Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

Disclaimer: All characters and events portrayed in this story are the property of Tolkien Estates. I make no profit from this endeavor, except my own entertainment and that of my readers.

Italics denote thoughts. Bold font denotes spoken or thought emphasis. Quotations marks denote spoken dialogue. There is a glossary of Elvish terms at the bottom of each chapter.

Legolas is born in 2460 of the Third Age. This would make him about 557 in this story, which takes place in 3017.

Girithron: Legolas’s elder brother, the third child and second son of Thranduil. Is the heir to the kingdom as Thranduil’s eldest, Celeguir, was killed at Dagorland.

Legolas walked into the throne room with dread. He had just returned from his Patrol, and had been ordered to see the King as soon as he was able. Legolas did not plan on keeping his father waiting, for as he was perfectly aware, Thranduil never saw him in public unless it was for punishment.

“Prince Legolas.” Legolas walked forward and knelt before the king. He waited nervously for permission to stand. The Elf heard the sounds of the herald retreating and closing the door behind him. He saw through the corner of his eyes the guards stationed at the doors, and a group of courtiers in the antechamber. He sighed. Why did Adar always have to punish his sons in front of the entire court?

“Legolas.” With the barest hint of acknowledgement, Thranduil began. “What did you think you were doing?” The King kept his voice neutral.

Legolas winced, as he rose. I see someone has informed him about the incident with the orc. “Adar, I can only say how sorry I am to have pursued a lone orc. By my conduct, I deserve any punishment you see fit.”

“Do you have any idea the danger you put yourself in? If Brethil had not been there, you would be dead! Do you understand me? You have no business breaking formation and wandering off to pursue an orc you thought was the leader!” Thranduil was standing and yelling now. What had this child been thinking?

“Not only did you endanger yourself, but you put the entire Patrol at risk! What if during the interval they had been searching for you, another group of orcs came upon them, unexpectedly? Or, if the orcs had planned that trap to ensnare the other warrios? You cannot take situations at face value!” The King continued.

"No, I...” Legolas narrowed his eyes slightly as he was again interrupted by his father. How did Thranduil expect him to explain his reasoning if the Elven king barely let him speak?

“You what? Legolas, this is intolerable! Do you honestly believe there is an explanation you can give that would excuse your conduct?” Thranduil’s eyes flashed dangerously on this last sentence.

“And you believe this is acceptable from a warrior of the Woodland Realm?” Thranduil demanded.

Legolas cringed inwardly. Apparently, I am being disciplined as a soldier and not as a son. It was difficult for the Royal Family to decide when to act as the commanding unit and when to act as a family.

"Forgive me, my lord. I will not conduct myself this way again. I also accept whatever punishment you would bestow upon me, knowing that I am more than worthy of it." Legolas replied humbly, lowering his eyes.

Thranduil reined in his temper. He had been absolutely mortified at the possibility of losing his last son. He snorted mentally. Legolas has been a warrior for five-hundred odd years. I should not be so protective. Thranduil quashed this thought. He would not lose his little Greenleaf.

Legolas nodded, but looked confused at the change in discipling tactics. Apparently, he was a son again.

Thranduil continued. “However, I cannot have you endangering your fellow warriors in this manner. This is the second time you have done this, Legolas."

Legolas flinched at the reminder. He had been much younger the first time he had followed a lone Orc. The Prince had been new to the Patrol, and he wanted to show his captain how brave he was. His father had had given him such a tongue-lashing that day. This time, Legolas had followed the Orc quite by accident. Accidents, however, were no excuse.

The King continued. "You need to learn discipline and responsibility. You will be reassigned to the Palace Guards. Do you understand?” Thranduil flinched at the look in his son’s eyes. It is for the best.

Defiance flared in Legolas’s eyes, but for only the briefest of moments. He understood what he had done was wrong. He would face up to the responsibility entrusted to him. Besides, he had requested punishment.

“Very good. At the end of the year, I will review your behavior and perhaps reassign you.” Thranduil’s eyes twinkled at the sigh that escaped his youngest child with this recent proclamation. He is just like Celeguir.

Girithron had been waiting patiently in the antechamber, awaiting the judgment to be passed on his younger brother. When he heard that all was well between Legolas and Thranduil, he approached the throne, without waiting for an introduction.

“Girithron, arise. What is amiss?” The King was not surprised by Girithron's abrupt entrance. This particular son was notorious for his lack of decorum.

“We have a guest, my lord. It is a Man, one of the Dúnedain by the looks of him. He says he brings a message from Mithrandir, and a prisoner.” He waited patiently for Thranduil’s response.

“One of the Dúnedain? Do they not make their home up North?” Thranduil pondered the dilemma. “Are you sure the message is from Mithrandir himself? Surely he can find someone better to carry out his errands.”

“It is, my lord. The Man bears a letter with the seal of Mithrandir himself, or else I should not have believed him. He is a strange Man, despite claiming friendship with the Maiar. He does not seem nervous around us, as the Men of Esgaroth tend to be.” Thranduil's heir cocked his head in thought.

“I suppose that if Mithrandir has sent a sealed letter of approval, we should hear him. Girithron, summon him.” Thranduil briefly considered the validity of the Dúnedain's claim.

“My Lord. I believe he requested a more...private setting for our meeting.” Girithron informed his father.

Thranduil frowned. True enough, his throne room was not exactly discreet. Servants and guards were stationed at the doors, and in the corners. Courtiers and nobles adorned the lower chamber. He believed, however, that a public punishment was likely to remain with Legolas than if he were reprimanded in Thranduil’s private study. However, if Mithrandir had sent this Man all the way from Valar knew where then it must be important.

Thranduil sighed. “Very well then. Show him to my study. Legolas, go see Adwanoth. He will station you somewhere in the palace where you cannot do any harm.” With that Thranduil strode from the room with Girithron in his wake, leaving a disgruntled Legolas behind.

Legolas frowned. He wasn’t some bumbling oaf who couldn’t string a bow. He was one of the best archers in his patrol. Was. He sighed at the reminder of his new duty. He would now be serving in the Palace Guard. The younger Elf groaned. Although important, this position was mostly filled by older warriors who no longer fought; those who had families near the palace and did not wish to travel far; and the disorderly. He hated to fall into the latter category.

Well, he mused, a year isn’t too long a time. He grimaced and began walking towards Adwanoth’s office, all the while pondering what a strange Dúnedain would be doing in the Woodland Realm.

“You may rise.” Thranduil frowned at the rugged man in his presence. By the smell of him, he hadn’t bathed in quite a while. By the looks of him, he had just battled a contingent of orcs. Thranduil did not understand why Men would not take the trouble to clean themselves, especially this one.

“My Lord. I beg of you a favor, on behalf of the Istar Mithrandir.” The Man kept his voice polite and emotionless.

Thranduil frowned. “Yes, Mithrandir is known to us here. What is his message?”

The Man grimaced. This was not going to be easy. He motioned to the guard in the hall to come forward. The Elf hesitated, clearly not wanting to take orders from a Man. He came forward reluctantly when Thranduil beckoned, because he was struggling with the bound figure of a small creature. The guard finally succeeded in bringing the fighting creature forward, and presented him to his audience.

“My Lord, this is the favor you are requested to perform. This is the creature Gollum, which Mithrandir hunted for many years. He must be kept safe at all costs. Mithrandir believes the elves of the Woodland realm are quite capable of handling him. He cannot escape you.” The Man recited patiently.

“Mithrandir hunted him for many years, you say? Why should this creature prove so difficult to catch? Or so important?” Thranduil narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“You know this how? I do not recall your mentioning that you were involved in the hunt at all.” The Elven King was becoming increasingly annoyed by the evasive responses of this Man. One would warrant he had been in contact with Elves...

“Forgive me, my lord. I did catch Gollum. Mithrandir enlisted my aid, and it was by chance that I happened upon him. Indeed, I was ready to despair before I found him.” The Man seemed reluctant to divulge this information.

“The Dead Marshes? Any who go there are dangerous. It is too close to Mordor.” Thranduil frowned, but snapped back to attention. “I do not understand why Mithrandir cannot keep the creature.” he gestured at Gollum. “Or why he needs your aid to ensnare creatures or deliver messages. Who are you?”

“A Ranger from the North, one of the Dúnedain. I am called Strider, or Longshanks by others.” The Man seemed even more reluctant to give his name. However, as he and the Elven King both realized, it would be extremely rude if he did not.

“That does not tell me who you are. Others may call me a Man, but that does not make me one.” Thranduil leveled his Elven gaze at the Man, who did not flinch, or even blink.

“I see you do not wish to reveal your identity. This does not sit well with me, messenger of Mithrandir.” Thranduil was becoming slightly impatient, which was rare for the First Born.

“My lord, does the messenger affect the message? Mithrandir trusts me, and wishes you would as well. He needs this creature kept safe. Will you help him?” The Man presented his logic without hesitation.

Thranduil scowled. He did not like the way the Man had changed the topic of conversation. One would think he had conversed with Elves before. He looked sidelong at Girithron, who, although he had not spoken, appeared interested.

“Again, I would know why the Woodland Realm? I do not like the looks of this creature, and the fact that he came from the Dead Marshes only increases my dislike of him. Why should my woods be poisoned with him?”

The creature in question hissed. Thranduil frowned at it, but his gaze continued to bore into the Man’s.

“My Lord, may I speak plainly? This creature is a danger to Middle Earth and its free peoples. It might be a spy of the enemy. Surely this small request is feasible?” The subtle strain in the Man's voice indicated a growing impatience.

“My lord. I believe that Strider’s request can come to no harm.” Girithron voiced his opinion for the first time.

Thranduil frowned. He had not asked Girithron’s opinion. Of course, his third child was never one to withhold it. I do not know what danger that creature may bring here. I would be wary of any spy of the Enemy, if that is indeed what it is. I do not like this Man, nor are all his looks in truth. But if Mithrandir said...he has always been kind to us....

“Very well. Guard, take this prisoner to the dungeons. Girithron will escort you." Thranduil motioned to the guard and his son, lastly turning his attention to the Man. "This is where we shall keep him. He will not escape us.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” The Man bowed low. He knew he was grinning from ear to ear like a drunken fool, but he did not care. He had not traveled to the outskirts of Mordor to catch Gollum, to be refused by an Elven king.

“Mithrandir will be most pleased to learn of your acceptance. I would like to thank you for myself as well; catching it was no easy task.” The Man lowered his eyes in submission, but could not help beaming at the success of his venture.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at the joyful Man before him. Must humans always be so obvious in their feelings?

“My lord?” Thranduil’s musings were cut short as the Man spoke once again.

“I have another small request to make. I would accompany the creature to the dungeons. Mithrandir’s orders.” He hastily added at the frown upon Thranduil’s face. “And,” he continued quickly, “If I could have a place for the night?”

Thranduil regarded him. “You may accompany the prisoner to the dungeons. I would normally allot a place in the barracks for someone of your...station. However, you are representing Mithrandir, and he, nor any of his friends, shall be mistreated in my house, when they have done nothing to deserve it. You may tell him I spoke thus.”

“I do not know what you hide from me, messenger, but let me warn you: I will not hesitate to strike should it be needed. Keep in mind: you are not Mithrandir.” The king hoped the warning would not be justified.

The Man did not flinch. “Yes, my lord. I shall see to it that you will not need to strike.”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes, but did not pursue the subject. He motioned to a servant, who stood in the corner of his study.

“Take him to the dungeons, and then to one of the second level guest chambers.” The king felt this arrangement would be suitable.

“Very good, my lord.” The Man bowed and turned to accompany Girithron, the prisoner, the guard and the servant. Thranduil regarded the creature as it was dragged from the room.

“Nasty elfses. Very bad.” It muttered. “We shall not let them keep us, shall we, precious? Gollum. Gollum. Nasty and tricksy, they are, yes.”

Gollum continued muttering to himself as he was taken along the halls. The party received many an odd glance from passerby. Girithron shrugged it off with his stoic expression that forbade questioning. The Man walked placidly behind the Prince, ignoring the stares directed his way.

As they rounded the corridor that led to the dungeons, they encountered Legolas. He was just leaving Adwanoth’s office, coincidentally with a frown upon his face. He stopped short at the sight of this frog-like creature in the company of his brother.

“Girithron. What’s that?” Legolas was somewhat repulsed by Gollum's smell, but could not the keep the curiousity out of his voice.

“A prisoner.” Girithron noticed as his brother’s gaze slid from Gollum to the Man, and as his eyes widened. Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again immediately. He paused and then apparently chose something better to say.

“Pray, Girithron, who is this Man?” Girithron introduced Strider, noticing Legolas’s questioning gaze and the Man’s warning expression.

“Strider, will you be staying in the Woodland Realm tonight?” The younger Elf asked politely.

“I shall.” Girithron frowned as the Man omitted Legolas’s title from his answer. Although his brother was a younger Prince, he was still Royalty.

The Man obviously noted Girithron’s disapproval and hastily amended. “I would be honored, my lord, if you would accompany me to my quarters. I am most interested in how Gollum,” Strider gestured at the creature, “shall be kept here, and I know Mithrandir enjoys particulars.”

“Of course.” Legolas nodded to Girithron and dismissed the servant. He gestured to Strider, and then turned around and continued walking.

Girithron frowned after them, wondering if there was some connection between his brother and this strange Dúnedain. He resolved to question Legolas about it later, then motioned the guard forward and continued towards the dungeons.

Legolas turned quickly to make sure there was no one in sight, before stopping and staring at Strider.

“Aragorn! I heard that a Dúnedain had come, but I did not think it would be you. What in all the Valar are you doing here?” he asked curiously.

“Keep your voice down. I am here to deliver Gollum into the keeping of your people, on behalf of Mithrandir. I have just successfully accomplished my mission.” Aragorn kept his voice pitched low.

“He was found near Mordor, and Mithrandir and I think him to be some sort of spy. More than this, I cannot tell you.” The Ranger kept his answer short.

“Why ever not? I shall not reveal this to anyone.” Th Elf was rather piqued that his friend could not trust him.

“Nay, Legolas. Peace, my friend,” Aragorn added at Legolas’s frown. “I do not mean any offense towards you, but I do not know very much myself. Mithrandir knows more, and by his bidding I will not tell you.”

Legolas regarded Aragorn, his mouth turned down in displeasure. “Very well, Aragorn. If this is what you think it best, I will not press you. My mind is spinning with possibilities, for although you will not tell me, I can still guess.”

“Guess away, Legolas. But do not reveal to any your suspicious, it could prove disastrous.” Aragorn sincerely hoped that his Elven friend would not guess the correct answer.

“Legolas,” Aragorn sighed in exasperation. “I am not going to tell you. The time will come when it is right for you to know, and then I will tell you everything. Until then, be patient. And, do not let Gollum escape.”

“Ai, Aragorn.!” Legolas opened his mouth to continue speaking, but was interrupted by Aragorn.

“Legolas, speak softly. It is also not the time for any to know who I am.” The Ranger glanced furtively around them.

“Very well, then, Strider. I shall not reveal your identity. I will also make sure this creature does not escape us.” The Elf conceded.

“Thank you, Legolas. I am sorry, mellon nín, for all that I wish to say, but cannot.” Aragorn was truly sorry for keeping his friend in the dark. He knew the frustration that it caused.

“Think nothing of it, Strider. Come, tell me of your travels since the last time I saw you. For I wager you have not been idle.” Legolas changed the topic.

“That would reveal too much, Legolas, and you know it.” Aragorn was not fooled by his friends' new tactic.

Aragorn shook his head at his friend's antics, and resolved to steer the topic of conversation in another direction completely. “Tell me of yourself. What goes on in the Woodland Realm?”

Legolas answered, and they entered the hallway where the guest quarters were located. They did not notice that as they passed the threshold, a cloud covered the sun, leaving the land below in sudden darkness.

Girithron: Legolas’s elder brother, the third child and second son of Thranduil. Is the heir to the kingdom as Thranduil’s eldest, Celeguir, was killed at Dagorland.

