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Chapter Text

When you close your eyes you see universes of your own creation.

Flickers of red and purple galaxies drift behind your eyelids like a long forgotten poem you wrote when you were eight, hiding from the sound of your father’s footsteps. 

The only light you can make out is that of dying stars.   

When I close my eyes I see my mother in a red garden. She holds flowers of her own making and gives them to me freely.

I don’t think she knows the meaning of them. 

Recently the only flowers she’s given me are lilies and chrysanthemum. 

Death and rebirth into a tragedy so wrong it makes you angry, like the way quills snap over broken diaries (the ones I filled with my secrets, the ones you snapped in half and denied ever being true. your truth was never mine. the sun will never understand what it is to be a dying star) and how I use bowless arrows with my hands, ever the forced warrior, bloody and feral.

How fitting for a sinner.

It’s bright. 

And loud.

Loki's breath catches inside his throat.

Panic rushes through him.

He doesn’t know where he is.

He falls to his knees, hacking and coughing. He inhales sharply, trying and failing to gather his wits about him.

His panicked mind thinks quickly, his thoughts run together.

Thornohelpmepleasepleasecan'tbreatheican't-

He claws at his throat.

Dimly, he can hear the clanking of silverware, dimly he hears laughter and glasses clinking together. Subconsciously, he knows he is not... where he... he is no longer... it is hard for him to recall, his mind seems to be blocking it out.

He shakes his head to rid himself of the thought, wondering in a quiet haze amidst his loud, panicked, more prominent train of thought, why he can't hear Thor screaming anymore.

That thought draws him back to his mission and he shoves his dagger forward blindly. 

nothimneverhimhemusthewillstaysafepleasehesallihavehe's...

His dagger meets air.

He pauses.

He opens his eyes.

In front of him sits a large, long wooden table. A feast is laid out upon it. Merry warriors sit and laugh together. No one seems to have noticed him.

Golden sunlight streams though high glass ceilings. It creates patterns on the floor and the table. Gold swirls through the glass in a beautiful design that when the sun shines around them, it makes it look like the sunbeams are dancing.

In the far corner of the hall, a small group dressed in comfortable robes sit and play various instruments. They play a moderate, soothing song. Despite the chaos of the hall, it fits right in. It gives the room a comforting feeling. 

Against a wall painted with bright colors, several children giggle and whisper among themselves. They hold a variety of things, from a small blanket, to a longsword, to several paintbrushes. Ah... Loki almost laughs in surprise and understanding when he puts it together. They are painting over the gold on the wall and replacing it with colorful, bright designs. Whoever is in charge of cleaning must despise them. A small smile graces Loki's lips. He thinks the paint on the wall is quite the improvement to the bland gold that covered everything before.

The sound of a plate shattering and the laughter and teasing that follows a moment later breaks Loki out of his stupor.

He shakes his head and looks around the bright hall, perplexed. How did I… he trails off and frowns. He stares at his reflection on the marble floor, trying -- and this time succeeding -- in recalling the last thing that happened to him. 

Thanos.

He shudders when he remembers the feel of Thanos' fingers around his neck. He hesitates and then slowly reaches up to touch his neck.

A flash of pain makes him wince and drop his hand to his side.

Not a dream then. 

He lets out a slow breath and looks around the room, trying to make sense of where in the nine he is.

He pushes away the most logical explanation, because there's no way he's dead. 

There's no way he left Thor.  

No one in the room pays him any attention. Though by the sound of high laughter and a low, rep-reminding tone, he can tell the children who were painting the walls have been discovered. 

One woman draws his attention. She stands on a long wooden table at the end of the room near the tall, wooden doors. She has pitch black armor on. Her ears curl into a slight tip, visible because of the way her moon colored hair is pulled back. Her arms spread wide and her voice booms as she recounts her tale. "The dragon fell forward! I didn't know what I was going to do. Would I even be able to survive?"

She jumps backwards a few feet to demonstrate what happened. Her foot lands in someone's plate. It’s a prosthetic, he realizes after a moment. Made out of asgardian gold. The owner of the plate laughs and leans back, intent on watching the story. "I ran backwards as far as I could! I hugged the wall, my adrenaline coursed through me. I screamed in the dragons face! I cursed it and..."

Her voice fades out.

Loki tries to concentrate on something else. Anything else.

This is all... it is too surreal. He covers his ears, trying to block out the noise and make sense of everything. Am I really… dead?

He looks slowly around the hall. "This," he murmurs, "has to be some… clever illusion."   

His eyes flit to the front of the hall and he inhales sharply. There is a fourth area. Of course. He must have missed it in his panic filled examination of the room. Of course Valhalla would need someone to rule it. Of course. Of course. He takes a small step forward. How could I be so dumb?

He examines the thrones, and their occupants, as he slowly walks towards them. 

They are slightly taller than the rest of the room. There are three stairs you must climb to reach them. Guards stand on each side of the platform. The thrones look to be solid gold, but they also seem to have mithril and other precious things, such as starlight, floating through them, as if they weren’t solid. They are breathtaking. Each throne tells a tale, it suits the person it was made for exactly. Both thrones have small stories floating through them, like a hologram movie on repeat.  

He moves at a brisk pace -- he is practically running -- to the front of the hall with only one thought on his mind. 

His mother. She is... she sits upon a throne of sunlight and the sunbeams seem to dance around her. The room fills with warmth when she laughs at something someone says. 

He slows to a stop when he reaches the starlit platform. His face holds no expression as he gazes up at the glowing form of someone he thought he would never see again. He was sure he would go to Helheim. Why is he not...? He looks at the ground. It is what he deserves. 

There must have been a mistake.

Why would he be somewhere this warm and good? Somewhere with one of the only people in the nine he loves unconditionally. 

Frigga laughs again at something Odin said. She does not notice him.

He says nothing, afraid he will break whatever spell has placed him here.

She leans closer to her husband, trying to speak through her laughter. 

Loki takes a deep breath to calm his nerves, trying to figure out what to say, when the hall grows quiet. Too quiet.

The only sound is that of someone chewing, and a sharp smack moment later, officially gaining the attention of the two people on the thrones.

Frigga looks away from Odin, a small smile still on her lips, but concern in her eyes, and looks around the hall with a raised eyebrow. "What-"

She stops short when she sees what everybody is looking at. 

Loki. 

She rises to her feet, an unreadable expression on her face.

Loki takes a step back, suddenly not so sure this was a good idea. He should have walked through the doors at the end of the hall when he had a chance.

Frigga slowly walks down the steps and stops a few feet away from Loki. Her eyes search his. A soft gold light weaves around her fingers, a sign of her distress. Magicians of her age, who have been learning their whole lives, rarely lose control of their magic. It is one of the first thigns they learn. Uncontrolled magic is a sign of deep unrest in the heart.

Loki's eyes search her figure, trying to discern what could be going on. He begins to speak, he can not stand the silence. His words tumble out. He is only half aware of what he is saying.

His heart is desperate to spill its troubles to his mother. It has been too long.

Deep down he is frightened he is dreaming again, that he will awake to a dark room, chained to a wall with a figure standing over him and taunting him for thinking that it was real. That anyone would care enough to love him. 

"you are not a child." they would snarl, sharp things in their hands and on their tongues. "the lie of love has long since been known to you. really it is your own fault for loving them. rid your heart of the petty emotions, they do not belong. you do not deserve them. lock them inside of you, or it will kill you. love is the worst emotion there is. you have experienced enough of it by now to know that is true."  

 "Mother, I'm sorry." His shaking hand covers his mouth and he takes a deep breath, trying to stop his tears.

"tears?" the voice would screech. "why do you weep? why are you weak? WHY ARE YOU WEAK LAUFEY'S SON? TAKE THE scepter you will TAKE-"

"It's all my fault." His nails bite into his palms.

He cannot tell which one is real.

The one he remembered -- is happening -- or the one with his mother. He needs the voices to stop he cannot concentrate he cannot think, if he doesn't think quick enough he will die, he doesn't want to die yet. Not when that would mean Thor would be alone.

"you're the one that killed them." the voice would croon, oblivious to his pleas and heartbroken sobs. "this is your punishment. and you deserve it don't you?'

It took six days.

"Yes." He whispered, "It is my punishment, because I failed to save them. I can never save them."

the voice laughed. it was pleased. loki could not bring himself to care.

"I am so, so sorry. I failed you. I couldn't save them. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Amma, I'm so, so sorry."

Frigga slowly reaches a hand out and cups Loki's cheek. "My son...?" She says slowly.

Loki holds his mother's hand and nods his head, not able to talk through the knot in his throat. 

Frigga shakes her head. "You're... you're not supposed to be here." She glances back at Odin, who seems horrified. "You-you're barely of age! You can't be here yet! You have barely lived." 

Tears stream unchecked down Frigga's cheeks. "Oh, my sweet boy."

Odin comes to stand beside Frigga. He rests his hand on Loki's shoulder. "My son, who did this to you?"

Loki inhales sharply, stunned. This was not the reaction he expected. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. 

Frigga rubs his cheek with her thumb soothingly. "It's alright, Loki. Take your time."

Loki's jaw quivers. He clenches his teeth and grounds out the horrid word as quickly as he can, trying not to wince at the memories that came with it. "Thanos."

Odin eyes scan Loki carefully, he believes his son, but it was well known throughout Asgard that Bor killed Thanos. "I thought my father killed him."

Frigga looks at Odin, her hand still holding onto her son like he's her lifeline. "You should know better than anyone that titans are not so easily killed."

Loki tries desperately to wipe his tears away. Now is not a time to be crying! I am a prince, for norns sake. 

Frigga pulls Loki into a hug, seeing his distress. "My sweet baby boy..."

She looks at Odin, still hugging Loki. "Odin, you know better than I what this means."

Odin's jaw clenches. "That would mean we would lose him."

Frigga looks at Odin imploringly. "I know the consequences, husband. But you know as well as I that he can not handle this." She laughs hysterically, hugging Loki tighter. "Grown warriors can not handle this! Our boy is strong, but not this strong. Staying here will only remind him of what he has lost, and sending him back to Thor to participate in another war will do nothing more than injure him further."

Odin sighs, looking weary. "My wife... I can not lose another child."

Frigga looks at him incredulously. "You think this is easy for me? That I do not feel your pain nor bear my own?" She shakes her head, trying to find something to say that would make her oaf of a husband understand. "Children don't get a say in whether or not they are born, we make that choice. Our job is to love and care for them and make them glad that they were born. They should love the world they live in, not hate it! That means we do what's best for them." She sighs, looking at her son's weary form. "Even if it kills us to do so."

Odin presses a kiss to Frigga's head. "Very well, my wife. I will go ready the spell."

He walks out of the great hall, looking weary.

Frigga pulls Loki out of the hug so she can look him in the eyes. "Loki, I know your father and I haven't done the best we could at raising you, and I apologize for that. Just know that we love you. No matter what happens."

Loki yawns, trying to stay awake. "Amma?" He asks softly, not sure what's going on. 

"You will still have flashes of memory, my son. And when you are ready, you will remember everything." She presses a kiss to his temple. Golden light dances around Loki's head. "This will help heal you." She looks at himself sadly as her seidr slowly disappears. Her spell is now ready to activate whenever she wishes. "I'm sorry."

She grabs his hand and leads him out of the room, looking back every few minutes as if to assure herself that he was there. Loki plods along after her tiredly. He wants to sleep and not wake up for a long while.   

She leads him into a strange room with markings all along the wall.

The room looks old. A strange, ancient power radiates through it. One that makes Loki shiver. The magic in it is different than what he is used to. It feels strange. Otherworldly even.  

Loki squints at the markings, trying to make sense of them. But even with all-speak, he can't understand a thing. 

"What's going on?" He asks, looking around the room again.

Frigga and Odin stand before Loki. 

Odin sighs, leaning wearily against his staff. "My son, I am doing the only thing I can think of in the nine realms to help you."

Frigga places her hand on top of Odin's. "There is only one race of people that will treasure you and show you love like you deserve. We are sending you there, in hopes that you can heal and have the childhood you always deserved. We love you, Loki."

Loki shakes his head numbly, trying to make sense of what's going on. "I don't understand."

"We are sending you to a place not even the mad titan knows about. You will be safe there, and while the threat is being vanquished, you can rest and heal. You will be treasured and loved there, Loki. Have no fear."

"Amma, I don't... I want to stay with you!"

Frigga runs her hands soothingly through Loki's hair. "I know, I know. And you will see me again. But for now, me and your father need to do what's best for you."

"I'm not a-"

"Loki," Odin cuts in, having seen this reaction enough times to know what is coming next, "as you know—just like any spell—there are a few side effects. Especially with sending you to a realm like Arda. First, you will become of their race, both so you can survive the journey there without harm, and because they are the race closest to our," he seems to stumble over his words, "your own."

Frigga nods. "And another thing, they age a bit differently, so you could end up being a child. Most likely you will remain the age you are now, but I am not sure."

Loki makes a small sound sounding suspiciously like a squeak.  

Odin continues like he didn't hear that, "Another side effect is that you might not remember much. Or anything, really."

Frigga elbows Odin and he sighs, "Alright, that's just a spell your mother and I added to help you heal from your trauma."

Loki crosses his arms, looking cross. "I do not have a trauma, and messing with someone's memories is a crime subject to the death penalty, father."

Odin whispers something to Frigga and she sighs. "Loki, please just listen."

"It's a law you instituted, father." He points out.

Odin gracefully ignores him. "If you do change into a child," at Loki's indignant noise Odin amends his statement, "I'm not saying you will, it is just a possibility. But if you do, you will not be able to handle everything that has happened to you. You'll go mad. As such, we took a necessary precaution and put this spell in place."

Loki can't do much more than roll his eyes, astounded at everything that's happening. "I will be able to come back, right?"

Frigga nods firmly. "Oh, of course. Whenever the titan has been killed, we will send a messenger. If you wish to come back, we will welcome you with open arms."

Loki nods, slightly satisfied. "Alright then. I agree." He raises his index finger. "But only as long as you contact me as soon as the threat is eradicated."

"It's a promise, my boy."

Loki nods.

For some reason, he believed him.

Chapter Text

Loki groans and presses his hand to his head. I've got to stop waking up like this.

He squints. Actually, before I start lecturing myself... where am I? He can't see well, the sun seems to be right in front of him. He shields his eyes. The sound of grasshoppers and birdsong surrounds him. He can smell the sweet sent of nearby flowers. Something small scurries through the underbrush. Underbrush... that must mean a forest? 

He tries to turn around so he's facing away from the light, but something seems to entrap him. It feels leathery. He can smell something coppery on it. He doesn't like that smell.

He wriggles his way out of the leather and turns away from the sun. He blinks as his eyes adjust to the light.

"Why am I naked?" He mutters to himself, utterly confused. He tries to remember, but his eyes start to hurt. He places his hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun like a hat, and looks down at what entrapped him. 

"Armor...?" He stares blankly at it for a moment. "Why is it so big? No." His body stiffens as the right question comes to the surface of his mind. "Why am I so small? I remember," his vision is blurry, "I remember... it, no I..." He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again to try to get rid of his blurry vision. It doesn't work. "Why aren't I big anymore?" He asks instead, not really sure who the question is for. 

He stares at the armor. No one answers. He winces at the pain in his eyes and head. He presses his hands to his head, trying to relieve the ache. "Why can't I remember?" 

He scowls, mad at something, but not sure what. 

A loud rumbling sound interrupts his train of thought. His face turns red and he stares at his stomach. His belly rumbles again. He looks around again, embarrassed, just to make sure no one is there. He does not want anyone to see or... hear this. He will never live it down. He thinks of a name but a static like sound fills his ears instead.

t̷̛͖͕͕̉̊ḩ̷̩͔̝͂͝ơ̵̒̆͐͌́͠ŗ̸̧͚̣͝ will tell everyone and i will get in trouble with f̸̧̙̻͚͖͗͂̃̈̊̍a̴̩̼̭͖̗͚̎t̴̍͌̂͑͋̄h̴̢̺̰͓̀̏̆́͝e̴̺̯̳̔̌͊̋̍ŗ̵̝̦̺̾͗̓̂̊͜ and he will-

His head hurts.

He lets out a shaky breath. He doesn't like this. Something is wrong. He knows it, he can feel it somehow, in his-his... he cannot recall the name but it is very important to him. 

No, he thinks to himself, there are more important things at the moment. I am alone, I don't know where I am, and I am hungry. 

He tries to remember what he was taught to do if he ever found himself in a situation like this. 

Shelter, water and then food.

