Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of J. R. R. Tolkien, nor any of the various dramatic incarnations thereof. No profit is being made from this work.

Greetings! Welcome to this story. It came about mostly because I felt that this period of time needed exploring. Legolas turns up at the Council of Elrond with a very bare-bones account of what happened between Gollum and the Wood-elves. I find this account fascinating both for what he says and what he does not say. That Legolas's errand to deliver this message ultimately leads to his being included in the Nine Walkers only makes the message and its circumstances more interesting. And the little part of me that really ought to have gone into forensics just took over.

There will be a few fairly bloody scenes. I'm just saying. Other than that, there's not much else to note here. You will probably recognize some characters from my previous stories. Enjoy this one, and I'll see you at the end.

Thranduil heaved a great sigh and leaned back against the carved wood of his throne. The two slender Elves standing beside him regarded their guests coolly, with impassive expressions. Aragorn returned their gaze as best he could while keeping a firm grip on Gollum's leash. The wretched creature writhed and tried to shield himself from the eyes of the Elves, muttering to himself monotonously. Beside him, Gandalf leaned on his staff and smiled disarmingly at Thranduil. At the moment, Aragorn sympathized with the Elvenking, for what Gandalf had asked of him was a great burden indeed.

Thranduil straightened and put on a pleasant expression. "Will you at least tell me why you wish me to keep this creature, Mithrandir?" he asked. "My people are not known for their skill at imprisoning others. Or perhaps you have forgotten the incident with the Dwarves?"

"I have most certainly not forgotten it, King Thranduil," Gandalf said. "Indeed, I recall it quite well. You took them in when they were starving in the forest and sheltered them and gave them food and drink. And plenty of both, as they were generous enough to recall."

"They escaped."

Gandalf shrugged. "They did. And it turned out to be for the best in the end. Smaug was destroyed, and a good portion of the Orcs in the Misty Mountains along with him."

"At the cost of far too many of my people," Thranduil countered. "And the Orcs have recently begun to multiply again. They are making trading difficult and dangerous. I fear that we will face a lean winter, Mithrandir. I do not know that I can afford to keep this creature for you."

"You will find him easier to board than you think," Gandalf said. "He is accustomed to the meanest fare, and little enough of that. He will eat no more than the smallest of the children in your delvings."

"And I will not have that smallest of children go hungry on account of this creature."

Aragorn gave the Elvenking a wry smile. "He will no doubt supply much of his own food," he said. "He is adept at catching and eating creatures that your people would never touch."

Thranduil made a gesture, and the two Elves at his side knelt before him, their backs to their guests. A ferocious whispering came from the huddle, too soft for Aragorn to make out any words. He and Gandalf and Gollum watched the debate patiently. At last, the two Elves stood, and Thranduil regarded Gollum silently for a while.

"What does he eat?" he asked at last.

Aragorn glanced at Gandalf, and the wizard winked at him. They had won Thranduil over. "Fisheses," Aragorn chuckled. "Among other things."

One of the Elves at Thranduil's side looked interested. "Fisheses?"

Aragorn nodded. "Raw, for preference. He catches them himself."

The Elf glanced at Thranduil. Thranduil nodded to him, and the Elf moved swiftly to kneel in front of Gollum, examining him with bright, curious eyes.

"Take care, Legolas," Thranduil said. "He looks tame enough, but I do not trust that creature."

Legolas nodded and continued to inspect Gollum. "We have plenty of fish," he said. "What else does he eat?"

"Worms," Aragorn said. "Small insects and grubs. Rats." He held out his hand and showed Legolas a half-healed bite mark. "He has also developed a taste for Ranger, it would seem."

"Does that pain you? Perhaps you should visit our healer."

"No," Aragorn said. "It is healing on its own. If the bite were poisoned, it would have showed by now."

Legolas cautiously extended his own hand to Gollum. Gollum looked at it curiously, then leaned forward. For a moment, Aragorn feared that Legolas was about to lose a finger, but Gollum simply sniffed the Elf's hand, then recoiled in fear.

"Ach!" he spat. "Nassty Elvses! Smells like the Yellow Face, they does. Ssssss, gollum!" He scuttled behind Aragorn and crouched down, hissing and muttering. Aragorn disentangled himself from Gollum's leash as Legolas returned to Thranduil's side.

"There you see it," Gandalf said to Thranduil. "He fears your folk much more than you need fear him."

"I do not fear him," Thranduil said. "Rather, I find him a nuisance. Someone will have to guard him, taking time away from hunting and our increased defenses. We will have to feed him something, no matter how much he may catch on his own. And he will have to sleep somewhere, most likely taking up a storeroom that could be put to other uses. And you have not yet told me how long I may expect to endure his presence."

Aragorn glanced at Gandalf. This was a valid question, and one that he and the wizard had not discussed while they hunted the creature. Gandalf furrowed his brow briefly, but did not seem overly concerned with the issue.

"I do not know," he said. "I cannot say that you will keep him until this or that day of the year and no longer. But something is stirring in the East. Great changes are afoot, and my heart tells me that you will not keep the creature as long as you fear. But when and how he will leave your custody, I cannot say."

Thranduil gave a pained smile. "Will you at least tell me why you have chosen my people to guard him?" he asked.

Gandalf brightened. "Because you and your people are kind and brave of heart, King Thranduil," he said. "What you have you share willingly with your guests, and the growing things of the forest look kindly on you. Though Mirkwood is shadowed, still there is light and joy where the Wood-elves dwell, and that speaks to me of powerful magic. I do not believe that the creature Gollum is wholly evil, and I hold out hope that he may be cured. I trust that you will treat him kindly, and perhaps he will benefit from your care."

Thranduil rolled his eyes. "You are a flatterer, Mithrandir," he said. "But I will take the creature. You have aided us before, and I will do this for you in memory of your past aid to us. Shall I have chambers prepared for you and your companion?"

Gandalf looked at Aragorn. Aragorn considered the offer. He knew that he ought to return to his people and his duties to the West, but he felt that he deserved some recompense for the time he had spent hunting Gollum down. After the stench of the marshland where the chase had ended and the long days spent driving Gollum before him, the thought of sleeping in a real bed held a powerful appeal. "I accept your hospitality, my Lord," he said, "and I am grateful for the offer. I will depart in the morning."

Gandalf nodded. "I accept as well, King Thranduil," he said, "though I fear that I will impose upon you for longer than my companion. I would have time to speak with Gollum, to learn who and what he is."

"Far be it from me to dictate your amusement," Thranduil said wryly. He turned to the two Elves at his side. "Luindil, please take the creature Gollum to the storage chambers and prepare a cell for him there. Then summon Menellir to my presence. Legolas, please escort our guests to the kitchens, see that they are fed, and send someone to make up chambers for them."

Both Elves nodded. Luindil, who had stood silently at his King's side during the whole debate, came before Aragorn and eyed him warily as Aragorn disentangled his legs from Gollum's leash. Luindil took the leash with an expression of mild distaste, then turned his attention back to Aragorn. He regarded the Ranger coolly for a moment, and Aragorn had the disconcerting feeling that this Elf had looked directly into his heart and judged what he had found there. The Elf's expression softened a little, and he bowed politely to Aragorn and then to Gandalf before leading Gollum away.

"Come." Legolas indicated one of the doors, and Aragorn and Gandalf followed him out of the Great Hall. Aragorn relaxed as they walked through the twisting corridors. Though Legolas maintained the same wary distance as Luindil had, there was something about him that was slightly more open, and Aragorn had the impression that Legolas was curious about him.

"It is just past the noon meal, so I do not know if there are any prepared dishes left in the kitchens," Legolas said, "but if you do not mind waiting a few minutes, I am sure that Galion will be able to find something for you to eat. We will not have you go hungry."

"Your folk are as generous as ever, Legolas," Gandalf said. "I have great faith in the skills of your cooks."

When they arrived at the kitchens, Legolas slipped inside and went to speak in a low voice with one of the Elves working there. Aragorn moved to follow him in, but Gandalf laid a restraining hand on his arm. The Elf to whom Legolas had spoken turned to look at them, and after a moment gave a nod of invitation. Aragorn followed Gandalf into the kitchens, aware that all work had ceased and that the Elves there were watching him with reservation.

Gandalf seemed not to notice. He removed his large hat and bowed to the Elf with a smile. "Well met once more, Galion," he said. "It is good to see you so well."

Galion inclined his head stiffly. "You are always welcome in these halls, Mithrandir," he said. "Your companion as well," he added generously. He indicated a table in the corner. "Please, sit. Legolas says that you are hungry. If you do not mind cold meat, I will fill plates for you."

"Thank you. Cold meat will do quite nicely." Gandalf seated himself at the table, and Aragorn sat down beside him. Legolas stood near Galion and watched them.

Galion carved bits and pieces off of the remains of a roasted haunch of venison and divided them between two plates. He thought for a moment, then added a handful of mushrooms and raspberries to each plate. Setting the two plates down before his guests, he said something to Legolas that was too soft for Aragorn to make out, but which made Legolas laugh a little. Galion plucked an apple from a bin and gave it to Legolas. Legolas sat down at the table and bit into the apple.

Aragorn and Gandalf took their cue and started in on their own meals. The venison was delicious, and Aragorn made a conscious decision to focus his attention on the food rather than on the Elves he knew were watching him. He glanced at Gandalf; the wizard was eating unconcernedly. Legolas finished his apple in a series of small, neat bites and got up to place the core in a basket full of them. He returned to the table and looked directly at Aragorn and Gandalf for the first time. There was something familiar about his face, but Aragorn could not quite place it.

"Tell me of your journey here," Legolas said. "Where did you come from, and what did you see?"

Gandalf nodded at Aragorn. "We have been hunting the creature Gollum for eight years now," Aragorn said. "Some weeks ago, I came upon him in the Dead Marshes and captured him there. I drove him before me until I reached Lake Town. Gandalf was waiting for us there, and together we brought him to your delvings."

Legolas frowned a little. "You did not travel through the southern part of the forest?"

"No. We skirted the eastern edge."

Legolas nodded. "That was well done. The Shadow lies heavy in the South, and it is a perilous region. We do not go there."

"I guessed as much," Aragorn said. "When I turned my face northwards from the Dead Marshes, I saw a column of black smoke rising from the trees into the sky."