Hananuir: The third son and fourth child of Thranduil, one of Legolas’s older brother.

Legolas sighed as he made his way to his chambers. He had just come from another night of guard duty. He rubbed the sore muscles along his neck in frustration. Why did he have to guard the gardens? Who in Arda would do any harm amidst the flowers? True enough, there was a path that led into the surrounding forest, and would be a convenient access to the Royal Palace, if any knew of its whereabouts. He grimaced, and felt the sorrow of that day fill him. That accursed path had proved treacherous enough, nearly 527 years ago.

“Ai, Legolas stop squirming!” Lalorn laughed as her son fought her to run among the flowers.

“Come now. I want to braid your hair.” She scooped the kicking elfling into her arms. She deftly twisted the long, pale strands into tight braids. She began singing softly.

Legolas sighed in contentment as he listened to his mother. How he loved her! He loved nothing more. He watched a butterfly fly lazily past and land on the flower near his knee. He bent to pick it up, and laughed when it flew away.

Lalorn smiled at her son. This elfling was so precious to her. Lalorn sighed as she remembered why Legolas had been conceived. The shadow had returned to Mirkwood. Legolas, the last child of Lalorn and Thranduil, was their defiance to the evil encroaching their forest. He was a small hope, that perchance peace would return. Lalorn believed in her son, she knew there would always be hope.

Lalorn looked up as she heard hurried footsteps leading into the garden. Her third son, Hananuir appeared, breathless, brow creased in worry.

“Naneth! Hurry! You must get inside the palace with Legolas! We are under attack!”

“The north. Orcs! Hundreds of them! I have no idea how they managed to get this far into the realm. The northern patrol should have stopped them! You must get to safety.”

None of them noticed that Legolas had wandered off into the surrounding greenery, chasing a butterfly.

“How is it safe inside the palace?” Lalorn was a good archer, and she hated to be confined and made to feel useless.

“Very well. I will go. You should hurry back; you will be needed in the defense.” Lalorn gave her son a kiss and watched as he hurried off. She smiled fondly at his retreating figure.

“Legolas!” Only then did she notice that her youngest son was not present. She felt a bubble of panic in her stomach.

“Legolas! Come back! We must hurry back!” Lalorn began to search frantically among the bushes. She had to find her son.

She turned and heard footsteps behind her. She caught sight of a blond head as it flung itself against her skirts.

“Nana, there’s black things in the forest! They are coming!” Legolas did not bother hiding his terror.

Lalorn gasped at this news. Orcs! In the forest! She scanned the trees, looking for danger. She did not see them, but they were there. She inhaled sharply as the overpowering stench of orc assailed her nostrils. She did not have any sort of weapon, either.

“Run, Legolas!” Lalorn began to run away, gripping a distraught elfling in her arms. She never got to the other side.

Legolas sobbed, as he held his mother’s hand. He knew he had to be brave, like Ada, but he was just too scared. He felt Nana lagging behind, and turned to help her. He saw a black shaft sprouting from her stomach. He heard her scream of pain and surprise. She fell heavily upon him.

From underneath his Naneth, Legolas sobbed. “Nana, wake up! Nana, we must get home!” He looked at her eyes, glazed over in death. He continued sobbing, but an elfling’s sobs cannot be heard above the din of battle.

He did not remember how long he spent crying underneath his Naneth. He heard the sounds of fighting, and commands barked in a harsh language. He heard laughter. He heard the sounds of elvish war cries, and rejoiced that Ada had come to save him. He heard the wail of anguish when Lalorn was discovered.

Girithron had cried at the sight of his mother, lying bloody and still upon the grass. It could not have happened! Naneth! She could not be dead! He knelt down on the grass and lifted her cold figure to his breast. Only then was Legolas found.

“Girithron! Nana went to sleep! Wake her up!” He tugged uselessly at her arm, hoping that this might wake her.

Girithron felt hot tears coursing down his face. “Legolas.” He put his free arm around Legolas, while the other still supported Lalorn.

“Legolas, Nana, has gone to a better place now. She is dead.” His voice broke, and he could not speak. Legolas stared at his brother in awe. He had never seen Girithron cry. He didn’t understand. Dead? Nana couldn’t be dead. She was Nana.

Legolas wiped at his eyes as he entered his room. She had been gone for so long now, almost all his life. He had very few memories of her. The one of her death was the clearest. He had been so young. He had often blamed himself for her death. He still did, sometimes, in the dead of night when not even the moon’s light was there to comfort him. It had taken him until his second patrol as a warrior to realize that he was not to blame. A fellow warrior had died, and Legolas had put the blame on himself once more. However, he had learned that no matter what he did, the future would run its course. He could not have saved his mother, the same way he could not have saved that warrior, and the same way that he could not predict the future. But if I had only stayed in the garden...

He shook his head. It did not do to dwell upon past events that could not be changed.

He took off his tunic and drew a bath. He had to clean himself up before the evening meal. Thranduil hated it when his sons did not take their royal status properly. The royal family sat at the head of the table along with the entire court. All the nobles and guests that lived in the royal palace were present. As a prince of the realm, Legolas had to be there. He sighed wearily as he drew his weary body and stiff muscles into the bath.

“His royal majesty King Thranduil. His royal highness Prince Girithron. Princess Gwiwileth. Prince Hananuir. Prince Legolas.” The royal family entered in procession, as the herald announced them. Thranduil led, and was followed by his oldest son and heir, Girithron. His only daughter Gwiwileth followed, alongside Hananuir. Legolas, the youngest, brought up the rear. After they had taken their seats, the rest of the company sat as well.

Thranduil scanned his children. All were dressed to perfection. Except Hananuir, his collar is crooked. And Legolas’s tunic is rumpled. He examined his youngest closely. How unhappy he looks. Thranduil had hoped that Legolas’s new posting as a palace guard would improve his son’s sense of responsibility. It didn’t seem to be working too well. Instead, Legolas had become impatient and unhappy. Why did he have to be exactly like Celeguir? He was also one who could not bear to be idle. Thranduil had a sudden inspiration. Yes, he mused, that would work very well.

He called to Girithron. “Iôn nín, I want you to send Legolas to my office tomorrow morning. I have a task for him.”

Girithron raised an eyebrow. As Thranduil’s heir, he commanded the realm’s soldiers. Therefore, it was his responsibility to reassign soldiers. He had not been happy when Thranduil had assigned Legolas to the Palace Guard without his permission. However, one did not cross Thranduil.

“No, iôn nín. It is merely an experiment. You shall hear of it, when I feel that you should.” Thranduil’s eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Yes, Adar.” Girithron wondered what in Arda his father was planning for Legolas.

“Adar. You requested me?” Legolas knelt quickly before Thranduil, and rose to stand before his father.

“I did, iôn nín. I have a task for you. I suspect you will enjoy this better than your guard position.” Thranduil watched expectantly as Legolas perked up at the news.

“You will recall that a month ago, a messenger from Mithrandir arrived and brought with him a prisoner. We have kept his prisoner in the dungeons. Gollum is his name.”

“Yes Adar, I did see him.” Legolas waited patiently for his father to reveal the news.

“Well, this creature has been troublesome to the guards. I believe fresh air would do him good. I cannot, of course, oversee this operation personally. I have too many demands on my time. You, however, do not. Therefore, I assign this creature to you. He is now your responsibility. You will escort him to the gardens daily, and back to his cell. If he causes any trouble, you will be held responsible.” Thranduil smiled as the light of excitement was kindled in the eyes of his son.

“Adar, thank you for this chance to show my worth. I will not fail you.” Legolas bowed. Finally, a chance to show Adar that I am good for something. He thanked his father once again, and left the room, heading for the dungeons.

Well Gollum, it’s time to meet your new keeper. Legolas laughed with joy at being able to do something important again. He descended the steps to the dungeons with glee.

Lebanuir scanned his surroundings and sighed. He had been escorting Prince Legolas and the prisoner Gollum to this small garden for two months now. It was beginning to get rather tedious. In the beginning, they expected the creature to attempt some form of escape. He had not. He simply sat at the top of an elm tree, muttering to himself.

Lebanuir looked at his Prince. Legolas sat on a branch in silent contemplation. Although the Elves were not concerned about Gollum’s escaping, they were not about to let him alone at the top of a tree. At first, Legolas had tried conversing with the creature, asking it questions about its life. He soon gave that up when Gollum did not reply. It seemed that Gollum only ever talked to himself. He was constantly referring to some “precious.” The elves had gathered that this was his nickname for himself. In either case, Gollum was stark raving mad.

“Lebanuir.” The shorter elf started with the realization that Legolas had been trying to get his attention for a few moments.

Legolas sighed. “Lebanuir, please. Refer to me only as ‘Legolas.’ I may be your Prince, but we are not in a formal situation.”

“Yes, Legolas.” Lebanuir smiled. He rather liked this youngest son of Thranduil. He seemed more fair-minded than his father, and elder brothers. Lebanuir was only a palace guard, after all, so he had not had much personal contact with the royal family. He knew Hananuir better than the rest; having been novices together.

Legolas shifted impatiently. Suddenly, he felt a shadow pass overhead. He looked up and so did Lebanuir. Neither noticed Gollum curl over the branch he was sitting on.

“No, my lord. I do not think there is anything there. I believe we are imagining things, my lord.”

Legolas sat down again. He could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. Perhaps Lebanuir was right. He was imagining things. It was, after all, the most uneventful task he had ever undertaken. This responsibility was beginning to become a burden. This creature was so elvish in a way. Content to stay for hours in the same position, Gollum never spoke to others. It didn’t help that Lebanuir didn’t speak to Legolas. Lebanuir constantly referred to him as ‘Lord,’ although Legolas had told him repeatedly to call him by his name. Legolas sighed, and returned to his pastime of listening to Gollum’s ramblings and trying to make some sense of them.

“Gollum. Precious, there are no fishes in this water. No fishes. We likes fishes, precious. Raw and wriggling. Tasty they are.”

Legolas stared at Gollum, wondering what water he was talking about. Legolas was rather bored, and therefore felt compelled to correct Gollum.

“Gollum, there is no water here. We are at the top of a tree.” Legolas tried to begin a rational conversation. “Why do you call yourself Gollum anyways?”

Of course, it never worked. If any of the elves spoke to him, Gollum would commence his ‘nasty elfses’ tirade. He never seemed to exhaust this particular subject.

“Cruel they are, precious. Elfses. They hurt us, poor Gollum. Yes, they have nasty light about them, yes.”

Legolas had had enough for the day. He signaled to Lebanuir, and the guard bound Gollum’s hands, to escort him back to the dungeons. Neither Legolas nor Lebanuir noticed the mischievous gleam to Gollum’s eyes.

Well here’s another update! Thanks everyone for reading, and please remember to leave a review.

Girithron: Legolas’s elder brother, the third child and second son of Thranduil. Is the heir to the kingdom as Thranduil’s eldest, Celeguir, was killed at Dagorland.

Hananuir: The third son and fourth child of Thranduil, one of Legolas’s older brother.

The younger Elf turned to contemplate his smiling brother. “Girithron, what is it?”

“Oh, nothing really very important. It is just a question that I had, which I hope you can answer.” This was accompanied by a shrug.

“A question about what?” Legolas wondered what his brother did not know, that he did.

“That man, Strider was his name. Do you know aught of him? I realize that it seems ridiculous for me to ask you this weeks after he left us, but business has occupied so much of my time.” Legolas remembered that his brother had indeed gone off to visit a nearby settlement shortly after Aragorn had delivered Gollum to the Woodland Realm.

“Girithron, why should I know any more of this stranger than you? I was not present when he made his request to you. Perhaps I should be the one asking you for information.” The youngest Prince answered.

“I am not upset.” Legolas interrupted. “What are you implying, Girithron?”

“When he spoke to you, that day, you appeared to recognize him from somewhere.” The elder Elf began.

“I? Recognize a Dúnedain? Girithron, you know very well that I have never been to that part of Arda.” Legolas replied.

“But perhaps you have seen him elsewhere?” Girithron pressed the question, knowing that he had not been mistaken in thinking that Legolas and Strider knew each other from elsewhere.

“Where?” The younger Elf tensed at this interrogation from his easy-going brother.

“I know not, Legolas. Clearly there is something you are not telling me.” Girithron delivered his final barb.

“Girithron, I know nothing. However, since you obviously do not believe me, I shall leave it at this: if I have not told you, then it cannot be important. Good day.” Legolas strode off angrily, wondering why he had not been more discreet upon first seeing Aragorn.

Girithron watched his brother march off angrily. I will find out the truth of this matter someday.... Girithron turned and headed into his own chamber.

Gollum smiled. His plan was working out perfectly. Yes, precious. Soon those nasty elfses will regret this. For none but Gollum had understood the signal. Clever signal, yes precious. Stupid elfses would never understand. Black birds good for something. The orcses are coming...

Danuas, the guard, frowned down at the creature, and continued to drag him forward, out of the dungeons to Prince Legolas and Lebanuir who waited just outside.

***

Lebanuir scanned the trees around him for any danger, as he climbed to the top of Gollum’s elm tree. Legolas had gone up first, Gollum next. They sat on the branches as usual, Gollum muttering to himself. Lebanuir let his mind wander, inhaling the warm June air as it blew about the leaves. He let himself relax against the trunk of the tree, dreaming of summer.

Legolas was miserable. He hated Gollum and he hated this task. I wonder if Adar would let me do something else...I have been watching this abhorrence long enough. He sighed and let his thoughts drift to more pleasant topics...such as which elleth he would be escorting to Midsummer’s Night. Legolas loved this feast more than any other. For who could not love the joy of summer?

Gollum put on the appearance of one in deep thought, accompanying his façade by random mutterings. He did not want the ‘elfses’ to notice anything amiss.

Suddenly, a black arrow came flying out of the air, imbedding itself deep in the branch on which Legolas sat. He sat up with a curse, jolting Lebanuir out of his pleasant reverie.

“Orcs! Lebanuir we are under attack!” Legolas leaped up and strung his bow, aiming at the Orcs who were just then coming into range. Lebanuir imitated his Prince, wondering how in Arda the Orcs had wandered so far into the Realm unchallenged.

Both Legolas and Lebanuir aimed and fired repeatedly, killing off a good many of the oncoming Orcs. However, they could not withstand the attack for long. Legolas tried to count the number of Orcs that came at them. He reached fifty before losing count. They were coming on too quickly. He notched another arrow, scanning the forest for the sight of another Elf. He did not see anyone.

Legolas was becoming desperate when elvish war cries tore the air, and Girithron, at the head of the Palace Guards charged into the fray. The Orcs outnumbered the Elves, but even so their disorganization did not stand a chance against professional Elven warriors.

Legolas fired his last arrow, and leapt to the ground to engage his enemy with his knives. Lebanuir followed him a minute later. The Orcs cheered when Legolas and Lebanuir landed on the ground, presumably happy at more prey.

Danuas, however was not fooled. He had noticed the four Orcs who had snuck around to the back of the elm tree, and begun to climb. He did not want to draw more attention to his position, and therefore silently followed the orcs. Nobody saw him fall, as another hidden Orc threw a dagger to his heart.

Legolas ducked and parried, dispatching Orcs with speed. Girithron made his way over to his brother, and managed to converse with him while fighting.

“This group is part of a larger one that attacked the Western settlement. The people were caught unawares and we managed to pull the Western Patrol there just in time. Then their forces must have split, and this one made their way here, unchallenged due to the Western Patrol being elsewhere.”

“Should not the West Guards have stopped them? For they crossed very near to the Palace, and is that not their domain?”

Legolas nodded, and directed his attention to an Orc who came at him, swinging his blade rapidly. Girithron was faster, and the Orc fell dead at their feet. Suddenly, the Orcs charged, leaving the scene of the battle.

Legolas spun around, trying to kill the Orcs that ran past him. He heard Girithron yelling above the fray: “Follow them! Let none escape!”