A glimmer from something silver catches his eye. It's a small signet on the armor. He hesitates and then shrugs. If worst comes to worst, he can always curl up into the armor. It'll be cramped, but at least it'll keep him dry. 

Next is... water.

He walks into the forest, in a random direction. A moment later, he thinks better of it.

He walks back to his newly dubbed camp sight and picks up several leaves. 

He walks back into the forest, using them to mark his path.

The wind blows them away. He sighs. 

"Stop that!" He puts one hand on his hip and with the other, he emphatically points at the empty air. 

The wind blows harder. It tousles his hair. He scowls and straightens it.  

"Rude-o." He sighs and smoothes his hair back. 

He looks around for something to drop behind him as he walks so he'll be able to find the leather again, but finds nothing. He groans. The only thing around is trees, trees, and more trees. Oh, and the bushes and grass that come a little above his waist. He pauses as a thought comes to mind. He walks over to the nearest bush and snaps a thin branch that sticks out. It hangs by a thread and looks like a sideways L shape. 

He grins. He walks into the forest, listening carefully for the sound of a river. Or an enemy. As he walks, he periodically breaks branches that are in his way, leaving a trail for him to follow back whenever he finds a water source.  

After walking for about five minutes, Loki can hear the sound of a waterfall. He lets out a breath of relief and jogs towards it.

When he reaches it, he leans down and sticks his hands in. He inhales sharply at the cold. He cups some water in his hands and brings it up to his mouth, drinking rapidly. It feels as if it has been a lifetime since he last drank.

Once the water in his hands is gone, he reaches back down into the water to get another hand full.

He stops short when he sees himself in the reflection of the water. He drops the water cupped in his hands in shock, disrupting his reflection. He stares at the rippling water in shock for a moment. He comes back to his senses a moment later and shakes his head.

He punches the ground beside him desperately. "No no no no, come back!"

He waits anxiously for the ripples of the water to fade out and when it does, he stares at his reflection, searching his features for something — anything — that's wrong. He clenches his jaw when he can't find any.

"No, this is wrong." He mutters to himself. His fingers trail down his cheek. Why does everything feel wrong?

Why is it that when he sees his reflection in the water, he expects a different face?

And why does his body feel so unfamiliar? Like it belongs to another?

And most important of all, why can't he remember anything? 

He sits in silence, thinking everything over. He sighs when he draws no conclusions and leans back down to get himself more water. When his stomach is full, he sits back and stares at his reflection for a while, examining every inch of this unfamiliar face. The purple around his throat draws his eyes and he reaches up his hand to gently brush his neck. He shivers, uncomfortable with his hand so close to his neck. 

He drops it and wonders who could have caused it. He pauses as a thought appears in his mind and looks at his hand before holding it a way aways from his throat. He measures it in the reflection and then lets out a sigh of relief. Not me then. He frowns in confusion, wondering why he even considered the idea that he did it. 

He shrugs, deciding not to dwell on it. He shivers and stands up. He looks down, the cold making him more aware of his nakedness. I need clothes.

He walks back to where he first woke up, thankful that he marked the way. He follows the trail of half broken branches. He sighs in relief when he spots the weird green and black leather. He runs up to it and crosses his arms, scowling at the sudden realization. 

"There's no way I'm going to be able to make that smaller."

He kneels down and closely examines the leather for any hint on how to possibly make it his size. Because while shelter is important, warmth is more important, and he needs proper clothes to be warm. He can't exactly start a fire now, can he? He brushes his hands across the leather, enjoying the sensation. It feels oddly familiar to him. He stops when his fingers brush across a small hole.

Unbidden, a memory makes itself known to him. 

"Thor!" A little boy shouts, running as fast as he can to a figure with long blond hair.

Belatedly, he realizes that the little boy must be him. He can see it now, the similarities. Same hair, same eyes and the same face shape.

The boy with the blond hair turns around, scowling. "What do you want, brother?"

"Can I come with you? Please, Thor! Please?"

Thor sighs and looks around. "Fine." He says, crossing his arms. "But it will be dangerous."

"But you're strong, brother! I know you'll protect me." Small him smiles up at his brother. 

Thor grins and claps little him on the back. "Very well then. You can ride with me, brother."

The memory changes and before he knows it, a large dragon stalks towards him and Thor, growling loudly. Little him whimpers in fear and clings tighter to his brother. Thor shoves small him behind him and holds out a large hammer towards the monster.

"Stay away, foul beast!"

The dragon roars and fire wells up in its belly. Thor dives to the side, knowing what's to come.   

But he had forgotten about small him, leaving him in the path of the dragon. Small him screams at the flood of fire coming towards him and he can still feel the heat, the utter pain that came afterwards.

Suddenly, he feels himself pulled into another memory.

His eyes are too blurry with tears and his mind is too filled with panic to make anything out. But the voice—oh the voice —it fills him with pure, utter terror. 

And he can still feel the fire licking his skin as the mean voice stands above him and he screams in terror-

Loki is wrenched out of his memory by his scream, loud and guttural and filled with terror. He backs up from the leather and turns and runs in the opposite direction. His eyes fill with tears and his voice becomes hoarse from his screaming. 

He pants as he runs, he doesn't want to remember anything, not if his memories are like that. He's so caught up with running, and the memory of the fire, he doesn't realize when he passes the safety of the forest. He keeps running, tears rolling down his cheeks as he gasps for breath. 

He dully registers the sound of voices but it doesn't dawn on him until he crashes through the underbrush and sees the large blurry figures sitting around a campfire.

The drone of voices cease and the men look towards him.

Loki's eyes widen and he backs up.  

One of the men stand up, holding out his hand in a stop gesture. "Child, wait!"

Loki pauses his retreat and rubs the tears out of his eyes, looking at the man curiously. Now that his eyes are clear, he can see that there are more than just a few people that are sitting around the campfire. His eyes shift back to the man that spoke to him first, a man only about a head taller than him with long white hair and a white beard. 

The man seems relieved that he stopped. "My names Balin, and me an the company mean you no harm."

Balin takes a step forward and Loki takes a step back, still wary of the man.

Balin's eyebrows draw together, like he's puzzled by something, but he stops where he is. "Could you tell me what a child your age is doing out here alone?" Balin looks at Loki with a concerned expression. "And naked not to mention!"

Loki looks down on himself, suddenly embarrassed. His cheeks grow red and he opens his mouth to say something but all that comes out is a croak.

Another man stands up, this man looks kinder. He has as air about him that makes him feel at home. He smiles warmly. "My name's Bilbo. Are you lost, child?"

Loki nods his head hesitantly, though he's not sure why. Something in him tells him that he shouldn't trust anyone, but another part of him says that these men have been nothing but kind. 

A gruff looking man speaks up from beside the campfire. "Why don't you come sit down. It'll be night soon, and you must be hungry." He gestures towards the large pot with simmering stew in it. 

The smell drifts towards him and his stomach growls. Loki narrows his eyes at the company but slowly walks towards them, sitting down close enough to be able to feel the warmth of the fire, but far enough away to run if he needs too. 

Balin looks at Loki. "What's your name, child?"

Loki frowns. "I…" he looks down shamefully. "I'm not sure that I have one." He murmurs sadly. 

The kind man leans forward—Bilbo, his name is Bilbo. "Well, what did your family call you?"

Loki thinks hard, looking down. "I… I don't 'member much…" he looks up, not wanting to disappoint the man. "But I do remember someone called me brother."

The company exchanges glances and the gruff man from before speaks up, "And where is… the one that called you brother?"

Loki bites his lip, pulling the grass beneath him to occupy his hands. "I don't know." 

Someone else speaks up, a scary looking man that has something drawn into his skin. "Did he leave you here?"

Loki tilts his head, unsure. Deep down in his heart, he knows Thor would never leave him, but all he really knows of Thor is that he didn't save him from the fire like he said he would. "He… he didn't mean too, he just wanted to get away from the bad man... thing."

Now the company looks concerned. "What bad man?"

Loki pulls more grass. "Well, I'm not so sure he even was a man. He was really big," he holds out his arms as far as he can to show how big the man was, "and he had weird skin. It wasn't… right. And he had fire with him." Loki grimaces as he remembers something. "He called me names."

The company exchanges glances and the gruff man speaks up again, "What did he call you?"

Loki looks at his hand, trying to count how many things the man had called him. "First he called me a trickster, then he called me a liar and a betrayer." 

Balin inhales sharply. "Child, did the man hurt you?"

"I..." Loki hesitates, "think?"

Bilbo raises an eyebrow and echoes him, "Think so?"

Loki pulls more grass. "I can't 'member."

The company's horror shows on their faces. If he can't remember what happened, then it must have been something indeed. Children tend to forget when something horrible happens. The company talks back and forth for a moment in hushed whispers.

Balin stands up once the whispering quiets down and slowly approaches Loki so as not to startle him. "Child, would you be willing to come with us? There's a town of men not far from here where you'll be safe. I'm sure we can find someone who knows you there."

Loki looks at Balin with an unreadable expression. "Town of men?" He asks. "You speak as though you aren't one."

Balin laughs loudly, attracting the curious glances of the company. "No child, I am a dwarf."   

Loki tilts his head. "What's the difference?"

Balin smiles. "Well for starters, we are shorter. And better looking."

Loki looks at Balin's height, a whole head over his own. "You mean there's people here taller than you?"

Balin laughs again, holding his hand over his stomach. "Yes, child. There are many people taller than dwarfs."

Loki's eyes glitter with wonder. "Wow…" he leans closer towards Balin. "Who's the tallest in there?" 

Balin points towards a gruff, regal looking man that's scowling at the campfire. "That would be Thorin. He's our leader."

Loki watches Thorin carefully. "Like a king?"

Balin looks surprised for a moment and then nods. "Yes, exactly like a king. His father was Thráin the second, king before him."

Loki's eyes glaze over when a memory crosses his mind. 

"Odin All-father, king. With the power bestowed upon me by my father before me, I proclaim you, Thor Odinson..."

Bestowing on Thor the power to be king. "Thor, king of…" 

Loki bites his lip, unsure of whether or not to tell Balin what he had remembered. He was hesitant to trust the man — no, dwarf.

Somehow he knew bad things could come about if you told someone you were related to a king. 

He takes a deep breath, he doesn't like secrets and he wants to tell Balin what he remembered so he can get back to Thor. "I think…"

Balin watches Loki curiously. "You think… what?" He asks softly, after a minute or two.

Loki's words come out in a rush before he can stop them, "I think Thor was a king."

Balin inhales sharply, searching Loki's face for any sign of a lie. When he finds none, he leans closer. "Are you absolutely sure, child?"

Loki nods. "I remembered something when you were talking about Thrain." Loki' s eyebrows draw together, unsure of how to address Odin. "My… father? He was bestowing upon Thor the power to become king. But then..." Loki's lips purse and he plucks more grass. "Then something attacked and stopped the bestowing." 

"A coronation ceremony." Balin mutters to himself. "And…" Balin looks at Loki carefully and grips his shoulders. "This is very important, child. You must answer truthfully and to the best of your ability."

Loki nods, slightly scared by the change in Balin.

"The things that attacked, did they have grey skin? They would be very large and speak in a harsh language."

Loki's eyes glaze over.

"I… Prince of…"

Daggers and blue boxes. Boxes that brought pain. 
Thor in chains-
Screaming 

Loki claws at his neck, coughing and choking. His eyes are hazy. 

Balin tries to hold his arms back. His eyes fill with panic. "Thorin! Kili! The child! He..."

Loki gasps. "Thor! Thor, please." He whines, tears tracking down his cheeks.

Thorin rushes over and lays Loki down on his back. "Give him space!" He shouts to the gathered company. 

Bilbo watches Loki from a distance, dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. "What's wrong with him?" He asks, his voice full of concern.

Thorin whispers soothing words to Loki, stroking his cheek. "It's a mind sickness." He mutters, still running his hand through Loki's hair. "I've seen it in soldiers, but never children."

Balin clenches his hand into a fist. "I don't understand, one moment we were talking, the next…"

Thorin's head shoots up and he trains his eyes on Balin's. "Balin, what was the last thing you said to him?"

"I asked him about who attacked his brother. I described the orcs, to see if he recognized who they were."

Loki shivers, whimpering something to some unseen enemy of his mind. 

Thorin growls. "Well you have your answer." He punches the earth beside him angrily. "Orcs." He spits the name out as though it were poison. 

Kill and Fili stand side by side and Fili grips his sword. "I can't believe they'd do that to a child…"

Loki sits straight up, gasping for breath. He looks around wildly and slumps in relief when he doesn't see a blue box or any creatures with grey skin. 

Thorin gently rubs Loki's arm. "Are you alright now, child?"

Loki nods slowly, shivering. 

Bilbo digs through his pack and pulls out one of his extra shirts. He walks over to Loki and hands it to him, "It isn't much, but it will do for now."

Loki looks faintly surprised but he grabs the shirt and pulls it over his head. It goes down to his knees. "Thank you."

Bilbo smiles. "You're very welcome."

Thorin watches Loki carefully. "Why don't you get some rest, child."

Loki rapidly shakes his head and wraps his arms around himself.

"I understand you don't want to," Balin begins, "so why don't we take this one step at a time and get some food in you before we think about sleep."

Thorin nods. "Yes… that is a… wise idea."

Oin stirs the stew and tastes it. He smiles in satisfaction and grabs a bowl from his pack, scooping a bit of stew into it. He hands the bowl to Bilbo and begins scooping the next bowl. 

Bilbo carefully carries the bowl over to Loki and holds it out to him. "Here you are, little one."

Loki huffs, keeping his arms crossed. "'M not little…"

As one, the company nods. "Of course not."

"But can I please have some soup?"

"It's stew," Odin calls out from beside the fire, "but go ahead and eat your fill."

Loki nods and begins eating the stew. He wiggles in excitement while he eats. He enjoys eating. Somewhere, deep down, he knows it's been the first time he's eaten in a while, so he takes his time and savors each bite.

He listens carefully to the conversation, something about Mirkwood and staying on the path.

Loki yawns and sets his bowl down. He rubs his eyes, trying and failing to rub the sleep out of them. He yawns again and curls up in the grass.

After all, there's nothing wrong with taking a short nap, right? 

Chapter Text

When Loki awakes, it's to the birds chirping and the smell of bacon. He sits up and slowly comes to the realization that someone put a blanket over him while he was sleeping. That was nice of them. 

He stands up, drawing the attention of Oin, who waves at him.

Loki waves back hesitantly and then reaches down and carefully folds the blanket. He walks towards the woods but Oin calls out to him, his voice sounding slightly panicked. 

"Child, where are you going?"

Loki points towards the woods. "I have to pee."

Oin looks vaguely unsettled but he rolls with it and nods. "Go ahead then. Just be careful, there's dangerous things in them elf woods."

Loki tilts his head curiously at the strange sound, but he eventually decides he'll ask about elves later. He walks into the woods and does his business, picking a flower along the way. He walks out of the woods and smiles at the sight of the company all awake. He looks down at the small golden flower in his hands and then at Thorin. He did help me last night. It's only right to give him something in return.

He slowly walks towards Thorin, his head ducked down shyly and his toes digging into the ground. "Thank you for your help." He says softly, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. He holds out the flower towards Thorin. "For you."

Thorin looks at the flower in surprise and then shifts his gaze back to Loki. He gently takes the flower out of Loki's hand. "Thank you, child. I'll treasure it as if it were gold."

Loki tilts his head, "But it's not gold. Shouldn't you treasure it as it is?"

Thorin looks slightly shocked and his mouth opens and closes a few times, as if he's not sure what to say.

Loki takes a step backwards. "I… I only meant that some things are as precious as gold but that doesn't mean you can treat them like gold." Loki shakes his head, frustrated. I can't get the right words to come out! He clenches his fists, unsure how to explain the words that so desperately sit atop his tongue, waiting to be spilled. 

Thorin rests his hand on Loki's shoulder. "You are… correct." He nods his head firmly, his stance regal and befitting a king. "I shall treasure it as it is, and not as I want it to be."

Loki smiles and walks back towards the woods, determined to pick more flowers to give to Bilbo, Balin and Oin, but Thorin stops him.

"Child, that is not a wise idea. There is a danger in the wood, and it is not just the things that crawl in it."

Loki tilts his head. "The trees are… evil?"

Thorin nods. "Aye." He scowls. "Unfortunately, we have to travel through them because of," he pauses, coming to the realization that it would not be a good idea to mention the orcs. Not after the reaction the child had to them last night. 

Loki raises his eyebrow. "Because of what?" 

Fili clears his throat, effectively cutting into the conversation. "Because of the bad men that follow us."