"That is ill news." Legolas sucked in a sharp breath. "But it is important to know such things. Thank you for telling me. I will share it with my father after I have shown you to your rooms."

"Your father?" Aragorn asked.

"Thranduil."

It was by sheer will power alone that Aragorn managed to keep his jaw from dropping open. "The King?" he said. "You are the son of the Elvenking?" Legolas nodded, and suddenly Aragorn realized why his face looked so familiar. "I should have guessed," he said. "You resemble him greatly. I must apologize; I had guessed that Galion was your father. He seemed quite friendly with you."

Some of the Elves in the kitchen laughed a little. Gandalf smiled and winked at Legolas. "No," he said to Aragorn. "This one is the son of the King, although when he was small, he was the pet of the kitchens."

Legolas gave a shy half-smile and dropped his gaze. "Galion has been my friend for as long as I can remember," he said. "He used to give me good advice and let me nibble at scraps if I was hungry."

Aragorn chuckled, remembering a similar childhood friend in the kitchens of Imladris. "Kitchens are marvelous places," he said. "I have always pitied those sons of great lords who did not ever find their way into a kitchen as children." Evidently, this was the correct remark to make, as Galion and the others nodded in agreement and finally resumed the work that the strangers' entrance had interrupted.

"Come." Legolas rose from the table. "I will show you to your rooms now. Perhaps you are weary from your journey and wish to sleep."

Legolas led Aragorn and Gandalf through the corridors, finally stopping before two doors. He opened one and turned to his guests. "Here are your quarters," he said. "Both of these rooms are similar, and you may choose which one you like the best. Should you wish not to be disturbed, pull in the latch-string. If you are in need of anything, you may call out; someone will hear you."

"Thank you, Legolas," Gandalf said. "These rooms will do very nicely. I believe that I will freshen myself, and then I must go and speak with Gollum."

"I am sorry. There are many more pleasant things to do in the forest."

"Indeed. But I have spent eight years searching for the creature, and I will not delay any longer in asking him what I need to know."

Legolas shrugged. "If you are determined, then I will not hinder you. I must go and speak with my father, and then I will find out where Luindil has housed Gollum. If you do not need anything more, then I will return in an hour to take you there." He dipped his head, then turned and left.

Aragorn watched him go, then turned back to Gandalf. "So that is Thranduil's son. He is not at all what I expected."

Gandalf smiled. "And you are not what people would expect when contemplating the Heir of Elendil."

Aragorn laughed and conceded the point. "You are correct as usual, my friend. And Thranduil's son was also correct. I am glad to be free of that miserable creature, and I feel as though I could sleep for a month. By your leave."

He pushed open one of the doors and entered a small guest chamber. The furnishings were simple, but elegantly carved and of good quality. The pieces that interested Aragorn the most were the washstand in the corner and the low bed pushed up against one wall, draped with soft furs and sheets. He scrubbed the dirt from his face and hands, removed his muddy boots, then flopped down on the bed. The straw tick rustled beneath him, and he smelled the comforting scent of the clean, dry grass that filled it. In minutes, he was asleep.

He awoke some time later, hearing Gandalf's voice out in the corridor. Curious, he hauled himself up from the comfortable bed and went out to investigate. Legolas had returned and was speaking to Gandalf in a low voice. When the door opened and Aragorn appeared, smoothing his tousled hair with one hand, Legolas looked stricken and ducked his head.

"I am sorry," he said. "I did not mean to wake you."

"You did not," Aragorn said. "It was not your voice I heard. I did not know that you had returned."

Gandalf raised his bushy white eyebrows. "It appears that I am the culprit," he said lightly. "My apologies. I will go and speak with Gollum now, Legolas, if you feel that he has had sufficient time to accustom himself to his new surroundings."

Legolas shrugged. "He did not seem particularly accustomed, but Luindil said that he had at least stopped howling. That is progress, I suppose. When I looked in, he was huddled in a corner of the storeroom, muttering to himself."

"That is normal," Gandalf said. "He seems to have settled as well as may be expected. I shall go and see what I may learn from him."

"Very well. Shall I escort you to the storage rooms?"

"No," Gandalf said. "I believe I can find my own way, thank you. There is no need to keep you from your duties, Legolas." He gave a short bow and walked off down the corridor.

Legolas watched him go, then turned to Aragorn. "We disturbed your rest," he said. "Forgive me. I will leave you in peace now." He turned to leave.

"Wait," Aragorn said. Legolas turned and gave him a curious glance. Aragorn put on what he hoped was a disarming smile. "I believe I have rested enough. Your voices were not unduly loud. Had I truly been in need of more rest, I would not have woken."

"Do you wish to be entertained? I will escort you to our library if you would like, or to the herb gardens."

Aragorn shook his head. "It would be enough for you to tell me the way; I do not wish to detain you from your duty. Or, if there is any way that I might make myself useful and repay you for your hospitality. . . "

Legolas considered the offer. "I am going to check the fish traps in the Forest River and collect our evening meal. If you are willing, you could come along and help to carry the basket."

"I would like that." Aragorn went back to retrieve his boots. Legolas stood just outside the doorway and watched him.

"I do not know your name," he said after a moment. "Mithrandir did not mention it."

Aragorn paused, one boot off and one boot on. "I am called Strider," he offered.

"But that is not your real name."

Aragorn looked up at Legolas. Thranduil's son was as perceptive as any Elf, but he did not seem inclined to press the issue. His tone had been one of simple observation. "No," Aragorn said. "That is not my real name."

Legolas nodded, as if it were a perfectly normal event for strange Men with no proper names to turn up in his home without explanation. "Come, Strider." he said. "It is a warm day, and the air indoors is too close. We will breathe easier by the river."

Aragorn followed Legolas to a storage chamber near the kitchens, where Legolas collected a tightly woven basket. They left the delvings and walked to the river along trails that were barely visible to the Man's eye. Legolas knew the way and slipped easily through the underbrush, pausing now and then so that Aragorn could catch up to him. After a few minutes, Aragorn heard the sound of running water, and they emerged into the relatively open air of the riverbank. Legolas plucked broad maple leaves and lined the basket with them, then moved to a particular spot where the river flowed over some rocks. He lifted the wooden fish trap from the water, and Aragorn helped him sort the catch, releasing those fish that were too small and putting the others flopping into the basket.

There were several fish traps at different points in the river, and Legolas and Aragorn both became very wet as they collected fish. "Now I understand why you were so eager to do this chore," Aragorn laughed as Legolas waded into the river and blissfully plunged his arms into the water in search of a trap. "It is hot out here, and the water feels lovely."

Legolas smiled, his reserve giving way as he stood dripping in the stream. "I like collecting fish almost as much as berrying," he said. "It is certainly much more pleasant than sitting in the storerooms with that Gollum creature you have brought here. I do not envy Mithrandir today."

"Nor do I," Aragorn said. Legolas splashed ashore with a full fish trap in his arms, and Aragorn began to sort through the fish in it. "This is not something I had expected to do with the son of the King," he commented. Legolas shrugged.

"Everyone must help to find food," he said, "for everyone wishes to eat. And that includes the son of the King."

Aragorn considered his own life spent roaming in the Wild while preparing to meet the high doom laid out for him. "That is a good philosophy," he said. "I shall have to remember it for the next time I am at Imladris. There are several residents of that House who would be horrified to hear it."

That idea startled Legolas, and he laughed a little. Aragorn grinned at his new friend and tossed a little silver trout into the stream, where it swam away through the sparkling water.

Thranduil held dinner that evening in the Great Hall. He invited Gandalf and Aragorn to sit at the high table with himself and Legolas. Luindil joined them, as did Galion and another strange Elf, whom Thranduil introduced as Menellir, the captain of his guard. Aragorn guessed from the presence of the advisors that this dinner would not be a purely social occasion. However, Thranduil proved to be a considerate host, allowing his guests time to ease their hunger before turning to business.

The fish which Aragorn and Legolas had collected had been coated in a mixture of acorn meal and savory seeds and fried. With the fish went chestnuts and wild onions cooked together. It was plain food, but expertly prepared, and after his lengthy stint in the Wild, Aragorn was happy to be eating food cooked by someone else in a proper kitchen. While they ate, Gandalf told the Elvenking news that he had collected from various parts of the world, and Thranduil listened attentively. Legolas and the three advisors also listened, and Aragorn was sure that, between the five Wood-elves, not a single detail of the world's events would remain unexamined by the next morning.

"And have you had word from your Hobbit friend, Bilbo Baggins?" Thranduil asked.

"I have," Gandalf replied. "Indeed, I made sure to pay him a visit directly before going forth to collect Gollum, for I knew that you would ask after him."

"And how does he fare?"

"He dwells in Imladris with Elrond," Gandalf said. "He expressed a desire to go wandering again, but I fear that age has caught up with him at last, and he does not have many more journeys left in him."

"That is a pity," Thranduil said. "I remember him fondly, and I would gladly have seen him again." Galion and Menellir exchanged a meaningful glance, but remained silent. Their exchange did not escape Thranduil's notice, however, and he winked at them with an amused look on his face. The corners of Legolas's mouth twitched a little, and he bowed his head over his plate.

Gandalf pretended not to notice this, and smiled benignly through his beard. "Bilbo spends his days writing poetry, and he is content," he said. "When he heard that I would be traveling through Mirkwood, he begged me to send his greetings to you, King Thranduil. It flatters him, I think, that you ask after him."

"Then I will continue to do so," Thranduil said. "I do not believe I have had the pleasure of being introduced to your current companion, Mithrandir."

Aragorn felt the blood rush to his face as five pairs of Wood-elf eyes turned to look at him. Gandalf harrumphed, as though he had been suddenly reminded of a failing of old age.

"Of course," he said placidly. "May I present Aragorn, son of Arathorn. He is the Chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North."

"I see," Thranduil said. "Be welcome in my Halls, Aragorn son of Arathorn." He inclined his head courteously, then signaled one of the waitstaff to refill the pitcher of cold water on the table. Aragorn relaxed and felt his blush begin to fade. Clearly, Gandalf felt that the Wood-elves could be trusted with his true identity, and Aragorn had faith in Gandalf's judgement.

"I prefer the name Aragorn to Strider," Legolas told him.