The Elves rallied together and pursued the fleeing Orcs. But, they were unprepared for the scene that they encountered.

As they neared the fringe of the woods, the smell of dried blood reached their nostrils. Legolas and Girithron, who ran in front, stopped dead. The group of fifteen West Guards, who patrolled the outskirts of the Palace in that area, lay dead. The bodies were hacked, and mangled. Some wounds were clearly poisoned, with the black poison oozing out. The fallen Elves had expressions of surprise on their faces.

There was only one survivor, who wept silently over the fallen body of another Elf. Girithron approached him cautiously.

Girithron shook his head and let the mourning Elf be. He came to stand next to Legolas, who had been staring at the scene with horror. Legolas could not imagine such brutality. He had never seen so many Elves lying dead before. Beside him, Girithron knelt by the side of the fallen leader.

“Ai, Valar! A black day has come. For our people to be slaughtered in our own borders...” He trailed off and bowed his head.

The rest of Girithron’s group of guards expressed similar feelings. Many wept openly, and other stood in shock at such atrocities. They were a score of warriors, some veterans, others new to the art of war, but all were affected by the slaughter.

Amarin seemed to have recovered some of his composure, for now he told his tale in a clear voice, although it trembled. “I was the scout. Morthil sent me to scout ahead, for we already knew that a party of Orcs was near. We did not know they had split. While I was gone, the second group of Orcs came, and did this.” He gestured at the slaughter around him. “Morthil,” he gestured at his previous commander, “was dying as I arrived. Amirithin, my only brother, is dead.” Amarin broke down again into sobs.

Girithron placed a hand on Amarin’s shoulder, and Legolas bowed his head in grief. There they stood, Heir, Prince and Soldier alike, mourning the slaughter to their kin.

“Commander,” Neldorin, a veteran of many battles, approached Girithron. “The Orcs have escaped us, heading into the clutches of the Western Patrol. Should we continue?”

“No, ai, what if...” Girithron did not finish his sentence. He started anew: “Neldorin, choose half our force and tell them to mount up. Send two of your swiftest riders to the settlement. We must ascertain if they are...well. They will act as scouts, and we will ride after them. The other half will take the dead back to the Palace. Legolas, tell Adar. There will be much mourning tonight.”

Legolas woke from an uneasy sleep. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and untangled himself from his blankets. He walked out to his balcony, in hopes of finding some peace. He could not forget the scene of the dead warriors. He could not wipe their expressions of surprise, nor the blood that had so freely stained the grass, from his mind. Is this what he was condemned to? A life of strife and sorrow? Fighting, yet yielding always before the enemy, who with his insatiable greed would conquer all?

Legolas heard the lilt of Elven voices carried in the night air. They were mourning for the lost ones. All of this night they would sing, sing of the lives lost, sing of a better place. He remembered the stricken faces of the community as the dead were transported to the Palace. He would never forget the shock, the grief, and the tears.

He did not know how long he spent on the balcony, but he dimly heard the birds chirping of the new dawn. He heard the door to his room open, and wondered who was there. He vaguely felt Hananuir touched his shoulder.

It had taken the returning Elves a few hours to realize that their prisoner was no longer in the Elm tree. Legolas and the other warriors had taken care of their dead companions, before Lebanuir remembered to fetch Gollum.

The attack had been a diversion. Gollum and the orcs must have had contact at some point.

However, the youngest Prince could not focus on how Gollum had eluded his pursuers. He was only concerned with his own failure.

Girithron: Legolas’s elder brother, the third child and second son of Thranduil. Is the heir to the kingdom as Thranduil’s eldest, Celeguir, was killed at Dagorland.

Hananuir: The third son and fourth child of Thranduil, one of Legolas’s older brother.

It was the night after Gollum’s escape and the attack on the Palace Forest and the westernmost settlement of the Woodland Realm. The night was quiet, in comparison to the previous disaster. The Palace Guards were especially alert this evening. They had learned that their Realm was vulnerable. It was a bitter lesson, but one that had to be learned. Every elf was in his or her home, every child sleeping. The young people did not frolic about the trees; there was no singing or music. The night was still and silent. The lights were out everywhere, except one room in the Royal Palace.

Legolas could not sleep. He had paced about his room for hours. He had tried reading, but could not concentrate on the words. He kept hearing the stinging words of his father his mind. He kept remembering the murmurs of the advisors, the snickers of the guards, the glares of the nobles. He once again relived the disappointment in his father’s eyes and the shame on his brothers’ face. He remembered the tears in Gwiwileth’s eyes. He bowed his head, and closed he eyes. He was a failure.

The entire room rose as Thranduil entered, followed by Girithron, then Hananuir. Thranduil sat in his throne, while Girithron and Hananuir took up their places at their father’s right hand. Thranduil scanned the room, noticing his advisors sitting on his left hand side, and the group of nobles that stood before him. His eyes fell last upon Legolas, who stood before him, awaiting punishment. He noticed that his youngest child was pale, yet composed. He sighed and began his duty as Legolas’s king, not father.

“Prince Legolas. You have been summoned here to be punished for your actions pertaining to the creature Gollum, and his unfortunate escape. We know for certain that he has escaped our realm, and that the Orc attack in the West, and in our Forest was a diversion for his escape. Do you deny this?”

Thranduil hated the protocol of these punishments. It made him feel like he was condemning his son for life. He blinked and continued the tradition.

“We are also aware that this creature was placed under your care. It was specified by our person that all actions taken by him would be by your discretion, and therefore your responsibility. Do you wish to deny this fact?”

“Very well. We therefore hold you responsible for his escape. Here is our punishment: you will be confined to the Palace for a year and a day. During this length of time, you will attend councils, and hearings, serving as an attendant to our person, Princes Girithron and Hananuir,” he gestured at his aforementioned sons, “and any member of our Advisors who requests your aid. You will be referred by no title nor will any rank be conferred upon you, save that of ‘Prince,’ and this shall only be used in the most formal circumstances. Do you accept this punishment as a consequence of your failure?”

Legolas quivered at the disappointment he heard in Thranduil’s voice, and saw on Girithron’s face. Hananuir’s face was more composed, yet Legolas knew his brother was not proud of him. He could not dare refuse.

“Report to the Great Hall every day henceforth until your time has expired, or told otherwise. You are dismissed.” Thranduil rose, as did the entire room with him.

Legolas bowed and left the hall. As he made his way out, he heard the low murmur of disapproval that came from the advisors. He did not look down as the nobility in the antechamber glared at him. He did not flinch when one clear voice was distinguished from the general hum of conversation.

“He is failure to his Realm and King. He makes us all look bad, a disgrace to Wood-Elves, to Royalty, to Mirkwood.”

Legolas passed through the doorway. He heard the guard on his left cough to hide his snort, and the one to his right just snickered outright. He felt his cheeks burn as Gwiwileth, who had stood hidden in the shadows of the hall, came forward with shining eyes.

Legolas turned away. He ignored her calls. He had been treated like a common thief. Stripped of his titles, Legolas was just another Elf. Forced to attend councils as an attendant, he was no better than a servant. He had failed, so very badly had he failed.

Legolas did not stir when he heard the door of his chamber creak open. He did not look up when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Iôn nín, I did not think you would be sleeping.” Thranduil waited for a reply, but when none was given, he sat beside his son on the bed.

“Legolas, look at me.” Legolas lifted his head. His eyes held the anguish he was feeling.

“I am sorry, iôn nín. It was not my choice to confer such a punishment upon you. But as your king, you deserved no less. You understand this? I could not act as your father then, but I want to now. Legolas, are you listening to me?”

Legolas shook his head wearily in agreement. He did not care to hear his father’s apology now.

“Hananuir said the same thing, Adar, but you are both wrong. I should have guessed!”

“Iôn nín, how were you to have known that this creature had contact with Orcs? That he indeed was capable of such acts. This is a lesson I would not have you learn so harshly. But, Legolas, we all have profited in some way by today.”

Legolas stared at his father in horror, appalled that the massacre he had witnessed could be considered profitable.

Thranduil nodded his head wearily at his son’s reaction. “We have learned that we are very vulnerable. Our defenses must double, and we must always remain alert. Every soldier knows this now, Legolas, if they did not already.”

“Adar, I could have kept a better watch over Gollum. He must have contacted the orcs when we were outside. I should have kept another guard nearby.”

“And then what, Legolas? We would have another death besides Danuas?” Legolas winced at the reminder of how this faithful soldier had died. The other Elves had found his body after the battle.

“He is in the Halls of Mandos, iôn nín, as are all those who have perished today. They will wait in peace, and then journey to Valinor.”

“Iôn nín, trust me as you once did.” Thranduil was rewarded when Legolas leaned into his embrace.

“Adar, I’m so sorry to have failed you. I will do my best to make this up to you. It is just that...” Legolas trailed off.

“That I seem to always do the wrong thing somehow. They are right, I am a failure. If I had not been there...”

“Legolas,” Thranduil interrupted. “You are wrong. It is not because of you. It is not only you that fails. We all fail. We all err. Not one of us is perfect. I am not perfect either. I have made my share of errors. I still make errors. So do your brothers, and those ridiculous courtiers who laughed at you. Yes, I heard them.”

Legolas inhaled the scent of his father, and was reminded of the days of his youth, the days where ‘ada’ was the great hero, who could fix any problem and heal any ill.

“It is not you, it is these dark days that we live in. Someday, Legolas, we will live in better times.” Thranduil looked off into the darkness, remembering days where the forest had not been so twisted, and failure did not matter so much.

Thranduil felt tears come to his eyes. He held his son close. Both father and son waited the dawn, thinking of better days, dreaming of a brighter future, and trying to forget the dark present.

Legolas sighed from his place in the back of the Great Hall. He sat on a bench next to the scribes who had to record the present meeting. Why did ruling have to be so tedious? He had been sitting thus all morning, while Thranduil, his Advisors, and the most important nobles debated trading policies with the men of Esgaroth. Thranduil and half of the other Elves thought that too many liberties were being taken with these men. They did not owe them anything. There was too much trade, and it was too expensive. The other half of them room argued nay, that there was too little trade. A heated debate had ensued and had been going on for hours.

Legolas was very patient, as all Elves tend to be, but his patience was worn thin with this useless argument. They are not stealing our gold, and we are receiving much needed supplies. The question of increase or decrease of trade does not benefit either side. Legolas stared at the ceiling.

His attention was diverted when a messenger entered the Hall, and scurried to Thranduil’s side. He delivered a letter to the King, and hurriedly departed.

Legolas watched his father as he read the letter. He saw Thranduil’s eyes widen at the contents of the letter. Unfortunately, Legolas was not the only one to notice this development. The argument had died, down and stopped altogether. The court was curious as to the contents of this letter.

“My Lord?” Ivanneth prompted. Protocol demanded that any information affecting the entire Realm be read to the court. Thranduil’s chief advisor was not one to forget protocol.

“Of course, Chief Advisor. It is from Lord Elrond, of Imladris. He writes to invite a representative of the Woodland Realm to a council he will be holding at the end of October. According to him, it is of great importance to Middle Earth.” Thranduil summarized the letter for his court. He had read in-between the lines, and gathered that something had been found, something dark and dangerous, and Elrond was at a loss at what to do with it. Thranduil had not forgotten his history, and he had a good idea of what it was that had been found.

Legolas had perked up considerably when he heard the contents of the letter. Even more so, when Thranduil had caught his eye, and with a barely perceptible shake of his head, had gestured toward his private study. Legolas could only assume that Thranduil wanted to see him. I wonder what else that letter says... Legolas turned his attention back to court.

Lord Elrond’s letter had been met with astonishment. “A council? For what purpose? Who shall go?” These questions were asked many times in the course of the next few minutes.

Thranduil raised his hand to evoke silence. “I will decide who is to go to this council. My decision will not be made today, however. I believe we have discussed all that is relevant for today?” He looked at Girithron, who was the Chief of the Realm’s Forces, and therefore occupied an important position at any meeting. When Girithron nodded, Thranduil continued.

“Ivanneth, if there is anything else you wish to discuss with me, you may see me in my office. This session is now dismissed.” Thranduil departed the Hall, followed by Girithron.

Legolas slipped out quietly while the court launched into another heated debate about trading rights.

He walked quickly to Thranduil’s office. His father and brother were already there when he arrived.

“Legolas,” Thranduil indicated a chair. When his son had seated himself, Thranduil continued.

“I have just sent a servant to summon Hananuir; he should be here soon.” Legolas attempted to make eye contact with Girithron, to see if his elder brother knew anything of the mysterious letter. Girithron avoided his gaze, and remaining staring at Thranduil.

Shortly afterwards Hananuir entered the study, apologizing for the time he took to arrive. Once he was seated next to Legolas, Thranduil began.

“I have called you here because I want you to read Lord Elrond’s letter.” He handed the parchment to Legolas, who shared it with both his brothers, as he sat between them. The trio read.

Legolas looked up first. “Adar, I do not understand. What could Lord Elrond mean? What weapon does he speak of? We already know of the Nazgûl.”

“Think Legolas. What has the enemy lost, nearly two-thousand years ago, that he covets?”

Legolas gasped, he finally understood. “You do not mean...the Ring?” He whispered the last word, fearful to speak of such a deadly weapon.

“I do. It is my belief that it has been found. Sauron has rebuilt Barad-Dûr, this you know. His return signifies that the Ring still exists. He must be looking for it.”

“Father,” Hananuir protested, “We do not know for sure that it is indeed Sauron that had returned to Barad-Dûr.”

“Hananuir, do not waste my time with these petty arguments. Remember you Dol Guldor? He is back.”

Girithron spoke for the first time. “But Aar, supposing indeed that Sauron is back and that his Ring has been found, then what good is a Council? How will words stop the Dark Lord?” Girithron had never much patience for diplomacy.

“Iôn nín, did you read carefully? Lord Elrond holds this Council to decide what course of action to take. He needs to represent all free peoples of Middle Earth because, much as I hate to admit it, this decision affects and included us all. We must all be aware of the choice at hand.”

“You mean to send one of us to represent the Woodland Realm?” Hananuir guessed.

Legolas let his mouth fall open in shock, as Hananuir gaped at their father. Girithron started.

“I believe that no one less than a Prince of my house can be sent to represent my realm. This is an important council. Girithron cannot go; he has duties here.” Girithron frowned at this judgment of his time, but did not speak. “Hananuir, you have nothing special to hold you here. Legolas, you should accompany your brother. I believe that your acceptance of your punishment shows that you can be responsible. Your presence will also show that the Woodland Realm is not to be ignored in something this important.”

Legolas stared at his father. He was going to Imladris? He was going to Imladris! “Thank you, Adar. I will not fail. This I swear on my life.” He brought his hand over his heart as sign of his fealty.

Hananuir hesitated for a second longer, before repeating Legolas’s words and gesture.

Girithron smiled at his brother, also with pride in his eyes. He did not appear to mind that he was not being sent on this mission. But, then again, Girithron preferred action to words.”

Thranduil waited until the initial excitement had died down before continuing. “We are now at the end of June. It should take you no more than three weeks to arrive in Imladris, by way of the Old Ford and the High Pass. You shall leave in the first week of October, and arrive in plenty of time for the council.”

All four of them looked up at a knock on the door. Ivanneth entered. Thranduil nodded at his sons, grimacing at the presence of the other Elf. Legolas and Hananuir bowed to both of the elder Elves, and departed. Girithron made to leave, but stayed behind as Thranduil motioned him to.

Girithron: Legolas’s elder brother, the third child and second son of Thranduil. Is the heir to the kingdom as Thranduil’s eldest, Celeguir, was killed at Dagorland.

Brethil: the warrior who saved Legolas from an orc, and goes with him to Imladris.

Hananuir: the third son and fourth child of Thranduil, one of Legolas’s older brother.

Faelthinor: Younger warrior and friend of Legolas, who goes with him to Imladris.

