3. Wrong Impressions

I bounce out of the armchair at the bedside, one in which I had been curled up on since my encounter with Thranduil in the early hours. The sleep tonic was useless I was too distressed by the grotesque images my mind kept mentally slapping me with. But his little voice broke through my brooding and I was fully alert and upright. Well technically not upright, I keep forgetting my ankle is banjaxed and I limp awkwardly to the side.

"CLARA! ADA IS SICK!"

Legolas is standing at my doorway dressed in what looks suspiciously like pyjamas. His hair is ruffled and his eyes are rimmed red from the obvious tears he has been shedding. I open my mouth to say something, anything, but for once in my life I actually lack words. I have comforted many kids in my volunteer work, I've heard all sorts of sad tales and consoled many a heartbroken child, but this is a little different this time - it is almost personal.

"Grandpa says he is sick and I cannot see him until he is better...and and and-" his voice cracks and a torrent of fresh tears begin. He throws himself on the edge of my bed whilst I gawp awkwardly at him, he is sobbing great big heart wrenching sobs and I am doing nothing about it.

"Hey, hush wee darlin' don't you cry," I soothe and hop to his side, mustering my best maternal voice - not that I even know what that is supposed to sound like. With effort I wrap my arm around his little waist and haul him onto the bed beside me, he shifts his weight and buries his face in my side continuing to sob softly. "Now if your Ada is sick he needs time to get better and I am sure it will not take long-"

"Grandpa said it will be a long time, a really long time, maybe weeks and weeks before I can see him," Legolas interjects and angrily thumps the bed in his confusion.

"Oh I see," is all I can manage to respond with. I bite my lip and attempt to think of something to console him with.

"Does he not want me there?" The child asks, fear and distress evident in his perfect little features.

"No way!" I gasp and shake my head in vehement disapproval; "of course he wants you there but I think he is very sick and needs to rest. He probably wouldn't be much fun to be around, and maybe he doesn't want you to see him sick in case you worry."

"I don't care!" Legolas shouts and shuffles away from me, frowning he adds, "he is my Ada and I want to see him!"

I roll my eyes, clearly this child is used to his own way but I can understand. Whatever worry they thought they were shielding him from was going to manifest in his heart anyway. This kid was smart, far too smart, he knew something was amiss and he knew he had the right to be worried.

"Well maybe I can speak to the healers and see if we can arrange a time to see your Ada?" I suggest like I have the right to even make such a suggestion; I should not be making promises to him if I cannot keep them.

"It is no use I already asked them," he pouts and glares furiously at the door. I giggle at his tenacity, he had every avenue covered, he was obviously determined to see his father.

The angry scowl stays on his face for the briefest of moments before he starts to sob again; I sigh and wrap my arms around him. He responds in turn and crawls onto my knee and rests his head on my chest. I find myself rocking him gently and singing Irish lullabies to him, this seems to settle the tears and quieten him. In my humble opinion - and it is just that - nothing can beat a cuddle. I used to watch other mothers or older sisters cuddle their kids and I was incredible envious, I only ever got one if it was entirely needed, usually from Mary, she was often the more caring of my 'adoptive,' family. But it really does have a soothing effect; the evidence is plonked right on my lap.

I am too busy humming quietly to my little shadow that it takes a moment before I register a figure frowning at me from the doorway;

"Legolas I told you to stay in your chambers today," Oropher spoke - his voice calm but there was most definitely an undertone of exhaustion and frustration, and who exactly could blame him? His son was an inch from obliteration just a few rooms up. "You are being a pest child, come."

Legolas sits up straight and defiantly shakes his little head;

"No! I want to see Ada and Clara is going to help me."

Shitshitshitshitshit! Kids! Why do they misconstrue and manipulate everything! I am scarlet, I have never been so embarrassed in my whole entire life. This godlike King creature is giving me a look that could curdle milk and yup my mouth is hanging open, like the incredibly classy doll that I am.

"Ahhh...Legolas...kiddo, I did not exactly say that?" I back track and continue to squirm under the weighted and judgmental glare. Legolas looks at me like I have destroyed his entire world...why and how can he do that with his eyes? I flit a look between both elves and stammer out almost words. Well, I may look like an immortal but I sure as hell do not sound like one. Dammit articulate woman this is a King.