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Because it is your own. You wear the name much more easily than Strider. All through this afternoon, when you were Strider, you started whenever I addressed you."

Aragorn smiled. "Keen are the eyes of the Elves," he said. "In truth, I am known by many different names. Though I was named Aragorn at my birth, I did not bear the name during my childhood. I was called Estel then. When I was twenty years of age, Elrond revealed to me my true name. . . and the history of my family," he added cautiously.

Legolas nodded. "I know of the lineage of the Dúnedain," he said. "My father has had dealings with Elendil and his line throughout this Age of the world." He laid down his fork and appeared to consider his next move for a moment. Then he turned to look directly at Aragorn. "Tell me about Imladris," he said.

Aragorn blinked, startled by the question. "What do you wish to know?"

"Everything. I have heard that it is a house as large as the delvings, but above ground, in a valley that is hidden away from all dangers. Is it very beautiful?"

"Oh, yes," said Aragorn. "The mountains shield the valley from the harshest weather, and the Last Homely House is built over a hot spring, so there is always warm water available. Between the House and the Bruinen lie many fields and gardens, several orchards, and meadows where the cattle and sheep and horses all graze together. Inside the House are libraries filled with more books of lore than anywhere else in Middle-earth. The beds are warm and soft, and there is a great hall, the Hall of Fire, where songs are sung and stories are told. Evil things do not enter that valley."

A faraway look came into Legolas's eyes, and he smiled as he imagined Imladris. "It sounds lovely," he said. "A great, rich House full of good things to eat and pleasant diversions, protected from evil. I think I would like to see it one day." The tone of Legolas's voice made it clear that he considered this no more likely than if he had wished to sail the sky in the ship of Eärendil.

"Perhaps you may yet come there," Aragorn said. "No one knows what the future will bring."

The rest of the meal progressed amiably. When the waitstaff began pouring cups of tea, Thranduil straightened and became serious, and Aragorn knew that the social portion of the evening was finished. "Tell me, Mithrandir," Thranduil said, "what have you learned from that creature, Gollum?"

"Not nearly enough," Gandalf replied. "I fear that I must impose upon you for a few days more, King Thranduil. But I have learned enough to hope that Gollum may, in time, be cured."

"Cured of what?" Luindil asked. "Is he ill?"

"Not precisely. Say rather that he has fallen under a great shadow."

"That much is clear," Luindil said. "When I brought him to the storage rooms, the light from the torch I carried appeared to pain him."

"I fear you will find it so," Gandalf said. "He has lived long in the dark places of the earth, and he has grown unaccustomed to light and warmth."

Menellir tilted his head and gazed searchingly at Gandalf. "It is the nature of this great shadow which concerns me," he said. "We in Mirkwood are not as safe as perhaps you had guessed, and the evil in the world has grown rapidly in these later days. The presence of a shadowed creature in our halls will certainly not improve this situation. What new perils come with Gollum?"

"He bites," Aragorn said. "I found it useful to keep him leashed when I traveled with him."

"Were he a simple prisoner, I would agree without reservation," Gandalf said. "But I still hold out hope that he may be redeemed. I think, Menellir, that you should use caution when handling him, especially at first, but that you should also treat him with kindness and mercy, for he has had little enough of that in the long years of his existence. Try to return to him what dignity you may."

"That will take some doing," Galion put in. "Luindil told me that he would eat fish raw. I gave him one of today's catch, and he did just that. He bit into it as though it were a fruit."

"If that is what he prefers to eat, then that is what we will feed him," Thranduil said. "You do not need to watch the process, I think." He turned to Gandalf. "You did say that we would not need to keep Gollum indefinitely. How will we know that his sojourn here is ended?"

Gandalf sighed. "I cannot tell you that, King Thranduil. Perhaps, if luck is with us, I will come and collect him. Perhaps he will die. Perhaps something else will happen, something that none here can foresee."

Though the Elves pressed him, Gandalf would say no more about Gollum, explaining that what the Elves did not know, they could not reveal to unfriendly ears. Thranduil's smile grew somewhat forced, and Luindil and Menellir glowered openly.

"So be it," Thranduil said. "I will care for your wretched Gollum and do what I may for his wellbeing. May I hope that some day, when this business is over, you will explain who or what Gollum is and the nature of your interest in him?"

"When this business is over," Gandalf said. "Though what may be meant by 'over' is far from clear. Perhaps this business will never truly be over. But I will tell you the tale of Gollum one day, King Thranduil, if you and I should find ourselves together and the world at peace."

Aragorn left early the next morning to make his way back over the Misty Mountains. Gandalf stayed two more nights with the Wood-elves, spending his days questioning Gollum in his storage closet. He did not learn anything new from the creature and departed on the morning of the third day, saying that he would go to seek other counsel. After he had gone, Galion went to the kitchens to supervise the day's work of cooking preserves. Passing a barrel of imported wheat flour, he was surprised to find it full.

"That barrel was half empty when last I looked at it," he reported to Thranduil. "I have been cautious and sparing as ever with the wheat flour, but I know that we have eaten our share of it."

Thranduil smiled. "I believe you, Galion," he said. "I suspect that this is Mithrandir's doing. He has entrusted us with the care of Gollum and seeks to ease our burden by supplying us with a little luxury. That is why I trust Mithrandir. He is a good friend who sweetens those blows he must inflict."

Gollum seemed content to sit alone in the dark, muttering to himself. Three times a day, Galion sent one of the kitchen staff to bring him water and a fresh fish. These Gollum devoured greedily and messily, spitting curses at the Elf who had brought his meal. Once every day, someone cleaned his cell. None of the kitchen staff enjoyed these duties, and Galion made sure to rotate those assignments so that no one was forced to visit Gollum any more often than was necessary.

After a month had passed, Thranduil decided that the situation could not continue. One day he declared that he would bring Gollum's morning fish personally. After the creature snatched it from his hand and scuttled off into a dark corner, Thranduil sat down on a bench and watched him. He sat with Gollum for the entire day. At first he attempted to speak to the prisoner, asking him if he was comfortable or if there were anything special he required, but Gollum spat at him and then retreated into a shadow, moaning about the horrible nasty Elves who visited him.

"Have a care, Gollum," Thranduil said lightly, "for those are my folk whom you so casually malign, and they are the ones who bring you the sweet fish you like to eat."

"Sss," hissed Gollum. "Nassty Elves, always watching us with their sharp bright eyeses, they do. We would hide from them, we would, but the Precious is gone. Our birthday present, gollum, gollum."

"What happened to your present?" Thranduil asked.

"A Baggins stole it from us, Preciousss. He stole it, and we hates him forever, poor Gollum, poor Precious."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at that. As far as he knew, the name Baggins could only mean the Hobbit who had been an unwilling guest in the delvings many years before. He wondered if Gollum was telling the truth, if Bilbo had indeed stolen something from him. Thranduil recalled that Bilbo had introduced himself as a burglar the night he had unveiled the Arkenstone, but he had not struck Thranduil as being especially malicious. Bilbo had been under some sort of contract with the Dwarves, Thranduil remembered, though he could not fathom how Bilbo might have encountered Gollum.

"How did Baggins come to steal this thing from you?" he asked. Gollum did not answer for a long time, hissing and whining.

"Riddleses, my Precious," he said at last. "What has it got in its pocketses? Not fair, not fair, that is not a proper riddle. It tricked us, it did, gollum, and it stole our Precious."

Thranduil smiled in the gloom. He was familiar with the game of riddles. The Wood-elves' children played it often during the long winter evenings. Legolas had been quite skilled at the game. As a child, he and several of his friends loved to play with pretty glass marbles from Lake Town. Legolas had won some of his more unusual specimens from his friends by playing the game of riddles with them.

"No," he agreed. "It was not a fair question." Then he had an idea. Mithrandir had requested that the Wood-elves treat Gollum with kindness. "What sort of thing was your Precious?" Thranduil asked. "Perhaps I can replace it from my treasury."

"Never," Gollum wailed. "There is only one Precious. Our birthday present, it was, and nassty Baggins has stolen it from us forever. Bright nassty Elveses do not have the Precious. Only cold, dead fisheses, poor Gollum, gollum, gollum."

"I am sorry for your loss, then," Thranduil said, and he spoke truly. There were some objects that were dear to a person's heart and therefore irreplaceable. He knew that he would be as heartbroken as Gollum if someone were to steal his golden marriage ring, a connection to his vanished Queen that was second only to Legolas in its value to him. Whatever the Precious was, it had likely been the only lovely thing that Gollum had ever owned, and Thranduil was indeed sorry that Gollum had lost it.

Later that evening, Thranduil summoned Legolas, Luindil, Menellir and Galion to his library. "We cannot keep Gollum locked forever in the storage rooms," he said without preamble when they arrived.

"It is a waste of good fish, certainly," Galion said. "And the chore of coaxing my staff to feed and care for him grows less amusing by the day."

"That storage chamber begins to smell foul," Luindil said. "I do not mean to slight the efforts of those who clean it, but it seems to me as if there is something horrible about the creature which has seeped into the walls."

"He is horrible," Thranduil agreed. "I will not dispute that. However, I think we must reconsider our treatment of Gollum in light of Mithrandir's words. You will remember that he instructed us to show the creature some kindness and mercy."

"But the Man Aragorn said that he was dangerous," Menellir said. "He does not seem to be ashamed to bite, and that is the least of my fears. I do not trust the look in his eyes when he is muttering to himself."

"What does he mutter about?" Luindil asked. "Does he ask for anything that we could give him?"

Thranduil sighed. "Most of what he says is pure self-pity," he said. "But I did learn that, some time ago, he lost some object that was precious to him. I offered to replace it from our treasury, but he would not even tell me what his precious thing was. I think that the only things Gollum desires from life are fish and his treasure."

"Perhaps he lacks something that he does not know he desires," Legolas suggested. "Were I shut up in a darksome hole, I would desire nothing more than fresh air and sunlight."

"He cannot abide sunlight," Luindil said. "But perhaps you are right about fresh air. He was wandering in the open country when Aragorn captured him. I wonder if his disposition would improve if he were allowed to feel the air."

"How?" Menellir asked. "We cannot turn him loose. Nor can we give him a window. There are few enough windows in the delvings as it is, and I do not wish to go to the trouble of building a pen that would hold him."