Thranduil embraced his youngest son for the last time. He smiled at Hananuir. His sons were leaving today for Imladris. He scanned their escort for the last time, making sure all was in place. He had chosen Brethil, Faelthinor and Neldorin to accompany his sons. Brethil was a good leader, Faelthinor was young, but fought well, and Neldorin was a veteran who had been at Dagorland with Thranduil. He trusted these warriors to escort his sons safely to Imladris and back.

When Faelthinor shifted impatiently, Thranduil realized that his sentimentality was holding them up.

“Ah, forgive me. Hananuir, Legolas, I trust you will represent the Woodland Realm well. Namaarie.”

Beside him Gwiwileth and Girithron smiled at their father. Girithron beamed proudly at his brothers.

Gwiwileth planted a kiss on each of her brother’s cheeks. None but Legolas noticed the wink that Gwiwileth made while kissing him. “Namaarie,” she said.

“Namaarie, Adar.” Legolas and Hananuir called and waved, as they mounted their horses.

Thranduil motioned to Neldorin, who stood nearby. He came forward and bowed to his king.

“Neldorin, take care of my sons.” Thranduil spoke softly, not wanting Hananuir and Legolas to know that he was worried about their safety, despite the fact that both were accomplished warriors.

Neldorin nodded briefly, not at all surprised with the king’s worry. “I will, my lord.” He bowed again to Thranduil and went to join the rest of the party. Hananuir rode in the lead, and the rest followed him. Legolas waved to his family before turning his back to them.

Thranduil waved back and smiled sadly. He was already impatient to have them back home again.

The journey out of the Woodland Realm was very uneventful. It took the party three days to journey from the Palace to the Old Forest Road, which ran horizontally through Mirkwood. Hananuir had been reluctant to use the Road, arguing that it was the common way for Orcs. He had been overruled by Neldorin, who informed him that their party was rather small to face any large groups of Orcs, which would inevitably be found if they kept off the Road and in the Forest.

“Furthermore,” he had added. “The trees are infested with spiders. We do not have the time to deal with that annoyance. We shall make for the Road, meet what we will.”

Hananuir had frowned and consented, remaining rather moody for the rest of the day. They did not; however, encounter anything on their journey to the Road. Faelthinor believed that they were still too near the Palace to find anything. When he voiced this opinion, he earned disapproval from his comrades, especially his Princes. The attack on their Palace and on their mother’s life would never be forgotten.

They reached the Road in good time, arriving half a day ahead of their estimate. The set out again immediately, not wanting to waste good daylight. Their journey on the Road took one week. They reached the Old Ford with no incidents to speak of. They had not seen hide or hair of Orc or spider. Neldorin, Brethil and Hananuir were suspicious, and doubly cautious of their movements. While Legolas did not throw caution to the wind, he and Faelthinor were glad of the rest. Legolas, however, was very anxious about something he could not quite describe.

They crossed the Ford and continued west, hoping to arrive at the High Pass, in another week, and take one more week to arrive in Imladris. This would bring their journey time to a total of three weeks. They had not set a pressing pace, as the Council was only set for late October and they had set out on the last day of September, knowing that they would arrive in plenty of time.

As their journey continued, Legolas’s anxiety increased. He felt a strange sense of foreboding in the air, as if Arda held its breath for something yet to come. He was anxious because the First-born had strong ties with the earth, and if they felt something amiss, then they were usually justified. He did not feel that this was the ideal time or situation to be justified in such worrisome thoughts.

Legolas frowned and shook his head, dispelling these useless pursuits. “What will happen, will happen, whether I like it or not.” He spurred Maen to go faster. He reached Hananuir, who led the party, and spoke to his brother.

“Hananuir, we are approaching the foot of the Misty Mountains, and still we have not met with enemies. Surely they are not all at home?”

Hananuir smiled grimly. “Nay, little brother, they are around here somewhere. Stay alert; I fear an ambush once we reach the mountains.”

“It is the perfect location for an attack.” Neldorin spoke up from his position behind Hananuir. “They will come at us in the night, when we are hindered by darkness, and perhaps foul weather.”

“The weather will hold.” Brethil scanned the sky. “It is our enemies that I am not so sure of.”

“Ai! What is this talk? We have been graced with safety thus far, and you lot would wish for enemies and foul weather? Do not spoil the day! Let them come, I say, if they will. We are more than enough for them.” Faelthinor thrust his fist in the air in defiance.

“Steady, Faelthinor. It is best to be prepared for the worst.” Neldorin’s warning was not lost upon the group; they rode in silence until nightfall, when they halted at a likely clearing.

“This should do. It is very defendable, and there is water nearby.” Hananuir approved the site, and the company scattered to complete their evening tasks.

Legolas and Brethil scouted the surroundings, finding nothing. They rejoined the group around the fire that Neldorin had made. They ate a small dinner of lembas and dried meat, preferring to conserve their supplies for the mountains ahead. The next leg of their journey could prove treacherous, for foul weather or Orcs could force them to remain in the same spot for many days. Hananuir and Brethil planned the next day.

“We shall journey at dawn, that way we can arrive at the High Pass the day after tomorrow. It will take only two days to cross, leaving us three days to arrive in Imladris.”

Brethil frowned at the younger warrior. “I calculated three weeks to arrive in Imladris. So far, I have been correct in my guess, young one. Do you doubt me?”

“That is enough, Faelthinor. Let us stop bickering and sleep. We set off early tomorrow.” Hananuir ended their argument, and after they had decided upon watches, they retired for the night.

Faelthinor, who had received the first watch, did not see the pair of eyes that contemplated him in the darkness. He sat silently upon a rock, remembering a pretty maiden he had left at home…

Legolas soothed a terrified Maen. The High Pass was proving more treacherous than before, according to Neldorin, who had crossed it many times.

Brethil snorted while trying to calm his own terrified mount. “We should not have brought the horses.”

“Nonsense,” Hananuir countered. “We would never have made such good time on foot. It would have taken us twice as long, and we would have been more prone to attack.”

Legolas stiffened suddenly, as he heard an unexpected sound. Beside him, Neldorin tensed as well. The others in the rear noticed their discomfort.

“I heard a sound, like the clang of metal. It could not be ours, for we do not carry heavy armor, nor are our swords unsheathed. It sounded like Orc.”

Neldorin nodded his agreement, as the whole group paused to listen more closely. After several moments, when nothing was heard, they continued.

Legolas had drawn his bow, and notched an arrow to it. The others had done the same. They continued walking upwards in silence, pausing every now and then to listen to their surroundings. Not another sound was heard. They reached the peak of the Pass at dusk, as planned, and found an outcropping of boulders that could serve as a camp. They did not light a fire, but sat in silence, quietly eating their way bread.

“I think,” Brethil spoke, “that we should consider a double watch this night.”

“Perhaps, but we do not want to seem overly cautious. We do not want any enemies that could be watching us to sense our awareness.” Hananuir whispered softly.

“Nay, Hananuir. Brethil is right. We travel with royalty, and caution is the most important lesson that can be observed.” Neldorin countered.

Hananuir frowned slightly, but agreed in the end. They drew the watches, Legolas and Neldorin the first; Faelthinor and Brethil the second; Hananuir and Neldorin, again, the last. The others settled in their bed rolls as Legolas and Neldorin circled the camp, alert for signs of danger. They found nothing, as did Faelthinor and Brethil.

The night was silent, and cold. The stars did not shine very brightly, obscured by low-lying clouds. The wind had picked up in the early hours of the morning, chilling the bone.

Hananuir had just awakened for his watch. He stretched, and signaled to Neldorin to cover the left side of the camp, while he did the right. He scanned his surroundings, Elven sight examining every detail.

Suddenly, Hananuir saw Neldorin tense. He looked over at the veteran and saw, to his horror, black shapes moving stealthily. He tiptoes softly to where Neldorin stood.

“About a score. They are not aware of us yet, but if they turn around, they will stumble headlong into our camp.”

Hananuir approached each warrior softly, only needing a whispered word or two to wake each Elf. The warriors reached for their bows, and swords, which had not lain far. According to Neldorin, if any attack were to occur it would take place from behind them. They turned and formed a line in front of their horses, fingering their bows, waiting for a target.

Brethil took charge of the group, whistling softly like an owl. Legolas smiled grimly as he interpreted Brethil’s message. “Wait until all of them come our way.” They had all done this for hundreds of years. Every Elf in the group knew how to deal with Orcs.

Legolas’s keen eyes picked out the Orcs as they headed straight for the Elves. There were about twenty of them, heavily armed, mostly with scimitars. The Elves would prove this to be a very one sided battle. Legolas stood to attention, and waited for the call that would send his arrows into Orc flesh.

It came. Legolas drew, aimed and fired. Without waiting to see if his arrow had met its mark, he shot again, and again. The Orcs didn’t stand a chance. There were only five of them left when a new sound entered the chaos of battle: an Elven scream of pain.

Legolas gasped as he identified the voice to be Hananuir. He turned to find his brother, just as he heard Brethil’s call. The Orcs were coming from behind as well! Legolas cursed as he realized they had been surrounded. There had been Orcs than just the original twenty! He whirled and shot an Orc in the throat, while still trying to find Hananuir. He heard a sound behind him, and turned to prevent an Orc from decapitating him. He ducked as another Orc swung its blade at his stomach, and then plunged his knife in its back. He saw Faelthinor receive a slash to his shoulder from an Orc who was crazily swinging its blade every which way. Legolas quickly dispatched it, and hurried to Faelthinor’s side.

“It is nothing, just a scratch. Legolas! Turn!” Faelthinor shouted as an Orc popped out of nowhere. Legolas jabbed his knife into its stomach.

“Faelthinor, stand at my back.” The two Elves stood back to back to effectively fight the onslaught of Orcs. Legolas had run out of arrows, and was reduced to using his knife to kill. He clenched his jaw and as Orc blade met with his thigh. He heard Faelthinor curse as three Orcs converged on him. Neldorin appeared in the darkness, and dispatched them quickly.

Suddenly the Orcs stopped coming; the battle was over. Legolas scanned his surrounding wildly for Hananuir. He finally spotted him and Brethil crouched behind a large boulder. He ran over to his brother.

“Hananuir! I heard your shout! Are you hurt?” Legolas stopped dead as Brethil removed a blood soaked cloth from his brothers back. The wound was deep and bleeding profusely. Hananuir smiled weakly at Legolas, but closed his eyes in pain as Brethil continued to cleanse the wound.

“Poisoned arrow. Came from behind. I’ve removed the head, but the poison is rather strong. I do not like it. Where is Neldorin? He is more of a healer than I.”

“Neldorin!” Legolas hurried over to where Neldorin crouched next to Faelthinor.

“Foolish Elf,” the veteran muttered. “’Tis no more than a scratch, but one you could have avoided if you had blocked the swing.”

“What is amiss, Legolas? Ai, you are bleeding. Stand still.” Neldorin began to widen the hole in Legolas’s slashed leggings, to see his wound.

“Nay, Neldorin. Hananuir is gravely hurt; a poisoned arrow. Tend to him first.” Neldorin nodded and they both moved to where the Prince lay. Hananuir had paled considerably and lay shivering on the rocky ground.

Brethil frowned as Neldorin took his place over Hananuir. “I do not like it, Neldorin. This is a fast-acting poison. I removed the head, but not soon enough.”

Legolas could hardly stand still. “He will...is it alright?” His throat had suddenly gone dry.

Neldorin looked up. “We should get him to Imladris as quickly as possible. I dare not stitch the wound. The poison must leak out first.”

“Brethil! I cannot close this wound, for then the poison would take a stronger hold on him. We must get him to Imladris! Prepare the others; we leave tonight.”

The group was ready in ten minutes. Legolas had not left Hananuir’s side. He hardly noticed when Neldorin cleansed his thigh wound.

“Legolas, this wound is not poisoned, but it’s rather deep and I would feel better if I stitched it for you.” Legolas did not even blink.

Neldorin tore away the remaining fabric covering the wound, wiped it, and began to sew it up. Brethil watched Legolas’s rather dumbfounded expression, and decided to help his Prince.

“Legolas,” he laid a hand on Legolas’s shoulder. “Put this in your mouth.” Brethil handed him a piece of leather, from his quiver. Legolas seemed to become aware of his situation. He hurriedly bit down on the leather before Neldorin began stitching. Legolas concentrated on his brother, so he wouldn’t think about his wound, which was beginning to feel painful. Neldorin finished quickly, and bandaged the cut.

“Legolas, I would caution you not to walk or run very far just yet, I do not want you to re-open this. You will be riding, until the terrain becomes impossible. Do not worry,” he added at Legolas’s crestfallen expression, “Hananuir will be taken care of. He will ride with me.”

Legolas nodded, and went to mount Maen. Brethil took command, directing Faelthinor to be their rear-guard, as he took the lead. Neldorin came second, with Hananuir in his arms, Legolas behind them, leading Hananuir’s horse, Carad. They rode swiftly out of the summit, but their progress was halted in the descent. There was no coherent path, merely loose rocks, and patches of dead grass. They were forced to dismount and pick their way on foot. Neldorin placed Hananuir on Carad, but Legolas’s brother showed no signs of improvement.

The sun finally rose, pale and cold, doing nothing to alleviate the frigid temperature. Legolas shivered in his cloak, wishing that he had been more vigilant. “It should have been I to have taken that arrow, not Hananuir. The fault is mine, that we are going this way; I let Gollum escape.” Legolas ground his teeth at the thought of that vile creature.

Legolas thoughts were interrupted as he stumbled over a loose rock in the way. He cried out as he landed on his injured thigh. Faelthinor rushed ahead to where Legolas lay. Ahead, Brethil and Neldorin stopped walking. Faelthinor helped Legolas to his feet.

“Nay, I will be alright.” Legolas winced as his wound throbbed painfully, but refused to acquiesce to the pain he was feeling. Hananuir needs my help now. With this thought, he took Maen’s reins in his hand and began walking. Brethil took the hint and walked forward. Behind Legolas, Faelthinor shrugged at Neldorin, deciding to let the issue pass. Neldorin checked to see if Hananuir was secure, gave Legolas a worried glance, and continued on the path.

They walked for an hour in silence. Neldorin had been monitoring Legolas, and Faelthinor, deciding that the former, and perhaps even the latter, could do with some rest. He whistled softly to Brethil, who turned. At a glance from Neldorin, Brethil announced a stop.

Legolas sighed gratefully as he heard Brethil’s call. He sagged tiredly onto a rock that conveniently lay to the side of the way. Beside him, Faelthinor leaned against his mount, massaging his injured shoulder. Neldorin and Brethil tended to Hananuir, noting that he had not improved.

Brethil checked to see if Legolas was listening. “Neldorin, he is worsening.”

“What would you have me do, Brethil? The blood is not clotting, and the poison seems to have given him some sort of fever.” Neldorin had noted that Hananuir had been shivering constantly, and therefore he had added his cloak to the one already covering the Prince.

“We must move on, now.” Neldorin nodded and scanned the two younger members of the party. Faelthinor was still massaging his shoulder and Legolas was resting on a rock. Neldorin knew that they could not afford to delay.

Brethil watched Neldorin as he observed Legolas and Hananuir. He nodded as Neldorin shrugged. “Legolas, Faelthinor. We must continue on to Imladris. The trail will improve shortly, as we put this rise behind us. Then we may mount.” Both Elves nodded, and the party made to continue onward.

Legolas took three steps forward, before stopping as he heard a call in the wilderness. Brethil straightened, and Faelthinor cried out joyfully. “That was an Elven call!” They stopped, and Brethil whistled.

An answering whistle was heard, and then a party of six Elves of Imladris appeared over the edge of the rise. They waved joyfully, but their faces darkened as they noticed Hananuir’s form on his horse. Their leader, distinguishable when he began to issue orders, motioned two Elves over to where Hananuir lay. The taller of the two introduced himself as Annalith, and the other was Banuir. They were both healers.