"Letters!" I chirp and then cringe, I would face palm myself but I don't think you're supposed to do that in royal company. Legolas frowns in confusion and continues to destroy my soul with his accusing stare. "Ummm...or like...drawings? I was going to suggest I could...erm...we could write your Ada letters, and pictures to...y'know keep him updated? Until as such times Legolas can see him?"

"Yes." Legolas squeaks and jumps from my arms. Oh wonderful, at least with the kid in my arms there was less chance of the Grandfather decapitating me! "Yes Grandpa that would be perfect and he could write back."

Oropher eyes me with a strange look, almost like respect but not quite. He inclines his head to the practically vibrating form of his grandson. Oh he is so small and cute stood next to Oropher, so innocent and fragile with absolute belief in this idea. I drop my gaze mournfully. Thranduil will not be able to write back and I doubt he will even be able to comprehend anything other than intense pain for weeks, but sometimes the simple writing of a letter is enough, even if it never gets to its destination.

"Legolas you must stop bothering this very patient lady," Oropher sighs and the child's face drops almost to the floor.

"I don't mind," I interject quickly; frankly I am terrified at the thought of the lack of a familiar face in this place. The child is the only thing keeping my mind from exploding! "He is such a good little lamb; I honestly don't know how I would pass the time in here without him!"

"Please Grandpa? I promise I will not bother you again about seeing Ada if I can write him letters," Legolas pushes, pulling out all the stops with this heart melting features. Honestly how does anyone refuse him?

"Alright," Oropher sighs and outstretches his hand to stroke the boy's face, "But not today, today you stay in your chambers...punishment for that outburst this morning and being disobedient."

The child does not argue back instead he drops his head and mumbles an apology, but I want to protest I don't want to be left to my own thoughts today! Though I can see the King's reasoning, if Thranduil wakes and starts howling the joint down again Legolas will ask questions.

"Now say goodbye to Clara, you will see her tomorrow," he commands and Legolas tackles me with another of his forceful hugs. Only this time he plants a kiss on my cheek and whispers quite a heartfelt thank you. I stare in shock and touch the side of my face he kissed feeling a little fuzzy, it is something special when I child trusts you. Without much fuss he scampers out the door at hyper speed and straight in the direction of his chambers.

"My thanks Clara," Oropher speaks to me, his voice even, not a hint of emotion betrayed.

"No problem," I squeak back not quite sure if I am entirely off the hook, it's hard to tell with elves.

He stops and examines me intently for the longest moment and again I start to squirm. Again, being invisible would be awesome right now.

"The healers tell me you have not recovered any memories prior to your admittance?"

I shake my head and cross all fingers and toes in hope that he cannot tell that I am lying, because I can't even handle the truth let alone expecting anyone else too!

"Your behaviour is quite strange and your accent is unfamiliar, perhaps you hail from somewhere beyond these borders?" He pauses for the briefest moment and does not allow me to answer; "It is inconsequential my dear, I am sure records can be sought of your birth in the archives. In the meantime you will need to stay here, it worries me that you may have some kind of head injury or sickness of the mind."

I snort out a chuckle, it's not the first time someone has implied I was crazy. Although I register my complete lack of respect irritates the King and I turn my snort into a cough. His brows pull together in bafflement and he shakes his head before turning to leave;

"There is a pavilion just outside these halls of healing; it is quite a beautiful spot, Legolas enjoys playing there. I would ask you to carry out any kind of activities with my Grandson there, I am sure you understand my reasoning for this? You have seen the state of his Father have you not?"

I swallow hard and attempt to find my voice; "I am so sorry, I never meant to cause any offense, I got lost."

Oropher waves off my comment dismissively and begins to walk away. I guess he does not really want to be reminded either;

"How long?" I hear myself ask and the elf King slows his step just for a moment; "Until Legolas can see his Father?"

"I suppose in a few weeks he will not look so...unnatural...after that it will depend greatly on my son's ability to come to terms with himself."

That is the end of the conversation and Oropher leaves me to my thoughts. I need to formulate a plan if I am to keep Legolas distracted for weeks. So with this in mind I hobble to the desk and begin making a list of everything I can possibly think of that I ever used to distract kids. I imagine this will be hard work, the boy is intelligent and insatiably curious, but I was the one who wanted to be a teacher so dammit, I can do this.

xXx

*six weeks later*

"Good morn lady Clara."