"Perhaps he does not need to be outside all the time," Legolas said. "I think that he could be taken for short walks. Aragorn kept him leashed. We could do the same."

"He does not love the sunlight," Luindil said slowly, as if he spoke his thoughts aloud. "But there are many places in Mirkwood where the trees are thick and little light ever reaches the forest floor. Those places might appeal to him."

"He would have to be guarded," Menellir cautioned.

"But when he is outside, he can forage for his own food," Galion countered. "I can assign those of the kitchen staff who would ordinarily have brought him fish to walk with him instead. Perhaps they might find the duty marginally more pleasant."

"What say you, King Thranduil?" Luindil asked.

Thranduil considered the words of his advisers for a while. At last, he nodded. "It is an idea worth trying, I think," he said. "Let us try walking Gollum outside for a month. If it is an improvement over our current situation, then we will adopt the practice permanently. But if there is the slightest increase in the danger to our folk because of it, we will shut him inside again and debate a better course of action."

"I recommend that, at least for the first few days, a guard accompany Gollum's minders," Menellir said. "If he becomes overly excited by the change in his surroundings, the guards might prevent him from attacking his minders."

"So noted," Thranduil said. "I will see that it is done. I propose that we take him outside tomorrow."

Legolas raised his hand. "I volunteer to be among the guards," he said. "I have a turn of guard duty tomorrow in any event, and as the idea for walking him was mine in the first place, I feel that I should help to bear some of the risk."

"Thank you, Legolas," Menellir said. "By your leave, King Thranduil?"

Thranduil nodded. "Yes. Legolas may be among the guards. I do not think he should be the only one, though."

"Of course not. I will choose others from the list tomorrow."

"Good." Thranduil looked around the library. "If there is nothing more to discuss, I bid you all good night." He rose, and his advisors rose with him. "Go to your rest. It will be an interesting day tomorrow."

The next morning, Legolas and his friend Heledir appeared at the entrance to the storage chambers. Each carried a long knife in his belt. Legolas had his hunting bow, and Heledir carried a pike. Menellir's lieutenant, Inglor, inspected them, then gave them each a small coil of rope. He himself carried a weighted net. "I think we are as prepared as we will ever be," he said. "If this creature attacks you or one of the minders, or attempts to escape, your instructions are to bring him down, but do not kill him. Mithrandir has not seen fit to tell us who this Gollum is, nor why he is important, but it is clear that he has some interest in the wretch. Let us therefore attempt to preserve him for whatever his fate may be."

Legolas and Heledir nodded. The door to the storage corridor opened, and two kitchen Elves emerged with a blindfolded Gollum on a leash of rope. Gollum scuttled around awkwardly on all fours, and Legolas realized that this was because his arms had been loosely hobbled to his legs. One of the kitchen Elves followed his gaze. "We did not wish to bind his hands, but neither did we wish for him to remove the blindfold," one of them explained.

"That is fine," Inglor said. "We will remove the hobbles and the blindfold when we reach a spot where he may play."

Without any more discussion, the five Elves escorted Gollum outside into the fresh, warm air so that, for the first time in a month, he might breathe freely.

"Have a care with Gollum!" Rhimlath, the patrol leader, cautioned. Legolas scrambled into the lower branches of one of the trees bordering the meadow, and Heledir climbed another one. Narothal, a third guard, crouched low to the ground and peered through the underbrush. Tathariel and Padathir, Gollum's two minders, held fast to his leash as Gollum squirmed and writhed, eager to cross the meadow.

"Lets us go, precious," he moaned, and Padathir wrapped his hand around Gollum's mouth. No one spoke for a few minutes as Legolas and Heledir scrutinized the meadow and listened intently for any strange sound in the forest or any change in the whispering of the trees. Eventually, they signaled Rhimlath and dropped to the ground. Narothal rose and shook his head quickly. Reasonably sure that nothing evil was watching them, Rhimlath nodded to the minders, and the little group escorted Gollum across the meadow to the lone beech-tree that grew there.

In the year since he had come to dwell with the Wood-elves, Gollum had changed only a little. He still cursed and spat, though less often than at first, and he chattered constantly to himself. Mindful of Mithrandir's hopes for Gollum's cure, the Elves continued to walk him when the weather was fair, and on one walk, he had discovered the beech tree. He had begged to be allowed to climb it, startling his guards and minders, as he rarely spoke to anyone but himself. The guards had presented the request to Menellir, who had given the matter some thought.

"Perhaps the trees will sing to him," Menellir had said. "Or at least he may be comforted by their freshness. Too long has he dwelled in the lifeless dark. Perhaps this is the first sign of the cure for his shadow." Ever since then, the Elves assigned to walk Gollum would take him to his tree, where he would climb happily until they called him down again. He had grown quite attached to the old beech, and had wailed and moaned when the blizzards of winter came and the walks grew less frequent. As soon as the snows melted in the spring, the Elves had resumed taking Gollum outside, and he had renewed his acquaintance with the tree.

The summer sun shone warm upon the meadow, and Legolas smiled as Gollum scampered on his leash through the grasses towards the beech. Although he trembled in the full light of the sun, Gollum had learned to endure its rays in order to reach the tree. Legolas hoped that Gollum's tolerance of the light would in time become acceptance and perhaps even love.

He, Rhimlath, Heledir and Narothal stationed themselves around the base of the tree. Rhimlath nodded again, and Tathariel loosed Gollum's leash. With a squeal of glee, Gollum scrabbled up the trunk and disappeared into the branches. The six Elves heard the rustling of leaves as he swung on the lower boughs, then climbed higher.

"How far do you think he will go today?" Heledir asked them.

Legolas shrugged. "It has been some time since he was here, and the rainstorm has washed the air clean. It would not surprise me if he climbed all the way to the top."

Narothal laughed. "Are you so sure? The rain will have lured all of the little insects out of the tree. I would wager that Gollum will spend all his time catching and eating them, and he will never make it to the top at all."

"And how much are you willing to wager?" Legolas asked.

"Oh, I will stake my wrist guards on it," Narothal replied. "You?"

"Your wrist guards against the sheath to my knife that he will climb to the top today."

"That is enough," Rhimlath put in. "I think it is cruel to place wagers on that creature's actions, and I will not have any guards under my command doing so. Besides, you are supposed to be watching for evil things. I do not want to be taken unawares by a spider because you two were wagering on whether or not Gollum would climb to the top of the tree."

"And how would you know if he had?" Heledir asked.

"I can hear it when he reaches the top," Narothal explained. "The branches rustle in a different way."

"Well then, surely you can tell us where in the tree he is right now." Heledir squinted up into the mass of twisting branches and swaying leaves. Narothal peered up as well.

"I cannot tell," he said after a moment. "I cannot hear him. All I hear are the normal sounds of a beech tree."

"There, you see?" said Rhimlath. "He knows that you have been talking about him, and he is holding still simply to spite you."

"If he has finally learned to sit still and be quiet, we will all be much happier," Padathir said, and the other five Elves chuckled in agreement. Narothal loped across the meadow to inspect the perimeter, and the Elves fell silent once more, listening to the buzz of cicadas and the contented hum of the trees as they soaked in the summer sunshine.

"The Shadow is spreading," Menellir said. "I am sure of it." He spread a map of the woods on the table in Thranduil's library and sketched a series of ever-widening circles with his finger, a spiral that radiated out from Dol Guldur, far to the South. "Look, my Lord. Last summer, we hunted and foraged in these parts. Now the berrying parties return with their baskets less than full, and the hunters bring back less game than before."

"They claim that the plants are dying," Luindil said. "The forest withers."

Thranduil frowned at the map. "Where there is no light, the trees cannot live," he said. "Where the trees die, the animals leave. That is indeed the method of the Shadow. I think you are right, Menellir. It is spreading, and we will have to fight it."

"We cannot fight darkness," Menellir said. "It has no form."

"No," Thranduil said, his jaw tightening. "But we can fight the creatures that love the darkness and will follow its coming. We will need to prepare as best we can. Is this the only area that is darkening?"

"Perhaps not," Luindil said. "I have heard from the Men of Lake Town that dark visitors have twice been sighted speaking with the Dwarves at Erebor. Dáin has sent them away both times, but I do not like this situation. Who knows what will happen if the visitors return again?" Luindil trembled slightly. His breath caught in his throat, and the echo of an ancient hurt flashed behind his eyes. Menellir glanced away politely as Thranduil laid a steadying hand on Luindil's shoulder.

"Erebor is strong," he said. "If the Shadow spreads, the Dwarves will fight to defend their home, and they will fight well. They have good weapons, and they know how to use them. We have fought beside the Dwarves before, and they have proven valiant and stout of heart in battle. And they do not love the darkness."

Luindil took a deep breath and, after a moment's struggle, brought himself under control once more. "No," he said at last. "You are correct, my Lord. The Dwarves of Erebor do not love the darkness."

Thranduil nodded; it was the nearest thing to an apology that Luindil would give. He gave Luindil's shoulder a final grip and turned back to the map and the problem at hand. "The Shadow itself is not our only concern," he said. "It is bad enough that it spreads, but it appears to be attacking our food sources. The trade with Lake Town is poor this year, and trade with the South is worse. The Shadow threatens to cut off that route entirely. I think that we must plan on a lean winter. Encourage the people to eat smaller meals, perhaps even eliminate one meal every few days, and to preserve the food that would have gone into that meal for the winter."

"Is that wise?" Menellir asked. "I do not like to think about children going hungry."

"Nor do I," Thranduil assured him. "But there is not nearly as much to eat as there was last year, and last year was hardly bountiful. If the children go a little hungry now, perhaps they will not starve over the winter."

"And if the Shadow spreads further, it is likely to be a long, harsh winter," Luindil said.

The shadows began to lengthen, and the light in the woods took on the golden cast of late afternoon. Rhimlath squinted at the angle of the light. "I think he has been up there long enough," he said. "We should go home now. There are still chores to be done."

Tathariel moved to the base of the tree and peered up into its branches. "Gollum!" she called. "Come down from the tree. It is time to go home." The Elves waited for the rustling of branches that would signal Gollum's descent through the branches.

"When he comes down, you can ask him how far he climbed," Narothal whispered to Legolas.

Legolas snorted. "You assume that he would tell me," he said, "and that I would be able to make out his answer in amongst all his other mumblings."