Loki's eyes widen. "Bad men are following you?"

Kili nods. "Yes, unfortunately."

"But they won't follow us into the woods, right?"

Fili and Kili shake their heads as one. "Of course they won't. They're not that stupid."

Loki raises an eyebrow, trying to grasp what Fili and Kili said. "So we're stupid?"

Kili shakes his head, "What? No! Of course not."

Loki crosses his arms. "But you just said that the bad men would be stupid to follow us into the woods. So going into the woods is stupid. So you're stupid!"

Oin laughs from beside the fire. "He's got you there, Kili."

Loki nods firmly. "Yeah, I do. Kili."

Kili raises his hands. "Whoa now! What's with all the sudden hostility?"

Loki laughs, a joyful, beautiful sound. 

The company smiles as they watch him, glad for his happiness. 

Oin clears his throat. "The food is ready, if you wish to eat." 

Loki grins and skips merrily towards the fire. He looks around for a bowl or a plate and smiles when he spots one. He holds out his plate towards Oin. "Could I please have some food?"

Oin grins and scoops out some bacon and grits. "That you may, little one."

"Thank you!" Loki finds a nice spot in the grass and sits down. While he eats, he watches the others get their food.

By the time he's done eating, the others have already packed up. Loki rubs his eyes tiredly. With warm food in his belly, and the peaceful sounds of birds chirping and merry voices, he's practically asleep already. 

Thorin sighs when he realizes Loki is practically asleep. He walks over to Loki and picks him up. Loki jumps, startled, and then begins to slowly fall back asleep.

When Loki awakes, it's to the sound of confusion and yelling. He looks around with lidded eyes, enjoying his nice vantage spot from the back of Thorin. (Yes, vantage point. That's all it was. Not comfortable at all. Nope) 

Thorin's voice vibrates as he talks to Kili, "No, Kili! We send our lightest first."

As one, the company turns to Bilbo. Loki winces at the look of trepidation and horror on Bilbo's face and waves at him in hopes to lighten his spirits. For some reason, whenever he waved at someone in the company or smiled at them, they always seemed to brighten up. Bilbo smiles at Loki and slowly walks towards the vines going across the river, sighing as he went.

Loki gives Bilbo a thumbs up. "Good luck!"

The company jumps, surprised at the sudden sound.

Thorin grips Loki tighter. "Good day."

Loki shakes his head and looks around at the dark forest. "No, not good day. The forest is sick."

"Or evil." Fili mutters.

Loki shakes his head again. "No. Just sick."

Fili raises his eyebrow. "Whatever you say."

Thorin, seeing that Bilbo made it to the other side while they had been talking, follows him. Keeping a tight grip on Loki. Loki stares down at the river, sniffing the air.

Thorin jumps down on the ground, finally leaving the vines. 

Loki taps his shoulder. "Thorin." He whispers, "The air is sweet. It's trying to make us sleepy."

Thorin raises an eyebrow. "A forest can do that? Are you sure?"

Bilbo stumbles to his feet and looks around dazedly. "Something isn't right…" he mumbles.

The rest of the group shoves their way onto the staircase and Thorin steps away. He sets Loki down on the ground and continues walking, maybe he didn't hear Bilbo's warning, or maybe he was just ignoring it.

Loki plods along after the group, picking flowers here and there. 

"We're going around in circles!" Bilbo yells, frustrated. 

Immediately, the group begins arguing. Loki covers his ears and backs away, accidentally bumping into a large spider web. Loki's eyes grow large and he backs away from the large web, his eyes wide with horror. He looks around for somebody, anybody that wasn't yelling and arguing, but he finds none. 

He urgently taps Thorin's shoulder, but Thorin pushes him away. "Not now, child." He turns to the company."Enough!" He yells, "We're being watched!"   

Thorin turns around. "Child-" he stops when he sees no one is there. His eyes grow wide with panic. "Child!" He turns towards the company. "Look for the child! I can't find him!"

The company's panicked voices fill the forest.

Soon, their voices fill with more panic, but not for the same reason. 

"Spiders!" Oin yells, drawing his sword. 

As one, the rest of the company draw their weapons.  The fight is over more quickly than it started, leaving the dwarves weaponless, unconscious and covered from head to toe in webbing.

Bilbo wakes up first. 

He freezes in fear when a spider walks over him, and slowly, working up his courage, he stabs the spider. The spider falls dead, tumbling through the webbing and alerting the other spiders to Bilbo's presence. Bilbo puts on the ring and walks over to Nori, who is struggling against the webbing and kicking away the spiders. 

He throws a branch at the webbing in the distance, and when the spiders scuttle towards it he quickly cuts Nori down. He makes his way through the webbing, quickly cutting down the rest of his friends. 

The dwarves grab their weapons once they're all on the ground and stand back to back, readying themselves for an attack. 

Thorin looks around. "Where's Bilbo?"

"An where's the child?" Oin asks, his voice gruff.

"I'm up here!" Bilbo shouts down to the company. 

The company looks up just as Bilbo gets attacked by a spider. Bilbo screams and stabs the spider.  They both tumble off the edge of the tree, falling through webs and past other spiders. The company gasps in horror, but they have barely any time to think about Bilbo because in an instant, spiders surround them.

Loki crawls out from under a nearby fallen tree with a dagger he got from who knows where. With a shriek, he charges at a nearby spider. One constant thought runs through his mind. They have to live. My friends cannot die. Not again. He stabs the spider. Never again. The spider makes an unearthly sound and falls to the ground.

The company stares at Loki in shock. Their mouths open and close in an effort to say something. 

Loki bites his lip. "What?"

Thorin shakes his head and pulls Loki towards him. "Just surprised." 

A spider rushes at them and Thorin slices off its head, quickly turning back around to face Loki. "You." He pauses as another spider rushes at them and he stabs it through the head, "Go hide."

Loki shakes his head. "No! I want to help!" As if to prove he can help, he holds up his dagger.

Thorin growls and jumps over a charging spider, pinning its head to the ground with his sword as it goes down. "You can't do that if you're dead!"

Loki bites his lip, debating within himself. He sighs. "Fine." 

"Now go. Hurry, while it's safe."

Loki angrily plods along, keeping an eye out for an easy tree to climb or a nook within a tree. He pauses and puts his hand on his hip. What am I doing? I'm a warrior, I can defeat a few spiders. He raises an eyebrow. "Now where did that thought come from?" He mumbles to himself.

He crosses his arms. "I've never fought a day in my life." He pauses, remembering the fire and the… dragon? No, dragon didn't seem the right word. For some reason, he knows what dragons are—or look like—and that wasn't it. He shakes his head and walks faster.

Right into a pair of legs. 

Loki inhales sharply and looks up. All he can think is he is glad the legs are attached to a person. He shudders.

The man he ran into stares at him in shock. 

He murmurs something under his breath that Loki can't hear and then kneels down to his level. "Child, what are you doing in the forest? It is dangerous. Where are your minders?"

By now, the shock has somewhat worn off and Loki takes a step back, his mouth opening and closing. "I-I… you… the-the…"

The man raises a hand and Loki flinches back. The man appears aghast, hurt that a child would think that he would harm him.

He quickly lowers his hand. "No, no, it is okay. I will not harm you."

Loki bites his lip and looks down, having an inner battle within himself. He knows not to trust strangers. He can't not after… after… he can't seem to remember, but he knows no good will come of trusting people. But… for some reason, all of his senses scream at him. They protest his way of thinking. They say, this man is good! You can trust him! He will not hurt you! Deep within Loki's heart, he somehow knows this man would never lay a finger on him. It's almost like he knows the man is utterly incapable of harming him. The man feels warm, and safe. He feels familiar, but Loki can't recall why. But even so, Loki takes another step backwards. 

"Child, it-"

The man gets cut off by a loud yell and screeching of spiders.

The child's eyes look panicked, and the man—actually, elf, not that Loki could see that with how small he is—prepares to stop him from running further into the forest. 

He moves in the opposite direction. 

He didn't expect the child to turn around. He most certainly did not expect the frightened child to run towards the danger.

Curses fly out of his mouth as he runs towards the child. "Child, no! There are spiders that way! Don't-"

He is cut off by another yell. He only discerns one name. Kili? He doesn't know who it is.

The child runs faster and pales at the name, so the elf figures that it must be one of his guardians. Though what willing guardian would take a child through Mirkwood, he has no idea.

He slows his footsteps at seeing the other elves on patrol, but the little one runs faster. He weaves through the elves, too quick for any of them to notice he is there. And those that do notice are too slow on their efforts to grab him as he runs by. 

Loki slides through the elves, wondering why there are so many people trying to capture his friends. He can hear one of the elves talking, and see that the company no longer has their weapons. His eyes gain a determined and angry look. 

An elf with blond hair points a sword at Thorin's neck, looking angry. "Not just a thief, but a-"

Loki throws himself in front of the sword, much to everyone's horror. "No!" He yells, his eyes quivering with tears. "He's my friend! Don't hurt him!"

The company yells out insults at the elves.

Bombur yells.

"Are not children precious to you? No matter what race?" Oin shouts from the back, his voice quivering with pure rage.

"Why are you threatening a child?" Fili yells, panicked, "Have you no shame?"

Thorin tries to push Loki behind him, but Loki stands firm, most likely with help from his seidr. 

A few of the elves yell as well, in horror at what the young one has just done. Children are meant to be protected, nourished and safe! Not throw themselves in front of dwarves and have swords in their faces!

Legolas drops the sword as if it burned him. He takes a small step back. "Child," he begins softly, "what?"

Loki trembles from fear, but he holds his arms out and stands firmly in front of Thorin. "You're meanies!" He yells, leaning forward on his tiptoes so he can see better. Norns, elves are tall! "Stop hurting them! Leave us alone!"

Thorin clasps Loki's shoulder, "Don't stand in front of me, child. I can protect myself-"

"Yeah!" He yells, "That's why you had a sword in your face! Idiot!" He says the last word in Asgardian, not wanting Thorin to know what he's saying.

Though Thorin can discern from the tone that it was most likely an insult.  

A few of the elves close enough to hear him appear startled. "You know elvish?" 

"No!" Loki yells back, scared. 

The elves exchange glasses. "But you… just spoke it. You called him a-"

"A friend." Loki yelps, not wanting Thorin to know that he called him an idiot. He doesn't want the 'stern eyebrows' and a long lecture about the importance of manners. Not again.

The elves that heard what he said all raise their eyebrows. "Mh-mmm."

Legolas kneels down to be Loki's height. "Where did you learn elvish?"

Loki stamps his foot. "I already told you! This isn't elf! It's asgardian!"

Thorin's hand clenches Loki's shoulder. "You know elvish?"

Loki frowns, hurt that his friend would doubt him. "No!"

"Child," Thorin says softly, "that whole conversation was in elvish."

Loki shakes his head. "Nuh-uh!"

"Uh-huh." Thorin crosses his arms, "Where did you learn elvish?"

"I already told you! It's not elvish! It's Asgardian! You meanies! Why don't you believe me? Friends are s'posed to trust each other!"

Legolas looks at Loki, still kneeling down to be at his height. "Okay, then," he says placatingly, "where did you learn… asguardieen?"

"It's Asgardian!" He huffs and looks back at Thorin, but it looks like he's curious too.

"I learned it…" he pauses, his memory going blank, "I learned it… it was-was at my home! With Thor!"

"Who's Thor?"

"Thor's my brother. He's a meanie too, I think. He left me for the… the dragon thing!"

The company looks at each other sharply. He knows of smaug? Is the first thought that crosses their mind. Then they shake their heads. They know the child is mannish, it would have been obvious if he was dwarvish. Besides, the dwarrows keep their children safe. He wouldn't have been left on his own. And he couldn't have been from Dale, he only looks about eight in man years, he's much too young. 

"Dragon… thing?" Legolas asks.

"It was big!" He stretches his arms out to show just how large, "And there was fire coming from it!" He wilts some, "It was really scary."

Legolas pats his arm. "I'm sure it was." He states solemnly, not quite believing that the child in front of him actually saw a dragon. He looks much too young.        

A loud screeching noise echoes through the forest and immediately everyone is on guard. 

Legolas stands up. "We can finish this conversation elsewhere. Follow me."

"Hey!" Kili yells, "Don't we get our weapons back?"

"No. Not until I'm sure you aren't a threat."

"The kid has a weapon!"

As one, the group turns to look at him. 

"He's a child." Legolas says. "I don't think he is that much of a threat."

Loki puts his hands on his hips and walks faster to catch up with Legolas. "Uh-huh! Yes I am! I slayed a spider, you know."

"Oh, did you?"

Thorin grunts. "It's true."

Legolas' eyes widen. "Oh."

Silence falls over the group after that. It is only broken once they reach the city, with Legolas issuing a few orders to the guards in elvish. Most of the guards disperse, leaving only the one Loki ran into, one Loki doesn't recognize, one with red hair, and Legolas. 

They walk into the throne room and Thranduil narrows his eyes. Legolas bows and approaches the throne. Thranduil makes a hand gesture and Legolas ascends the steps to the throne. He stands behind it and leans down. whispering something in Thraduil's ear. 

Thranduil raises his hand, cutting Legolas off. "Yrneha, Tuariel, take the company—other than the child and their… leader—and leave us." 

They nod and make their way to the door, leading the protesting dwarves out of the room. Once it shuts, Thranduil turns towards the remaining guard. "I'm told you're the one who found the child, Ithilon."

"Yes." Ithilon keeps his eyes on his king, though his fist is clasped on his chest in a salute, showing his respect. 

"Report."

"He quietly literally… ran into me. He seemed frightened, so I asked how he wandered into the forest. A yell came from the direction of Legolas' patrol and he seemed panicked, so I moved over in case he tried to run away from it. I didn't expect him to run towards it. He slipped past me and the patrol group and threw himself in front of the lead dwarf."

Loki crosses his arms. "I coulda told you that, king antlers."

A sudden chorus of quiet coughs resound through the courtroom. The elves quickly regain their composure and stand quietly once more.

Thranduil taps his fingers on the arm of his wooden throne, clearly growing unhappy. "Do you have kin ties to…" his face makes a strange expression, like disgust. "...him?"   

"Thorin?"

The king inclines his head.

Loki shifts back and forth on his feet, something clearly on his mind.

Thorin leans over. "Kin ties mean family." He says loudly, eyeing Thranduil with contempt the whole time. 

Loki nods, smoothing out his expression to look almost regal.

Thranduil and Legolas' eyes widen for a fraction of a second, recognizing those gestures. They both went through training as young princes to be able to do it. Movement like those could only mean one thing. This child had been trained like a prince. Meaning either, he was one—unlikely, what kingdom would leave their prince unguarded in Mirkwood—or he sat in on a prince's lessons. Perhaps a young servant? The prince's aide? 

"No, I met the company yesterday."

"How did you get in the forest?"

"I dunno." Loki shrugs. "Woke up there, I guess."

Legolas and Thranduil exchange glances. There's something he's not telling them. 

Legolas clears his throat. "Let's start from the beginning, penneth. What is your name?"

Loki's mouth opens and closes. "I..." He trails off, unsure of what to say.

Thorin crosses his arms and steps slightly in front of Loki, defensive of the young one. "He has memory loss. He doesn't remember." 

"How… convenient."

Thorin makes a low, disgusted sound. "He can't be more than eight, in mannish years. I highly doubt he cooked up a plan to infiltrate the company and then your… tree house."

Thranduil ignores him. "How old are you?"

Loki flounders, counting something on his fingers. He stops and shakes his head, muttering, "No, that's not right." He frowns and crosses his arms. "I 'member being almost a thousand, but that can't be right, cause I'm littler now." He pauses. "In mortal years… I'd be…" he does something with his fingers again, "seventeen?"

Thorin shakes his head. "No, seventeen in mannish years is around when you come of age. You are definitely not of age."

Thranduil leans forward. "What do you mean, 'mortal years'?" 

"I mean what I said." He rolls his eyes, "I'm obviously not mortal, I lived a super long time with my brother, Thor. Thor is a king, y'know." He frowns. "I think I was king for a while too. It sucked. There was a lot of paperwork."

"Yes… there does seem to be a lot."

Thranduil and Legolas share a look. They obviously don't think the youngling had ever been a king. They weren't sure if he was telling the truth about his brother or not, however. With the way he held himself and communicated, it does seem like he went through at least royal etiquette training. 

"We'll get back to the king matter later." Thranduil states with finality. "If you're not a human, what are you?"

Loki shrugs. "I dunno."

