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“My lord.” Erestor bowed low. “There is someone from Mirkwood here to speak with you.”
Elrond raised his brow. “Is it the spiders again? I thought they had those well-handled.”
“Nay, my lord. He...” Erestor gestured to where Elrond was sitting at his desk. “May I whisper?”
“Yes, do.”
Erestor leaned in close. “He wants to talk to you of Aragorn.”
“Estel.”
“Yes.”
Elrond’s brow creased. “He is from Mirkwood?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“... Hmm. I did not think the Mirkwood elves cared much for Mannish business. Perhaps this signifies that they wish to involve themselves in greater geopolitics. Send him in.”
Erestor nodded. He turned, leaving a trace scent of lavender in his wake. He slipped out, ushering in a pale-haired young lad with a nervous countenance.
Elrond smiled. “Prince Legolas, mellon. What brings you to Rivendell? Your father’s business?”
Legolas physically deflated. “... I… ah… where is… Aragorn? The Rangers said he would be here. I mean, the Dunedain, the Edain, Arathorn’s folk.”
“Why do you care about Aragorn? He is only a boy still. He will stay here until he comes of age.” Elrond shifted. “By the Valar, what kind of host am I? Here, have a seat.” He gestured to the couch against the side wall of his small office. “Would you like some tea? Or water? I can give you some milk, if you would like--there is a cowherd who owes me a favor and I have milk for days.”
Legolas sat down on the edge of the couch. “... I am not thirsty. Where is Aragorn? Where does he dwell?”
“With his mother, in the city of Rivendell proper. Why do you need him?”
Legolas was silent. His lip twitched. “... My lord told me to find him.”
Elrond raised an eyebrow. “And what business does Mirkwood have with Aragorn?”
“... I… none, Lord Elrond.”
“Then why did your father send you to find him?”
Legolas’s fingers trembled. He stared at his hands, not responding.
“Legolas,” Elrond said. His voice lowered into the gentle one he used with the twins whenever he was trying to wrangle information out of them. “Why have you come here?”
“I… I needed some time away,” Legolas whispered. “My Ada… he and I… we are not getting along.”
Elrond cocked his head. “Why?”
Legolas swallowed. “... Well… several reasons. I… he banished someone close to me, and even though I believe he took her back, I saw his… his cruelty, his hard-heartedness and… I could not see my Ada in those eyes anymore.” He heaved a breath. “I am sorry. I should not air out my dirty laundry in front of you.”
“No, please go on.”
Legolas nodded. “... It just… I… I said I couldn’t go back to Mirkwood. I couldn’t serve the ellon who banished my friend, who was seconds away from leaving the men of Dale and dwarves of Erebor to die. It was barely a fair fight as it was, it would have been a massacre if he had pulled us out.”
“... Why did he banish your friend?”
“She had abandoned her post. She was supposed to be working as a guard, but she ran away to help fight the Orcs.”
Elrond breathed out. “Well, I do not think she would still have a job as a guard if she were my guard, but banishment… that is a bit harsh.”
“I know he isn’t cruel in his heart, so why does he act that way? Why does he cause so much pain?” Tears welled in Legolas’s crystal blue eyes. “I just want the Ada who used to carry me up trees to look at the stars. The Ada who gave me my first glass of wine. The Ada who pulled himself together after Nana… after Nana and raised me alone.”
Elrond moved to sit next to Legolas on the couch. “When people are in pain, they can either harden, which is easy and comfortable, or they can remain soft, which is terribly, terribly painful. Your father hardened, and became obsessive with the safety of his people at the expense of all else. I suspect if you write and tell him of your feelings, he may apologize. As you said, he is not cruel.”
Legolas was silent. “... His behavior… I still need time.”
Elrond scanned his face, the restrained tears on his lower lashes. “... Take my handkerchief, you are weeping.”
“... Thank you.” Long fingers clutched at the hem of the handkerchief, pressing it to his eyes. “... You are too kind.”
Elrond laid a hand on Legolas’s shoulder. “... Would you like to stay awhile? We have plenty of space.”
“I have nothing to give in return--I brought very little coin with me when I left.”
“I did not build Rivendell to milk rent from weary travelers. You will stay for free while you sort your thoughts.”
Elrond heard a sad, stifled little sound from Legolas and held out his arms. “... Come. Dry your tears. I will help you fix this.”
Legolas hesitantly moved against Elrond, pressing his face into Elrond’s velvet-cloaked shoulder. Later, Legolas would remember only the softness of the cloak and the way his body fit against Elrond.
Elrond continued. “I know it hurts. Seeing your father do things you do not approve of is a terrible feeling. But he is your Ada and I can hear the love you have for him in your voice, and that is too valuable to lose.”
Legolas managed a nod.
Silence wrapped them. Elrond rubbed Legolas’s back. Poor little one. Thranduil is no Maglor of Maedhros; he has not committed that level of sin. But oh! do I understand his pain. The disappointment, the sorrow, the guilt.
“... We will speak more of this later,” Elrond murmured, once Legolas stopped shaking. He released the Mirkwood prince, holding him at arm’s length. “Rest now. This couch is yours until your room is ready. I will fetch Erestor and tell him to mobilize a few servants.” He stood, moving a pillow to the couch for Legolas’s use, before sweeping from the room, his burgundy cloak stirring behind him.