"That would be a problem, yes."

"Be quiet, you two," Rhimlath said. "Narothal, perhaps you will discover that for yourself simply by listening to him descend."

The Elves waited patiently, watching the branches for any sign of movement, listening for the slightest stirring of a leaf. There was no sound from the tree. The hum of the cicadas seemed loud in the sudden stillness. Padathir called Gollum again, but there was no reply.

"He is not coming down," Legolas said. Then a new thought struck him. "Could he be injured? Is that why he does not respond?"

"I suppose it is possible," Rhimlath said. "But I did not hear him fall."

Legolas turned to Narothal. "Your hearing is keen," he said. "Did you hear anything that might suggest that Gollum is injured?"

Narothal shook his head. "I have heard little from him all afternoon. I had assumed that he was simply being quiet and sitting still."

"He does not like to sit still," Heledir said. "Perhaps if he is sitting still, that is a sign in and of itself that something is wrong with him. He is mortal, after all."

"If he is injured, we should go and fetch him down," Legolas said. "Mithrandir wanted us to care for him, after all, and that does not include leaving him wounded in a tree."

"I will not risk sending a guard after him yet," Rhimlath said. "I have never yet seen him injured, but I have seen him attack an Elf who climbed a tree after him. I do not think any of you were in the patrol with me that day. One guard thought Gollum had climbed too high and went up to fetch him down to a lower level. Gollum swung down from a high, thin branch and tried to bite that guard. It seems that he has learned to cling to branches with his feet as well as his hands. He can climb where we cannot, and therefore he can attack us from where we do not expect him."

"What will we do?" Heledir asked nervously. "He will not come down, and we cannot go up after him."

Rhimlath squared his shoulders and set his jaw. "We will simply have to wait here. He must still be in the tree; we have not seen him come down, and the tree is too far away from the others for Gollum to jump the distance. Eventually, he will grow hungry and he will come down. We will wait here and be patient." So saying, he planted his feet and gazed steadily up into the beech tree. The others followed his example, silently hoping that Gollum grew hungry before they did.

The evening was cool and beautiful. Clouds rolled in as the sun set, hiding the moon and stars from view, and making the fireflies seem even brighter than usual. Menellir stood just outside the doors to the delvings, peering off into the dimming forest. When the sun had set completely, Inglor emerged from the delvings on his way home. He stopped and looked at Menellir, puzzled. "Is something amiss?" he asked.

"I do not know. I am waiting for the patrol that took Gollum on his walk today. It is dark already, and they have not returned, yet I perceive no disturbance in the forest."

Inglor followed Menellir's gaze. "Perhaps Gollum was especially playful today. This is the sort of evening he likes, cool and humid. I know that I have sometimes let him stay outside longer than usual if he appears to be enjoying himself."

"All the same, it is dark, and the darkness will bring the spiders from their lairs," Menellir said. "I know that your duties are finished for today, but I would ask you to go out to the beech tree in the meadow and see for yourself what is keeping the patrol. I will excuse you from your duties tomorrow for as much time as it takes you to do that."

"Yes, Menellir." Inglor sketched a bow and hurried off into the forest. Menellir forced himself to be calm while he waited. He hummed to himself and watched the fireflies blink. Even so, it was a long hour until Inglor returned without Gollum and his guards. Inglor bowed and gave his report.

"I spoke to Rhimlath," he said, "and he told me that Gollum had been giving the patrol some difficulty. It seems that he has treed himself and refuses to come down."

Menellir swore under his breath. He had hoped that, after a year, the Elves could put that particular fear aside. "What is the situation?"

"Rhimlath says that he does not anticipate great difficulty. Gollum is in the tree, but there is nowhere else he can go. The patrol will wait him out. Eventually, he will grow hungry and return to the ground."

"When he does so, I will lock him up for a month," Menellir said. "We trusted him, but I deem that he has forfeited the right to such trust. Thank you, Inglor. You may go home, and you may report for duty an hour later tomorrow morning."

"Thank you," Inglor said. "Good night."

"Good night." Menellir had been looking forward to returning to his own home, but he turned around and went back into the delvings to seek out the King and inform him of the problem. Halfway across the bridge, he felt a sudden wave of dread. He whirled and looked over his shoulder, but he could see nothing out of the ordinary. The fireflies blinked, and the forest seemed calm and peaceful in the moonless night. Perhaps he was simply on edge from the day's discussion of the Shadow. Menellir banished the dread from his mind and went inside.

He found Thranduil in the library. The King had a book in his hands, but he was not reading. He gazed into the fire, shifting restlessly in his chair, and he seemed glad of the interruption when Menellir tapped at the door frame. "Come in, Menellir, and be welcome. What brings you here? I thought you had gone home."

"I was on my way, my Lord," Menellir said. Briefly, he reported Inglor's news about Gollum and his guards. Thranduil listened attentively, and nodded.

"Do you trust Rhimlath's judgement in this matter, Menellir?"

"I do. I know the tree of which he speaks, and it is true that, if Gollum is up there, he has nowhere to go but down to the ground. The guards are armed, and there are enough of them that the spiders may hesitate before attacking."

"Good. Send someone to bring them food in the morning, if they have not returned by then. And I agree that, when he is finally recaptured, Gollum should be locked up. Galion will not like it, but I think it must be done. Thank you for telling me this, Menellir. Go home now, and give my greetings to Doronrîn."

Menellir hesitated. "Something is not right, my Lord. I cannot say exactly what it is, but there is something amiss outside."

Thranduil grimaced and turned back to the fire. "I know. I have felt it myself this night. But until something happens, there is nothing we can do. Go home. I will call you if there is need. You should not hesitate to wake me if you feel the need, either."

"Very good, my Lord." Menellir bowed and left Thranduil staring at the fire, his book forgotten in his lap.

It happened near midnight, with almost no warning. The six Elves under the beech tree had been growing steadily more nervous and irritable for several hours, but they had attributed it to the stress of waiting for Gollum. Then the wind shifted, carrying a horribly familiar stench. The guards tensed, and the minders sprang to their feet. "Orcs are -- " Tathariel gasped, just before a black arrow buried itself in her throat.

"Legolas!" Rhimlath cried. "Up into the tree! Shoot at will!" Legolas just managed to swing himself up into the lower branches of the beech tree before a large company of Orcs came boiling and shrieking out of the woods and charged across the clearing. Legolas managed to shoot two of them down as they ran, and then the hand combat began.

The Orcs surrounded the tree, and Legolas realized that he was trapped in the branches. He concentrated on shooting the stinking black shapes, his eyes open as wide as possible in an effort to pierce the darkness and distinguish friend from foe. He could hear the spine-tingling screech of metal scraping against metal, and the thuds of bodies colliding. Sometimes he could make out a distinct shape that was clearly not an Elf, and then he would shoot it down.

There was a sick crunch of breaking bone, and Heledir screamed. Legolas followed the sound and dimly saw the silhouette of an Orc dropping his friend's body to the ground and raising his scimitar. Legolas shot that Orc, but Heledir did not rise.

There was a grunt, and then something struck the tree trunk hard, nearly shaking Legolas down from his perch. He grabbed the branch above his head for support, but the arrow he had held fell from his hand into the confusion below. An Orc growled as the arrow bounced harmlessly off of his helmet. Realizing that there was an Elf in the tree, he started to climb. Legolas scrambled to a higher branch and pulled another arrow from his quiver, ready to shoot the Orc. With a cry, Narothal appeared and wrapped his arms around the Orc's leg, dragging him off of the tree. They fell together, and Legolas heard Narothal's gasp as he was crushed by the Orc's weight. His fall cushioned by the Elf below him, the Orc leaped up unharmed and stabbed his knife into Narothal's chest.

Now the Orcs knew where Legolas was, and some began to shoot at him. Black arrows whined past him, one sprouting from the tree trunk a hand's breadth from his head. Another scream was abruptly broken off, and Legolas shot his last arrow. He drew his long knife and was preparing to leap down from the tree when Rhimlath slammed against it, his breath loud and his eyes glittering with terror. "Go up," he commanded. "Find Gollum. Now!"

Legolas hesitated, and an Orc charged. Rhimlath's sword cut into the Orc's neck with a thick, juicy chunk. "Go!" Rhimlath cried, and Legolas began to climb. The beech tree shook beneath him, as much from its own terror as from the jarring battle below its branches. There was a popping sound, then a horrible crackle of ripping flesh. Rhimlath's wail of agony froze Legolas in his place. For a moment, he hesitated, wanting to climb down and learn what had happened to Rhimlath, who was screaming on the ground below. The jeering laughter of the Orcs shocked him back into action, and he started to climb desperately.

It was not enough. As Legolas climbed, he heard the whine of the arrows again and the rustling of the leaves as they missed him. Then a searing pain blazed across his shoulder. The force of the shot threw him forward, and his head struck the tree trunk hard. He saw a flash of white and barely had time to realize that he was falling through the branches before the world dwindled away to nothing.

The unease that plagued Thranduil's heart did not relent that night. He remained wakeful, gazing at the fire in the library as the logs charred and turned to glowing embers. There was no sound in the room other than the crackle of burning wood, and the dreadful silence felt heavy, as if the air itself had grown thick and was pressing in on all sides. Thranduil struggled to clear his mind of thought and determine the source of his unease, but he found it difficult. Something very far away inside his mind was screaming in pain and terror.

Running footsteps in the corridor outside the library startled Thranduil out of his reverie. He looked up to see Luindil at the door, his expression severe. "What is it, Luindil?"

"Orcs," Luindil said. "A small party has attacked the settlement. The perimeter guards are fighting them even now."

Thranduil leaped from his chair and strode down the corridor towards the armory. Luindil hurried beside him. "My sword and armor!" Thranduil called. "Luindil, how many are there? How goes the battle?" He lifted his steel breastplate and leather shoulder guards off of their hooks and began to arm himself. Luindil fastened the breastplate as Thranduil maneuvered the shoulder guards over his head.

"It is a fair party," Luindil said. "Menellir calls for swords to aid the perimeter guards, and there is some danger, but he does not believe the situation to be uncontrollable."