"Well you're obviously not a dwarf, hobbit or an orc-"

Loki tenses at the word, remembering what he saw when Oin asked him about the thing that attacked at the coronation ceremony. 

This does not go unnoticed, but Thranduil continues, "So logically, you can only be a human or an elf, and you are much too young to be an elf."

"Why? Don't you have to be young before you can get old? Logically, you elves would have to have kids for you to be here. I know some elves, king antlers, and they can have kids. Y'know, my mom…" he trails off, a pang of sadness running through him, though he can't recall the reason why. "...My mom's grandma was an elf. So she's a quarter elf. And my mom had three- no, two? Two kids." Him and Thor. So why was he thinking there was someone else?

Thranduil leans forward, interested. "What is your mother's name?"

Loki looks at Thranduil like he's dumb. "Mom, obviously." 

"No, her real name."

"That is her real name."

"No," Thranduil sighs, waving his hand. "Nevermind. Do you recognize the name Lord Elrond? He is a half elf, similar to your mother, if what you told me is true."

"Nope, never heard of him."

Thranduil sighs, not sure what to believe. "Child, come here."

Thorin steps in front of Loki. "Uh, like," he says something harsh in khuzdul, "I'm gonna let you do that! No way!"

"Do you not want to confirm for yourself whether or not he is of elven kind? Or if he was lying?"

"I was not lying, you meanie! Why does everyone think I lie all the time? You adults are the ones that lie! You guys lie about everything! You're the reason I fell!" His voice fills with venom and hatred, "You're the reason I died." 

Silence fills the hall.

Loki slaps his hand over his mouth, shocked at what he'd said. He can't really remember any of that, but deep down, he knows it's true. His hands falls from his side and he looks up at Thranduil and Legolas with an emtion neither can place.

The elves seem horrified.

Whispers fill the hall. No one is sure what to believe. Is this true? If he did die, then the Valar had to have sent him back. But only Glorfindel was ever sent back. Never has there been a case of a mortal returning. Or a child.  

Loki breathes heavily, bringing the halls attention back to him.

The whispers cease.

Thranduil narrows his eyes. "How did you die?"

Thorin seems frozen.

A few of the elves look shocked that their king would ask a child such a question, but it makes sense. It is a good way to ascertain as to whether or not it's the child's imagination speaking, or if he really did die.  

Loki frowns, trying to regulate his breathing. "It was..." he tries hard to remember. Unnoticed by the elves, his eyes swirl with green and gold light. "It's tangled." He eventually says.

"Explain." Thranduil waves his hand and leans forward.

"There was... fire. And my brother. And then he left, and I got burned." He shivers. He takes a deep breath. "Then it is... cold. Falling. Black. No stars." He whispers, his eyes widen and his hands tremble. "I don't like it. Then..." he trails off and lifts a shaky hand to wipe his tears away. He doesn't know why he's telling them this. Or how he remembers. He doesn't like it. He wants to forget. But the weird feeling he gets when he's around the elves makes him calm. Like a warm blanket. He trusts them, even though he shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't. Why is he telling them this?

Distantly he hears a voice.

Because you need to heal. You will heal. The voice says, devoid of emotion. It sounds old, and ancient. It sounds like many voices all at once. He can't discern the gender of whoever... whatever is speaking to him. Release the floodgates. Let it out. You were drowning. 

Loki frowns. No I wasn't. He thinks back. I'm okay. I am healed! I am! I'm not weak.

No. The voice says, harsher this time. You were never healed. Not in any shape or form. You were merely distracted. Distractions do not heal. They only smother the pain inside of you until it bursts and injures not only you, but everyone around you. Release your pain, child of metal and stardust.

No! Loki thinks back, scared.

A warm hand grabs Loki's arm.

"Child." Legolas says, kneeling down at his level and looking like he already called out to him several times. "What is going on?"

Release. The voice commands, and like something inside of Loki has been shut off, his eyes widen.

Images fill his brain. Bad things. Things that make him never want to look outside ever again.

"Oh." He says softly, his voice full of panic. "Oh. They died too." His voice sounds empty, devoid of emotion.

The surrounding elves look concerned.

"What?" Legolas asks.

"The whole city." He says, his eyes glazed over. "Everyone gone."

Thranduil makes his way down the steps. "Who killed them?" He asks hesitantly.

"Evil." Loki hisses, drawing away from Legolas.

He blinks and his chest heaves.

No. The voice says again. It is too soon. Tell the rest, child filled with the rage of burning stars. You must not bury it.

Loki gazes up into Legolas' and Thranduil's eyes. 

"What was your cities name?" Thranduil asks, peering into Loki's eyes for any hint of a lie. Deep down, he knows. They all know he's not lying. Though they wish it wasn't true. No child should have to go through that.

"No." He says, taking a step back and shaking his head. He doesn't want to remember anymore. No matter what the voice tells him to do.

"Where are your parents?" Legolas asks.

"No!" Loki shouts, and covers his ears. "They're alive. They're alive." He repeats it desperately, like a mantra. It has to be true. It has too. 

Legolas gently grips Loki's hands and brings them away from his ears. He rubs small circles in Loki's hands. "Are they gone too?" He asks softly, with a voice full of sorrow.

Loki yanks his hands away from him. "No! They're okay! I remember Thor being there! They have to be okay. They have to." He whispers desperately. "I died for them. I died to make them safe. If they aren't safe that means my pain was useless and that-" He stops suddenly.

"That what?" Thranduil asks softly.

Yes. The voice says. Yes. Tell them what you fear more than death. More than everyone you love and care for dying. Tell them what you have buried and hidden away deep within your heart.

Loki shakes his head.

Tell them! The voice snarls. If you don't it will kill you.

"It will kill me if I tell them." Loki whispers, trying to shove the tsunami of emotions rushing through him deep down into his stomach. He imagines a wooden lockbox, with chains surrounding it. He pushes all of his feelings, everything that hurts him and everything that doesn't -- his hopes, his dreams, his love for a woman with golden hair that sings him lullabies, the memories that are inherently happy but are now tinged with sadness because he can't make more -- everything. He shoves everything into it. Even his happiness.

He stares blankly at Thranduil.

Thranduil looks into his eyes and stops. "Child," he whispers, voice full of sorrow, "what have you done?"

No! The voice shouts, enraged. No, you will kill yourself. Stop! Stop it! Release it!

"I stopped it." Loki whispers proudly, but it comes out emotionless. Because he can't feel proudness anymore, can he? He can only remember what it felt like. But that's okay. Because he's safer when everything is locked away. Even his happy feelings. Even his happy memories.   

Thranduil grabs Loki's shoulders and shakes him. "Stop." He commands. "You are harming yourself. You will fade. Let them go. It is not safer this way, I promise you. I know from experience. You are only hurting yourself and everyone around you."

Thorin looks panicked. "What did he do?" He yells, "Elven king! What did you do to him?"

A few guards in the room edge forward, their hands on their swords.

Thranduil holds up a hand to stop them.

They go back to their posts.

RELEASE YOURSELF. The voice yells, Even the things that hurt you. Even the harsh, cruel memories that are tinged with pain and sorrow. They will help heal you. But only if you let it. 

No. Loki thinks back. I'm safe now. I don't want to be hurt anymore. Leave me alone.

NO! LISTEN TO ME, CHILD! THERE IS FIRE AND METAL AND RAGE IN YOUR VEINS AND IT WILL NOT BE CEASED BY YOU LOCKING IT AWAY. THEY WILL BURN YOU UP FROM THE INSIDE. YOU MUST ACCEPT THEM. TELL THEM WHAT YOU HAVE BURIED. 

NO! Loki clenches his eyes shut.

TELL THEM!

No!

TELL THEM!

It will hurt if I do! I like the blankness better! Leave me alone! Please!

It may hurt now, but it will get better. You will heal. But only if you admit your truth. You cannot fix something that refuses to believe it has a flaw. The blankness will kill you. It will suck you dry of all that is good and there is nothing you will be able to do to stop it. Tell them what you have hidden, child. Tell them your secrets. Unearth that which you have kept buried and locked away for hundreds of years. Let yourself heal.

Forgetting to speak only in his head, Loki shouts, "I WANTED THEM TO DIE!" He gasps for air and keeps his hands clasped tightly over his ears. Tears stream down his cheeks.

Thranduil watches Loki carefully. 

The hall falls silent.

"What?" Thorin asks, horrifed.

Loki chokes on a sob. "They hurt me! They never believed me! They hit me and-and my ada wouldn't protect me and my brother said mean things and none of the adults cared and I almost died so, so many times! I had to survive by myself! No one but amma cared! They locked me up! I tried to save them from the monsters and they tried to kill me because of it! My brother tried to kill me! They're all liars! They lied that they loved me!" Loki squeezes his eyes shut. "AND I HATE THAT I LOVE THEM EVEN THOUGH I KNOW THEY HATE ME!"

Thranduil lets out a slow, shocked breath.

Thorin and Legolas look ready to murder whoever hurt him.

A few of the older elves in the room turn towards Thranduil, asking a question silently.

Thranduil inclines his head.

It's almost as if the child was alive during the kin-slaying. Which shouldn't be possible. Because he is a human. Yet he describes it almost perfectly. 

"I wanted it to be over." Loki admits quietly. "Even if I had to die to do it. So I saved them. And the monster killed me instead. And I was glad." He sinks to the ground and his hands fall to his lap. His voice quivers. "And now it is worthless. Because I am here and not gone anymore." Loki cries. "I want to be gone again! I don't want to be here!"

Legolas sinks to the ground beside Loki and draws him into a hug. He rubs his back soothingly. Loki hiccups and buries his face into Legolas' robes. 

Thorin glares at the elves, specifically Thranduil. "That is enough. Forget your curiosity, he is hurting. You've questioned him enough."

Thranduil frowns and takes another step forward. "No, I need to-"

Legolas stands up, holding Loki, who is still sniffling, in his arms. "The dwarf is right, adar. We can talk more in the morning. The little one is obviously exhausted from... everything."

Thranduil slowly inclines his head. 

Thorin crosses his arms. "The little one will obviously stay with us. Give him here, blondie."

Legolas raises his eyebrow and looks at his father. Loki clenches Legolas' robes tigher.

Thranduil makes a motion with his hand. "Lenna cîn latsë, ion-nin."

"þáquet, Adar."

Thorin takes a step forward. "What are you saying? Whatever it is, no! The youngling will stay with my company!"

Legolas ignores Thorin and walks out of the throne room.

Thorin's eyes fill with anger and his fists clench and unclench.

Thranduil watches Thorin for a moment and then walks back up the steps to his throne. "Thorin, son of Thror, son of Thrain. Why was your… company in my woods?"

Chapter Text

Legolas gently sets Loki on his bed, patting his cheek to keep him awake. "Little one, you must stay awake. You are filthy, you need a bath."

Loki pushes Legolas' hands away. "No. 'M not." He grunts and falls back onto the bed, curling up into a ball. "Clean." He mutters.

His breathing slowly evens out, letting Legolas know he has once again fallen asleep.

Legolas sighs and crosses his arms, tapping his finger on his sleeve. He doesn't have any experience with children, aside from stories he's heard about him, Arwen, Elrohir and Elladan when they were small. 

He's never ever heard stories of how to care for human children, so he's even more lost. Well, human children with a small amount of elvish blood, if what the child told them is correct.

Overcome with curiosity, Legolas reaches forward, intending to push the little one's hair back, to see if he really did have elvish blood in him. Even if it was a very small amount, his ears should at least be a little pointed, right?

A light knocking on his door interrupts him.

He quickly draws his hand back to his chest, startled. He clears his throat, wondering how he was caught so off guard. He's a member of the guard, for valar's sake! "Come in."

A maid named Ainionel walks in, her footsteps make no sound. Her face makes no expression, and her movements are graceful, but when she sees Loki curled in the bed she positively melts. "The little one is… adorable."

Legolas grins. "Yes, he is."

She sets a tray on a small table beside the bed. It is covered with fruits and fresh looking vegetables. "Here is your snack, my prince."

"Thank you, Ainionel."

"Ah, it was no trouble."

Legolas hesitates. "Do you… do you…" he shakes his head, "Never mind, it is silly. I'll figure it out."

Ainionel's eyes sparkle, though her face remains impassive. She can guess what the young (well, young to her) prince needs. "I will help, prince. What is it?"

Legolas sighs. "How am I supposed to bathe him? He is exhausted from his ordeal in the throne room and the forest, not that I blame him, but he is filthy! It cannot be healthy for him to sleep in that! But… I have not the heart to wake him."

Ainionel laughs. "I figured it was something along those lines." She waves her hand, "He'll be fine, Legolas. You've slept in worst condition when you were an elfling."

She ignores Legolas' sound of protest and embarrassment.

"He'll be fine, he can bathe in the morning." She states with finality.

"Fine." Legolas walks around his room, equipping various equipment to his person. "I have guard duty tonight." He slings his quiver over his back and makes sure he has all the needed weapons. "Please keep an eye on the child."

"Of course. It will be no trouble. Stay safe, my prince. May the Valar be with you."

Legolas nods as he walks out of the door. "And you."

Ainionel examines Loki. "Awh," she whispers, trying very hard not to boop his nose. "Aren't you just adorable ."

She takes a blanket out of the closet and drapes it over the child. She then busies herself cleaning Legolas' room. She can't believe he can live in a room this dirty

The company looks at Thorin, all with varying degrees of expressions.

Fili and Kili look excited. "I really thought they were gonna put us in the dungeons! I'm so glad they didn't."

Dwali grunts. "So. What did you say to the elf king? I didn't think. You had the skills. To not get us thrown in the dungeon."

Thorin scowls. "Is the general consensus that I have no negotiation skills?"

"Yes."

"You're like a soft fingered elf in a forge when it comes to politics."

Oin clears his throat, his pockets look suspiciously full, and immediately draw the company's eyes to them.

"Oin, don't steal too much from our," Thorin spits out the word like it burns him, "...hosts. The weight will slow us down once we escape."

"Escape?"

"And where's Bilbo?"

A loud discussion in khuzdul begins to take place. A couple of the members shove each other back and forth. 

Oin whistles to regain their attention. Loudly. Very loudly. "Is fighting over tree huggers more important than the little one?"

A few of the members have the decency to look ashamed. 

Bombur looks around. "Speaking of the kid, where is he? I didn't see 'em come in with you, Thorin."

Thorin scowls. "Those…" he mutters something in khuzdul that is clearly an insult, "think he's property !"

"What?" Kili yells, outraged. "Have they no shame? What are they doing to him, uncle? Do we need to go rescue him?"

Bombur has a rare sign of a scowl showing on his face. "I thought they treasured children?"

"As much as I hate them, I must admit they have a soft spot for children." Thorin allows.

"Then what are they doing to him? What do you mean 'property'?"

"What I meant was, that bastard king is using the child as leverage! Against us!"

The company's angry looks and mutterings return.

"He said no harm would come to the child, he looked aghast at the mention of it-"

"Good!"

Thorin continues as if he had not been interrupted, "but he said he was going to keep the child here. And that if we wanted him back, we needed to leave the dragon alone and stay well away from the mountain. Our home!" 

"How dare he?"

"Doesn't he know how long we've waited to go back home?"

"How'd he even know? Did he listen through the trees?"

"This is outrageous! Who is he to tell us what to do?"

"I can understand not bringing the child along on the quest, it is dangerous, but can it be any safer to leave 'em in a forest this dangerous? This place has the spiders and such! It's not much better than facing a dragon!"

"Yeah!"

"Right, right."

"Plus, the child would be much safer with us than these betrayers!"  

Thorin clears his throat to regain the company's attention. "Apparently, the child has elven blood."

"What? That can't be true! There's not been an elfling in centuries! Besides, they're more protective over their young than we are! He'd not of been wondering alone!"

"Yeah. And we would've noticed. Don't they glow or something?"

"Well, I dunno, we never had time to clean him up. And we didn't give him a bath, either. Who knows what's been hiding under all that dirt?"

"Yeah… and that long hair… we never saw his ears."

"Enough!" Throin yells, "He's not an elfling, Thranduil agrees that he would have known. The last elfling there was was some kid called Airwind. But the kid did say his mom was a child of a half elf."

"So his great… great… grandma was an elf?" Fili asks.

Kili nods. "I think so?"

"But he's still mostly human?"

"Yeah?"

Thorin humphs. "I'm just glad he's not a full elf." He hesitates, and then shakes his head. What the little one said in the throne room seems very personal. He'll just leave that part out.

Oin sighs, rubbing his temples. "So the elves are keeping him here?"

"For the…" Thorin looks very displeased. "foreseeable future… yes."