Calanon a friendly healer with dark blond hair and placid sea green eyes greets me with his usual charm. I nod in return and he grins pointing to the bundle of parchment in my hand.

"More letters for his highness?"

"And some very tasteful works of art too! Is there any point in asking has he replied?"

Calanon shakes his head regretfully and takes the bundle from me, I sigh in frustration. It has been two months since Legolas and I started compiling his diaries to his Father and as of yet Thranduil has not replied. I could have been more forgiving, afterall he was badly injured maybe he could not respond, only I knew he was more than capable of doing so! After a week or two of his arrival the cries of pain had stopped and in their place a stubborn and resolute silence. Most healers were chased from his quarters, and it was not the first time I had seen an elleth reduced to tears by whatever callous words he used. I was really starting to dislike him he was not what I thought he was. Clearly Tolkien was not nearly honest enough about this one.

Apart from this astronomical disappointment my days were grand wonder filled adventures. The Woodland Realm was phenomenal, better than what I could have ever imagined. Elves truly were the most fascinating of races. I spent my days blending into the vast halls of the King, exploring them and just generally wasting time away. My nights were filled with song and tale, for now I was allowed to join the other healers and elves that frequented the healing halls. They took pity on me and gave me things to occupy my time with; I was allowed to help with menial tasks, like collecting herbs and assisting them to make all kinds of marvellous elvish medicines.

I was learning so much and so quickly and I loved it! It was incredible to have this second chance, I stopped pretending like I was in a dream and started engaging with this succulent and permanent world. Still, I wasn't completely integrated into elven society just yet. I was still seen as an oddball and the healers seemed to be amused by me. They indulged me like they would a child but I suppose I am only twenty five, and that does constitute as a child stuck in a grownup elf's body - how surreal?

Legolas was my little liefeline, he did not treat me like this, he treated me just as any other child would. To him I was a grown up and that meant I deserved respect and good behaviour...well most of the time. It was also quite cathartic for me to help him write or create things for his Father. I missed my art and my creations, and it felt good to use those skills with him, like I was useful and not a complete waste of space. Still I had hoped that the fruits of my labour would have been rewarded by now. I waited for the day Legolas told me he had heard from his Ada and they would have their grand reunion, but it never seemed to come and that saddened me. I know what it is like to wait on a Dad that never shows up.

"I would not worry yourself Clara it is not your problem," Calanon breaks through my reverie and hands a basket and a list to me; "Do you think you could source me these materials from the press please?"

"Sure," I reply brightly disguising my annoyance, correction it is my problem! I am emotionally invested in his kid he could at least have the decency to acknowledge Legolas. The child still held to his unwavering belief that his Adar would reply any day now. I had sort of hoped that when I was allowed Legolas back within the healing halls his little voice and boundless energy would have alerted Thranduil that he was near. I had hoped that would have done the trick. Sadly not, the elf remained a mystery to me.

I tramp down the hallway with a face like thunder, or mild annoyance. I have learnt my new facial expressions are not quite so obvious. Reaching the storage press, were all the herbs and what nots are kept, I begin rummaging; selecting what is required for Calanon's healing endeavours. I like this storage room for it is not quite a room as it is a long hallway, there is a small pavilion at the bottom were sunlight cascades through the gaps in this stone fortress. Plants and trees grow there; it is like a little oasis, another incredible creation that highlights the imagination of elves.

As I stand and stare out at the sunlit space I find myself gliding towards it...Calanon can wait for a moment. I am distracted by the colours when I reach the edge of the archway and pause, realising I am not the only one here. A figure sits in the shadows on the opposite side staring back at me, I obviously startled them;

"Sorry." I call as I skip into the sunlight and smile broadly; "I hope I did not disturb you, I just couldn't resist the sunlight and the warm-"

"You are disturbing me, this is a private garden," A raspy voice cuts me off and I know the sound, I have heard it once before. Instead of apologising and retreating I step forward and strain my eyes.