Thranduil pulled on gloves and reached for his helmet. "All the same, the dwelling-place of my people is under attack, and I will defend it. You will alert the healers to prepare for the wounded, then gather a company of warriors and remain just inside the doors. Should the battle go ill and we have need of reinforcement, I will call you."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Go." Luindil gave a crisp bow and left. Thranduil gripped his sword and horn and hurried out of the delvings. As he crossed the bridge, he signaled to a company of guards to follow him, and made his way to the edge of the settlement.

Lanterns flickered between the branches, and by their light, Thranduil could see the shapes of Orcs and Elves locked in combat. The air resounded with their cries, and the acrid stench of the foe filled his nose and made his neck prickle. Menellir guided a group of archers from one vantage point to another, then turned to greet his King.

"My Lord!" he said. "I am glad that you have come."

"How goes the battle?"

"Your arrival has turned it in our favor. We have halted the Orcs' advance, and the warriors you bring will be enough to drive them off."

Thranduil nodded. He glanced over the battle and determined where the press was thickest, then turned to the guards he had brought with him. "There. Leave none alive." For an instant, his gaze locked with Menellir's, and together they led their people into the fray.

The fight was short but brutal. The Orcs seemed confused by the woods, and they could not comprehend that the Elves could attack them from the trees as well as from the ground. The flashes of lantern light amongst the branches disoriented them, and when Thranduil realized this, he ordered a dozen Elves to take the lanterns and run through the battle, weaving in and out irregularly between the trees. The remaining warriors wailed and howled, adding their voices to the confusion, and the Orcs froze in terror. The Elves moved in swiftly, dispatching their foes with grim efficiency.

The battle was soon over, and Thranduil looked around at the result. A score of Elves lay wounded, and seven had died in the battle. The survivors began to clear the area, piling the Orc carcasses together, laying out their own dead, and administering emergency care to the wounded so that they could be brought to the delvings where healers waited.

"I do not like this," Thranduil said to Menellir. "The Orcs have harassed us in the woods before, but never so close to the settlement. Yet now they attack with a force too small to destroy us completely. Orcs are not bright, but neither are they so dull as that. I fear that this is only an initial assault."

"Perhaps," Menellir said. "Or perhaps it is something else. Perhaps it was simply meant to occupy us and divert our attention?"

The heavy unease, which had been dispelled by the activity of battle, settled once more around Thranduil. "Divert our attention from what?"

Menellir whistled, and one of the perimeter guards came to them from where he had been binding a comrade's wounds. "From what direction came the first assault?"

The guard pointed off into the deep woods. "They came from that copse of trees, my Lords," he said.

"Gollum's tree lies in that direction," Menellir said slowly.

Thranduil sucked in a sharp breath. "Rhimlath's patrol has not returned. Legolas is with that patrol." He blew three sharp blasts on his horn, and within a few minutes, Luindil appeared at the head of his reserve patrol. "We are going to discover what has become of Gollum and his guards," Thranduil told him. "There may be more wounded or dead. Menellir and I will take all but five of your warriors. You take the remaining five and locate a small party of healers. Follow us at a secure distance."

"Yes, my Lord." Luindil corralled five warriors and returned to the delvings. Thranduil and Menellir exchanged a worried glance and led the rest of the warriors into the woods.

Thranduil heard Menellir's gasp, and his own breath caught in his throat as he surveyed the clearing. Even in the dim lantern light, he could see that the patrol had been massacred. Tathariel was pinned to the beech tree by an arrow through her neck, and Orc and Elf bodies littered the ground at her feet. Slowly, Thranduil led his warriors forward to inspect the scene. Narothal lay on his back, his sightless eyes staring up into the beech tree, a large black knife buried in his chest. Rhimlath was crumpled on the other side of the tree. His right arm had been torn completely off at the shoulder and lay not far away in a pool of congealing blood. Padathir and Legolas were nowhere to be seen.

A weak, bubbling cough broke the silence. Menellir hurried to its source and discovered Heledir beneath the corpses of two Orcs. He pulled the bodies away and began to murmur to Heledir in a low voice. Thranduil knelt by his side. Heledir looked at him, frowning a little in confusion, and tried to speak.

"My Lord. . . " Heledir's words dissolved in a fit of coughing. Silently, Menellir directed Thranduil's attention to a gaping wound in Heledir's torso. Thranduil's heart sank, but he forced himself to smile at Heledir.

"Hush," Thranduil said. "Save your strength. We will take care of you."

"Orcs. . . too many. . . apologize. . . "

"No," Thranduil assured him. "You fought bravely. I am sure of that."

"Want. . . nana. . . " Heledir's breath fluttered out, and he did not speak again. Gently, Menellir drew his eyes closed. Soft footsteps sounded, and Thranduil and Menellir looked up to see Luindil and five warriors escorting the healers across the clearing. One of them, Gilveril, sprinted to Heledir's side. Menellir looked at her and silently shook his head.

Thranduil sat back on his heels and swallowed hard. Unbidden, memories of another massacre under a tree flooded his mind. Years before, he had come too late to save another party of Elves in the woods. He had held the bloody body of his Queen in his arms and screamed, and then he had searched for his small son.

That particular memory jolted Thranduil to his feet. "Search the tree," he commanded. "Perhaps they are not all dead. And if Gollum is still there, he is to be bound firmly with ropes." Gilveril, Luindil and two warriors swung into the branches. Thranduil occupied himself helping to disentangle the bodies of the dead Elves from those of the Orcs and tried not to worry about what might be hidden in the beech tree. Menellir held Tathariel's body while Thranduil worked the arrow from the wood. Just as he pulled it free, he heard a cry from the branches above.

"King Thranduil!" Luindil called. "You must come up here immediately. We have found Legolas."

Thranduil's heart seized. Menellir gathered Tathariel's body in his arms. "Go up," he said. "I have her."

Thranduil grasped the branches of the beech tree and began to climb. He did not have to climb far before he came upon his son, tangled awkwardly among the branches, an arrow protruding from his shoulder. Blood dripped steadily from Legolas's shoulder and flowed out from a wound in his head, covering his face and soaking his hair. Thranduil's limbs grew cold, and he could not speak.

"He is still alive," Gilveril said quietly. "I think that we can save him if we remove him from the tree. But he is caught fast, and we cannot release him."

"The tree is holding him," Luindil said. "You must convince it to let him go. We will not let him fall."

Thranduil nodded, then turned around and pressed his forehead against the tree trunk. He could feel its agitation, and forced himself to be calm. He thanked it from the bottom of his heart for protecting his sapling and asked it to release Legolas into the care of those who loved him. After a long moment, he heard a rustling of branches and the murmurs of the Elves as they lowered Legolas to the ground. Thranduil thanked the tree once more and climbed down.

Luindil held Legolas while Gilveril examined him. "The arrow is embedded, and we will have to cut it out," she said. "I do not know if it was poisoned or not, but I will have a remedy prepared in any event. It is difficult to tell through the blood, but I think that his skull is not fractured. That wound must be washed and stitched, and then I will know more."

"Will he survive?" Thranduil asked.

"He must return to the delvings for immediate care," Gilveril said. "If he wakes, he will live." She rose and began to help the other healers construct a litter to bear Legolas home. Luindil eased Legolas into his father's arms. Thranduil held him close and blinked away tears, reminding himself that there was still hope. When the litter was ready, Luindil and Menellir helped Thranduil lift Legolas onto it, arranging him on his side so as not to drive the arrow deeper into his shoulder.

"Go with him," Menellir said. "We will take care of the rest."

Thranduil nodded. "Thank you. Search for Padathir." He followed the healers and headed back to the settlement.

Some time later, Thranduil sat on a bench outside the infirmary in the delvings. He had wanted to stay with Legolas, but Gilveril had gently escorted him out of the room. "You cannot help us here, my Lord," she explained. "And there are things we must do that you will not wish to see. Do not fear. I will call you when we are finished, and you may sit with him for a while." And so Thranduil waited patiently for the healers to save his son.

"My Lord?"

Thranduil looked up and saw Galion standing in front of him carrying a steaming mug of tea. This he placed in Thranduil's hands, and Thranduil breathed in the scent of mint and roses.

"There is chamomile in it, my Lord," Galion said. "It will ease your fear, but there is not enough to send you to sleep. Doronrîn advised me to brew it for you."

"Thank you," Thranduil said. His hands shook, and he sipped at the tea carefully. Its warmth began to spread through his body, and he willed himself to relax. Galion glanced at the closed door.

"It is a hard thing, waiting," he said. "But Gilveril will do everything in her power, and that is a considerable thing."

Thranduil nodded. "Your daughter is one of the most skilled healers I know, Galion," he said. "There are few others with whom I would entrust my son's life."

"She will save him," Galion said. "Your son will be returned to you." He gave Thranduil an encouraging smile, bowed, and left. Thranduil sipped his tea and allowed the sweet-smelling steam to calm him.

After what seemed like a full Age of the world, the door opened, and Gilveril appeared. "I have done what I can, my Lord," she said. "I removed the arrow, and I have cleaned and stitched his wounds. I do not know if the arrow was poisoned; I have spread honey on the wound, and I have brewed a remedy for poison should it prove necessary. As for the wound in his head, I have closed that and sent him into a deep sleep that will encourage his body to heal. If he wakes from that sleep, he will recover fully in time."

"But he might not wake."

Gilveril sighed. "Nothing is certain with a head wound, my Lord. I have done everything within my power, and his fate is no longer in my hands."

Thranduil took a deep breath. "Thank you, Gilveril," he said.

"You may see him if you wish," she offered. Thranduil nodded, and Gilveril ushered him into the small alcove in the infirmary where Legolas lay, drawing a curtain to give Thranduil some privacy.

The sharp scent of healing herbs filled the air. Bandages covered the worst of Legolas's injuries, but Thranduil could see an ugly purple bruise swelling on the side of his head. Legolas lay still and silent, lightly covered with a clean woolen blanket, his breathing shallow but regular. Thranduil knelt by the bed and clasped Legolas's hand and stroked his hair.

"Please, little mouse," he whispered. "You must heal. I could not bear it if you died of this hurt. Sleep and heal, mouse, so that you may wake into the light of day and your father's love."

Perhaps half an hour Thranduil sat by Legolas's side. Then, though his heart sank at the thought, he kissed his son and left. Gilveril looked up at his approach. "He will sleep for some time yet?" Thranduil asked.

"Many more hours at the least."

"Watch over him then, and call me if he begins to wake. There is another duty I must perform."