Kili scowls. "They don't have any right to do that!"

"And we do?"

"Well…"

Fili speaks up, "I think we should ask the child what he thinks. It doesn't seem right for us or the elves to decide it for him."

Thorin folds his hands and leans on them. "But can we trust that the elves won't change his perception of us in the meantime? They hate us about as much as we hate them. I wouldn't put it past them to tell the youngling lies about us."

No one has the heart to answer him.

Somber silence fills the room. 

The morning sun shines through the windows and Loki groans. He rolls over on the bed, burying his head in the pillows. 

He frowns.

Did the maids not shut his curtains last night?

He pauses, his bed doesn't smell like this. Was there a thunderstorm last night? Did he take refuge with Thor? Where is he?

He rolls back over and looks up at the ceiling. His brain is still riddled with sleep. Wait… these are not my chambers…

He jerks up and panic floods through his brain. 

Did Th… Tha… he can't… remember. Why can't he remember? Why did such panic fill him at the thought of whoever that was? Was he thinking about Thor? Did Thor do something to him? No, that name has an A in it. It wasn't him, so who…

His thoughts still and his mind goes blank. 

Unnoticed by him, a soft golden light fills his eyes. It fades seconds later and his eyes go back to their normal emerald green.

He blinks. 

What's going on? What was I doing? 

Oh, right. I just woke up, because the sun was so bright. He pauses. When did I sit up? I don't remember sitting up. He shakes his head. I... must have still been half asleep.

He stretches and yawns. He crawls to the edge of the bed and looks down. 

By the norns, why do elves have to be so tall?

He stares at the floor in trepidation before squaring his shoulders. I can do this! He rolls over onto his stomach and grips the thick covers. He slides down the side of the bed, making sure to keep a tight hold of the blankets. 

Halfway down, the door to the room opens. "Suilad, tithen-pen!" A loud, overly cheerful voice greets him.

Loki shrieks and falls off the bed onto his butt. He was not expecting that. 

The owner of the voice slams the door open the rest of the way and runs towards him. He waves his hands in the air, panicked. "Oh my valar, I didn't think you'd be trying to get down! Or fall! I'm sorry, tithen-pen!" 

Loki stares up at him in shock, still bewildered at the situation.

The man puts his hands under Loki's armpits and stands him up. 

"There we go." He states warmly.

Loki shrieks again and the man startles. 

"What is it?"

"You! You just touched my armpits! That's nasty!"

The man holds his arms up in surrender. "I apologize. I didn't know you were uncomfortable with it."

Loki narrows his eyes in suspicion. "Who are you anyways?"

"I am Arienlee. I'll be helping you get ready for the day. We can't very well leave it up to the prince, can we?"

Loki blinks. "The prince? Who? Leggy?"

Arienlee pauses. "Do you…" he fights to keep a smirk off his face, "you mean Legolas?"

Loki waves his hands. "That's such a long name. Leggy suits him much better. Plus, his legs are super long, so it describes him too." He does a half shrug, "Two birds, one stone."

Arienlee's face turns red and he coughs loudly into his hand. 

Loki walks to the door. "Anyway. I need a bath, where are they?"

Arienlee follows him out the door. "Just down this hallway. You're lucky, the king gave the go ahead for you to use the royal bathing chambers for the time being."

"Time being? What will happen later?" He freezes. "Will they send me away?" He asks, small voice quivering with terror and sorrow, but with a familiar edge to it.

Ah, Arienlee realizes, it has happened before. He is used to not being cared for. We will... have to change that.

"No. No, tithen-pen, we would never do that."

"Uh huh." 

Loki opens the door to the bathing chambers. (Or, at least, he tries to. They end up being much too large, so Arienlee has to assist him).  

"Where's the company?"

"You mean the dwarves?"

"No, I mean the company of birds, watching us through the window."

Arienlee stares at Loki with concern. "Child, there are no windows in here."

Loki throws his hands up in the air. "Does no one here have a sense of humor?"

"The dwarves are located in the guest wing of the smaller palace."

"Oh. I don't know where that is."

"I'm well aware." Arienlee remarks, his eyes glint with amusement. 

"Ugh. Adults."

"Adults." Arienlee agrees in the same tone of voice.

"You are an adult." Loki informs him.

"I know. That makes it worse," he tells him like it's a secret, "because even if I don't agree with everything they do I can understand the reason why." 

Loki looks at him blankly. "It's too early in the morning for this."

He shoves Arienlee out of the bathing chamber. "Now, go away!"

"Tithen-pen, I have to-"

"I'm old enough to bath myself, Renny. Now, shoo."

The doors slam shut and a faint clicking sound can be heard through the door. 

Arirnlee sighs. "He locked the doors, didn't he?"

He rolls his eyes and leans against a nearby wall. "I'm out here if you need me!"

"I won't!" Loki yells through the door. Arienlee can hear splashing noises, "But thanks!"    

Chapter Text

About two hours later of Arienlee trying to get Loki to unlock the doors to the bathing chamber, (they were designed to only lock and unlock from the inside, the doors have no keyholes), one of the many passersby who had been watching the whole process in amusement (Arienlee went from bargaining, to bribing, to blackmailing to begging) had the bright idea to call for the king.

Of course, the king is very busy, so he’s unlikely to come to a matter caused by the child’s stubbornness, but the person who went to get the king is very old. And very old people know a lot of secrets. Now, Ylndal isn’t going to blackmail the king just for his amusement (although he did ponder it for quite a while. It would be hilarious.) so he elected to tell the king in a manner that he couldn’t refuse. Those who’ve lived a while also have a way with words. They know how to twist things to fit other's interests.

Ylndal, being as old and respected as he is, (though he has no idea why he is respected, his elders hated him. He must just be mellowing out as he gets older, so people aren’t as intimidated…) he has no problem getting into the courtroom. Besides, he watched Thranduil grow up. He practically grew up with Thranduil’s father, Oropher! Who's going to challenge him? The younglings that somehow seem to be running everything now? I think not. 

He strides into the great hall.

He watches with glee as the young council members edge back from him and check around for possible traps or disguised trolls. 

The older, more experienced council members (though still not nearly as old as Ylndal), just sigh and pack up their things. 

Thranduil eyes Ylndal with slight concern. Not for Ylndal, but from whatever he got into that he’s coming to the king for. 

Thranduil sets his arm down on his lip. “This meeting shall be,” he eyes Ylndal, “adjourned… for the time being. We’ll meet tomorrow to discuss this matter. Same time.”

The council members quietly leave. The younger ones look back every few moments, wondering what happened. The older ones just look exasperated. They mutter under their breaths about sending someone to find Galadriel so she can deal with him.

“Yes, Ylndal.” Thranduil looks completely done with life. “What did," he hesitates as a memory resurfaces. "is it this time?”

“How bold of you to insinuate that I did something.” Ylndal examines his fingernails.

Thranduil pointedly looks above Ylndal’s head, at the light streaming through the ceiling. The hole in the ceiling had mysteriously appeared after Thranduil tried to steal all of Ylndal’s pranking supplies. He kept pranking foreign dignitaries. The king had to punish him somehow!

Ylndal doesn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed. “Shouldn’t have taken away my maple syrup.” He mutters.

Thranduil draws a long breath. “Yes, Ylndal?” He asks pointedly, hoping to get back to the reason Ylndal came to the throne room in the first place.

“You know the child you brought in?”

“The child traveling with the idiot dwarves who are trying to take him on a quest to kill a dragon?” Thranduil clarifies.

“No, the one that came on the back of wurgals.” He remarks sarcastically. “Yes! The one that came in with the dwarves! What other child is there?”

Thranduil stares at Ylndal, unamused.

“He seems to be giving his caretaker a hard time.” Ylndal smirks.

Thranduil raises his eyebrow. “I don’t see how this pertains to me.”

“His caretaker is Arienlee.”

Thranduil seems to go through several emotions at once. "While I would enjoy watching him get what is due him,"

Ylndal snorts. "You're making it sound like It'd be a great pain to watch him."

Thranduil frowns. He's not used to getting cut off. “You are aware, Ylndal Elbauthin, that none of the mischief he and my son got into when they were small would have happened if you didn’t teach them?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you left your elfling unattended!”

“You stole him!”

“Meh, he turned out all right.”

“You didn’t alert me to the fact that you would do that! You didn’t let anyone know! It took you two days for you to send word!” He hisses, his eyes full of anger.

Ylndal hums, thoroughly unaffected by Thranduil’s rant. “I thought you’d like to see Arienlee getting repaid for all the mischief he did as a child.”

Thranduil pauses.

Ylndal continues, “The child has locked himself in the bathing chambers.” His eyes shine with glee. “First, Arienlee attempted to talk him out. Then came the bargaining. Then the threatening. Then the bribes. He’s at a loss. It’s hilarious."

Thranduil's lip twitches.

Ylndal hums. "The child is surprisingly smart for his age. He rebutted everything Arienlee said and came up with reasons why he should stay in the baths. He has a way with words.” Ylndal looks ready to laugh. “The whole city is buzzing with the story." He smirks, "And It changes every time someone else hears it, so I know I'll enjoy hearing the finished result.”

Thranduil seems torn. “Which bath chamber is this taking place in?”

“In front of.” Ylndal corrects him. “Yours.” He remarks smugly.

“Mine?” Thranduil raises a little off his seat. “Who authorized that?”

“You, apparently.”

“No! I offered Legolas’ bathing chambers! Not mine!” 

He rushes down the steps, somehow looking graceful. “Who told them I said my bathing chamber? Legolas' sounds quite different than my!“

Ylndal, who is walking gracefully beside Thranduil, lets out a small chuckle. 

Thranduil stops walking and points towards Ylndal. “You!” He says loudly. “I can’t believe you.” He continues walking at a faster pace. “So help me, I swear to the Valar! I will murder you one day.”

“Oh, you’ll have to get in line.” Ylndal remarks casually. "So many people have swore to do just that that I've lost count."

Thranduil regards Ylndal with curiosity for a moment. "Has anyone followed through?"

"Oh yes, all the time actually. Especially during the time I disguised myself as human and lived in their city for a couple years. Humans tend to follow through with threats, I've found."

"Which you wouldn’t have had the displeasure of finding out if you hadn't kidnapped my son!"

"And Arienlee." Ylndal points out, wanting to get all the credit. "I kidnapped him too."

"Oh, shut up!"

The sound of Arienlee's miserable voice drifts through the long hallway, along with muffled laughter from several people.

"Please?" Arienlee asks miserably. "I'll get you some sweets?"

"Mmm." Loki's voice drifts from somewhere in the bathing chamber. "No. Go'way, Renny."

Thranduil clears his throat, somewhat bemused by the sight. 

The elves scattered throughout the hallway quickly disperse. 

Arienlee jumps to his feet. "Uh, you majesty," he offers a quick salute, "what can I do for you?"

"Get the little one some suitable clothing."

Arienlee looks down at his hands. "Ah." His face turns slightly red. "So that's what I was forgetting."

He quickly walks down the hallway, intimated by the sight of Thranduil and Ylndal seemingly working together. They're dangerous enough alone, but together...?

Thranduil knocks on the door. "Child?" He calls out.

A muffled sound of clattering comes through the door, followed by a quiet "whoops." Some shuffling sounds. Loki's voice becomes clearer, he must have moved closer to the door. "Yes?"

"Get out of my bathing chamber."

"But Renny said I could use it!"

Ylndal laughs. "Have fun, Thranduil."

He walks off. 

"Ylndal! Wait! Are you really..." He trails off.

Ylndal had indeed left him. Thranduil lets out a few choice cuss words, quiet enough that the child won't hear through the door.

"Fine." Loki calls out, afraid he's making Thranduil angry. "But not till I have clothes."

After a short pause, "That seems reasonable." Thranduil allows. Valar knows he would have liked to have the luxury of privacy as an elfling.

Arienlee runs back through the hallway, holding a light green tunic with white and gold patterns. Over his shoulder, he's slung a pair of brown, earthy colored leggings. He quickly hands them to Thranduil, still nervous he and Ylndal are trying to get back at him for all the pranks he did as a elfling. And... as an adult... 

Thranduil stares at the clothing in his hands. "Are you not his caretaker?" 

Arienlee laughs nervously. "Bye, Your Majesty!"

He runs back through the hallways and jumps out of a window as soon as he thinks he's beyond Thranduil's sight.

Thranduil sighs. He shakes his head in exasperation. He turns back towards the door. "Little one? I have your clothing. Open the doors, please."

"Okay. But don't come in! Just hand me the clothes. I'll put them on by myself."

"Okay." Thranduil agrees. 

"Promise?"

"I promise."

The door cracks open and Loki sticks his hand out. 

Thranduil carefully places the clothes in Loki's hands. 

"Thanks." The door slams shut.

Thranduil sighs. "Children." He mutters, "What can you do?"

A few moments later, the door opens, and Loki walks out of the bathroom, fully dressed. He spins around in a circle. 

"How do I look?" He asks gleefully.

"Like a prince."

Loki crosses his arms in satisfaction. "That's cause I am a prince." 

"I'm sure."

Loki nods. His black hair bounces with the movement. It comes down a little past his shoulders. Slight ringlets and curls are sacttered throughout it. 

Thranduil watches Loki spin around him in circles with his new clothes. He watches Loki's hair bounce, interested in the way it moves.

"Are you sure you're not part hobbit?" He asks eventually. 

Loki pauses. He tilts his head. "Like Bilbo?"

Thranduil pauses. "...Bilbo?"

"Yeah! He's about this tall," he puts one hand up in the air as high as he can reach, "and this wide," he motions around his stomach, "he wears a brown suit and he's always talking about seconds." He sighs, exasperated as he lists things off. "Second breakfast, second tea, seconds of all food... Bombur really likes when he does that though. I think it makes him feel appreciated." He leans towards Thranduil and whispers, "He's the cook." Like it's a big secret. He leans away from Thranduil's side. He was too far away to reach his ear so he whispered it semi-loudly to his hip.

"I see." Thranduil remarks gracefully.

"Mhmm. So when are we gonna go see the company?"

"I'm not sure. I think we'll wait for them to come to you."

"Okay." 

Thranduil gestures to the right. "Come along." He leads the way down the long hallway.

Loki follows him. "So when do you eat breakfast?"

"At breakfast time."

"When's that?"

"When the sun comes up."

"The sun's up. Are we going to eat now?"

"Yes. I already ate, but it seems you just woke up."

"I did, yes." Loki nods his head in conformation. "What are we having?"

"Whatever the cooks make."

"What did they make?"

"Food." Thranduil opens a door to the right and they enter another long hallway. 

"Yes...?" Loki says, trying very hard to be patient. "But what kind of food?"

"The kind you eat."

Loki frowns. "Are you trying to sound like one of those mortal wizards?"

Thranduil pauses. "Pardon?"

"You know! One of those," Loki waves his hands about in the air and lowers his voice to imitate a wizard, "you will surly perish if you do the thing." He stops waving his hands everywhere, "And then the people going on the quest are all like," he makes his voice higher, "no please! I don't wanna die on the quest that you only gave me vague directions to! Oh please, mighty wizard, tell me more! What thing? At least give me a map! I don't think I want to go anymore." He hunches over again and lowers his voice. "There will be gold." He makes his voice higher again, "Oh, that's okay then. But will I live, oh mighty wizard?" He hunches over, "I do not know, stupi- uh, brave quester. The stars have not aligned. They're ignoring me tonight." He waves his hands back and forth,, "I uh, must depart now. Stu-smart quester. Farewell!"

Loki crosses his arms. "Like that. All vague and crap."

Thranduil snorts. "Who raised you? You are most amusing."

Loki raises his eyebrows. "My mom, obviously."

They walk into the dining hall. Thranduil gestures towards a man near the end of the hall and then points at Loki. 

The man nods and walks into the kitchens, which are located at the end of the dining hall.

Thranduil walks with Loki to a lone table near the head of the hall. Once seated, he turns towards Loki, who's sitting beside him.

"Have you met Mithrandir?" 

Loki tilts his head. 

"Gandalf." Thranduil supplies.

"I don't think I have. But the company talks about him a lot. I don't really think Bilbo likes him much. Bilbo is always muttering about how Gandalf took him away and how now he's missing his bed and second breakfast and stuff. But I don't blame him. I miss my bed too."

Thranduil leans closer. "Where is your bed? Where did you live before the dwarves took you into Mirkwood?"

Loki pauses. "A place called Asgard, I think. I don't remember a place called Asgard, but right now we're speaking Asgardian. You guys think it's Elvish, but it's not. This is the language I learned first, a long time ago. And Asgardian shortened should be something like Asgard."

