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When Legolas returns home after months and months of travelling with the Rangers, he finds Mirkwood rather changed. The trees are the same, and the darkness that creeps through the forest is still ever present, but there is something different about the Halls he has grown up in. Perhaps, he thinks, it is because he has been away, travelling in new lands and experiencing new things, living with the Rangers who are so different to his Elven kin. The peace of the Elven halls is so unlike the peace of the wild, and already he misses the freedom of the vast, empty hills and fields of the Rangers' north.
He stands upon one of the many curved walkways so familiar to him, and gazes around with new eyes, eyes that have now seen the wonders of Arnor, the Blue Mountains, and the Barrowdowns. He has seen Imladris, and the Trollshaws, experienced the atmosphere of a tavern in Bree, and wondered why he had never travelled from Mirkwood before. Of course, he knew why that had not been so – his father. Everything came down to his father.
Thranduil only meant to protect him, to keep him safe, and he knew this. He reminded himself of this whenever he thought ill of him and how he had retreated into his halls, forsaking the forest and all those outside of it. He had seen enough, lost enough, to make him wary, so wary that he did not trust anyone. But he had trusted his son, allowed him to make a decision with his life, even though it had been a great cost to him – and that was something Legolas would not forget.
"Welcome home." He turns at the familiar voice, an instant smile gracing his features as his eyes find the tall, slender Elf striding towards him, clad in all-too familiar black attire. "It has been too long without your presence here, my Prince." One hand pressed to his heart, the Elf gives a bow of his head, hand sweeping away from his chest as he approaches. "It is good to see you return."
"It is good to have returned, Galion." Legolas returns the gesture, and he is honestly glad to be home in that moment. Galion is a welcome sight, his father's loyal Butler being a constant he had missed in his travels with Aragorn and the Rangers. Galion had raised him as much as Thranduil had, especially after his mother had fallen, and though 'Butler' was his official title he was far much more than that to both King and Prince. He was family. In a sudden rush of emotion that Legolas blames entirely on the overwhelming sensation of being home, he steps forward and pulls Galion into an embrace. For a moment Galion isn't sure how to react – his Prince has not hugged him like this for many years, not since he was still so young, barely more than an Elfling – but he, too, is so pleased to see him that it isn't long before he is returning the hug.
"Your father has been worried." He tells him as he steps back respectfully. He knows neither Thranduil nor Legolas think him beneath them, regardless of royal status, but he will always maintain that level of respect for them. His father had been Butler to King Oropher in his time, and he had been raised to love his King and his Prince in the same manner as he. "I tell you this because he will not tell you himself, but he has not been the same since your departure. You may find your father changed, Legolas."
"He may find that I have changed, also." Legolas studies Galion's face for a moment, seeing a change in the Butler, too. He knows little of anything that has happened in Mirkwood since he left, but it is clear now that something, indeed, has changed. "I have discovered much in my travels with the Rangers."
"And I would very much like to hear of your adventures." Galion turns, gesturing for Legolas to follow him, and the Elven prince falls easily into step beside him. "But first you must see your father, else I shall never hear the end of it." A laugh creeps into Galion's voice, and it pleases Legolas to hear it. Some things, it would appear, have not changed at all. He has often thought that Galion deserves far more credit than anyone is like to give him, for it is he who has to deal with the demands of the King, and Legolas knows better than anyone that his father can be trying, and a lot to handle.
"Tonight, then, perhaps? You and I shall sit and talk, I of my adventures with the Rangers, and you of what has gone on here in my absence." They pause within the hallways he had walked so often, and he places a hand upon Galion's shoulder. "But you are right. I must see my father." The Butler gives a bow of his head, and Legolas turns from him, taking the staircase that he knows will lead to his father's chambers. Galion watches the young prince go, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. The King will be in high spirits tonight, he muses, and turns towards the cellars to prepare the wine.
Legolas takes the stairs three at a time, so eager is he to see his father. It surprises him, this eagerness, for he had not expected it. He had expected to feel indifferent, uncertain of how he would be received or how he would feel finally coming home, but as much as he had longed to be free of his father's ever-worsening caution, to shake off the chains that kept him bound to the forest, coming home felt right. He has missed his father, dearly he realises now. Still, it is nerves that slow his footsteps as he approaches his father's chambers, and he has to take several slow, deep breaths before he can raise his hand to knock upon the door.
"Enter." His father's voice hits him hard, the familiar deep, strong tones striking him right to the heart, and he lays his hand flat upon the door and closes his eyes before he dares to turn the handle and step inside. Thranduil's back is to the door, and Legolas cannot see what occupies his attention, and it takes a second for him to find his voice. No doubt his father believes it is Galion knocking at his door, or perhaps one of his guards. He gave no notice of his return, so he cannot know it is his son standing there, awaiting his attention.
"Ada." His voice is not that of a grown prince, but of an Elfling again, and when Thranduil turns sharply it takes all of his willpower to not run to him at once. He had certainly not expected this reaction, but he supposed it was only natural for him to long for the company and comfort of his father.
"Legolas." The look in his father's eyes speaks of relief and surprise, and Legolas can finally see what it was that Thranduil had been focused upon before he had spoken. In slender hands lies the crown of twisted branches not unlike the one that sat upon his head, though this one was decorated with leaves of autumn shades, and pale flowers of ivory. The sight of the crown fills Legolas with an odd warmth and joy, for he remembers the day he presented his father with it all too well. Galion had aided him in its creation, delicately twisting the branches and showing him how to thread the leaves and flowers amongst them, and had stood dutifully beside him as he had held out the finished result to his father.
They stand, facing each other from opposite sides of the room, both unable to move or speak as neither knows what to do or say. They have not embraced in what feels like an age, Thranduil distancing himself from all around him, save for Galion – who, Legolas once admitted to Aragorn one quiet night, he had once been jealous of, for holding his father's attention so easily, for being able to get so close to him. He isn't sure if he should be formal, now, to simply state that he is home and to ask about his wellbeing, or if he should throw all caution to the wind and cross the room to pull his father into a much-needed hug.
When Thranduil's lips twitch into the faintest of smiles, Legolas leans towards the former option – but then the smile grows, grows until it lights up his face, and it has been so long since Legolas has seen a smile touch his father's eyes that he is rushing forward before he knows what he is doing. In an instant, the crown is set carefully aside to free up his hands as Thranduil all but catches Legolas mid-stride, and pulls him close to his chest as though to ensure he really is there, and not just a trick upon his mind. But Legolas is solid, solid and warm and familiar and home.
"I am sorry." He is speaking before he realises his lips are moving, and he knows he is speaking straight from the heart. He is not a king now, protecting his people and putting on an act for them, hiding himself for their safety, knowing he has to be strong for them. He is merely a father, a father who has failed in his duties, and a father who knows how close he has come to pushing away his son forever. "I have been a terrible father to you of late. I have pushed you away when I should have pulled you close. I have failed you."
"You do only what you think you must." He forgave his father the moment he saw him, Legolas realises now. He would forgive him all manner of things, because he knows his father loves him. "But I am home now, Ada." When his father's forehead touches his, Legolas smiles. Familiar hands frame his face, and he feels Thranduil draw in a slow, shaky breath. He closes his eyes, only opening them once again when Thranduil moves, sinking to his knees, and Legolas gazes down at his father and sees, for the first time, how burdened he must be. In a display of rare role-reversal, Legolas bends, and presses a comforting kiss to his father's hair.
"I am home."