I do not believe it? It is him. Thranduil sits in the shade on a lounge chair. I know it is him because of the astonishing silvery blue eye that watches me. I cannot make out the other side of his face, he has it turned away from me but it does not appear to be covered. Though he looks altogether much better than before and because of that I am suddenly incensed. Not only because he appears coherent, but because in his lap is a book and in his hand a quill - he could have replied. He could have done something.

"You could have replied!" I shriek, my temper blinding me but I am furious not for me but for Legolas. The elf does not even flinch he just continues to glare; "Your son! He wrote you letters and I have been defending you this whole time, claiming you were too ill! And...and..look at you sitting there...writing."

"Get out!" he spits vehemently at me, his voice is cutting and uncaring but I will not cry or curl into a ball like I want too, I simply stand and stare him out defiantly.

"No." I snap back, "Not until you give me a bloody good reason that I can tell your son when I see him next."

Thranduil's sigh verges on a snarl and he rips off the blanket that was covering him. The look he levels me with should have me running for the hills, but I swore a long time I would not be bullied into anything again. Somewhere in my mind that little voce is screaming manically that this elf is royalty and you do not speak to royalty like that. In fact you really shouldn't speak to elves like that, ever, but to hell with it I ain't form around here, I do things differently.

I am going to be locked up for this or Thranduil is going to kill me, or at least his body language would suggest he would if he could. I absently wonder what will happen if I die again? Do I wake up in Narnia or storybrooke? Or Neverland? The possibilities are endless but I'd much rather stay here, it feels like home as strange as that sounds.

Thranduil sits on the edge of the lounger studying the ground before him, his face pulled in and contorted. I do not think I seen an elf pull such an expression since my arrival. With an angry tirade of words I assume are curses he attempts to thrust himself up from his seated position. I flinch at the sound for as he stands the curses turn into moans of agony. I can see the movements are causing him extreme pain, and I am suddenly remorseful. He leans out and tries to use a close-by pillar to support himself but his whole body is trembling from the exertion.

My eyes widen as he turns to face me for I see that he is in no way out of the woods just yet. The skin has started to return; it is red and swollen, in fact the left side of his face is nothing like his right. It looks like dark pink wax, shiny and stretched. Veiny purplish scars stretch across onto the right side of his face, indicating were the flesh is knitting together. Surprisingly a lot of his hair has survived and it is loosely held in place by a band over his right shoulder. I can see his left side fairs no better - swollen limbs that remain bandaged and hidden under oversized loose clothing.

"Fine. If you will not remove yourself I will leave." He growls, his words distorted as he only has command of the right side of his lips. But he can't, he physically can't, even if he wanted to leave his body is not going to allow him. I watch in disbelief as he determinedly tries to walk, or well what I assume as an attempt at storming off. I go to warn him to tell him not to be so ridiculous but it is far too late, and I yelp as I see him miss his footing.

In an instant all six feet, roughly four to five inches of him, lands on the ground. He stifles as much of his yowl's of pain that he can, but I can see the devastation in him as he gasps and glowers at the ground, trying to claw himself onto his side thrashing about in frustration.

"Wait! Stop it you are going to hurt yourself."I scold and run to his side.

"It is a bit late for that." He spits and struggles away from me; I pull a face and force him to accept my proximity;

"Smartass," I mutter and kneel down beside him taking a good deal of his weight.

"I do not want your help you disrespectful little witch." His words are meant to be insulting but I've heard worse. I shrug and it irritates him beyond belief

"Yea I know you don't and I don't particularly want to help you but you need it, so what you gonna do about it?" I hiss back and grunt as I grip his good arm and start to trail him upwards; "Good grief you weigh a ton."

"At least I am not a heifer." He bites and gives a lopsided wicked grin. I purposefully yank him harder than intended, and he launches into another tirade of curses, eyeballing me with a great deal of resentment.

Once we are both standing and I am taking way too much of his weight, I peek at him and in an indifferent voice present him with his options'.

"Well now Prince, we have three options; one you sit your ass down and give me an explanation. Two, you continue to storm off but you'll need me to do that and I will still demand an answer. Three, you continue to insult me until I drop you on heap on the ground and leave you there."

"You would not dare. I am the prince it is your duty and responsibility to aid me!" he angrily reminds me and I smirk.

"Actually I am not from here so no, my friend, I have no responsibility to you."