"But it is elvish." Thranduil stresses patiently. "Neither I nor anyone I've ever met has even heard of a place called Asgard. It doesn't exist."

Loki sighs and rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

"This is very important, child. Do you recognize the name Gondolin?"

Loki shakes his head. 

"What about..." Thranduil hesitates. "the name Ondolindë?"

Loki shakes his head again. 

"Child. I despise myself for asking this, but seeing as you cannot recall where or... when... you come from, what happened before you died?"

Loki freezes. 

"Please, young one. It is important for us to know this so that we can find your family."

"I don't know." Loki whispers. "There was a monster and it hurt me but then the fire thing came and then there was lots of light and I heard my Amma and then I was in the forest."

Thranduil nods slowly. "It is very possible that you may have lived in Gondolin then. I can't think of any other event in history that would have... what you mentioned all at once, except for the fall of that great city. It would also explain why your elvish is so old fashioned."

"So... you know where Thor is?"

"Thor?"

"My brother. The king."

Thranduil takes a deep breath. "Your brother could not have been king. Turgon was the only king of Gondolin. I would think you may be speaking about Tuor, but there is no way he is related to you. Not if you grew up together, like you said." He sighs. "It may be a while before we can locate your kin."

The elf Thranduil silently asked to get Loki's food sets a plate in front of in him.

"Thank you!" Loki smiles and digs in. "Delicious."

Thranduil nods noncommittally. "Child," he says eventually, after watching Loki eat for a while, "we'll discuss where... when you may be from another day. I do not wish to overwhelm you."

"Oh." Loki takes another bite of his buttered bread and then swallows it. "Thanks."

Thranduil nods. "I suppose I could summon Glorfindel. He may recognize you, especially if you lived in Gondolin."

"Who's that?"

"Glorfindel?"

Loki nods.

"He is a warrior from Gonodlin. He has been here since the year of the trees. He is the chief of the House of the Golden Flower. He is very old, and very wise. He was killed during the fall of Ondolindë." Thranduil pauses. "Gondolin." He corrects himself, not wanting to confuse the child with its other name.

"Then how's he alive?" Loki asks curiously. "Is he like me?"

Thranduil hesitates. "Yes." He says eventually, still not sure the child actually died or not. He does have memory loss, and it could all just be a misunderstanding. Children often get confused... But if he was just confused, then why does no one know of him? He's part elf, and has obviously received education standard to that of a royal prince. There would be at least rumor of him, for Valar's sake! And that still doesn't explain how he can almost perfectly describe what Ondolindë looked like. He mentioned things that can't be found in books, things that only those who are close to Glorfindel would know, because it is hard for him to talk of his city to people he isn't familiar with.

Loki shakes Thrnaduil's arm.

"Mister." He says impatiently. "How did Glorfindel die?"

"He fought a balrog and his wounds were too many."

"What's a balrog?"

"That is a complicated question. There is an evil... monster, and one day it convinced some of the maia, they are like... spirits and friends of the valar. They were sent to help Arda, like Gandalf. But the monster convinced the maia to help him do evil. And so they became corrupted beings. They grew tall and flames came from them. They have an almost humanoid form, but with large dragon wings and sometimes horns."

Loki shivers. "They sound scary."

"Oh yes, very much so." Thranduil takes a sip from the cup in front of him that looks suspiciously like wine. "Now, I can't keep calling you child forever, can I?"

"Well... I guess not."

"And you don't remember your name?"

Loki shakes his head.

"Would you like me to give you a name?"

"As long as I can say no if I don't like it."

"That sounds logical." Thranduil thinks for a while. "What about Amaranth?"

"Amaranth? What does that mean?"

"It means "unfading". It symbolizes immortality. Not necessarily immortality itself, but the sense that it always comes back, and that it fights with all its might to stay alive. Amaranth is also the name of a beautiful flower found in many places."

"Hmm..." Loki thinks for a moment. "Is it okay to think about it for a while?"

"Of course. If you choose it, it will be your name, after all. It would be strange not to ponder it for a while."

Chapter Text

A little after breakfast, (which was really more like lunch, with how late in the day it was), Thranduil bid the youngling farewell, and headed off to his office.

With spring being almost over, the dark magic in the forest seemed to be going haywire. It's almost as if it is sentient, and can tell that the summer is near. Summer and some months in winter seem to be alive with an... almost light magic feeling. It discourages most evil things from making an appearance, and they seem to be weaker during those few select months. But unfortunately, it's not just the elves that have noticed this. The orcs and the spiders seem to be very aware of it as well, and do as much damage as they can before the light magic makes an appearance. 

Which means that more spiders come and attack, and more orcs are stupid enough to venture into his woods. They are promptly dealt with, of course. His son is in the guard. And his son, of course, is very powerful. So why wouldn't the threats be neutralized quickly and effectively? He'd bet his best set of armor that his son is the best in his patrol unit. 

But... with so many patrols being needed, and so many evils waking up in the wood, that meant a lot of paper work. But it wasn't anything he couldn’t finish relatively quickly.

Or it wouldn't have been. But the child seems set on tagging along.

Thranduil sighs and turns around. "Why," he crosses his arms, "do you seem so keen on following me?"

"Because I want to come with you!"

"For whatever reason? I can assure you, my days are quite boring. You would find more excitement if you were to go with Arienlee."

Loki ponders this. He folds his arms. "No." He says decisively. 

Thranduil appears vaguely startled. "Pardon?"

Loki just shrugs, a motion that Thranduil is very familiar with. Legolas, during his time as an elfling, was very fond of that particular shrug.

Thranduil looks off into the distance. "Valar give me strength." He intones quietly, hoping that this child won't cause as much trouble as Legolas did. They seem too similar already.

"Who's the valar?"

"They helped create our world. They were created by Eru's thought."

"Is Eru a god?"

"Yes, Eru Ilúvatar is the god. He is... the father of the valar."

"What's he like?"

"He is kind. He is... it is complicated to try to understand him. He is beyond our comprehension."

"Have you ever met him?"

"I would like to think that he hears when I talk to him, but I have never met him, no. Mithrandir says he was in the presence of Ilúvatar when he came into being as Olórin, and while I cannot ascertain as to whether or not this is true, I do not believe he would lie about such a thing."

Loki nods. He thinks for a while, before Thranduil gently prods him froward. 

"Now come, child. If I am to get any semblance of work done, I need to begin shortly."

"Okay." Loki keeps pace with Thranduil as they walk. 

A few minutes later, Loki looks up at Thranduil. He blurts out, "I don't know if I like Amaranth." 

This gives Thranduil pause, though he keeps walking. He keeps his face blank, not wanting to influence the child's decision. "Is that so?" He says carefully.

Loki nods. "I like it, but not as my all the time name. It doesn't... it," he hesitates, trying to find the right word, "fit?"

"I see."

"Do you have any more names?" 

"Let me think."

They continue to walk in silence.

A few minutes later, they walk into Thranduil's office. Thranduil moves his papers to the side and Loki settles down in a chair a little ways away from the desk, in front of a wooden table fairly low to the ground.

"Isilion." Thranduil says as he organizes more papers. 

Loki thinks. "What does it mean?"

"It has many meanings, depending on who you ask. To some, it means "child of the stars." To others, it means "remembrance of the moon." One of my... friends from a," he lets out a quiet breath, "very long time ago, believed that it meant sacrifice. I heard many stories about her Isilion's before I met them," he abruptly stops speaking. He smiles thinly, though it wavers slightly. Not that Loki notices. "It is a name very dear to me." He says instead. 

Loki tilts his head. 

Thranduil continues his tale after a moment to compose himself. "One Isilion was a human, and the other was an elf. The human was brave. She was torn from her home at a young age and fought with all her strength to stay alive. She grew up in harsh conditions, in a place where no one loved her and she had to fight and raise her voice and shout and make herself known to survive. And she wasn't much older than you. Perhaps twelve? And you know what? She thrived." His voice gets quiet, "Honestly, we all believed she would outlive us. She was bright, and strong. And she inspired us. Her name fit her. She burned like the stars. But... she also resembled the moon. All of her light came from one person. Her sun. My... friend. So, when we were in battle, and her person was injured, she... protected her light. And in the process, she died." He takes a shaky breath.

"The other Isilion had a happier ending. He wasn't a soldier. He was a healer. He grew up like most elflings, showered in love. He wasn't raised in greenwood, actually. He was raised in Imladris. He showed interest in the arts of healing from a young age, so the head healer of that time took him under his tutelage. I'm not actually sure how my friend met her first Isilion. I believe it was on a diplomatic mission my father sent to Imladris that she decided to join? Nonetheless, the two enjoyed each others company. They were separated shortly before my friend met her second Isilion, the human." A strange expression flits across his face.

"It was time for my friend to come back. She had been away for too long and she had a duty to the kingdom. A few years after that, Isilion was gone."

"Gone?" Loki interrupts. "Did he die?"

"I do not know. No one does. He was there and then he was gone. My friend searched for him and I helped as much as I could, but we never heard anything about him again. My friend stopped searching a few years after. She had a dream. It was of Isilion. She said she didn't remember what he said, but she remembered the feeling of the dream. He was at peace, and he was okay."

Loki doesn't know what to say, so he stay quiet.

Thranduil gets to work. He starts writing on some of the important looking papers. He divides them into piles as he works.

"Would it really be okay to have that name?" Loki asks eventually, looking nervous.

"If it wasn't I wouldn't have mentioned it."

Loki nods. "Well... I think it..." he pauses, "that this one -- Isilion I mean. The name. It fits better."

He waves his hands around as Thranduil stares at him impassively. 

"It's more me." Loki blurts out, frustrated that he can't get his words out. 

"I see."

"So..." Loki says tentatively, "Am I Isilion now?"

"If that is what you wish, then yes."

Loki nods.

"In that case, I will alert the others."

"Thank you."

"Isilion Amaranth." Thranduil mutters, deep in thought. "What a name."

Loki tilts his head. 

No, Loki thinks, while biting the inside of his cheek, it is Isilion now. He smiles. He was almost desperate for... to not be... Loki. Loki meant pain. Loki meant betrayal and trickery. Well, he can't remember his name exactly, but he can remember the feelings his old name brings. He doesn't like those feelings. He wants to be new. He wants to start again and make his name happy, not sad. A new name will help him to not be... him. With all the scary things and the memories of strife and things not being as they should. Yes. He likes his new name very much.

"It means "Unfading child of the stars"." Thranduil answers his unspoken question. 

"It's pretty," Isilion intones quietly.

"Yes." Thranduil says, before looking back down at his paperwork. "Ah." His head lifts up as he remembers something. "Do you remember when I spoke of Lord Glorfindel? And how he may recognize you? And of Lord Elrond, who is half elven and partly like you, if what you say is true, though you are more... half of a quarter of a quarter elven. You are more human than elf, but still, he may know something."    

Isilion pauses for a moment, processing the information. "Yes."

"There are two choices."

Isilion nods.

"One, we can send a letter to both Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel. However, the journey to get to Imladris is around two months long. If you choose this, it will be at least four months before you receive a reply. Now, this is not a long time for elves, but I know humans," he pauses, "even humans who are distantly related to elves, process time differently. Number two, we could send an envoy, and you could go to Imladris in person. However, the journey is long and perilous. It goes through mountains and treacherous roads. The orcs," he ignores they way Isilion flinches at the word, "right now are very active, as soon summer will be here. And, for a lack of a word I am certain you will understand, summer makes them..." he cringes slightly, "sleepy. So currently they're trying to do as much evil as they can before the Valar intervene and spread their power so summer will come."

"Will I have to go alone if I go there myself?"

Thranduil looks vaguely horrified by the idea. "Oh, Valar, no. What elf would send a child alone on a two month journey?"

Isilion shrugs. "I haven't met a lot of elves, so I don't know."

"No, that was a rhetorical..." Thranduil sighs and sets his pen down. "Nevermind. We would send you with a patrol unit of around twenty-eight soldiers, as well as a healer and a cook. Since it has been a while since we've sent a delegation to Imladris, there may be some elves who want to visit for personal reasons. They may join the delegation to have the extra protection. All in all, you will most likely have at least thirty to forty people with you."

"Whoa. That is... a lot."

"Yes. We hold children in high esteem. It is in our nature to protect them. Especially ones that have been parted from their minders. I already know that many of the guards who join you on the journey will be there because they volunteer."      

"Will Legolas come?"

"I assume so." Thranduil picks up his pen and signs a paper, before setting it on a stack to the right of the desk. He shuffles through another pile. "He seems very fond of you. And he enjoys the company of Lord Elrond's sons."

"I think I'll go there in person then. It's faster and easier."

"Okay." Thranduil makes a small triumphant sound as he finds the paper he was looking for. He pauses his work to look up at Isilion. "I'll have one of the council members start arranging it. Probably Norodiir, he is sufficiently adept at planning things. It will most likely be around a week before you leave."  

"Okay!"

"Now, why don't you go find Arienlee and tell him all about how he's going to be traveling to Imladris." Thranduil smirks.

Isilion bounces on his toes, excited. "Okay!"

He bounces to the door, but Thranduil's voice stops him when he places his hand on the doorknob.

"Oh, Isilion."

"Yes?"

"Be sure to tell Arienlee that the twins know it was him. Tell him he has much to look forward to, in terms of the twin's revenge."

Isilion looks confused. "Okay?" 

Thranduil cackles.

A concerned expression makes itself known on Isilion’s face. He shrugs and walks out of the room.

"I think Thrandy needs help." He informs the woman standing guard outside Thranduil's office.

She blinks. "What?"

"He's all cackle like and promising revenge." He says seriously.

"...Who did he promise revenge on?"

"Arienlee."

"Ah. For the incident this morning. He'll be fine, penneth. He is just... the regular level of wrath."

"It is normal for him to be mad?"

"When things like that happen, yes."

"Oh." He bounces on his toes. "Well, I'm going to go find Arienlee."

"Good luck, child."

"My name's Isilion." He informs her, before running off in a random direction.

"What a peculiar child." She murmurs under her breath, before going back to standing guard.

Several hours later, after a run in with a donkey, a near brush with death (pro tip, do not jump off of high statues unless you are certain you are going to be caught by a nearby elf), a chicken chase and a break for snack, Isilion manages to find Arienlee.

"Arienlee!" He shouts, with his hands on his hips, while he stares up at the tree with a napping Arienlee.

Arienlee jerks up. "It was Legolas!" He shouts, before pausing and remembering where he is. 

He jumps out of the tree, his cheeks slightly red. He dusts off his robes, which look beyond saving. The formally elegant silver robes are now crumpled and stained with dirt. Various leaves stick to it, but Isilion elects not to tell him. Call it revenge, but it is justified after what he went through the find the slightly embarrassed looking elf.

He crosses his arms. "Thrandy told me to tell you something."

Arienlee coughs into his hand. His lips twitch, though he tries to keep them still. "You mean King Thranduil?" 

"Yes. You," he pokes Arienlee's stomach for emphasis, "are coming with me to Imladris."

"Excuse me?"

"Thrandy said so. He also told me to tell you the twins know it was you and they are planning revenge. He said to enjoy your time there."

Arienlee sinks to the ground and covers his face in distress.

"Whoever does the laundry is going to hate you." Isilion observes, watching Arienlee soil his robes even more.

"I am going to die as soon as I step foot in Imladris." Arienlee looks half serious.

"You can just come back." Isilion picks at his tunic. "Glorfindel did that."

 "Glorfindel is special and it doesn't work like that for anyone else." 

"Don't worry, Renny. I think you're special too." Isilion pats Arienlee's head in sympathy.

"That's not what I... nevermind. Thank you, child."

"Isilion." He says triumphantly. "I have a name now."

Arienlee smiles. "Well, congratulations."

"Thank you!"

Arienlee stands up. He gives Isilion a one over. "Why are there feathers on your pants?"

"The chicken didn't like me."

"And why... do you smell like," Arienlee sniffs the air and then winces, "a skunk...?"

"A donkey." Isilion corrects him.

"Right."

"The donkey did like me. But his minders didn't. They shooed me out."

Arienlee hums in amusement. "I suppose you need a bath before dinner."

"Is it close to dinner already?"   

"Yes, time tends to pass quickly when you're having fun."

They pause by a fountain and Arienlee points to the sky. It's clear, with only some rainclouds in the distance.

"Do you see how the sun is positioned?"

"Yeah."