"Yes, my Lord."

Thranduil drew a deep breath and steeled himself for the most difficult duty of a King.

Seven had died fighting at the settlement's edge; four Elves who had taken Gollum out had died as well, and one was still missing. Thranduil personally visited the families of each of the dead to mourn with them and to thank them for the service and sacrifice of their loved one. The dead Elves had left behind parents, spouses, siblings and children, and Thranduil offered them all what consolation he could.

The hardest visits were to parents. Thranduil found that he could remain strong for weeping spouses and children, but the stunned silence of the parents unnerved him. He thought of Legolas, whose fate was not yet certain, and wondered where the parents of the dead found the courage to put one foot in front of another. He suspected that some of the parents would not long survive the deaths of their children, and he mourned for them as much as for those who were already dead.

Heledir's mother asked to hear of her son's last moments, and Thranduil could not deny her request, though he was not sure it was wise. He omitted a description of Heledir's deadly wound, and chose instead to tell of his loyalty to his King and of his love for his mother. "His last words were of you," Thranduil said. "He loved you very much."

"He will always have a place in my heart," she said, and Thranduil knew that she would live. She straightened and focused her eyes upon him. "If I may ask, how goes it with Legolas? I had heard that he was brought home badly wounded."

"The healers have done what they can," Thranduil said. "The only thing we can do now is to wait. He may wake, or he may not."

"You should go to him, my Lord," Heledir's mother said. "I thank you for your kindness in calling upon me and in telling me about my son. I would not have you know the hurt of losing a child without bidding him farewell. Heledir is dead, but Legolas still lives. I would not keep you from your son."

Thranduil stood and moved toward the door. "I appreciate your concern," he said, "and I am humbled by your courage." He bowed low and left the house. Taking a deep breath, he continued to Padathir's family. He could offer Padathir's wife no more comfort than to assure her that parties of warriors were searching the woods for any sign of her husband.

Legolas slept through the rest of the day and the following night. In the middle of the next morning, Thranduil was busy receiving reports from the scouts who had been sent to track the Orcs back to their lair. They appeared to have traveled all the way from the Misty Mountains, and Thranduil was concerned about the safety of the roads through Mirkwood. He was in the middle of questioning the leader of one of the scouting parties when Gilveril appeared in the doorway.

"My Lord," she said, "you are needed in the infirmary immediately." Hastily, Thranduil dismissed the scout and followed Gilveril. She led him to the alcove where Legolas lay and drew the curtain aside.

Legolas had just begun to sigh and shift his limbs around. Overjoyed, Thranduil picked up one of his hands and patted it. "Wake up, Legolas," he said softly. "I am here for you." Slowly, Legolas's hand tightened around Thranduil's. His eyelids fluttered, and he focused the eye that was not swollen shut with bruising on his father.

"Ada?" Legolas asked, in a voice barely more than a whisper.

Warmth flooded through Thranduil's body. "I am here, mouse."

"Thirsty. . . "

Gilveril filled a cup with water. Thranduil slid an arm beneath Legolas's shoulders, raising him just enough so that he could drink. He held the cup to his son's mouth. "Only a little," he cautioned. "What goes down should stay down."

"I believe that I can help that," Gilveril said. She went into the main infirmary and returned with a little pot of shredded ginger root. She placed a small spoonful of this on Legolas's tongue and offered him the cup again to help him swallow it. Thranduil laid Legolas back on the pillow.

"Legolas, do you remember what happened?" he asked.

"Orcs. . . we fought. . . friends died. . . " A shudder ran through Legolas's body, and tears leaked from his good eye. Gently, Thranduil wiped them away.

"Do not give up hope. We are still searching for Padathir. He may yet be alive."

"Hurts. . . " Legolas murmured. "Ada, stay with me."

"I am not going anywhere, mouse. Rest quietly and heal." Legolas nodded and was silent, clutching Thranduil's hand. Thranduil turned to Gilveril. "Please go to my council chamber and tell Menellir and Luindil that all further reports from the scouts are to be sent here until I say otherwise," he said. "I wish to know precisely what happened to my people."

"Yes, my Lord."

Thranduil stayed at his son's side for several hours, at intervals receiving brief reports on the progress of the Elves' various searches. The spiders had been roused by the battle, and Menellir had sent out armed patrols to deal with that menace. Search parties were attempting to trace Padathir and Gollum, who had vanished from the old beech tree. And the border patrols had been strengthened and sent deeper into the woods to guard the roads, for Thranduil suspected that this Orc attack would not be the last.

Padathir's body was never found.

Legolas gritted his teeth and grimaced as he held his bow at full draw. He concentrated on the small piece of dyed red leather that had been pinned to a distant post to serve as a target. His shoulder ached, a steady, dull heat, and he blinked sweat from his eyes. Inglor walked around him, inspecting his form. Legolas had long since lost track of how long he had been standing there.

"How do you feel?" Inglor asked.

"My shoulder aches," Legolas gasped. "But it is still bearable."

"And your head?"

"If I think about my shoulder. . . I do not mind the headache so much."

"So your head does hurt," Inglor said. "I thought as much. Release."

With a sigh of relief, Legolas let his arrow fly. It hit the target just at the upper edge. He and Inglor walked down the range to examine it.

"You did well," Inglor said. "You held your draw for five minutes, and you placed the arrow on the target as well. Your arms do not shake as much as they did yesterday. I think your strength is returning."

Legolas managed a small, grim smile. In the three weeks since he had been allowed out of bed, he had worked with Inglor to restore his strength and skill with the bow. The sessions always left him exhausted, but he endured them with good grace, for he could feel the torn muscles mending and returning to what they had been. "Should I try once more?" he asked. "Perhaps I will hit closer to the center this time."

Inglor eyed the fading bruise on Legolas's head critically. The swelling had reduced considerably, and he was able to open both eyes, but the place where his head had struck the tree was still tender. "I think not," he said finally. "If your head is starting to ache, we should stop for today. Go and drink a cup of willow tea. You will hit the center of the target tomorrow."

Gilveril set a kettle of water over the fire and measured powdered willow bark into a mug. While she waited for the water to boil, she examined Legolas, probing gently at his healing wounds and testing his vision. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"One," Legolas said.

"Very good. Now, keep your head still and follow my finger with your eyes."

Legolas obeyed, keeping his eyes on Gilveril's finger as she moved it from side to side, then back and forth. She nodded in satisfaction.

"Your vision is not doubled, and you are able to focus and track well, even after the exertion of your session with Inglor. That is good; the damage to your head is healing." The kettle boiled, and Gilveril poured water over the powdered bark, added a spoonful of honey, and gave the mug to Legolas. "Let that steep a little, then drink it. How do you feel, apart from the headache?"

"I am stiff and sore from the training with Inglor," Legolas said. "But that is to be expected after an arrow wound. Sometimes my head hurts, and Inglor always stops the session when that happens."

"As he should. I will not have you injure yourself again through overwork."

Legolas sipped at the tea, which was bitter even with the honey. "Mostly I am frustrated. Sometimes I grow weary and must sleep in the middle of the day. I cannot concentrate on small tasks."

Gilveril looked thoughtful. "I think that will not last much longer," she said. "You are healing well. If you continue to take care of yourself and obey the limitations I have placed upon you, I think that you will be completely well in a few weeks' time."

"It is hard for me to wait. I should be out assisting with the search for Gollum. He escaped while under my care, after all." Legolas took another sip of tea. Gilveril laid a hand on his shoulder.

"My Lord, I do not know exactly what occurred beneath the beech tree that night. However, from what you and Inglor have told me, your patrol made all its choices in good faith, and you fought bravely against an overwhelming foe. That you survived at all is accomplishment enough. You have played your part for now. The search is for others to undertake."

Legolas nodded, blinking furiously in an attempt to stave off a sudden wave of drowsiness that swept over him. "Did you put chamomile in this tea?" he asked, his tone sharper than he had intended.

"I did not," Gilveril said. "You are simply weary, just as you described to me."

"I do not wish to go to bed."

A knock on the door interrupted them. Gilveril moved to open it, and Thranduil entered the infirmary, carrying a small lap desk. "Greetings, Gilveril," he said. "Inglor said that I might find Legolas here."

"I am here, Ada." Legolas drank the rest of the willow tea and rose to greet his father, ashamed of the wobble in his knees. Thranduil crossed the room and put an arm around his shoulders.

"You look like one who is exhausted from hard work," he said cheerfully.

"He needs rest," Gilveril said. Legolas scowled.

"I do not want to rest. I want to breathe the open air."

Thranduil laughed. "You may do both. The day is warm and pleasant, and I see no reason why you may not take your rest outside in the garden. Come. I must attend to some official correspondence, and I had thought to do that outdoors. I will spread a blanket for you, and you may rest there while I write my letters."

"I would like that," Legolas said, mollified. He turned to Gilveril. "I was rude to you. I apologize."

"I am not offended. Healing from wounds such as yours is a trying experience, and you have been remarkably calm about it. Now, go outside. The King is correct; it is a lovely day."

Thranduil and Legolas walked outside to the garden, stopping at the stables to collect a clean, soft blanket, which Thranduil spread on the ground. He sat cross-legged on one corner, and Legolas lay down beside him. His headache was fading, and he felt overwhelmingly drowsy.

"I am sorry that I sleep so much," he murmured. Thranduil reached out and stroked his hair.

"Do not be ashamed, Legolas. You are still healing, and that takes time. I do not think you appreciate just how badly you were hurt. You may sleep as much as you want, provided that you wake each time."

"I will wake, Ada." Warmed by the sunshine and lulled by the gentle scratching of his father's quill on paper, Legolas allowed himself to slip into dreams.

Legolas continued to heal swiftly as the summer progressed. His muscles grew strong, and he was able to wield a bow and a sword once more. The headaches faded away and with them went the overpowering need for sleep. His concentration improved, and he could attend Thranduil's council meetings again. Menellir declared him eligible for guard duty, and he was soon taking his rightful turns in the patrols that kept the settlement and its surrounding territory safe.

Menellir seemed relieved that Legolas was recovering, for the Shadow had been growing steadily since the night of the Orc attack. The spiders had become bolder, and it required ever more warriors to keep the Forest Road and the Elf Path safe. The Elves began to encounter Orc patrols in the south, and trade became ever more difficult.