"You are a liar and you should be punished for you insolence, you care for my son I have seen you with him in the hallways."

"Oh so you do remember you have a kid?"

"How dare you make such an insinuation? How dare you even question the love I have for my own blood."

"Great, then why don't you reply to his letters?"

There is a long, awkward, pause as the two of us engage in a stare off. Thranduil is breathing heavily with exhaustion and with anger and I'm - well I'm just lazily staring at him through half lidded eyes. He picked the wrong chick to mess with, what did he think, cruel words would phase me? Ha! I've been through worse.

"Let's be honest this staring thing," I say and gesture back and forth to our eyes, "could last a lifetime, you're an elf and I am not entirely sure what I am, so yea this has to stop."

"What. Is. Wrong. With you?" He dramatically asks, the unmarred eyebrow rises up his forehead in confusion.

"Oh I'd rather not open that can of worms thanks very much," I mutter as I help him sit back on his lounge chair. "Oh yea how rude of me, hi I'm Clara nice to meet you." I grin stupidly and outstretch my hand but he still is staring at me like I am insane.

"You're supposed to shake it," I say and smile easily; perhaps shouting at record levels is not the way to endear yourself to someone. "I kinda woke up in your kingdom with no memory and a bit banged up. Legolas found me, and your Father, the King, but you know that - because you're his son and the prince not the king because Oropher is - silly me."

Well I think I proved that I do indeed have a mental illness, because Thranduil looks like he is a minute away from screaming for guards or elves in white jackets. I cringe and offer an apologetic smile, tapping my head;

"Just checking I have got it right, truly I know nothing." I lie my ass off, I know everything! I have a wealth of knowledge about Thranduil. I probably know more about him than he knows about himself. Again I am lost as to what the hell has happened to me, how is this even real? How am I talking to the not-quite-yet-Elvenking? Ugh my head hurts again!

"Why are you not repulsed?" Thranduil asks, still eyeing me with complete and utter astonishment.

"Huh?" Yes Clara excellent articulation thumbs up.

"You are not disgusted by my appearance and you do not fear me...why?" He elaborates and I frown, really he wants to have this conversation.

"It's just a burn, it will go away in time will it not?" I say and then realise how dismissive my words were, "No I don't mean just a burn, it's a terrible thing to have happened and I'm really sorry for you but you're alive you should be happy about that."

"I am!" He snaps back and presents me with a lopsided scowl which makes me chuckle. Oh I see were Legolas gets his temper from.

"You look like your son when you do that," I try gently pushing that subject back into the conversation. "I have been helping him write to you. Well, mostly I draw the pictures, your Father lets him visit me. If it wasn't for him I think I would have gone crazy."

"I think that ship sailed," Thranduil replies with a deadpan expression.

"Oh you know that phrase too?" I chirp and then scowl, "Hey! I resent that comment. I am not the one hiding in the shadows sulking!"

"So you do have some memories?"

"What? No I don't. Huh?"

"You implied that we have similar phrases that we use in conversation, which would suggest you remember where you hail from, no?"

"No I didn't"

"Yes you did."

"I remember nothing."

"You lie."

How did this become about me? Oh whoa note to self, stitch lips together and refuse to make eye contact with Thranduil for fear he will read my mind and unearth all my secrets with one word. I would be impressed if I did not think the truth of the matter could land me in the dungeons for eternity. I mean what else would you do with an elf you deem crazy? I peek around at the prince, he has a smug aura about him but, and I cannot be sure, but there is a hint of curiosity and amusement. He is enjoying himself, at my expense, what an ass...but a very attractive one. Bloody elves and their bloody charms and sharp minds.

"This was not about me," I snap and fold my arms defiantly about my chest; "Are you or are you not going to reply to Legolas, because if not I would like to put a stop to the letters. There is no point getting his hopes up and I am not wasting his time any longer."

"No, please, do not stop." Thranduil's voice is urgent and pleading almost, "I will reply but if I do he will only want to see me."

"So?" I ask incredulously.

"Look at me?" He gestures to his face and shakes his head, "This will terrify him."

"Oh come on, grow a pair." I retort and shrug my shoulders, "He is a smart little boy and he loves you dearly, do you really think he will be that worried about a burn that will fade? Are you that vain?"