The rest of the party grouped next to Brethil, conferring on the course of action. Faelthinor smiled upon recognizing an old friend. Legolas approached Hananuir and the Elves surrounding him. Annalith, Banuir and Neldorin conferred in soft voices. When their hushed voices become even lower, Legolas lost his patience.

“Neldorin, Annalith, Banuir, please tell me. Will he make it?” Legolas’s throat closed on the last word.

Annalith looked up. “He will. We have given him some stronger medicine. It is fortunate that Lord Elrond received a letter from King Thranduil, or we should have never found you.”

“Yes, informing Lord Elrond that you would be coming to the Council. You are long expected, and he thought you might have wounded in your party that would delay you.”

Brethil had approached them, and frowned at this news. “That cannot be so; we were right on schedule until last night, when we were attacked. Surely you did not expect us to make Imladris in less than three weeks.”

“Three weeks!” Banuir stared at Brethil. “It should only take you two. Why so long?”

Neldorin placed a hand on the agitated Brethil. “It took two weeks to cross this distance long ago, before the Shadow returned. Since then we must travel with more caution, and skirt the quicker passages in our forest. It will take even longer now, that the High Pass is infested with Orcs. For surely the large band that attacked us in the night is not here alone. Indeed, I fear another ambush. We should start moving.”

The other Elves nodded their consent, and went to pack up. Legolas remained by Hananuir’s side. Annalith gave instructions to find materials to make a litter, and the other Elves scattered to find materials.

Meanwhile, Neldorin had been speaking with Banuir. Both approached Legolas as he watched Hananuir worriedly.

“Legolas, I told Banuir about your wound, and I have noticed that it pains you. Sit here,” he gestured at a rock, “so he can inspect it.”

Legolas nodded and sat down reluctantly, as the Imladris healer inspected the wound and Neldorin’s stitching.

“This wound will heal shortly. It is not poisoned, but rather deep. You have done well to stitch it.” He nodded at Neldorin. “However, it pains you, and therefore I will give you some herbs.”

“Wait,” Legolas protested. “I am not afraid of pain, and I do not want my senses to be dulled. I need to stay alert!”

Banuir looked sidelong at Neldorin, who nodded. “Very well then. However,” he added at Legolas’s relieved expression, “the minute you arrive in Imladris you will receive medicine. And if that wound causes you an excess amount of pain, and prevents you keeping with the group, then I will administer the necessary herbs. Is that clear?”

Legolas nodded meekly under the healer’s intense stare. The other Elves began to return with materials to build a crude litter. It was quickly constructed. Hananuir did not move when he was placed on the littler, only increasing the fear of those around him.

The Imladris Elves were not mounted, so the Woodland Elves led their mounts. Both Banuir and Neldorin, however, motioned for Legolas to ride. When he protested, Banuir reminded him of the medicine. Legolas grimaced and sullenly mounted Maen.

The party moved swiftly, although burdened with a litter. Another Imladris Elf, Oranor, carried the back end of the litter, while Annalith took the front. The party left the High Pass and traveled onward to Imladris.

As they turned downward, and began their descent of the mountain, silent movements occurred in their wake. Yellow eyes watched their departure with hatred, black bodies hid in caves, or behind boulders, all the while observing, learning of their enemies, memorizing their movements. The High Pass had been taken into Shadow.

Girithron: Legolas’s elder brother, the third child and second son of Thranduil. Is the heir to the kingdom as Thranduil’s eldest, Celeguir, was killed at Dagorland.

Brethil: the warrior who saved Legolas from an orc, and goes with him to Imladris.

Hananuir: the third son and fourth child of Thranduil, one of Legolas’s older brother.

Faelthinor: Younger warrior and friend of Legolas, who goes with him to Imladris.

It was dark and the moon was rising as the scouting party from Imladris, along with Legolas, Hananuir, Brethil, Neldorin and Faelthinor made their way into the Last Homely House. Annalith and Oranor had reversed with Brethil and another Elf, Paerith, in carrying Hananuir’s litter. Hananuir had not moved the entire journey, save a groan or two while the Elves traversed more difficult terrain. Banuir and Annalith bestowed a steady flow of concerned glances on Hananuir, which only served to lead Legolas to a state of nervous agitation.

Legolas nearly fell of his horse as an Elf appeared, seemingly from nowhere. Faelthinor eyes Legolas worriedly. Legolas merely shrugged and grinned sheepishly, all the while cursing himself for his paranoia.

Brethil and the leader of the Imladris Elves, Srahalor, conferred with the new arrival shortly, before each turned to his respective patrol to issue orders.

“Faelthinor, you will accompany Oranor to the stables, where you will tether our mounts. Oranor will show you to the barracks, in which you, I, and Neldorin will be quartered during our stay here. If your shoulder causes you pain, go to the healers.”

Faelthinor nodded briefly, took the reins of the other horses, and followed Oranor to the stables. All of the Imladris patrol, with the exception of Srahalor, Annalith and Banuir followed them.

Hananuir’s litter had been laid on the ground, and Legolas kept watch over his ailing brother. He was loathe to let Neldorin and Banuir take the litter, but stepped aside at Neldorin’s command.

“Come, Legolas. We will take Hananuir to the healers, and then we shall confer with the Lord Elrond.”

Legolas followed the litter with some apprehension. He had never met the Lord Elrond, only heard tales of this remarkable peredhil. He knew that Elrond Peredhil was old, and had been Gil-Gilad’s herald, in the War of the Last Alliance. He had also heard tell of his fabled healing skills, and hoped that they could aid his brother.

The group advanced slowly up stone steps that led them to an open hallway, surrounded by trees still green. Legolas started at this: in Mirkwood the healthy trees had already begun to change colors, in anticipation of the winter months ahead. Legolas’s musings were cut short as the party came face to face with Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris.

The venerable Elf stopped short at this unexpected arrival. His brow furrowed as he observed Hananuir’s still form. After a short pause he began to question them.

Srahalor bowed his head quickly, and began his report. “My Lord, we were barely a day out from Imladris, when we encountered this group from Mirkwood.”

“Thank you. Srahalor, please take the litter with Banuir to the healers. I will be there shortly, but firstly I must speak with our Northern neighbors.”

Srahalor nodded and took the littler from Neldorin. Together, he and Banuir quickly disappeared down the hallway. Legolas, Brethil and Neldorin were left alone with Lord Elrond.

Elrond gestured to a door on his left, and Neldorin, followed by Brethil and Legolas entered what Legolas assumed to be Lord Elrond’s study. It was not an excessively large room, consisting of an ornate desk piled with many scrolls, and the walls were lined with bookshelves. In front of the desk were four chairs, which Lord Elrond motioned Legolas, Brethil and Neldorin to as he seated himself at his desk.

“Legolas Thranduilion, I presume?” Legolas nodded and Lord Elrond continued. “I have seen you before, when you were quite small, but I doubt you remember me. Neldorin, it is good to see you again.” Neldorin smiled at Elrond’s remembrance of him. “However, I am not acquainted with you, sir.”

Brethil introduced himself. “I am Brethil, Lord Elrond. I am a lieutenant in King Thranduil’s forces and I have been entrusted with the leadership of our group.”

“I see. I received a letter from Thranduil informing me that you would be coming, Legolas, along with your brother Hananuir to attend my Council. I did not expect you to delay so long, and therefore I sent a patrol out to find you.”

“Thank you, my lord. Your foresight has helped us tremendously, and indeed has saved my brother’s life.” Legolas said fervently.

“We were ambushed in the High Pass,” Neldorin answered. “Orcs attacked us from both sides. Hananuir took a poisoned arrow the night before your patrol found us.”

“A poison which,” Brethil continued, “I have not seen before, and neither has Neldorin.” Legolas started at this news, which made his brother’s condition all the more grave.

With a sideways glance at Elrond, Neldorin answered. “We did not wish to worry you.”

Legolas was formulating a stinging reply when Lord Elrond interrupted. “Prince Legolas, if you will await my return here, I will go tend to your brother. I am familiar with many poisons, and I know that I will be able to assist your brother. If Neldorin and Brethil would be so kind as to accompany me?” Brethil and Neldorin both nodded and rose, but not before Legolas could interrupt.

“Forgive me, my lord, but I have no intention of waiting here. I will accompany you.” Legolas ignored Neldorin’s look of warning and Brethil’s pained expression. Lord Elrond, however, did not seem to mind.

“Very well then, if you wish to see for yourself come along. But,” Elrond added warningly, “do not disturb the healers.” The Lord of Imladris looked Legolas full in the eyes. Legolas felt like an elfling again, merely a child who is in the company of one he cannot hope to understand. The youngest Prince of the Woodland Realm nodded, and followed Elrond, Neldorin and Brethil out of the room.

Aragorn smiled lightly to himself as he crossed the corridor leading to Imladris’s library. “It is so good to be home” he mused. Aragorn looked to his right and noticed Elrond walking in the company of some Elves he did not recognize. “They are from Mirkwood, judging by their garb. Ah, he looks like Legolas.” Aragorn walked two more steps and stopped. “Legolas?” The Heir of Isildur turned around and walked quickly to where his adoptive father stood.

“My lord.” Aragorn bowed formally before Elrond. “Legolas!” Aragorn punched Legolas’s shoulder. Elrond sighed at the antics of his son; Legolas laughed; Neldorin smiled; but Brethil looked absolutely shocked.

“We are all very well.” Lord Elrond answered for Brethil. “Estel, we must hurry to the hospital wing, for Hananuir Thranduilion lays there, poisoned by an Orcish arrow. You may accompany us.”

Aragorn nodded gravely and they continued their progress. Aragorn fell back to the rear of the group, with Legolas.

“We were ambushed in the High Pass. Hananuir took an arrow. He is very bad, Aragorn.”

“Do not worry, Lord Elrond will cure him, if anyone can. You are fortunate to have made good time here.”

“A patrol found us, or else we would not have arrived….in time.” Legolas managed and averted his gaze to stare straight ahead.

Aragorn did not further question his friend, and they continued in silence for a few moments until arriving in the healer’s hall. They were greeted by Banuir, who led them straight to a bed secluded by curtains in the rear of the hall. Annalith was there; cleansing Hananuir’s wound properly, and looked much relieved to see his Lord.

Elrond questioned Neldorin silently as to the type of poison, as he examined Hananuir’s wound. After a few minutes of tense silence, he spoke.

“This is a strong poison, but I have seen it before. He will survive, provided we act quickly. Banuir, fetch Ivrinaur.” Banuir hurried off as Elrond provided information to Neldorin. “She is an excellent surgeon.”

Legolas tensed at the word “surgeon” and Aragorn placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “What will you have to do?” Legolas asked nervously.

Elrond looked up, as if realizing for that first time that Legolas was there. The Lord of Imladris looked at Legolas piercingly.

“I am going to remove the poison from his body, and then I must stitch the wound. You will not be assisting this, Prince Legolas.” Legolas stared at Elrond with incredulity.

Elrond realized that Legolas was not likely to comply and stressed his plea. “Legolas, you do not want to see your brother in pain. Indeed, I am pained by Hananuir’s suffering. This will be better for everyone.”

Legolas tensed. “Forgive me, my Lord.” He did not know how he managed to speak respectfully. “I…” Legolas stopped speaking, appalled at what he had been about to say. He had almost told the Lord of Imladris that he did not trust Hananuir’s life in Elrond’s hands. He had almost insulted Lord Elrond in his own dwelling. Legolas blushed faintly and bowed. “I will depart.”

Elrond nodded. “Estel, take him to a guest chamber and feed him. He looks most exhausted.”

Aragorn nodded and both he and Legolas turned to leave. Legolas turned once to look upon Hananuir, wondering again how his elder brother, his protector, had fallen, while he, Legolas, remained hale. The youngest prince of Mirkwood shook his head sadly, and left the healer’s hall.

Aragorn led Legolas back the same way they had previously come, but instead of descending to the barracks and stables, they ascended two levels, until reaching what Legolas assumed to be the guest chambers Lord Elrond had mentioned. The hallway was wide, and the walls were intricately cared with a vine design, which reminded Legolas of the twisted branches of the trees in the Woodland Realm. Legolas turned away with a shudder, calling to mind the darkness of the Enemy was not how he wanted to spend his time at Imladris.

Legolas was jolted out of his reminiscing as Aragorn turned abruptly into the chamber to their left. Legolas entered the room that Aragorn had introduced as his “during his stay at Imladris.” The room was much larger than any Legolas had previously stayed in, with comfortable furniture and a wide balcony with a spectacular view of the valley below.

“Legolas,” Aragorn began soothingly. “There is nothing you can do to help Hananuir now. Nor, should you worry. Lord Elrond is the best healer in all of Arda, and he will help your brother.”

Aragorn grinned at his friend. “If you want to spend the whole night weeping like a distraught elleth, go ahead. I am going to get something to eat.” Aragorn turned and left the room, smiling to himself as he heard Legolas copy his actions.

The two friends left Legolas’s guest chamber and descended a flight of stairs, until arriving at the kitchens of Imladris. Appetizing aromas wafted through the open doorway, calling any who passed to enter. Aragorn and Legolas could not forego the temptation, so they too, gave into the smell.

The kitchens were empty, the hour being too late for anyone to be about. Legolas lit two candles, not wanting to attract attention with too much lighting. Aragorn smiled mischievously as he spotted a cake fresh out of the oven. Legolas discovered a stew pot, with the contents still lukewarm. The two friends set to with a hearty appetite. Neither noticed a pair of very similar dark heads creeping towards them.

“Pardon me, Aragorn. I am standing here on the other side of the kitchen. You are the one standing nearest to the candles.” Legolas exclaimed as a hand wrapped itself about his throat.

“Legola-?” Aragorn was cut short as hand punched him in the stomach, winding him.

If one were to have passed by the kitchens of Imladris in the early hours of the morning, one would have heard the sounds of a scuffle, and several oaths.

Aragorn recovered first, managing to pin his attacker to the ground. He held him still with a kick, while trying to light the candles. He finally succeeded as Legolas freed himself. Elf and Man regarded the two Princes of Imladris, Elladan and Elrohir.

Aragorn clenched and unclenched his fists in anger at the duo. Legolas recovered the power of speech first.

“What. Are. You. Doing.” Legolas punctuated each word very clearly and very slowly, letting his fury color his voice.

Elladan grinned cheekily. “Simply welcoming you to our home, Lord Legolas.” Both twins delivered a mocking bow, which only incensed Legolas further.

Aragorn had gotten himself under control, and decided to forestall any further bouts of…violent behavior. “Legolas do not mind the children. Unfortunately, they were left untended by their nurses. We will have to fulfill that position and ensure that these Elflings return to their beds.”

Aragorn regarded the twins, aware of Legolas’s muffled laughter. Neither looked very pleased.

“Estel, do let us have some fun with Legolas. Why we haven’t seen him, in what fifty years? Perhaps a century? Ever since he was a little thing! He probably doesn’t even remember us.” Elrohir grinned mockingly at Legolas.

The youngest Prince of Mirkwood, however, was in no mood for games. “I remember you both perfectly. Believe me, your visit will never be forgotten.”

Aragorn had the good grace to muffle his laughter. Legolas regarded his friend pityingly as the Ranger continued to laugh. “I am going to my guest room because I am tired. You three children,” he stressed the word, “may linger in the kitchens to your hearts content. However, do not rouse me when the kitchen staff complains.” Finished delivering his ultimatum, Legolas pivoted on his heel and strode from the kitchen, unfortunately headed in the opposite direction of the guest quarters.

Aragorn and the twins made eye contact, and stifled their laughter. With unspoken accord, they left the kitchens and caught up with Legolas, who ignored their presence.

“Legolas, do not put on your ‘I am the Prince’ act. It really makes you look quite ridiculous, you know.” Elrohir informed Legolas conversationally.

“Legolas, you might want to caution yourself against making such bold declarations to the Lords of Imladris, especially if you are in the wrong.” Elladan continued.

“You are going the wrong way. Guest chambers are back that way.” Aragorn pointed helpfully in the right direction. He smiled affably as Legolas flushed slightly.

