Author's Note: A long time ago I wrote a fic called An Elf-Lord in Peril. I meant this to be pure humour, just like that, but somehow it got schmoopy at the end. I guess, in the circumstances, it was inevitable.

Thanks are owed to Melethril, who got me to finish this, and to Silivren Tinu for the original plot bunny.

And, yes, I'm working on the update to Murder in the White City. Making sure I have all the loose ends neatly tied up so I can announce who did it. :)

Disclaimer: No, I still don't own the Elves.

Summary: Sequel to An Elf-Lord in Peril. In the Blessed Realm, Elrond waits nervously for a new arrival – who might still be upset about Elrond's handling of the Ring situation.

An Elf-Lord in Peril Again

"Meleth," Celebrían said, smiling at her husband, "be at peace. The children have sworn to return by dusk today and I do not doubt them." She laid a hand on his arm. "You have dwelt too long in Middle-Earth. This is Valinor. The Blessed Realm. There is no evil here, and no cause for fear."

Elrond shook his head, pausing in his passing to glare at the white-haired, white-bearded, white-robed Istar sitting by the fireplace with an empty pipe clenched between his teeth.

"A day earlier than expected! How can you be so calm, Mithrandir?"

"I am not calm at all. I am deeply displeased. There is no pipeweed in Valinor." Mithrandir took his pipe out of his mouth and regarded it with sorrow and regret. "I tried speaking to the Lady Yavanna about it. She laughed at me."

"Pipeweed?" Elrond asked incredulously. "At a time like this, you are worried about pipeweed?"

"At all times I am worried about pipeweed. I think it shows a terrible lack of foresight not to have brought any with us. We could have used it to grow more. A pipeweed farm. I should have liked that."

"Pipeweed. Here you stand about to pass into the keeping of Lord Námo –"

"You are confused, my friend. That hour was during the War of the Ring, which ended several decades ago. The power of the rings is ended. There is nobody now who will kill me."

"Do you not know what day this is?"

"It is the day the children are due to return, as Celebrían already told you." Mithrandir exchanged a concerned glance with Celebrían. "Are you ill, my friend?It is inconceivable that you should be; there is no illness in the Blessed Realm. But I can think of nothing else that would explain your unusual memory lapses."

"You do not know what day this is," Elrond said, understanding dawning in his eyes. "That is why you sit there like a marble statue claiming that nothing can harm you anymore."

"Enlighten us, then, meleth," Celebrían said. "What day is it?"

Elrond turned nervous eyes to the window, through which there was a view of the winding path leading to the house. Old habits died hard, and the Elves who had dwelt in Middle-Earth preferred to be able to see all visitors as they approached.

"You will know soon enough."

The ship drew closer to the white shore that, now that they were near, stretched endlessly across the horizon.

A tall figure stood in the prow, the wind whipping his cloak and his golden hair. He could not keep the smile from spreading across his face as he contemplated the prospect before him.

It had been too long.

"Are you going to sit down at all?" Mithrandir asked. "You have been circling like a hawk for the past two hours. It makes me dizzy."

"Being dizzy exists in the Blessed Realm?" Elrond let out a short, sharp laugh. "Of course it exists, why would it not?" He turned to Celebrían. "Meleth, do you not want to rest? It has been a tiring day."

"Indeed. I am exhausted. After all, I spent a full three hours today sitting and talking, and another hour walking in the garden. You have worn me out, Elrond." She turned to Mithrandir. "Do you know why he is like this?"

"I have no idea at all. Did I not know better, I should say he was frightened, but…"

"Do you know better?"

"I suppose not," Mithrandir said reluctantly. "But frightened of what? The last time I saw Elrond like this was when Elrohir taught –" He stopped short, staring at Elrond in horror. "No."

"Yes," Elrond said grimly. "Now do you see why I have been concerned?"

"What?" Celebrían asked warily.

"It has been a delightful afternoon." Mithrandir got to his feet and picked up his staff. "I know I said I would spend the next few days here but it slipped my mind that I have – I – er – I promised Lord Manwë that I would count all the trees in Imladris –"

"In Middle-earth?" Celebrían demanded, scepticism colouring her tone.

"Yes, of course. Middle-earth. I think I shall go back to Middle-earth for… perhaps an age or two. In fact, I –"

A sharp knocking at the door interrupted the conversation. Mithrandir and Elrond exchanged a quick glance.