"And if you look over here," Arienlee shifts to the side, "that is where the sun comes up. And that," he gestures to the other direction, "is where it goes down. So if you're good at judging distances, you can always tell what time it is. When the sun is in the middle of the sky, it is lunch time. Where it is now means we have," he holds up his hand sideways, "about two hours until it sets. Which means it's almost time for dinner."

"Whoa."

"Whoa indeed."

After a few minutes of walking towards the dining hall so they can get their food first, Isilion tugs on Arienlee's robe.

"Renny. When is Legolas coming back?"

"Either tonight or early tommorow, as long as they don't run into any trouble. They are just patrolling the outerborders, they aren't going that deep into the forest."

 "Good."

"Why do you ask?"

"I want to braid his hair."

This gives Arienlee pause. "Do you..." he shakes his head. "Nevermind."

"Hm?"

"You need history lessons." Areinlee eventually decides. 

"I don't want lessons." 

"Why not?"

"They're boring. It's all obvious stuff."

"Well, we'll just have to find someone who teaches things that aren't obvious. Believe it or not, some teachers make their lessons interesting."

Isilion gapes. "We can do that?"

 "We can do that." He replies, trying not to laugh.

They arrive at the dining hall and sit down at a table close to the kitchen, as it's not ready yet. 

"Renny."

"Yes?"

"What did you do to make those people seek revenge?"

"The twins?"

"Yup."

"Their names are Elladan and Elrohir. And it was something little ears should not hear."

"Why? Was it that bad?"

"No. Not... that bad, but Thranduil will banish me from Greenwood if I were to corrupt you. Or give you any ideas."

Isilion looks vaguely dissapointed.

An elf with long blond hair brings out a plate. It has fresh baked bread, smothered in melting butter. A variance of fresh and roasted vegetables make up about a third of the plate. They smell heavenly. A decent sized pastry sits off to the side. In the elf's other hand, there is a small bowl. He places it in front of Isilion. It looks like a thick porridge, with mashed potatoes and cheese all throughout it.

Isilion inhales deeply. "This looks..." he rubs his hands together, "...whoa." He says instead, not knowing how to describe the godly looking (and smelling) food. "Thank you!"

The elf nods. "You are very welcome, Isilion."

"Whoa." Arienlee interrupts the proceedings with a slightly offended tone. "Tathdel." He looks up from the table at the impassive face of the blond elf. "Where's my food?"

Tathdel looks unimpressed. "You are not a child. Go get your own."

Arienlee clutches his chest. "Ah! The coldness of that tone! I thought we were friends?" He bats his eyelashes.

Tathdel watches him in an expression akin to disgust. "No." He says firmly, before turning around and going back into the kitchens.

"He needs to lighten up. He's much too old to spend all his days frowning."

Isilion eyes him like he's stupid. "Never talk bad about the cooks. Never. They'll poison you."

Arienlee waves his hand. "Nah, Tathdel wouldn't..." he trails off as the realization hits him. "He would."

He jumps up and runs into the kitchens. "Wait! Tathdel! I apologize! I did not mean it!"

Isilion laughs at the commotion in the kitchen while he eats. Various elves walk into the dining hall. They raise their eyebrows at Isilion's hunched over and smiling form. Isilion snickers.

Yells come from the kitchen. "You do not belong in-"

A scream. 

"No! Not the squash!"

"This is not a good apology!"

A lower, commanding voice, that doesn't sound phased at all, "No running with knives." 

"Stop or I will get Legolas!"

"He is on patrol!"

A laugh.

"Stay away from the hens!" A high voice shrieks.

"Someone get Ylndal!"

"No! He will participate in the chaos!"

"Someone go get a guard!"

A high pitched shriek.

The elves seem highly interested. A few edge towards the kitchen doors.

"Not the flour!" 

"Child," a curious looking elf with dark hair turns towards Isilion, "what is going on?"

Isilion swallows a bite of his pastry. "Arienlee." He supplies, before taking another bite.

The surrounding elves sigh. "Yes... that... does make sense."

They sit down. 

"I hope he doesn't ruin our dinner again."

Some of the elves groan. 

Isilion grabs his bread, which is the only thing left on his plate, and hops down from the long wooden table.

"Awh, leaving us so soon, penneth?"

"Yep! Gotta go find my friends."

"Well, good luck. Though Legolas is on patrol, so you will not be able to find him."

"That's not who I'm talking about." Isilion grins mysteriously.

The elves chuckle and shake their heads. It is good to have a child in their halls again. Even if it is a human child. 

Isilion runs out of the dining hall. He slows down once he reaches the hallway and takes a bite of his bread. "Hm." He looks around. He knows the elves don't like dwarves, so they probably aren't going to let him see them. Or visa versa. He's going to have to find them himself. Which shouldn’t be that hard. He's confident in his skills. 

He jumps behind a pillar as an elf walks past. He giggles. The elf raises an eyebrow but doesn't look at him. They must not have seen him! He's such a good hider.

He runs to the next pillar, humming a tune he can't remember the words of. He pauses as the words come to mind. Yes, that's right. He hums. 

"When she sings," he twirls in a circle and looks out at the vast forest beyond the walls of the castle. "she sings, 'come home'." He whisper sings the end, not sure why it makes him sad. He can't remember what his home looked like, but he can remember what it feels like. Warm and soft but also... icy cold? 

Ah, that's right.

His home wasn't a home. The buildings he lived in were never his home. Someone, he can't remember who, ruined that. That place, the one with the golden buildings, was important, but not very. And why would he bother to remember something that was just a place to stay in?

His home was never a place.

It was always, always the people. It was always his mother.

He wipes the tears away from his cheeks. 

He misses his mom, but crying won't let him get back to her. He's leaving for Imladris in a week or so, and then the Glorfindel person can help him find her. He nods. He can mourn... no. No! No, his Amma is not to be mourned. She is alive. She is alive. He covers his ears, trying to push images of a lady in a golden dress getting stabbed. She is safe. He can find her later. He will find her later. He squeezes his eyes shut. What's wrong with him? Why is he behaving like a child? He knows his mother is okay, he saw her. She was-is okay. 

He tries to take a deep breath, his eyes still squeezed shut and his hands over his ears. Why is it so hard to breathe? What is wrong with him? What is-

A hand touches his arm and he shrieks. His eyes flicker up. A person in silver armor towers over him. He stumbles backwards and his eyes open in panic. Go away goawaygoAWAY! Pleasedon'thurtmeplasedon't- 

Isilion hiccups. Tears stream down his cheeks and he still can't breathe. He tries to run, but the hand grabs his arm.

Isilion kicks and flails. Unintelligible words stream out of the strangers mouth. He can't understand them. Nothing makes sense. Why does nothing make sense?

"Stop!" Isilion tries to scream, but it just come out as a whisper. He still can't breathe.

The hand turns him to face the stranger and-

Oh.

Oh it isn't a stranger.  

Legolas' panicked face stares back at him.

Isilion stops moving in surprise.

"Penneth! Man céril? Av-'osto. Umin hanyan."

Isilion blinks. 

"Isilion!" Legolas looks him in the eyes. "Tolo ar nín." He says seriously.

He takes a deep breath and moves his hand up. "Tolo." He says again, and breathes slowly out, as he lowers his hand.

Isilion nods. He follows Legolas' motions.

His breathing calms down.

"Änin aspenë. Áva sorya." Legolas holds his arms out, concerned. "Á tulë sinomë?"

Isilion can't understand what he's saying, but he quickly figures out by Legolas' body language that he's asking if he wants a hug. He nods, and runs into Legolas' arms. Legolas holds him tightly. Isilion grips tightly to back of Legolas' armor. His breathing calms down. 

"Are you okay?" Legolas asks. 

Isilion starts. He can understand him this time. He shrugs his shoulders.

"What happened?"

"My Amma," he pauses at Legolas' confused sound. He searches for a different word, "nana." He says eventually, and Legolas makes a small sound of understanding. "I want to find her."

"I'm sure that Glorfindel and Lord Elrond will be able to help you."

Isilion clenches Legolas' armor harder. "No." He says forcefully. "I remembered something bad." 

"Did something happen to her? Your naneth?"

"I hope not," Isilion murmurs.

"What," Legolas begins hesitantly, while running a hand through Isilion's hair, "did you remember?"

"I think," Isilion sobs, "that the monster hurt her. It stabbed her." 

Legolas freezes.

Isilion takes a step back. His hands shake. "But she's okay!" He says desperately, trying to wipe away his tears, "She-she has to be. Because I saw her before the gold light took me here! She's okay. She... is?" He peers up into Legolas' eyes. "She is, right?"  

"Isilion." He says gravely. "It seems you have more in common with Glorfindel than we thought."

"What do you mean? My nana is okay, right?"

"She is in the undying lands." Legolas says slowly, trying to form the words right. "She is happy. But she isn't... here. Not anymore. You will see her again later. When you are older."

Isilion shakes his head. "No!" He pounds his fists against Legolas' breast plate, "I want to see her now!" He lets out a sob. "I want my nana! Where is she?"

Legolas, still looking slightly out of it and filled with sorrow, brushes a strand of Isilion's hair behind his ear. "She was not brought back with you." He says sadly.

"Well bring her back! Tell them to bring her back too! I don't want to be alone!"

"Oh, Isilion." Legolas draws him into a tight hug. "You will not be alone. I swear it. I will stay with you always."

"You aren't my nana!" He shouts back, full of anger. He tries to squirm out of the hug. 

Legolas rubs his back in small circles. "I know. And I am sorry, I truly am. But we cannot go against the Valar. Your nana will stay in the undying lands, where she is happy. And when you are old, you can join her."

"I want to join her now!"

Legolas pulls back. He examines Isilion's face. "No." He says, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “You are needed here. Otherwise the Valar would not have sent you back. Even if they did not send you back, you would still be needed. You are important, Isilion Amaranth. Please do not think of joining your naneth until it is the right time.”

Isilion sniffles, trying to reign in his emotions. “But I miss her.” He whispers desperately.

”I know.” Legolas whispers back. “Trust me, I know. My naneth is in the undying lands too. But you know what? I think they’d want us to be happy. Do you think so?”

Isilion pauses before nodding once.

”I think so too.” Legolas stands up and carefully holds Isilion’s hand. “Now come, there is something I must tell my father.”

”Can we get more pastries on the way?” Isilion rubs his eyes with the bottom of his tunic.

”Of course. What is your favorite?”

”All of them.”

”That is a good choice.”

Legolas walks into the dining hall, ignoring the yelling coming from the kitchen. The elves that spot him laugh. 

“You missed something good!” One elf calls out, tone ringed with laughter.

Legolas nods and grabs a few pastries off of a nearby plate. He hands a few to Isilion and walks back out of the dining hall.

Isilion munches in the dessert. “What do you have to tell Thrandy?”

”Of your heritage.”

”My what now?”

”You are not distantly related to the elves, Isilion Amaranth. You are one.”

Isilion shakes his head. “I don’t remember being one.”

”Lord Elrond is a healer. He can help with that.”

Legolas knocks on Thranduil’s office door.

”Who is it?”

”Legolas.”

”Ah. Come in, ion-nin.”

Thranduil examines Legolas and then Isilion. “Back so soon?” He asks, slightly puzzled. “And with armor on? I thought you were heading to your chambers to change?”

”I was. I met the little one on the way. He was panicking.”

Thranduil’s eyes flit towards Isilion’s. “Why?” He asks him.

”My naneth didn’t come back with me.” He replies sadly.

”Adar.”

Thranduil’s attention is brought back to Legolas. 

Legolas brushes Isilion’s hair behind his ear.

Thranduil rises off of his chair a little. “What?” He asks softly, in a voice full of confusion and wonder.

”He isn’t distantly related to elves, Ada. He is one.”

Thranduil heavily sits back down. “I do not…” He stares at Isilion’s pointed ear. “How?” He asks softly.

They both turn towards Isilion, who is munching on his pastry.

He raises an eyebrow, feeling better now that he’s calmed down and he has some pastries. “I dunno why you’re both looking at me. I didn’t remember till now either.”

Thranduil’s voice sounds distant. “Well, hopefully Lord Elrond or Lord Glorfidnel will know something.”

Legolas nods. “My thoughts exactly.”

Isilion wipes his hands off on his tunic. He yawns. 

Thranduil and Legolas give each other a look. They nod.  

Legolas grabs Isilion’s hand. “I think it is time for a bath. And bed.”

“And a story?”

”And a story.” Legolas confirms. 

Chapter Text

Once Isilion finishes his bath, he is practically already asleep. He walks forward, his eyes dulled with sleep. He yawns and shivers from the cool air. Droplets plop on the floor from his hair with the movement.

Cricket sounds can be heard from the nearby trees, as well as quiet singing from the elves wondering about. The songs are undecipherable because of the distance. But that's alright. Songs don't always need words. Sometimes a song can have so much feeling woven throughout it, so much emotion, that words are useless. 

Legolas hums quietly along with the singing from outside.

Isilion stays quiet. He knows if he tries to sing with them, he will cry. He understands the song too much.

It's filled with longing for something that once was -- laughter in halls of golden flowers, a child's song, those that are no more. It is filled with sorrow. They miss the stars. They miss being close to the sea and freedom and air. They miss safety and the free forests that no evil brings. They wish to go somewhere across a sea. Isilion isn't sure where, but for some reason, he longs to go there too.

He opens his mouth to ask Legolas if he can go, but Legolas abruptly ceases singing.

"Alright, Isilion. Come here, let me dry you off."

Isilion plods over to Legolas and leans forward. Legolas towels his hair. He giggles as his head is rocked back and forth.

A small smile flits across Legolas' face. "Àlu..." He mutters to himself, sounding delighted.

He helps Isilion into his bed clothes and lifts him up. "Let's go to bed, aí?"

Isilion nods sleepily and buries his head into Legolas' shoulder as he walks. Isilion frowns slightly. He feels like a baby. He sighs. Well, it isn't all that bad. But I do think they put a sleeping spell in that bathing water. He yawns again.

Legolas opens his bedroom door. "I apologize that you are stuck here again tonight, penneth. Your room will be ready tomorrow."

"S'okay."

Legolas gently lays him down on the bed. "Do you want to be tucked in, or is it too hot?"

Isilion frowns and his face scrunches up. "Too cold." He mutters.

Legolas nods and tucks him in. He stands up, but Isilion grabs his hand.

"Story...?" He says slowly, hoping to prompt Legolas' memory.

"Ah, yes. I apologize." 

Legolas sits back down on the bed and smooths Isilion's hair back away from his face. "Let me see... What kind of story do you want?"

"A real one."

Legolas hums. "Alright. What about a story of a queen, a prince, and a farmers daughter? One with battles and ents."

"Ents?"

"Trees who speak."

"Yeah!"

Legolas begins his story, in a low, serious, quiet tone. "Not that long ago, in a land not unlike our own, there lived a king. He was a vicious king. He fought tooth and nail for his people. And despite the fact that his hands were covered in bloodshed, his people adored him. He fought for peace, you see. No matter the cost. No matter the other kingdoms that were thrown into war and terror because of it. And finally... he gained what he wished for. But peace... oh it comes at a cost."

His eyes seem far away. They look too old for his face.

Too full of ancient knowledge of things humans wouldn't be able to comprehend.

He frowns. His eyes come back into focus.

He continues telling the story. "He lost all his children in battle. His daughter, the general of his army, dead to the mages who were cowardly enough to attack from the shadows."

Isilion frowns. "But they survived, didn't they?"

"The mages?"

He nods.

"They did." 

"Then why do you call them cowardly? They did what it took to win, just like the king. And you called the king courageous. Or at least you insinuated that he was."

"Yes... I..." He pauses. "You are correct, I did not think of it in that aspect."

Isilion nods. "So what happened after he lost his children?"

"The queen," he swallows, "was not able to bear the loss of her children. She decided to... leave the land of the living before her time. The only people left in the royal family were the king and his orphaned grandson. As he grew, he became known for his good heart, and his skills in battle. The people loved him." 

Legolas leans back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling. "He was nearly grown when his grandfather remarried. She was young, and beautiful. She was a princess of some unknown, far away land. But soon after... the king grew sick. No doctor could heal him, and no wizard could tell him what ailed him. No priest, nor holy water, could save him."

His voice grows quiet, mysterious. "Rumors began to spread that the queen was an evil sorceress. The people whispered amongst themselves, they said the newly wedded queen wanted the throne for herself. That she had seduced the king on purpose, as the good prince was too young to take the throne should the king pass away. They said she had poisoned the king, so her nefarious plan would succeed. A few months later, the king died. By law, the queen would rule for another year, until the prince came into adulthood."

Isilion frowns, not sure what to think of the tale.