Legolas turned around and stalked forward. He heard the sounds of whispered comments made by the trio at his back. It was absurd that he had to put up with those two, when he was in no mood for pleasantries. Hananuir was dying and he had to content himself with the twins!

He turned the corner and all but ran up the stair case to his room. He remembered the way, and outdistanced Aragorn and the twins. He did not, however, consider other routes to his room, and all but plowed down Aragorn as he rounded the corridor.

Legolas swayed, but managed to stay upright. Aragorn was knocked into the twins, who stood behind him. How the trio did not fall to the ground was anyone’s guess. Elves and Man regarded each other warily.

“Then perhaps we could step inside for some conversation?” Elladan voiced hopefully.

Legolas suddenly realized how stupidly they were behaving, and dissolved in helpless laughter, quite startling the others in his company. “Ai, go in, go on. If I were in my normal state of mind, I should be ashamed of our actions. As it is, I am not.”

Aragorn nodded sagely. “Indeed, why follow such norms of behavior at this hour, when there are none to see?”

“Well said, Estel.” Elladan nodded approvingly. “It would be different, of course, if we were in the company of royalty.”

Legolas did not even bother with a retort; he simply entered the guest chamber and collapsed in the nearest chair. He suddenly realized that his thigh was paining him. He gestured for Aragorn and the twins to seat themselves in the room.

Aragorn, however, walked straight to Legolas and sternly looked down on his friend.

“Yes, Estel. I am tired, and putting up with their antics,” he gestured at the twins, “are not helping.”

Aragorn nodded and took a seat opposite Legolas. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, until it was broken by Elrohir.

“Legolas, I have heard reports that your brother Hananuir lies injured. True?” Elrohir continued after Legolas’s confirming nod. “Elladan and I have shortly returned from the north, and we have noticed an increase in Orc activity. Was it them?”

Legolas nodded again. “Poisoned arrow in the back. It seems,” Legolas continued more coherently, “at least according to Neldorin, that Orc numbers have nearly double in the Misty Mountains, if not tripled. Mirkwood is also besieged. We live surrounded by our enemies, practically penned in our homes. Spiders infest the trees, twisting them with their filth. Orcs and wargs patrol the forest floor, sometime in too great numbers for us to overwhelm them without loss.”

Aragorn continued the narrative. “I went as far into Mordor as the Dead Marshes, and even ventured some into the Emyn Muil. I noticed greater influx into the Black Gate and Minas Morgul itself. The Enemy is amassing much evil.”

Elladan nodded. “Lord Elrond has called a Council. I believe that is why you are here, Legolas. A representative of every race has been summoned and we will decide what to do.”

“What to do?” Legolas laughed harshly. “What can we do? Launch an assault on Sauron himself? I think not, Elrondillion.”

Perhaps Legolas was wearied from his journey, or perhaps he did not notice the glance traded between the three brothers.

Aragon spoke. “Come now! Let not your first night in Imladris be spent worrying over the future of our world. We will prevail, as always, and the darkness will be conquered, as it is every day, in all parts of Arda. Legolas, you are very tired, and you should rest. The morrow is nearly upon us! We will take our leave of you now.” Elladan, Elrohir and Aragorn stood. After bidding Legolas a good night, they left.

Legolas looked out his window, noticing the darkness of the hour. “It must be shortly before dawn, if the skies are so dark.” He mused tiredly. He collapsed on the bed, and gave into refreshing sleep.

Hananuir shook his head, to clear the darkness and vague figures who kept invading his dreams. He kept hearing voices in his head. If someone would only stop that throbbing in his back, he might be able to form a coherent thought. “Goodness it is dark. It must be very late.” Hananuir tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were too heavy. Suddenly, he heard voices that seemed very nearby, and not at all like the faint echoes he had been hearing previously.

“He is doing much better, my lord.” Hananuir did not recognize this voice, but it was most definitely feminine.

“Excellent. I was sure he would. Pleas tell Prince Legolas he may come in now.” Legolas! Hananuir was happy that Legolas was apparently well. But why should Legolas be coming to visit Hananuir? And why couldn’t he get his eyes open!

He heard the sounds of a chair being adjusted somewhere near his body, and the sound of a door opening and closing. He then heard Legolas speak.

“Hananuir? I do not think you can hear me. But I am here, sitting beside you.” Hananuir frowned. Of course he could hear Legolas!

“I was so very worried about you, muindor. Lord Elrond took care of you. He is a most impressive personage.”

Hananuir was confused. What was Legolas talking about? Hananuir was fine, and why would Lord Elrond be here?

Legolas sighed. “I wonder why I am speaking to you. Hananuir, if you can hear me, do something. Move your arm, or open your eyes. Please?”

Hananuir wanted to inform his brother that he could hear him perfectly, and there was no need to shout. Instead, he opted for trying to open his eyes. After what seemed an impossibly long amount of time, he had cracked his eyelids open, and could see the blurry outline that, he assumed was Legolas.

“Bri.” Hananuir mumbled, suddenly realizing how dry his throat was. “War.” He waited impatiently for Legolas to get him something to drink. What was taking so long?

Legolas started incredulously at Hananuir. Had he tried to speak? But what was “bri?” And why should Hananuir be thinking of war?

“Hananuir, what is ‘bri’? Please, I do not understand what you are saying.”

Hananuir grumbled irritably. “Wa…ter.” He spoke as slowly and deliberately as he could, annunciating each word as clearly as possible.

“Water!” Legolas shouted triumphantly and a few moments later Hananuir felt a cup pressed up against his lips. Legolas lifted his head up, enough for him to gulp down the water.

“I am sorry, Hananuir. I did not understand what you were saying. I am so glad to see you are awake! You have been asleep for an entire day. I was beginning to worry, nay I have been worried since you took that arrow.”

Hananuir started, and nearly choked on the water he was drinking. Arrow! Orcs! The High Pass! He suddenly remembered all the events leading up to his injury. They must be in Imladris. The Council!

He coughed and sputtered. “Council,” he managed in-between gasps. His eyes were fully open now, and Hananuir was finally able to see where he was. It was a small room, sparsely furnished, but very clean. The sort you would find in an infirmary. So that’s where he was.

“Council?” Legolas asked after pounding Hananuir on the back. “Oh, that is not for another two days. It seems,” his voice turned stiff, “the Dwarven nor Human representative has arrived.”

“No, Legolas. I cannot go.” Hananuir regarded his brother’s surprise after receiving this information. Clearly Legolas had not planned ahead.

“Oh. I did not consider that.” Hananuir almost laughed at the look of dismay that crossed Legolas’s face.

“Muindor, what would you do without me?” Hananuir asked jokingly, although his back was throbbing incessantly.

Legolas frowned, and did not take the jibe. “I do not know. Thank the Valar you will be well.” He paused. “Who will represent Mirkwood if you are not well? Why, the Council will have to be postponed.”

“Nay, Legolas. You can go.” Legolas blinked, and then stared at Hananuir, as if seeing him for the first time.

“Me? I cannot! I a merely a younger son, not important enough to…” Hananuir interrupted Legolas with more vehemence than someone so recently injured should have.

“A younger son? Legolas, is that all you think of yourself as? You are more than adequate to represent the Woodland Realm. Adar himself could not fault this decision.”

Legolas was rather surprised by his brother’s reaction. For, after all, he was the youngest son of a rather large family, in Elven terms. Legolas would never get a chance to rule, or be in a position of crucial importance, like Girithron, because Elves were immortal. The chances of Girithron himself ruling were slim, and even if Thranduil were to perish, Hananuir was still next in the line of succession. Legolas was quite content to remain a younger son.

He tried to appease Hananuir. “If you think that I am fit to do this, then I will be honored to represent us at the Council.” Hananuir nodded approvingly at Legolas’s solemn acceptance of his responsibility. “However,” his younger brother continued, “I believe that we should ask Lord Elrond’s permission.”

“Excellent idea, Prince Legolas.” Lord Elrond nodded briskly to the surprised brothers as he strode into the room. He waved Legolas aside, as the younger Elf began to rise.

“No need for formalities, Legolas. I came to check on Hananuir, and clearly I have arrived at a very good time, if there was something you wanted to ask me.” Elrond’s eyes were bright and knowing, proving that he apparently knew more than he was letting on.

“Yes, my lord. I would like to know whether you will grant permission for a change of representatives for the Council.” At Elrond’s nod, Hananuir continued. “I am wounded, and although your excellent care has helped immensely, I do not think I will be in the condition to attend such an important Council. Legolas, here,” Legolas half rose again, only to be waved at again by Elrond, “will represent the Woodland Realm. I assure you, he is quite adequate for this.”

Elrond was nodding slowly to himself and as Hananuir finished speaking, the Lord of Imladris fixed Legolas with a stare piercing enough to rival Thranduil’s. Legolas did not flinch or blink, as Elrond made some sort of mental appraisal of him. “Yes,” he finally said, “Legolas will go. Do not worry yourself, Hananuir, for he will represent your Realm very well indeed.”

Hananuir bowed his head. “Thank you, my lord.” Legolas murmured something similar.

“Now, Legolas, if you would please excuse us, I must check to see how your brother is healing. You may come visit him again in the afternoon, for he needs to rest now. He will be in the most capable hands here, I assure you. Estel is, I believe, in the library.” Legolas nodded and bowed politely to Elrond, and spared a concerned glance for Hananuir, who smiled weakly. Legolas was reassured that nothing would happen to his brother, so he turned and left the infirmary.

Elrond watched Legolas go, examining him calculatingly. Hananuir watched Elrond’s actions, wondering if perhaps his brother did not measure up to some standard set by the Imladris Lord. When Elrond did not speak for several minutes, Hananuir began the conversation.

“Lord Elrond, I hope you do not fault my choice in Legolas. He is our only available option.” Hananuir opened his mouth to continue, but Elrond raised a silencing hand.

“Nay, Hananuir. I do not find anything amiss with Legolas. Nay, I am pleased. He is fine Elf, and a good brother to you, I believe.”

“Legolas is more than adequate, in fact,” here Elrond paused. He seemed at a loss for words. “In fact,” he began again, “there is something I must discuss with you, Thranduilion, something of grave import that you need to know.”

Hananuir nodded again and waited patiently as Elrond adjusted himself in the chair Legolas had recently vacated. However, the Imladris Lord did not speak immediately; rather he let silence stretch between them. When Hananuir was about to open his mouth, Elrond began.

“Do you know why I have called this Council?” The question was blunt, but one that Hananuir felt should be answered with care.

“I have some guesses, my Adar as well.” Elrond gestured for Hananuir to continue. “We believe, and your letter supports this, that something has been found. King Thranduil believes,” Hananuir stopped, aware that revealing this information could be a mistake. He ignored what his father might have cautioned and continued, “He believes that a weapon of the Enemy has been found, nay, The Weapon. The One Ring has been found, hasn’t it?” He turned this last statement into a question, unsure.

“It has been found, and it is here, in Imladris, even as we speak.” Hananuir gasped at this news. “Yes, Thranduilion, dark times are upon us, dark times. I have called this Council, as you might now have guessed, to inform the free races of Middle Earth that this peril lies in our grasp. We must act, and decide what to do with it.”

Hananuir remained silent; he did not know what the solution was. Elrond, too, stopped speaking, as if the confirmation that such a weapon lay in their hands overwhelmed him. The silence grew, as did Hananuir’s fears. A cold dread had settled in the pit of his stomach, one he knew would not be easily dispelled.

Elrond sighed wearily and began speaking again. “I do not know what the Council will decide, but I can guess with more certainty than most. There are so few options left to us, and only one that has any merit or any chance of success.” The Lord of Imladris now leveled his full gaze on Hananuir, who did not know what say. “The Ring must be destroyed.”

Hananuir goggled at Lord Elrond. As the shock sank into his bones, he knew in his heart that was the only course to follow, the only right path. He knew the Ring would have to be destroyed, and Sauron with it. Hananuir might be a pacifist at heart, but he had not forgotten the tales of war from the Second Age. Hananuir had not been born when the Last Alliance and Battle of Dagorland took place, but he had heard stories of his courageous elder brother Celeguir and wise grandfather Oropher, who had perished that day, along with countless others. He knew of the evil that twisted his beloved forest daily, taking the lives of many brave warriors. Hananuir understood the evil. He nodded slowly, somehow accepting this plan.

“I do. The Ring must be destroyed, and I have lost too much to the Darkness not to agree with you. But I do not understand how this will affect Legolas. He is, I assume, the point of this discussion?”

Elrond laughed softly. “He is, indeed. Someone must go and take the Ring to Orodruin. Nay,” he countered at the look of horror on Hananuir’s face. “Not Legolas. That is not for him. He has a different destiny, one that is closely tied to that of the Ring. Although we are all affected by it, only one can determine its final fate. I will not reveal all to you now, or Legolas will have nothing to tell you after the Council. I wish to simply warn you that your brother will be involved in this business, more so, than perhaps you, or your adar, would permit.”

Hananuir caught the wry tone in Elrond’s voice, proving that the Imladris Lord knew full well what Thranduil’s reaction to this information would be. It was common knowledge that the King of the Woodland Realm was shamelessly over-protective of his own, and did not like to “meddle” in the affairs of others, in other words, Men. Thranduil would not look favorably on Legolas participating, however little, in such affairs.

“My lord,” Hananuir began tentatively, “I understand all that you have said to me, furthermore, I agree with you. I see that you know the disposition of King Thranduil, and I will not hide from you his probable displeasure at our involvement. However, I have rather different beliefs than my adar. Legolas is free to assist in this venture by any means he can provide. But,” Hananuir raised his hand to counter the slow smile spreading across Elrond’s face, “I hope you are prepared to explain it to King Thranduil.”

Elrond let out a hearty peal of laughter, some of which was echoed in Hananuir’s unabashed grin.

“Well said, Thranduilion, well said. Thank you. Legolas is fortunate to have you as his brother. I thought you might be sympathetic. But now,” Elrond stood briskly, “you should rest. That wound still pains you, although you have carefully not mentioned it. Legolas will be in to see you later this evening. Rest well, Prince Hananuir.” Hananuir bowed his head in acknowledgment of Elrond’s parting words. He had planned to think over this matter, but somehow he felt an incredible fatigue spreading throughout his entire body. Hananuir was asleep before Elrond had closed the door of the small room.

The Lord of Imladris strode purposefully down the hall, heading in the direction of his study. He had much to think over. As he continued on his way, he heard hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor behind him. He turned to see a servant bearing a message for him.

“My lord.” The Elf bowed respectfully. “I am here to inform you, my lord that the Dwarven party has arrived. They are just now entering our borders.” Elrond nodded, relieved, that the Dwarves had finally been spotted. Elrond had been afraid that they would not make the Council.

“My lord, if I may?” The servant asked for permission to continue. “Our scouts have caught sight of rider making his way to our land, as well. He is a man, from Gondor, according to his garb. Captain Jaeron believes him to be the representative of Men, one of the sons of the Steward Denethor.” Elrond nodded and dismissed the servant.

He was very relieved to know that all the representatives were almost accounted for and the Council could begin shortly. He frowned grimly as he perceived what a Council it would be.

Girithron: Legolas’s elder brother, the third child and second son of Thranduil. Is the heir to the kingdom as Thranduil’s eldest, Celeguir, was killed at Dagorland.

Brethil: the warrior who saved Legolas from an orc, and goes with him to Imladris.

Hananuir: the third son and fourth child of Thranduil, one of Legolas’s older brother.

Faelthinor: Younger warrior and friend of Legolas, who goes with him to Imladris.

Aragorn strode quickly from the shelter of the hallways of Imladris, preferring the silence of the forest to calm his mind’s inner turmoil. The Council that morning had riled him. Although the Dúnedain had known almost all of which had been said, beforehand. But some things could not be shaken off lightly...Boromir, for instance.