"Ignore it," Elrond said.

"They will leave if we pretend we cannot hear," Mithrandir added.

Celebrían cast them both an odd look and went to the door.

"Yes?" she asked the attendant who stood outside.

"There is a strange Elf," the attendant began, but he was interrupted when the strange Elf in question appeared behind him and smiled brightly at her.

"Forgive the intrusion, Celebrían. I did not think you would stand on ceremony."

"Thranduil!" She pulled him inside the room. "You are here! I had no idea you were coming today." She turned to Elrond. "You should have told me!" She paused. "Elrond? Why are you standing in front of Mithrandir?"

"I am not standing in front of Mithrandir, meleth. The coward is hiding behind me."

"Mithrandir is here?" Thranduil asked, blue eyes going dark. "Elrond, how delightful to see you again."

"Now, Thranduil." Elrond moved away, exposing Mithrandir to the other Elf's baleful gaze. "Remember that violence is frowned upon in Valinor. And you and I have already discussed this and we declared a truce –"

"Which is now over." Thranduil fumbled at his waist for the sword he still wore out of habit. "Elrond. Mithrandir."

"Stand and face him, Mithrandir!" Elrond said, positioning himself behind a sturdy table. "You are a Wizard! You have slain a Balrog."

"Ah, yes." Thranduil's eyes darkened further. "The Balrog."

"Brilliantly done, fool!" Mithrandir snapped to Elrond. "That was precisely what was needed. Somebody had to remind Thranduil about the Balrog."

"Celebrían, my love," Elrond pleaded. "Help us."

"At the very least, I think you had best explain, Thranduil," Celebrían said, although she made no move to deprive the golden-haired Elf of his sword. "You have barely been here five minutes. How have Elrond and Mithrandir offended you already?"

"Do you know what they did?"

"I will if you tell me."

"They sent Legolas on that foolish Ring expedition! My son!"

"Ah." Celebrían's brow cleared. "I heard about that. But from what Mithrandir, Legolas and the Dwarf told me, there was no real danger. Mithrandir was with them."

"They told you that?"

"They did."

"And you believed them?" Thranduil pointed an accusing finger at Elrond. "His son promised me they would not let Legolas do anything foolish, such as volunteer for quests –"

"And you are free to take your complaint up with my son."

"Legolas came back with a Stone-Eater for a friend!"

"My mother is fond of the Dwarf," Celebrían said mildly, smiling as Thranduil sought to find a balance between his contempt for foolish Noldo who befriended Dwarves and his desire not to insult Celebrian's mother.

Finally he settled on, "And Mithrandir abandoned them in the depths of Moria."

"It was not intentional!" Mithrandir protested. "We were attacked by a Balrog! I did not want to go through Moria at all, but we had no choice. Caradhras defeated us –"

"He tried to take them over Caradhras. Does this make any sense to you, Celebrían? They could have taken the High Pass! Mithrandir could have asked his eagles to fly them across! Legolas has made the journey across the Mountains of Mist hundreds of times without incident, but the one time Elrond sends him to risk his life protecting a Stone-Eater –"

"The Ring-Bearer, Thranduil! I told you this. Legolas was there to protect the Ring-Bearer."

"– and first he is nearly killed by Caradhras and then nearly killed by Moria. And do you know why the Balrog came?" Thranduil added, his voice a near-growl.

"You took Legolas into Moria?" Celebrían interrupted, frowning at Mithrandir. "Nobody told me of this. I thought you went into Moria alone. And that was foolish enough, but leading children and mortals into it?"

"You do not understand, Celebrían –"

"Quite right. I do not. He is a child, Mithrandir! A child! And you took him through the mines – and woke the Balrog. How did you wake the Balrog? Nobody told me that, either."

"Because the fool of a Took made that damnable noise and –"

"Because you," Thranduil growled, "you, Wise Mithrandir, stood about in Balin's Tomb reading his diary –"

"I had to know what had happened to them!"

"Why? You went in and found them all dead in the mountain with crossbow bolts through their bodies. Was it not obvious what had happened to them? You needed to read an account left by a Naugrim to confirm what should have been perfectly clear to anybody with eyes? And so you loitered in that miserable place reading while Pippin got bored? If you had kept them moving there would have been no idleness and no noises!"

