Chapter Text
The morning was bright. Birds chirped happily outside, singing songs of the changing months — inside, a lovely crown of golden hair has just awoken from slumber.
Legolas sat slowly, stretching his limbs. His hair, free of braids, hung down his back like a golden waterfall, and his pale blue eyes filled with mischief as he jumped from the softness of his bed.
Boyish excitement appeared in his face, he wasted no time dressing and, his feet bare, ran to the gardens. It was early still, most of the other elves would not yet be at work, enjoying the young hours of the morning.
His feet padded on the soft ground, grass peeking from between his toes as he stood, examining the fine berries of a nearby bush. Elves did not eat these kinds of berries, only the birds that lived in these areas. Still, Legolas believed they would not mind if he stole a few, for the plant's thin branches could hardly support all its ripe goods.
He plucked a few leaves and flowers of various colours until he could no longer hold anything more and ran back to the castle — he was much unaware of the fond faces of the elves he passed on his way to where he thought he might find his father. Legolas was not young, no longer an elfling, that much he knew, yet he could not give up this little habit of his.
His heart beat wildly in his chest, cheeks flushed with excitement — yes, Legolas loved to be the one who decorated his father's crown when the seasons changed. This time, he chose berries, flowers, lively green leaves, for spring has arrived, and that was how the crown was mostly dressed.
Thranduil was not in his working space, and Legolas found his throne to be empty too. This did not damped his mood — in fact, the young prince spread his joy to the guards he asked about his father's whereabouts, his charming smile bringing light to all who surrounded him.
Most elves of the palace recognised his mother's gentle spirit in him, of whom he had little but memories and whispered words he caught others speak — words that were not meant for him.
In his heart, Legolas knew the reason his father never spoke of his late wise. The pain grew stronger each time he reopened the wounds he tried to seal long ago. So Legolas did not ask. He was satisfied knowing that his mother had loved him. More than life, as his father had said one day, before he left his home with little intentions of a return soon to come — but now, after such long years in the eyes of men, but not of elves, here he was again.
Times were peaceful now, the One Ring long gone, his weary soul rested writhin his father's walls.
Legolas burst into his father's room, smile not fading from his face. "Good morning, father. It's the first day of spring, or so the birds have told me."
Thranduil was standing by the great, open window of his chambers, dressed in a long robe of pale blue shades. The silken fabric was adorned with sparkling little jewels stones. He turned his gentle eyes towards his son and spoke quietly. "Is that so, my little Greenleaf?"
Legolas nodded eagerly and stomped over to his father, balancing all his treasures in one hand and taking his father's with his other, leading him to sit down. He stood in front of Thranduil, who was already wearing his crown despite the time of day.
The prince wasted no time getting to work, and within the moment, he was chirping excitedly about all he heard from the creatures of the forest, what he planned to do that day, and so on.
Thranduil let his son fiddle with his crown, humming every one in a while and turning his head whichever way when needed be.
"There," Legoles murmured, "it is finished. You should take a look, father. "
The blond princeling took his father's hand once more and led the slightly taller elf to the mirror, his pale blue eyes watching, searching his father's face for any sign of what he might he feeling.
Thranduil never minded what his son did to his crown, for Legolas had fine tastes, perhaps even than his own, even if the young elf preferred his green tunics of any other robe that was made for him.
"What do you think of it?" Legolas questioned, tucking a fine strand of hair behind his pointed ear.
The elven king smiled, turning to face his son. Thranduil placed a warm palm against Legolas' pale cheek, caressing the skin there as thought the prince was a mere child still, not the brave fighter who helped destroy the ring which could have resulted in their downfall.
"It is wonderful, my darling."