Aragorn was not an overly suspicious man; however, he distrusted something of that man of Gondor. Aragorn also did not appreciate Boromir’s petition to use the Ring for good. In his mind, the ranger knew there was something else wrong, something that ran deeper…

…Gollum. Aragorn did not feel totally secure knowing that creature was on the loose. No doubt, on it’s way to Mordor. Aragorn sighed. He had trusted the Woodland Elves! But the ranger knew in his heart that Legolas was just as upset over this as he was. It must have deeply incensed the Prince of Mirkwood’s pride to admit failure to the Council. Nay, but it wasn’t just Gollum either.

Aragorn knew it couldn’t be the Ring. He had known about it for some time, and although the notion of its discovery had been unsettling at first. But, Aragorn had grown used to it. The fact that the Ring was in Imladris and so close to him, served only to highlight the growing darkness that was spreading all over Arda. There was something else that he could not put his finger on…

Aragorn turned his head sharply as he heard approaching footsteps. He relaxed instantly as he recognized them as Elvish. His guess was correct as Legolas shortly came into view. The Prince of Mirkwood was frowning pensively, and was not paying attention to his surroundings.

“Suilad”, Aragorn spoke softly, but Legolas was nevertheless startled. He jumped, but smiled after identifying Aragorn.

Aragorn chuckled. “Again my Mannish senses have bested you. I do believe that is the second time I have startled you.”

Legolas did not laugh. “Perhaps, but I was deep in thought. There is much to mull over after the Council.”

“Indeed.” The two walked in companionable silence through the thick trees that bordered Imladris.

“Aragorn,” Legolas began suddenly, “although there are many things that require much thought, and careful analysis, there is something that sticks out at me, and I cannot seem to forget it.” Aragorn nodded and Legolas continued.

“Do you recall what Lord Elrond said, after Bilbo said he would take the Ring? He told Bilbo to stay in Imladris to write a sequel to his book when ‘they’ come back. Bilbo asked who ‘they’ were, and Lord Elrond answered they were the messengers who would be sent with the Ring. Also, at the end of the Council, that other hobbit, Sam is his name I think, asked to accompany Frodo. Lord Elrond said that ‘he at least would go.’^*In both instances, Lord Elrond implied that Frodo would not be going alone to Mordor, but some others would accompany him.”

Aragorn had stopped walking, as he heard Legolas speak, for something in the back of his mind had sounded a warning at his friend’s words.

“Lord Elrond said both Frodo and Sam would be going, but he said messengers. I have concluded that more than one other shall accompany them to Mordor. I...” Legolas stopped talking mid-sentence, and hung his head as if ashamed.

“What, Legolas? You can tell me.” Aragorn’s curiosity was piqued, and he wondered what point Legolas was trying to make.

“Well, I can’t shake the feeling that I am destined to accompany Frodo.” Aragorn stopped listening, although Legolas continued speaking. That was the feeling he had; a feeling of impending doom, and inevitable fate. Was Aragorn also destined to join these ‘Messengers?’

“Aragorn, did you hear what I said?” Legolas was frowning at him, and Aragorn had to shake his head sheepishly. “I said that something must be wrong, because I cannot possibly go. Why would anyone need my help, when there are others, such as Glorfindel to go?”

Aragorn completely ignored Legolas’s question while his mind continued listing the possibilities. One thought occurred to Aragorn: why was he destined to go? Could it be…? He did not dare complete the thought, yet in his heart he felt the weight of doom drag his feet down like lead upon the ground. It was time, it seemed.

Legolas’s voice brought him back to the present. “I am very glad my words have evoked a reaction from you, Aragorn, but I would like to know what it is. Aragorn?”

“Forgive me, my friend. It was just that I have been having the same feeling that you described. I could not place it, but now I know that it is a prediction of danger ahead. It is unlike anything I have ever faced before, Legolas, for something in my heart chills me. I do not know what it is.”

“Do not worry yourself needlessly, for how can we be certain that our guesses are correct? I would not dare ask Lord Elrond. Mithrandir would not tell us either, for he delights in concealing information,” Legolas smiled wryly, “that does not seem ripe to be shared. I wonder what the future holds for us, Aragorn.”

“You always wonder what the future holds, Legolas, while others wiser than you are content to let it come.” Aragorn smiled and let conversation drift to other areas, which did not hold such fear or uncertainty.

Mithrandir watched the two figures make their way out of his sight on the path below. He sighed wearily at the changes taking place, and the decisions that had to be made. He turned to regard the room’s other occupant, the Lord of Imladris.

Elrond was seated in an ornately carved chair, staring into nothing, his forehead creased in thought. He shook his head slowly, as if finally coming to a decision, and turned to look at Mithrandir.

“Mithrandir, I have come to believe now that you are right. This group we send with Frodo must number more than yourself and the two hobbits. They would be lost without you, and the path to Mordor is long and dangerous. But, have a care, the number must also be small, for we cannot risk discovery. Concealment and stealth must be our weapons.”

“You speak wisely, Elrond. I feel that we should have a representative of every race connected with the Ring, who has the power and will to fight it. This evil will affect everyone in Arda,” he added at Elrond’s disapproving frown. “It is not fair that only some races should have a say.”

Elrond nodded reluctantly and looked out the window. He spoke slowly. “I see the wisdom in what you are saying, Mithrandir. I am just loath to make the knowledge of the Ring so public. There could be a spy…”

Mithrandir interrupted irritably. “There is no spy that can infiltrate into Imladris!” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “What of Nenya?”

“She is still powerful. I am able to protect my own people, Mithrandir.” Elrond swatted distractedly at thin air, and then stopped, as if realizing what he was doing. “I asked you for advice, please advise me.”

Elrond shook his head, muttering something about “immaturity”, but smiled at Mithrandir’s jibe.

“Very well, then O Master of Advice, you suggest that a member of every free race be included in this venture. Duly noted, of course. Now, let me see, that would mean Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Hobbits?” Mithrandir nodded and Elrond continued.

“You would represent wizards, I supposed, but that is irrelevant, because you are going anyway. Frodo and Sam would represent Hobbits, and now we come to the point. We need an Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf. Who would you suggest?”

“The Man from Gondor, Boromir. He is courageous, perhaps a bit rash, but he would be loyal to the group. He would be returning to Minas Tirith anyway, and the route is the same.”

Elrond nodded slowly. “I suppose it is logical. But, Mithrandir, have you not also read the signs? Boromir will not be the only Man in the group, for I have Seen another.”

“Yes, he must,” Elrond murmured softly. “He is the heir of Isildur and it his destiny.”

“You knew that this day would come. The Line of Kings cannot remain forever broken. Aragorn is powerful, and he has learned Elven wisdom. His time among the Dúnedain has proved useful, for he will know stealth, and many hidden paths which will aid the secrecy of the mission.”

“Yes, Aragorn will go.” Elrond paused. “But only,” he held up a finger, “if he is willing.”

“Of course!” Mithrandir asserted amiably. “Indeed, I have no intention of forcing anyone on this mission against their will.”

“Well, that is settled. Now for the Dwarves?” There was silence as each contemplated this question.

“I feel there is only one choice, among those who came to the Council.” Mithrandir hinted.

“If you are thinking of Gimli, son of Glóin, then I agree with you. He is young, and loyal. His strength and courage will serve a good purpose.”

“Not only that, but Gimli seems to accept new ideas more readily. He is not bound to traditions like some of those other stubborn fools.” Elrond smiled wanly at the insult.

Mithrandir knitted his brows together, and spoke gravely. “Ah, but think not that only the Dwarves are stubborn, O Elrond. I have met some very stubborn Elves in my time…”

Elrond did not rise to the bait. “Good, now this brings us to the choice of Elves. Who shall we send?”

Both paused in deep thought. The answer to this question was not readily available.

“Nay, that would serve no purpose but to turn all the creatures of Sauron against us. Glorfindel is too widely known, too celebrated. It would be the same as sending Celeborn, or Galadriel, or me.” Elrond spoke passionately.

“True. And if they travel stealthily, they should not encounter many battles. You clearly know who we will be sending, Elrond, please do let this frail wizard know your superior mind.”

Elrond ignored Mithrandir’s last statement, and spoke slowly. “There is one that comes to mind. The Enemy does not know him, for he is quite young, but mature nonetheless.”

“Legolas Thranduilion.” Mithrandir blinked a few times, digesting this news. A slow smile spread across his face.

“Yes, I see the merit in the choice. Legolas is an excellent choice. You have my approval.” The old wizard nodded a few times, to confirm his support.

“Perhaps, but it is someone else’s approval that worries me.” Elrond commented wryly.

“This will not sit well with him. Hananuir Thranduilion has assured me of his support, and he will be a valuable ally in changing Thranduil’s mind, but I do not like turning a son against his father. We could be sending Legolas to his death, and you know Thranduil would blame us for it.”

“Thranduil cannot prevent something this important from happening, and if the group were to leave from Imladris, shortly after the Council, he would have no time to protest it. A visit to the Greenwood is not on the route.”

“However,” the wizard paused briefly. “You do have a point. Thranduil would blame us, wouldn’t he? Hmm…”

Elrond had a sudden inspiration. “Thranduil couldn’t blame us if Legolas were to go of his own volition.”

“True,” Mithrandir agreed, warming up to the idea. “You would have to word it carefully when asking him, of course.”

“Naturally.” Elrond dismissed the problem with nod. “Therefore, to sum things up, Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Sam, Frodo, and yourself will go on this quest?”

Mithrandir smiled. “Yes, that totals to seven, which is a small enough number to be stealthy, and a large enough one to ward off any unlikely attack.”

Elrond stood with decisiveness. “Yes, I am well pleased by this arrangement. Send a messenger to each member newly chosen. I will give each one two days to think on it, and by the third we should be decided.”

“Very well, I shall call in Aragorn.” Mithrandir strode from the room, with a short bow, leaving Elrond to his silent musings of the success of this crucial mission.

Legolas smiled back wondering what in Arda Elrond could have to ask him. Perhaps, the Elven lord wished him to leave? Now that the Council was over, there was no reason to linger in Imladris. Perhaps there was something wrong with Hananuir? Legolas quashed this thought, having visited his brother recently and seeing first hand the progress he had made. His questions were cut short as Mithrandir stopped walking, and gestured for Legolas to enter the room that they stood before.

Legolas nodded gratefully at the old wizard for his guidance, for the young Elf surly would have become lost in the huge maze that was Imladris. The young prince took a deep breath and entered the room to have his curiosity appeased.

He did not see Elrond at first, for the latter was hidden in the deep shadows cast by the setting of the sun. Legolas blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness and bowed respectfully to the Lord of Imladris. Elrond nodded his head in acknowledgement and gestured for Legolas to be seated.

Legolas sat in a chair that stood before the desk at which Elrond was seated. He waited patiently, and at last decided to break the silence.

Silence stretched between them. Legolas did not want to seem impatient, so he did not speak. It was Elrond who finally chose to begin the conversation.

“You will recall, Thranduilion, that at the end of the Council, the Hobbit, Frodo, decided to take the Ring to Mordor, and his friend Sam decided to accompany him on that mission.”

“I cannot send two Hobbits across Middle Earth to end up in Mordor all by themselves. Hobbits are passive by nature, and would be killed a days walk from here. I need to send others with them, who will provide defense, guidance, and company. I have decided that a member of each race will go along with Frodo.”

Elrond paused and looked at Legolas expectantly. Legolas returned his gaze, waiting for Elrond to continue. He did not. Legolas replayed the conversation in his mind, wondering if there was some hidden question he had failed to answer. Suddenly it hit him.

“I have decided that a member of each race will go along with Frodo.” Elrond’s last words flashed in his mind. But that would mean a representative for the Elves. But was he, Legolas, to go?

Suddenly, he recalled his conversation with Aragorn. He had been right! But still…

“And why not?” asked a little voice in the back of his mind. Why couldn’t he go? He was good with a bow, an excellent warrior. But there were other, better warriors.

“Am I good enough?” thought Legolas. He had been told on many occasions that he was. His teachers, brothers, and even his father had admitted that he was a good warrior. He was able to keep calm in difficult situations. He was somewhat resourceful. But why should Elrond choose him? Legolas decided to ask the question.

Legolas paused as he groped for a suitable answer. “I did not reflect before asking that question, my lord. I wonder as to your choice in me.”

“Evading my question, Legolas? Still, your perseverance earns you credit. I chose you; well I should say, Mithrandir and I chose you. According the wizard, you are a good warrior, and tried against the Shadow. This mission requires stealth, and above all secrecy. It would not do to send a famous Elven warrior, of which we have plenty, into Mordor. I needed someone unknown to them.” Elrond stopped talking to let Legolas absorb what he was saying.

“You should be honored by Lord Elrond’s choice in you.” The little voice in the back of his mind began again. “Thranduil would be proud at your achievements. You would bring honor to your family and glory to Greenwood.”

But his rational mind countered: “Mordor is so far away, you will probably never return, What difference does your presence make at Orodruin? Only one is needed to cast the Ring into flame. Frodo will be the one to do that.”

“One more thing, Legolas.” Elrond’s abrupt statement jarred Legolas from his thoughts.

“You do not have to decide right away.” Legolas mentally sagged with relief. He wasn’t about to lose his composure in front of Lord Elrond.

“You have two days to think about it, but then I need your answer. Oh, and Legolas?” Legolas raised an eyebrow.

“I am not forcing you into this. I want you to understand that. If you go, it will be your choice, and the consequences and responsibilities are yours to bear.”

“Of course, my lord.” Legolas stood and bowed formally, recognizing a dismissal when he heard one. Elrond nodded to him.

Elrond stared contemplatively at Legolas’s retreating figure. A smile tugged at his lips as the irony of the situation dawned on him.

“Yes,” he thought, “I shall have to share this one with Mithrandir. There are not many who would thank me for sending them on a quest that could mean their lives.”

Suddenly sobered by the thought, the Lord of Imladris fell into a light trance, perhaps remembering those that did lose their lives, and could never be thanked.

Hananuir began a conversation for the third time since Legolas had come to visit him. His little brother was agitated, but was not revealing what was bothering him. Hananuir was becoming concerned.

“Wrong with me?” Legolas started. “Why nothing at all, muindor. I am fine.” Legolas looked down at his feet.

Hananuir sighed at his brother. Legolas was the worst liar he had ever met. The entire family had learned the tactics Legolas used when lying to others. Simply, the young Thranduilion could not get away with falsehood. This particular tactic was one of Legolas’ favorites.

“Legolas, stop lying to me.” Suddenly, a thought hit Hananuir like an arrow, something to do with the conversation he had had with Lord Elrond previously.

“Well…ah…Hananuir, what am I to do?” Legolas yelled at the ceiling and would have begun pacing if he was not seated. “Lord Elrond wants me, me! To represent Elves in the Quest to Destroy the Ring!”

“What!?” Hananuir sat bold upright, winced at the pain in his back, and sank down on the bed again. His back was better, but sore nonetheless, and sudden movements were not ideal.

“I have time to think on it. I do not know what to do.” Legolas shook his head in frustration.

Hananuir tried to recall exactly what Lord Elrond had said to him. They came to him slowly; “I wish to simply warn you that your brother will be involved in this business, more so, than perhaps you, or your Adar, would permit.”

Elrond knew that Legolas would be chosen. Elrond had almost told Hananuir as much. How could I have missed the warning? Hananuir cursed his injury, which was apparently dulling his wits. He should have been prepared with a solution.

“Muindor, I do not know what you will think of me, but please do not judge me too harshly.” Hananuir waited.

“I want to go.” Legolas spoke quietly, but his voice was filled with confidence and purpose.

Hananuir nodded. “I thought you might. You truly have an adventuresome spirit, Legolas. I hope it will serve you well.”

“First of all, it is not mine to approve. You need neither my permission nor support to go. However, I give both to you. Second of all, there is no reason for me not to approve. You are not rash, to go seeking dangers that you have no chance of besting. You have as good a chance of succeeding as any, Legolas. I must admit,” Hananuir grinned sheepishly. “I admire your courage.”

