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Summary
Thranduil was melancholy in a way he had never been before, at least with him. He took less delight in the things that they did. Last week Bard had taken him to a little pool he had found in the trees at the bottom of the mountain, it was beautiful, but Thranduil had seemed almost absent.
Bard was trying everything to make Thranduil happy, doing all of the things he knew Thranduil loved, all the things that made him laugh, taking him to the places that were theirs. But nothing worked, if anything it was just making Thranduil sadder. His laugh was broken and small, not musical and loud as it once was. He looked at their places ruefully and Bard could see he was filled with sorrow.
Bard didn’t know what was wrong.
He didn’t know how to fix it.
He desperately needed to fix it.
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