"He has a point," Elrond said.

Mithrandir glared at him. "I thought you were taking my part."

"I am taking the part that will not see me slaughtered ruthlessly before my lady wife. At the moment, that appears to be Thranduil's part. You are quite right, Thranduil. The entire misadventure can be attributed to Mithrandir's foolishness."

"I have not forgotten that you let Legolas go."

"Indeed, meleth," Celebrían added. "Under the circumstances, neither have I. We will speak of this later."

"He made the eyes! You know I have never been able to resist the eyes! And then he asked if I did not trust him. He sounded heartbroken –"

"It was a trick!"

"Of course it was a trick! And you know as well as I do that there is no resisting that trick."

"He acquitted himself with honour," Mithrandir put in. "I am proud of him, Thranduil, and I know you are as well. Does anything else matter?"

"And what about the gulls? Was that part of your plan? I had to watch the Sea-longing eating at my son for years! He would not leave – and I know why he would not," Thranduil added, anger fading as he patted Celebrían's shoulder sympathetically. "But if you had kept him away from those infernal birds –"

"Gimli!"

"What?" Thranduil asked.

"Gimli." Elrond indicated that Thranduil should turn to where a now extremely elderly, white-bearded Dwarf stood in the doorway.

Thranduil did.

"Ah… Gimli son of Glóin. I am pleased to see you well."

Gimli rolled his eyes. "Not quite well… But I have a few years yet. The Blessed Realm is kind to mortals." He stepped into the room, waving off Thranduil's offer of assistance. "I have not yet allowed your son to help me walk from the door to my chair, and I will not have you doing it. Dwarves do not grow decrepit."

"Do not think I am forgetting this because of the Naugrim," Thranduil growled. "And where is my son? I was told he was spending this week with you and I came to look for him, but you diverted my attention."

"I diverted your attention? Celebrían, how can you stand by and see me so maligned?"

"Do not try to distract me again. Where is my son?"

"He will be here soon."

"Soon? Did you not tell him I was coming?"

"I thought it was better as a surprise. The children have gone riding but I told them to return today. You are earlier than expected."

"Riding? Or dangerous riding?"

"There is no danger here!"

"He might fall and break his arm."

"Legolas fall off a horse?" Mithrandir enquired. "Thranduil, I know you want an excuse to maim Elrond –"

"And you!"

"And me," Mithrandir agreed imperturbably. "But even you cannot be suggesting that Legolas will fall off his horse for no reason at all."

"Come," Elrond said, seizing the opportunity for a distraction. "You should wash. And eat something. And then rest. The children will arrive by dusk. You would not want to be too tired to greet them? You should not exert yourself."

Thranduil rolled his eyes, but he followed.

Thranduil was eyeing his sword, Elrond was fretting, and Mithrandir was talking of visiting Middle-earth for an extended trip – possibly lasting several years – when the party of three Elves, one Maia and one Dwarf finally heard the sound of hooves on the cobbles of the courtyard. There was neighing, and laughter, and the sound of merry Elven voices.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door, and then Elladan thrust his head into the room. "Adar? You said you wanted to see – oh!"

Elladan withdrew his head. They heard him say, "They want you, Legolas," and then Thranduil's son was before them.

For a moment Thranduil tried to think rationally, tried to keep in mind the fact that they were not alone, and then it no longer mattered because he was on his feet and Legolas was in his arms and the golden head was resting on his shoulder.

"Legolas?" Thranduil murmured.

Legolas made a small, choked sound that was largely muffled by Thranduil's tunic.

Thranduil considered speaking, but he had never needed words to communicate with his son. He dimly registered the others leaving the room as he guided Legolas to a seat by the window.

"You are here," Legolas said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I told you I would come."

Thranduil sat down as well. Some part of him had not forgotten his grouse with Elrond and Mithrandir. Some part of him would take it up again. But that would come later.

Now, all Thranduil wanted to do was revel in the fact that, for the first time since Legolas had been born on a warm spring morning all those centuries ago, he and his son were free to talk to each other with nothing between them. Not his duties as King nor Legolas' as a warrior, not danger threatening their home and people, not the call of duty or the tragedy of loss.

In this moment, in the Blessed Realm beyond the Sea, Thranduil was a father.

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