree just to his left, was a bird so rare that it was the subject of legends. The beautiful scarlet thrush, so tiny and delicate, was a good omen, or so the tales went. This boded well for the Fellowship — more than well, he believed!

The little red and black bird flitted up higher into the canopy as he watched, continuing with its cheerful song. Then it came back down, perching this time in a tree on the other side of the trail. Thranduil regarded the thrush with awe. He'd never encountered anyone who had seen one before.

More joyful chirping ensued while the bird looked around. And then it did something for which Thranduil was entirely unprepared: its little black eyes locked with his, holding his gaze for many long moments while remaining perfectly still. Thranduil was stunned, amazed — even more so when it began singing a slightly different song to him, this one warm and soothing, with far less excited pitches. As the short song faded away, the thrush broke eye contact to look down the trail and cock its head. Then it looked back at Thranduil... right before speeding away, following the path the Fellowship had taken.

Thranduil trembled, his vision swimming with tears. He tried to rein in the emotion, but it was simply too strong. Feeling a profound sense of solace overcome him, he bowed his head, closing his eyes as a single teardrop slid down his cheek. Because after all the pain and heartache, after all the madness and the grief, after all the curses and the anger he'd aimed at the Belain for their apathy, Thranduil suddenly realized with perfect clarity that they'd heard his pleas all along.

*** finis ***

Translations:

fëa = soul

Belain = Sindarin word for the Valar

Mereth-nuin-Giliath = literally, "Festival Under the Stars"

Hîr nín Legolas? = My Lord Legolas?

Ada/Adar = Dad/Father

Ion nín = my son

Mae govannen, i vrannon nín = Well met, my lord

Arda = the world

Anor = the sun

Ithil = the moon

elleth = female elf

Nenya = The Ring of Water, worn by Galadriel