"Grow what? Your words confuse me. I am not vain. I am concerned, there is a difference." He sighs in frustration, his fists clamping at his sides.

"Yes you are, you are incredibly vain, and that is why you are so cut up over this injury.By your son's little stories I get the impression you are quite the heartbreaker, or at least you are used to admiration. Fawned over by females and idolised by young warriors aspiring to your level of skill. This injury has robbed you of that, the great Thranduil is no longer untouchable, and he is now weak and reliant on others...what a long way to fall?"

A long period of silence ensues and he actually appears to be considering my little speech. I may not be the brightest or the bravest but I can read people. I suddenly feel a great deal of empathy and compassion for this strange character, life is not so clear cut as it is in books. I know what it's like to fall and realise nothing is permanent, but you bounce back its survival to do that. I sigh and attempt to fix my little outburst;

"Hey I don't mean to be hurtful, I get it, but you have a little 'un that loves you more than the earth itself. Trust me when I say it won't matter to him how you appear, because that's love - the right kind not the pointless sort."

"I understand," Thranduil murmurs and tilts his head towards me, there is definite tears in his eyes; "I am tired will you please leave me now."

I gawp at him in shock. I thought I had got somewhere but he seems intent on remaining closed up. I scowl angrily and jump to my feet, intent on storming off, and as infantile as it seems I want to prove that I can do that and he cannot.

"Clara do not misunderstand me," he calls to me and I stop mid stride; "You have given me much to think over, I will reply."

I nod once and continue on my way, I don't entirely believe him but what did I expect? An apology and complete assurance that he would see to his responsibilities straight away? In my experience Fathers have an innate ability to let their children down, even Uncle Rob was a dismissive Dad. Preferring his work to spending any time with his wife and kids. Clearly this behaviour transcends entire other worlds.

xXx

I pad about my chamber in nothing but a towel, my long hair roughly pinned to my head, the long tendrils hanging down damp from where they had come in contact with the bath water. It felt good to bathe but water does not stay warm long when there is no plumbing. I stare mournfully at the copper tub that takes up the expanse of my floor beside the roaring fire - oh how I miss plumbing and instant hot running water!

As I wonder over the small miracles like electric, microwaves, and pop tarts, - things I shall never see or taste again - there is a soft knock at the door. I start and whip my head around searching for appropriate clothing;

"Uh...one minute!" I shout as I launch across my bed and hang over the other side searching for a discarded robe.

The door knocks again.

"Hang on! Inappropriately dressed woma-she elf- person inside." I call with a hint of annoyance.

Once the robe has been retrieved from the dark places underneath my bed, I pull it on and scramble to the door. Taking a settling breath before yanking it open;

"Hel-" I stop when I realise there is no one there and I frown, I really did hear the door.

I step over the threshold and step on something. Blinking, I glance downwards and see a thick envelope with scrawling lettering. I recognize the language, it is the language Legolas writes in, it is elvish and he sometimes patiently tries to teach me it.

Curiously I bend down and collect it up, folding it over and observing the lettering. As I do I discover a smaller envelope is attached to the bottom. It is clearly addressed to me...and in English. Hastily I rip it open and begin reading out loud in hushed tones;

"Clara; I hope that I am not being presumptuous but I assume from our meeting today that you do not speak our language. You do, however, speak some kind of fluent Westron, though I cannot fathom your accent -  it is alien to me. Please forgive my temper and harsh words, I would blame the restrictions of the injury but I believe you would see through such a lie.

You have my gratitude for not only taking the time to bring some comfort to my boy, but for reminding me that I have responsibilities to attend to. You will find the envelope in your hand is addressed to Legolas, if you would be so kind as to give it to him I would be most thankful.

I look forward to our next meeting, not many have the audacity to call me out on my flaws to my face. It is refreshing.

Thranduil."

I start to chuckle and shake my head in disbelief - well miracles really do happen! Maybe I was little too quick to judge and a little too hasty to assume all Dads were pathetic good for nothings. After all this is middle earth, a place where the just and the righteous live, maybe there is a little good in this world? I smile and stash the letters in my pocket turning to sidle back into my room, but as I do I catch the figure a good few feet from me.

Thranduil bows his head and with the assistance of a crutch slowly, and with much more grace than I ever had, ambles back towards his own quarters.