Legolas continues, "In the meantime, the prince had fallen in love. She was only a farmer's daughter, but she was beautiful and smart. The people smiled at the match. She would be the common people's voice, so that the royals did not get too complacent. The queen however... she despised that the prince had fallen in love with a farmer's daughter of all things. She couldn't stand to think that soon, he would have the throne for himself. She quite liked the power that came with being the queen. And... what better way to do that than marry the prince herself?"

Isilion's nose wrinkles. "Eww! She's like... his grandmother! But in-law! A step grandma. Or something."

"Only by law. And you forget, she was still young and beautiful herself."

Isilion shakes his head. "No." He mouths. "Ew."

"Yes. The prince didn't like what she proposed either. He ran away with the farmer's daughter,"

Isilion cuts him off, "What was her name?"

"No one knows. It wasn't written down."

"That's sad."

"Yes."

"So what happened next?"

"When they had traveled a distance away," he pauses to explain, "they were planning to wait and hide until the prince was old enough to be king, they stopped for the night under a large tree, in the middle of the forest."

Isilion's eyes glimmer. "Was that the ent?"

"You'll have to wait and see. The next morning, when the prince woke up, he looked at his love. "Beloved?" He asked, but the farmer's daughter did not stir. That... was when the prince noticed the blood."

"What?"

"Someone had killed his beloved."

"No! Why is there never a happy ever after?"

"Because fairytales usually don't consider the complications life brings. And this is a true story."

Isilion nods and sighs. "But what happened after that?"

"He picked her up and rode into a nearby town. "The queen!" He cried, "The queen has murdered my bride!" The villagers were full of anger. Something cruel whispered in their ears. Soft little voices that told them of revenge. They picked up their pitchforks and swords and marched towards the castle. That is when the ent awoke. For he saw what occurred during the night. He marched with the villagers and their attack of the castle. The queen... was never seen again."

"Did they kill her?"

"The tale is not yet over. For the histories -- the trees -- told of things the people never discovered."

"Oh?"

"The ent took the queen. He carried her far, far away. Past rivers and cities and to a town by the sea. There she began a new, happy life."

"How come she got to live happy? She killed the farmer's daughter! Why would the ent save her?"

"I never said she killed the farmer's daughter. I only said that the prince said it was so."

"What?"

"That night, the prince did not got to sleep. He laid still, with baited breath. And when the farmer's daughter fell asleep, he took out his knife. He stabbed her."

"He killed her?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Isilion pauses. "Oh," he says quietly, "he probably wanted the throne. He didn't want to wait, so he tricked her, didn't he? Because he knew the only way for him to rule would be to get rid of the queen, and everyone believed he loved the farmer's daughter, and would never kill her."         

Legolas watches Isilion intently. "Indeed."

"So the good hearted prince was a murder, and the evil queen wasn't a witch after all?"

"No, she certainly was a witch. Don't forget, she came from a far away land where that sort of knowledge was practically excepted of royalty. She could have easily became a great evil."

"Well then why did the ent save her? Evil people, or people who'll become evil, don't merit saving."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. So why?"

"Because what she was not, was a murderer. She did not poison the king. She loved him very much, and she did all she could to care for him."

Isilion frowns. "What about the prince? Did anyone ever find out what he did?"

"No. His people loved him very much. He lived happily ever after, and eventually died of old age, after having many bright and equally beloved children."

"I don't think I like that story."

"Why not?"

"They're both bad guys. What's the point of the story? To tell of the ent's "glorious" deeds?"

"Not all stories need to have a point. Sometimes they just need to be told. However... this one does have a point, I guess you could say."

After a moment of silence Isilion leans forward, "So... what is it?"

"Not all people are good. Most people aren't, actually. Most people are in-between. And while that may not be overly desirable, it doesn't mean you are evil if you are the in-between. You can be a good person and do bad things. And doing that doesn't have to mean you're a bad person, sometimes it just means you made a mistake. And everyone, no matter who they are, has made mistakes." He sighs, "I guess what I'm trying to say is you're not evil for messing up."

Something buried inside of Isilion falters. He doesn't realize. He has long stopped paying attention to it. "Me?"

"Oh no, I didn't mean you, that is just the point of the story."

"I see."

Legolas stands up and ruffles Isilions hair. "Now sleep, tithen-pen."

He walks out of the room, leaving the candlelight on.

In the dim light, Isilion ponders the story. Why that story? If all stories have a point, why would Legolas choose to tell him that one? 

And why does something within him wholly reject the idea of being good yet bad?

Why does he feel so heartbroken? 

Legolas walks to Thranduil's office and knocks twice.

"Come in, ion-nin."

Legolas walks into the room and plops down on one of the chairs in front of the desk, now noticeably less filled with paperwork. "Are we still brining Isilion to Imladris?" He asks tiredly.

Thranduil raises an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't we?"

"Adar. He is an elfling. Not even half-elven, like Lord Elrond. He is fully elven."

"Yes." He doesn't look up from his work. "...And?"

"We can't take him on a trip that dangerous!'

"Ah," he waves his hand, "he will be alright. We just have to increase the guards. You made that trip hundreds of times when you were an elfling."

"Yes, but I knew how to protect myself."

Thranduil raises an eyebrow. "Is that so." He states.

"Yes!"

Thranduil lets out a short laugh.

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

Thranduil laughs harder.

Legolas rolls his eyes.   

"You," he waves in Legolas' general direction, "were about as good as an orc at cooking when you started fighting lessons. Which is normal, but I find the mental imagery of you, as an elfling, trying to fight off a spider while saying you can protect yourself, hilarious."   

Legolas sighs. "Anyway," he remarks, tryin to get the conversation back on track, "are we going to tell them? About him being an elfling, and not a human child?"

Thranduil ponders this for a while, "No." He eventually says.

Legolas waits for his father to explain his reasons.

"There would be panic." Thranduil says, moving the papers out of the way so he can see his son clearly.

"Indeed." Legolas raises his eyebrows, with an expression of you think? "As would be common with any elflings being announced."

"There are ears everywhere. I do not want... our enemy to discover what we have found. They will plan ambushes, and this trip is important. Lord Elrond will most likely have some insight as to why he was sent. Or... found. And Lord Glorfindel will most likely find him familiar and know if he has any relatives left. If he was indeed from Ondolindë."

"Fine." Legolas says, not fully agreeing, but seeing the logic. "When do we depart?"

"In a weeks time. The supplies should be gathered by then, and the guards that will be volunteering will have time to notify their families."

Legolas stands. "Alright. Goodnight, Adar."

A small smile graces Thranduil's face. "Goodnight, ion-nin."

Chapter Text

When Isilion awakes, his eyes are blurry.

He wipes away long lost tears (he didn’t realize he’d started crying), that can’t have a place in his heart because he can’t remember why they’re there. 

He doesn’t know why the nights are so hard. Something in the air, perhaps?

And the way the empty space between the stars sing about being close enough to see the stars but never close enough to actually touch them.

It brings about the feelings usually buried by the busy throngs of life. 

The sun sets but it’s always awake somewhere.

Maybe memories aren’t gone forever, just hidden until you have the strength to face them.

Isilion sits up and wraps his blanket around him. 

He needs sweets. And pronto. That's the only thing he can think of to get rid of the ugly feeling in his chest and the pit in his stomach. 

Only problem, none of the adults are going to let him have sweets this early in the morning. 

His eyes narrow as he gets a brilliant (really really bad) idea. The elves might not let him eat sweets this early, but the dwarves... he grins. The dwarves could care less. Especially if they find out they have a chance to one-up said elves. A mischievous sort of laugh escapes his mouth and he quickly claps his hands over his lips to muffle the sound.

His eyes gleam. Operation-sneak-to-the-dwarves-avoid-the-elves-then-explainin-to-said-dwarves-then-sneak-with-the-dwarves-to-the-kitchen-then-eat-sweets is a go! 

He quietly stands up on the bed to get a good view of the room. He spins around slowly, taking note of everything. The sky light is a no-go, unless he miraculously discovers the power of flight. He hums. 

Okay, it's either one of the two windows or the door. 

He hears faint shuffling, perhaps of a basket of laundry brushing against the wall?

He's long since learned that the elves footsteps are quiet, so it can't be that.

But shuffling would mean signs of life outside the door. He'd be easily spotted. He blinks as he recalls something.

Oh that's right! If i'm going to blend in with everything to not be seen, I gotta wear something sneaky!

He slides down the large bed and runs over to his closet, examining his clothes with care. He decides upon a pair of brown leggings and a mid thigh length tunic. It has a lovely dark green with silver embroidery, a light green hem, and autumn colored leaves seemingly painted on, or sewed into the long sleeves of the material. 

He slips on a pair of grey silver moccasins with leather laces that he wraps around his ankle to keep the shoes firmly in place during his mission. A pair of bluejay feathers are beaded onto the top of the moccasins, with a mix of white, blue, grey and black beads. 

He tucks a tuft of dark black hair behind his ear. He examines his hair in the mirror, pulling his curls down. Apparently, curls are very uncommon, if not non-existent for elves. He sighs. Yet another weird thing about him. 

Since he doesn't feel like kneeling on the fancy wooden chair in front of the mirror, he climbs on top of the vanity so he can get a good view. He sits crisscross before starting a braid above his ear, like Legolas. 

He pauses for a moment, realizing he's never seen anything that could be used to hold his hair in place. What does Legolas use? His braids just... stay. 

He sighs, before staring a braid on the other side. When the two braids can reach each other, he carefully lays them across his back, hoping they won't unravel. He pulls the rest of his hair up in a bun on the back of his head, and uses the two braids to fasten it in place.

He grins. Modern problems require modern solutions.    

He hops down from the vanity and heads to the windows. He's pretty high up, and in the middle of the... city? He's not exactly sure what to call it, but it's beautiful. 

There are houses built into the trees that look like they're melded with the tree itself. They vary in size and in color. Some of the trees have moss growing on them, and the houses reflect that. He looks down at the ground. There's a pathway, but unless someone looked up, they would never realize the amount of buildings grown from the trees. The only thing they would see is the castle like building he currently resides in. 

Since the shadows of the trees keep it fairly dark, there are fireflies scattered throughout the area. Vines with beautiful but poisonous looking flowers grow on some of the trees, in all shades and colors. The ground is scattered with leaves and wildflowers, yet the path is well kept, with nothing on or growing in it. 

A small bubbling stream runs through the area, flowing into a large river. He can't see the river, but he assumes there must be one, because he can hear the rush of rapids. 

There are small reminders that the city is waking up. 

The sun is rising, and light streams through some of the trees, creating rays of light that shine into the houses. He wonders if they were designed that way.

He can hear weapons clanging and the thwooping sound an arrow makes when it hits its target. They must have a training ground nearby.

The smell of freshly bakes bread hangs in the air and he grins. The chefs are up.

He looks at the rays of light, trying to find out where the sun is. Once he can imagine it in his head semi accurately he nods. He still has about an hour before Arienlee comes to wake him up. 

He eyes the large tree next to his window. That will do wonderfully. 

He steps up on his window sill and gracefully jumps onto one of the branches.

Now... his eyes gleam, to find Thorin and the company. 

He thinks back to what he knows about Thranduil, which is... next to nothing. Except... he does like to show authority. So he would probably put the company somewhere majestic but also boorish, so they don't think Thranduil is showing them any kindness. It would probably be near the dungeons, as a slight reminder for them to behave. And it would would have to be a big room.

He pauses.

That leaves about three places, one of which he can rule out because it's super fancy, and the other he can rule out because it's very high and there's no way Thranduil would give them the high ground.

He grins and leaps towards the next tree. He's probably right on where they are, because he usually is. Or at least he thinks so, there seems to be a rather large blank in his memory. (That the elves seem to have all figured out for him, but won't let him in on what it is, which is weird, considering he's the one whose life it is. The elves are a bit prejudiced against young people if you ask him.)

After a lot of jumping (and a lot of pausing because dang, elves have sharp ears) he finally makes it to the suspected room. He frowns. It is super dark here, there's a lot of towering trees. 

He carefully climbs down from the tree and brushes off his chest and legs. This material is not great for climbing trees, everything from leaves to bugs to twigs seem to stick to it. 

He walks over to the window, which surprisingly isn't that far from the ground, (Thranduil must have put them closer to the dungeon than he thought) and peeks in. 

Thorin is pacing, Oin is talking slowly, probably trying to keep him calm, and Bombur is whittling something with his pocket knife. 

Isilion takes that great moment to knock on the window.

Not his best moment, since even though the dwarves are mostly unarmed a lot of them still have weapons and are very jumpy, but as soon as they see it's him they lower them and rush to open the window.

"Kid?" Dori's mouth hangs open. "What are you doing here?" 

Isilion grins and climbs in the window. "I want sweets!" He announces. 

Fili hesitates, "So you came here instead of the kitchens... why?"

Isilion crosses his arms, still crouching on the window sill. "Because elves are meanies who thinks sweets are bad."

Gloin raises an eyebrow, "Well, I mean..." He trails off as everyone stares at him. He clears his throat. "Uh, nevermind."

Isilion jumps down and climbs up on one of the nearby beds. "Also!"

The room quiets down. 

"...Yes?" Thorin asks.

"I have a name!"

"Wonderful!" Ori booms. 

Isilion nods.

Kili waves his arms about. "Sooo? Don't leave us hanging, what is it?"

"Isilion!"

"That's an interesting name. Very... elvish."

"Thorin!" Bifur hisses.

"No, it's okay. Yeah, it kinda is. But according to Thranduil it's a cool name." He pauses. "It's a super long story, so I won't bore you with the details. Also it's kinda sad. Which is why I want sweets. So gimmie some sweets."

Thorin sits down beside him. "Y'know, ki... Isilion, if we could, we would. But that ba-Thranduil kind of has us locked up in here."

"What? But I thought he promised to let you guys go."

"Vaguely, yes. He alluded to it. And we have a friend that's helping us do that, but we wanted to A, make sure you were safe first, and B, make sure Thranduil wasn't trying to do anything to us or our mission after we es-left."

”Well, I am safe! And Thrandy didn’t say anything relating to you guys except that you were annoying.”

Thorin rolls his eyes.

”Plus,” Isilion continues, “I’m going to another place with more elves because Leggy is going to help me figure out who I am because he thinks someone there is my great Ada; or something like that, anyway?” 

“So they are helping you find your family?”

”Yup!” Isilion chirps. “So it’s okay now, you guys should go find your family.”

Oin nods, and there are a few murmured agreements, along with a few said noises. (Mainly coming from Kili and Fili).

”Plus, I heard Bilbo walking around the other day, so I know he’s around here somewhere.”

Thorin grabs a bag from behind one of the chairs. “Alright, sweets and then we’ll be leaving, little one.”

”Okay.”

Isilion grabs Thorin’s hand and leads him out the door. “I know the way out, follow me. We’ll have to get sweets after I help you out.”

Bombur pats Isilion’s shoulder. “Good lad.”

Isilion leads them down a hall, past a bathing chamber, through a room filled with paintings and eventually into win cellar. 

Thorin frowns. “I don’t see how this is going to help us leave, Lion. It seems to be closed off.”

Isilion grins. “Watch this, though.”

He drops a wine bottle onto a specific spot on the ground, much to the dismay of a few of the company. However, instead of breaking, the ground opens up and drops it into a fast flowing river. 

“If you guys follow this, it should lead you out of Mirkwood. Or at least I think so?”

“Kid, you are a lifesaver.”

”I know!” Isilion grins. “Bring me sweets the next time we see each other, then we’ll be even.”

Thorin pats his head. “I will,” he says solemnly. 

“I’ll open the gates.” Isilion gestures towards the levers on the wall. “Good luck.” His lip quivers a bit, but by that time he’d faced the wall and opened the first lever.

A few splashes are heard, and then he can hear Bilbo’s voice. ”Goodbye, Isilion. We will meet again.”

One last splash, and then he really does turn around.

The room is empty, and now, so is his heart. He rubs his eyes. He really does need sweets.

He walks slowly to the kitchen, letting his hair down along the way. He doesn’t need to be sneaky anymore. He rubs his eyes again, feeling sad. Now what is he going to do?

He crosses his arms, not sure how to feel other than the fact that he is going to miss them. 

In a different part of the continent, far away from Isilion and the company, something twists and reaches up.

Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles, but it pays the storm no heed.

It smells something that feels familiar.

It rises out of the sea, it’s eyes peeled on the horizon.

It has quite the treck to make, especially if this turns out to be a false alarm.

But it must always check, just to make sure.

Just to make sure it’s not him.