“Muindor, I would not have the courage to accept this responsibility. Do not be humble to seek praise, although by the look on your face the idea has never entered your mind.” Legolas looked genuinely abashed.

Hananuir’s light voice turned serious. “Legolas, go. Help Frodo to destroy the Ring, give him whatever aid is in your power. If you succeed…” Hananuir stopped as the sheer magnitude of the task amazed him. “If you succeed, your name shall be revered among Elves, Men and Dwarves alike.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow mockingly at the unlikely-ness of a Dwarf ever praising an Elf.

“Legolas, listen to me.” Hananuir’s voice was fervent. “If you succeed, you shall rid Arda of her greatest foe. There will finally be peace. Peace, Legolas! I know you cannot imagine what that is! You were born in the most turbulent time of all. There was peace, I know, I lived in it, for a short time. There can be peace again. You can help it to come.”

“Imagine, Legolas. The trees will be alive again, they will sing out in joy. Our children need not learn to kill before they finish childhood. Our elleth need not be in constant fear of death of their husbands. We do not have to sing laments over the bodies of our fallen comrades and know we will never meet them again. The sun will not rise to darkness, but there will be eternal light. Imagine, Legolas, a child who has never seen an Orc. Never had to battle spiders, or vomit because of their foul stench. Imagine peace.” Hananuir looked into space, seeing a better future. His voice was hushed, almost reverent.

Legolas regarded his brother and saw the hope in his eyes. Legolas himself had never known peace. He had fought ever since he was old enough to use a sling shot. But he could picture what Hananuir spoke of. Legolas knew that his brother hated war, hated fighting.

Could he really help create an era where there was peace? Could Sauron be destroyed?

Legolas remembered the Council, he remembered a little Halfling asking to carry the peril of the world around his neck. He had seen the hope in Frodo’s eyes. Frodo knew peace. Legolas had heard tales of the Shire; Hobbits kept their doors unlocked and their gates unbarred. There were no sentries or patrols. The air did not ring with their laments. The trees were green and healthy, the birds sang. If there was such a land, then it was worth protecting. Hope was a flickering candle, but if one waited until the dawn, the flame would burn ever brighter.

Legolas thought about his immortality, he had all of eternity. Sauron could not wait that long. Legolas would act, now. He would go, and he would fight for a cause that was not yet won, but practically lost.

“Hananuir.” The Elf in question was jarred out of his daydreaming to regard a determined younger brother.

“I am going to go. I will fight for peace. I will protect Frodo on his Quest, and should it cost my life, I will give it.”

“I have never been prouder of anyone, Legolas. Truly, I do not deserve to be your brother.” Hananuir shook his head in shame.

Legolas got up and embraced his brother firmly, careful not to hurt his wound. “It is I that am undeserving. Thank you, Hananuir. I do this for you, and Adar, and Girithron and Gwiwileth. I do this for Celeguir, although I never knew him. I do this for all Elves that have lived, and those that are still to come. You all deserve peace.”

“And let it return to you.” Legolas returned the salute and the traditional reply.

Hananuir nodded and watched his younger brother, the one who carried every Elf’s hope with him, leave the room.

“There are two letters, one from me and one from Lord Elrond. Give him Lord Elrond’s first.” Legolas handed two sealed packets to his brother.

Hananuir nodded and handed them to Neldorin, who stood beside him. Brethil and Faelthinor, along with Lord Elrond, and others of his house stood in the Hall of Fire. Glóin and three other Dwarves stood there as well, along with the Hobbits.

Legolas embraced his brother one last time, and saluted to his former companions.

Legolas thanked him and grinned at Faelthinor’s wink and warning to kill every Orc in Arda.

Neldorin smiled sadly. “May the Valar be with you, Legolas, may they always guard your step.” The aged veteran stepped back, and leaving Hananuir standing alone.

“Legolas, I will turn my eyes east every morning. I will hope for you, and pray to the Valar for your return. Should it not come…” Hananuir shook his head.

Legolas gripped his should. “Should it not come, then promise me you will not weep. Promise me you will only enjoy the peace that I died to bring to you.”

Hananuir grinned. “Namaarie, muindor. I thank the Valar I was blessed to be your brother.”

Legolas’ throat was tight and he could not speak. He gripped Hananuir’s forearm in a warriors greeting, and placed his fist on his heart in a final salute.

Legolas joined the group of those who formed the Fellowship of the Ring. Aragorn crossed the distance between him and his friend and came to speak to Legolas.

“Legolas, I know you have made this decision to come, but Gimli, the Dwarf, has only promised to go until the Passes of the Mountains.”

“Legolas, I do not want you to die on this quest. I know it is not your fate. Please promise me to go only to the Passes.” Aragorn spoke fervently.

Legolas gaped at his friend. “Aragorn, what is this madness? I should retreat because a Dwarf feels that he cannot go until the end? Nay, I will not give up now.”

“Legolas, do this for me. Please! Just consider it! When we get to the Passes, you can change your mind! Just to ease my conscience?” Aragorn was unusually agitated.

Legolas remembered the unusual friendship he had with this Man, and how many times they had saved each other’s lives. He decided he could concede this favor.

“So be it, Aragorn. I will not go all the way to Mordor, if my heart warns against it, when the time comes.” Aragorn looked relieved.

Lord Elrond, who chose that moment to address the company, interrupted his reply.

“The time for farewells is over. If the Company would be so good as to wait at the gate, they shall soon be on their way. Mithrandir and I must have some final words.” Elrond turned to go, but spoke again when everyone in the room tried to leave at the same time.

“It would aid the mission if everyone else would please stay here in the stronghold. Sauron has many spies.” Elrond smiled thinly, and turned on his heel out the doorway.

Gimli, the Dwarf exited first, head held high in the presence of Elves. Five Hobbits left the Hall, for Bilbo would not remain behind. Boromir the Man towered over them, apparently indifferent as to the mode of departure. Aragorn and Legolas brought up the rear.

They came outside to the steps at the gate just as evening fell. Three of the Hobbits had congregated on a laden pony. Frodo stood next to Bilbo, but neither spoke. Gimli made quite a show of checking his weaponry, as did Boromir with his war-horn. Aragorn sat on the step, with his head in his knees. Legolas decided not to speak to him.

Instead the elf stood looking up at the grey sky. The clouds were low, partially obscuring the moon. It was not yet dark enough to see the stars.

Legolas pondered his hurried promise to Aragorn. When the time came, would he indeed turn back?

A/N: No, Legolas is not crazy. That is his conscience speaking. I decided to have a little fun with that-let me know if it wasn’t too weird. Thanks and please review!

Brethil: the warrior who saved Legolas from an orc, and goes with him to Imladris.

Faelthinor: Younger warrior and friend of Legolas, who goes with him to Imladris.

Girithron: Legolas’s elder brother, the third child and second son of Thranduil. Is the heir to the kingdom as Thranduil’s eldest, Celeguir, was killed at Dagorland.

Hananuir: the third son and fourth child of Thranduil, one of Legolas’s older brother.

Gwiwileth hummed softly to herself as she checked on her patients. True, she was not a very good healer, nor the head one, but she enjoyed helping.

She smiled encouragingly at Ranael. He had just graduated to full warrior from being a novice. Unfortunately, he had been injured on his second patrol. An orc had cut him. However, the wound was shallow and Ranael would be back in service in a day or two.

“Give it one more day to see if it does not become infected, and then you may leave.”

Ranael grinned. “Thank you, Lady Gwiwileth! I know I will be more careful next time.”

She turned to leave the small infirmary room, but was intercepted by an excited messenger. She recognized him as the one who ran messages for Girithron.

“My lady Gwiwileth,” the messenger all but careened into her. Gwiwileth helped him to keep his balance.

“Oh!” Gwiwileth hastily picked up her skirts and set off at a run with the messenger at her heels. She arrived quickly at the Gate, joined a few minutes later by Girithron, and other curious Elves.

“Muindor, what have you heard? Are they well?” She demanded, barely containing her excitement to see her brothers.

“I have not had word, but they were spotted entering the kingdom early this morning. I had word from one of my Patrols.” Girithron also grinned with excitement.

“Oh do not say such things! You would bring ill luck upon them?” Thranduil’s only daughter was prone to exaggeration, especially when it came to her family.

“Nonsense, sister.” Girithron never paid much attention to his sister’s notions.

Thranduil arrived at that moment, apparently in the middle of a meeting, for Ivanneth still trailed him talking impatiently. Thranduil looked considerably annoyed; however, he was doing an excellent job of ignoring his Advisor.

Ivanneth looked peeved, but had the decency to end his lecture. The sound of hooves reached the waiting crowd. Soon the party rode in, numbering five, exactly as they had left. Thranduil let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.

The riders dismounted to cheers from the assembled Elves. All five Elves approached the King, and bowed low.

Girithron clapped his brother on the shoulder and moved to a blonde head, still bent.

“Lego-.” Girithron stopped mid-sentence, as the Elf in question bore no resemblance, other than his blonde hair, to his brother.

Gwiwileth inhaled sharply. “Where is Legolas? Hananuir, where have you left him?”

Neldorin quickly entered the conversation. “My lords, I believe you have much to discuss. I would beg leave for the rest of us.”

Thranduil could not conceal his worry. “You may leave as soon as you tell me who this is,” he indicated the Legolas look-alike. “Where is my son?”

The other Elf bowed low. “I apologize for the confusion, my lord. I am Srahalor. Lord Elrond thought it best if I were to accompany this party to account for the missing warrior.”

“Well no, he is in Imladris.” Hananuir said soothingly. “Adar, let us discuss the matter inside.”

Thranduil frowned but changed his mind quickly. “Yes, we shall discuss the matter inside. Faelthinor, if you would please see to our guest. I would like to thank you, Neldorin and Brethil, for the safe guidance of one of my sons.”

Brethil blushed, but Neldorin bowed. “It was our pleasure, my lord. Please excuse us.”

Neldorin turned on his heel and left the courtyard, with Brethil, Faelthinor and Srahalor in tow. The other Elves began dispersing, wondering what had happened to Greenwood’s youngest prince.

“Here is Lord Elrond’s letter. I believe it summarizes what I have just told you.”

Hananuir handed the letter to Thranduil, who took it and ripped the seal open impatiently. The King of the Woodland Realm scanned the contents quickly. Frowning, he re-read the missive. The elf did not speak for many minutes.

Seated next to Hananuir, Gwiwileth shifted nervously. Girithron waited patiently next to Thranduil, shooting warning glances at his agitated sister. Finally, Thranduil spoke.

“Am I to understand that Legolas has been sent on this mission because Elrond asked him to? Have I taught him nothing? Hananuir, how could you let your brother do such a thing?!” Thranduil glowered at this third son.

“Adar, I…he…,” Hananuir stammered. He had been unprepared for Thranduil’s reaction. How could his father think that Legolas mindlessly obeyed the Lord of Imladris?

“You what? You have been gone long enough to cross all of Arda twice. You have been wounded. You return to me without your brother, and this simple letter informing me that my son has been chosen to go on some mission?” Thranduil lashed out.

“Adar,” Girithron interceded. “I do not think you understand what is being accomplished. Think of the destruction of the Ring of Power, and that of Sauron!”

“I understand perfectly well what is being attempted! How could I not? You speak rashly, Girithron. You were alive at the time of the Last Alliance. Remember you not the darkness that covered our lands? Your brother and my father were sacrificed for the darkness, think you I want to lose Legolas as well?” Thranduil stood, angered.

“Legolas is needed here. Now! He is needed to protect our people in the forest. Elrond has plenty of others that can go! Why Legolas?” Thranduil began to pace.

Hananuir exchanged a look with Girithron. He knew that his elder brother understood the matter. Gwiwileth still looked worried. Hananuir sighed as he made his decision. He reached into tunic and pulled out Legolas’s letter.

Thranduil do not stop pacing, but switched his gaze from empty space to the face of his son.

“This is a letter from Legolas. I believe he explains his reasons better than Lord Elrond could.” Hananuir did not move as Thranduil suddenly strode across the room to snatch the letter from his son.

There was no sound in the room as Thranduil read the letter. A sharp intake of breath was the only reaction the Elven king gave. All three of Thranduil’s offspring scanned him anxiously, waiting for his answer.

Thranduil did not look away from the parchment as he turned on his heel and briskly left the room. He ignored Gwiwileth’s cry of “Adar” and Girithron’s exclamations. The door slammed harshly in reply.

Hananuir glared mildly at his brother. “I did not read it, muindor. Perhaps it is not meant for us to know.”

Hananuir continued. “I, for one, wish Legolas luck, and I will ask the Valar daily to protect him.”

“I wish him luck as well, muindor. You are not the only one who cares about Legolas.” Girithron replied hotly.

“Hananuir, Girithron, please do not bicker. Adar needs us to be strong now for Legolas. We have to believe he will come home.” Gwiwileth’s voice quavered.

“Of course he will come home!” Girithron asserted. “Do not worry, muinthel,” he added more gently. “All will be well.”

“I will make preparations for our dinner to be served in the breakfast room. Tonight is not appropriate for a court dinner.” She left the room briskly.

“Muindor,” Girithron turned and looked seriously at his brother. “Tell me now the truth. What are Legolas’s chances of survival?”

Hananuir considered his answer. “It is not hopeless. You know all who go with him, and I do not think any would fail. However, the mission itself is very risky. His chances are not great, Girithron, but they exist.”

“By all the Valar, Hananuir!” Girithron suddenly burst out. “Legolas has to come home! Adar would fade if he did not! We cannot endure another loss again!” He hit the arm of his chair violently.

“He will come home.” Hananuir appeased his brother. “There is hope for him, Girithron. We cannot despair in the light of hope.”

“I am sorry. I do not know what came over me. There is still hope.” The two brothers sat in mutual silent and frustration at the situation they faced. They could not help Legolas. They could only wait.

“Adar,Please try to understand me before judging my actions. I know it must have been terrible for you to realize that I was not with Hananuir. There was no other way for this to work. I could not have come home. I was asked to participate in a mission, and I have accepted.

I firmly believe there is good left in Arda and that this evil may be vanquished. We are not beaten until there are none of us left. Adar, I know the fight at home is desperate. Spiders are coming ever nearer to our settlements and the darkness does not easily relinquish what it has fought for. But instead of fighting the enemy at the outskirts, I am going to the center. I am going to its heart. The only way to kill evil is through the heart. I can do more good on this mission than I can at home.

Adar, you were alive during peace. You knew a time when constant fighting and training was perhaps, was not in our destinies. Elflings did not have to learn to wield weapons and how to kill. I was not so fortunate. I have never known a time when my constant worry was not the protection of others. Would you not let me have that? I want to guarantee a future free of strife for my family, and all the Elves in the Greenwood. Adar, if we were to succeed all of Arda would be free of war! Can you imagine this? I want to achieve this goal.

I have learned much in my years training to become a warrior. I know well the lesson of failure. If this mission should fail, either because we are all killed or the Ring falls into Sauron’s hands, please do not blame any living creature. I will do my utmost to succeed and return to you, but if the Valar should not will it to be so, there is nothing I can do. You knew your sons would be taken from you into battle. Is this any different? If I am taken, do not fall. Remain the strong leader I know you to be.

I do not despair, Adar. If I can face my fate with hope, you can also. I do not believe this mission is destined for failure, or I would not have become part of it. You have taught me too well for me to consider doing otherwise. Look at the stars at night. I will look up at them and picture home. Send all my love to Gwiwileth, Girithron and Hananuir.

Thranduil blinked several times after reading the letter from Legolas. Strangely, he did not feel angry. Instead, the Elven king felt numbness in his body. It felt as if a part of him had been removed. Somehow Thranduil had lost what he had taken the most care of: his youngest son. The elf had sworn, after Lalorn’s death, to take better care of his family. Somehow Thranduil had failed.

Thank you all who have read and reviewed my first fic. I hope to have another one coming out soon. Please remember to leave a review! And one last special thanks to Hisie Lome.

The Result of Failure by Estel_Mi_Olor