Thranduil felt the fluttering in his chest and his eyes very nearly welling up as he stood at the great Forest gate of the Woodland realm. He in fact had to place a hand on the tree for he feared that at any moment his legs would give way and he'd find himself in a very inelegant pile on the ground. His other hand trembled at his side as he had now given up on all attempts to stop it from doing so. All in all, if anyone had been there to see him- they might have thought that the Elvenking was suffering from some sort of body failure. And they weren't all that far from the truth.

It was curious when you thought about it, how happiness could render even the strongest of beings as helpless as a babe. It had been more than hundreds of long years since Thranduil had ever looked so fragile and weak. He had not shown his vulnerability in the face of leagues of Orcs nor when he had been faced with the very likely outcome of his own death on the battlefield. He had stood tall and proud in the face of forces darker and more terrible than words might describe. And yet now the mere anticipation of his son's return home had him struggling to stand straight.

Of course, this was by the Elvenking's standards and what Thranduil would have considered a violent tremble could have been described as a slight twitch by most others. But just because he was so used to concealing his emotions, did not mean he did not feel them.

And Eru knew that when it came to his children, they were all the Elvenking had left to hold onto and love. There was no greater joy than seeing them happy, and it would be the high of his every day to see them smile or laugh- to see them enjoy life in a way in which he could never do again. He hoped that when they left him that they would not forget their father all too quickly. And in the same way he respected and loved his own father, he hoped that they would someday regard him with the same affection. He hoped they would... He knew he was no exemplary father and if only-

Thranduil stopped himself. Perhaps it was best he did not continue down that trail of thought.

It had been a long year since Thranduil had seen Legolas after the two had travelled down their separate paths after the battle at Ravenhill. Thranduil had lead those who had lived back to their families and reunite with his own daughters whilst Legolas had travelled far into the West to discover what the world had to offer.

And now somewhere in the soft green plains that stretched out for many leagues Legolas made his way home.

A year was a long time to spend away from home and Legolas felt every second of that year as he raced across the plains towards the tall, looming trees which filled the horizon. His heart raced faster, his knees felt weak, he wore a smile so wide it caused his cheeks to ache. Yes, two years was a long time to spend away from home and the young ellon was very pleased to be returning home.

This was not to say, of course, that Legolas had found no enjoyment in his travels, far from it. For the first time in his life Legolas had travelled far from the borders of his home and left the familiar behind him. He had been able to explore lands he had only heard of, meet races far different from his own, and live by his wits and his wits alone. It was freeing, in some ways, to be away from the people who knew him, people who had expectations of him. And Legolas had met Estel too, the young Dunedain ranger who already inspired loyalty and trust in those he travelled with. The two had quickly formed a strong bond of friendship and even though Legolas was far older than Estel, who was young even in the eyes of men, the ellon had felt he had met someone who understood him completely. Legolas had spent nearly a full year of his travels in the young Dunedain’s company.

But not even the strongest bonds of friendship could keep Legolas’ heart from eventually turning its sights towards home and the family and friends he had left behind.

Legolas urged his mount to go faster.

He had missed his family desperately during the final few months of his travels.

He had left them all with barely a word, trusting his father to inform the others of his departure. At the time he had been so angry, so hurt, so isolated that he could not bear the thought of returning home even to bid his friends and family farewell. It was only once his temper had cooled and his mood lightened that he began to regret his haste; his family might not have been the most functional of families since his mother’s death and he may never have had the best of relationships with any of his sisters but they were still his family and he cared for them.

He especially regretted the way he had left things with his father.

But now he was returning home and he would have a chance to rebuild the bridges which he had very nearly burned down.

As he neared the perimeter of his home he saw a figure standing by the edge of the path.

It was his father, waiting for him.

“Father!”