Thranduil contemplated the supply of food preserved for the winter. It was not enough to see the community through, and imports from Lake Town and from the south were becoming scarcer. He gave orders that the children of the settlement were to help with foraging as often as they could be spared, and he led hunting parties more frequently. There was still game in the woods, and Thranduil ensured that as much of the meat as possible was smoked, salted, or pickled.

The hunt for Gollum was not as satisfactory. Every few days, a party of scouts would return to the delvings and report on what they had found. Slowly, the Elves traced Gollum's path south, though they did not know if he had gone that way willingly. As the trail led deeper into the Shadow, the scouts moved more slowly. Sometimes the scouting parties would return with mysterious injuries whose origins they could not quite remember. Finally, one scout leader, Neldorín, returned with his entire party overcome by a strange illness that left them chilled and shaking even as they burned with fever. Some could no longer hold themselves upright and had been strapped across the backs of their horses.

The healers cared for the scouts as best they could and found that warmth, light, and the scent of mint tea swiftly drove their chills away. Thranduil immediately recalled all of the scouting parties and sent no more out. When Neldorín had recovered, Thranduil summoned him before his council to present his report.

"We traced Gollum farther than we have yet managed, my Lord," Neldorín said. "We came upon a land where the fir trees grew thick and twisted together, rotting for lack of sunlight. The Shadow lies heavy upon that land, and the air is thick and sour. There is little left alive in that wood, so the tracks grew more pronounced. At last, we came to the edge of a clearing. Through the trees, we could see an enormous dark hill, and a tower stood upon the hill. A foul miasma surrounds it, and it choked us so that we could not breathe. I ordered my party to return home, but we had not traveled a day before the first weakness struck us. The cold darkness grew stronger, until we were barely able to reach the settlement. I believe that Gollum went that way, but I will take no more warriors there, my Lord."

"Of course you will not," Thranduil said. "You have served bravely, Neldorín, and I will not risk any more of my people. I am ending the search today. He has given us enough trouble."

"You were drawing near to Dol Guldur," Luindil said. "That has ever been an evil place."

"Mithrandir and his Dúnadan companion thought that it was inhabited once more," Legolas offered. "It would appear that they were correct. This is evil news indeed."

Neldorín nodded. "If Gollum did go to Dol Guldur, I cannot imagine that he is still alive."

"It will disappoint Mithrandir," Galion said, "But I cannot say that I am sorry to be rid of the creature. He has caused us nothing but grief since the day he arrived."

"It will indeed disappoint Mithrandir," Thranduil agreed. "I see no way around that. We must find some way to inform him of this development." This problem had been bothering him since he had first ordered the search. Mithrandir was a wanderer who appeared in Mirkwood infrequently. There was no way to know where he would be at any given time; it would be difficult for a message to reach him swiftly.

"Perhaps we could send a messenger to a meeting place," Galion suggested. "Even if Mithrandir is not there, the message could be left for him."

Menellir scowled. "He could be anywhere. We do not know that he will visit the place we choose. We ought to send out a dozen messengers, and we cannot spare that many warm bodies."

"Then let us send word to one place, but choose that place with the utmost care," Thranduil said.

Luindil thought for a little while. "I suggest Imladris, my Lord," he said at last. "Whenever we see Mithrandir, he always brings news from the House of Elrond. I would guess that he visits there frequently."

"It is a good thought," Thranduil said. "Even if Mithrandir is not there, it is possible that Elrond may know where he is. I will send a messenger to Imladris, then."

Legolas rose and moved to kneel before Thranduil. "My Lord," he said. "I beg leave to be the one to carry the message."

Thranduil frowned. "Tell me why it is that you feel the need to go so strongly."

Legolas took a deep breath, but his gaze never wavered. "Mithrandir asked us to guard Gollum and keep him safe. We have failed in our trust. I am . . . I am the last surviving member of the patrol which failed to keep him safe. I will bear the consequences of that failure."

There was silence in the council chamber. Finally, Thranduil sighed. "There is indeed merit to your words, Legolas," he said. "Though the blame in this matter cannot rest entirely on you. We may all take a share. Menellir permitted him to walk in the forest, after all, and I agreed to keep Gollum to begin with."

"For that matter, Mithrandir himself should not escape blame," Luindil put in. "He told us very little about the creature. He certainly failed to mention that the wretch was important enough to the Enemy that he would send out his Orcs to attack us."

"Indeed," Thranduil said. "Had I known that, I would never have accepted Gollum at all. If you bear blame in this matter, Legolas, so do we all. But I think that you should be the one to go. If nothing else, you are my son, and you may best represent the House of Oropher to our fellow Lord."

Legolas bowed his head. "I will carry your message, my Lord."

Menellir shifted in his chair. "Legolas should not go alone. The paths through the forest have become too dangerous. I will assign a warrior to accompany him."

"Let me go," Neldorín offered. "I led my patrol nearly to its doom, and Gollum is now lost to us forever. I will not refuse my share of the blame."

Thranduil's expression became grim. "I am beginning to regret that I ever mentioned blame today," he said.

"You may go, Neldorín," Menellir said. "Both of you should see the healers before you leave. I wish to be sure that you are fit to travel. If either of you is not, there will be no discussion. A replacement will be found. Do you understand?"

Legolas and Neldorín both nodded. Thranduil rose to his feet, and the council followed suit. "It seems that our path has been set," he said. "The messengers will depart three days from today. You are dismissed."

The Elves in the chamber bowed to their King and left.

Gilveril pronounced both Legolas and Neldorín healthy, and they began to prepare for their journey. Luindil showed them maps and explained the route that they would follow. "You will travel westward through the forest. Use the Elf Path; it is the safer of the two roads. When you reach the edge of the wood, continue traveling west until you come to the River Greylin. This part of your journey will take you over an open plain. Cross it in the night, when you are less likely to be seen by unfriendly eyes. Follow the Greylin south until you come to the Old Ford. Due west of the Ford lies the High Pass through the Misty Mountains, and beyond that is Imladris. It is a dangerous journey, so you must keep your wits about you at all times. We will provide waybread, but there will not be much. Gather what food you can while you are still in the forest, and eat sparingly."

The night before he was to leave, Legolas was in his chambers filling his pack. There was a knock on the door, and Thranduil came in. He looked sadly at the weapons, clothes and supplies spread out on the bed.

"You should pack something warm to wear, Legolas," he said. "The summer already draws to a close, and I fear that it will be much colder by the time you return home from your errand."

Legolas folded a woolen tunic and placed it in the bottom of his pack. Thranduil picked up a fine linen shirt. "You will want this as well. You are going on official business to an Elf Lord, after all, and you should look the part."

"I suppose you are right." Legolas added the shirt to his supplies. In silence, he wrapped flint and a box of tinder in a handkerchief and packed them along with carefully wrapped cakes of waybread. His shoulders quivered, and Thranduil gently turned him around. Legolas's eyes glittered, and his expression was one of utter misery.

"Do not punish yourself like this," Thranduil said. "You have done nothing wrong."

"I have not done enough," Legolas said. "I should have assisted in the search for Gollum."

"You know full well that you were in no condition to do that, Legolas."

"I helped to lose him. I should have helped to search for him."

Thranduil ran his hand lightly over the fading scar on Legolas's head. "You did help with the search. You survived the attack and you were able to tell us what had happened. That was valuable information which only you could have provided."

"I survived." Legolas's voice shook. "I was in the tree and I survived. They all died, my comrades are dead, and I am the only one still alive. I did not do enough. I did not shoot enough of the Orcs. I did not --"

"Hush, mouse. Enough of such talk." Thranduil drew Legolas into a firm embrace. "You did all that you could do. Your quiver was empty when we found you, and your arrows brought down many Orcs. You fought bravely, and you survived. That is the best I could ever ask of you. You have no cause for shame." He held his son close for a while, and not for the first time in his life, he wished that a father could absorb all of a child's unhappiness and leave the child free.

At last, Legolas stopped shaking, but he made no move to break the embrace. That suited Thranduil's mood, and he stood for a while simply enjoying having his son close. It would be the last time for months, he thought, and the moment was worth savoring.

"I will have a chance to see Imladris," Legolas said. "I am looking forward to that."

"I am sure that you are. You will have to tell me all about Elrond's land and what it is like there."

Legolas smiled. "Aragorn said that it was a rich, beautiful country. Have you ever been there?"

"Once," Thranduil said. "It was a very long time ago, and I have forgotten much about the place. I do remember that the valley was beautiful and very peaceful. It seems fitting that such a great healer would live in a place like that."

"I hope that there are apples there," Legolas said, and Thranduil laughed out loud.

"Apple trees flourish in that kind of valley, mouse," he said. "Likely there will be enough apples to satisfy even your appetite for them." Legolas smiled at the thought and straightened.

"I should finish packing. It will be a long journey before I reach the land of apples."

"Yes," Thranduil said. "It will be long, and dangerous as well. You should not begin such a journey shadowed with guilt. Go with your King's blessing and your father's love upon you, and come home again as soon as you are able."

Legolas nodded. Thranduil kissed his forehead and left him to finish packing for his journey.

The first part of Legolas and Neldorín's journey was the safest. They kept to the Elf Path, and for the first few days of travel, they knew that Thranduil's border patrols were just out of sight guarding that road. They went slowly, gathering berries and edible plants as they traveled, for they wished to save the waybread for a time when food might not be found on the road. When they had traveled eight days, they came to the enchanted river. Unofficially, it was the practical border of Thranduil's realm; no Elves guarded the Path beyond.

Legolas and Neldorín urged their horses forward. The horses both jumped the river successfully and received pieces of carrot as a reward. The two Elves dismounted and led the horses a few paces beyond the river to what looked to be a promising campsite. As Legolas spread a blanket on the ground, Neldorín began to look around to see if the area near the campsite offered anything to eat. He paused in his foraging and looked back across the enchanted river.

"The border guards do not cross the river," he said. "We are well and truly away from home now."

"We will go much farther and see stranger things before this journey is finished," Legolas replied. "We will even cross the Misty Mountains. They are real mountains like Erebor, not hills like the Mountains of Mirkwood."

"How will we get across them?" Neldorín asked. "Do you know how to climb a mountain like that?"

"No. I suppose that we will learn." Legolas turned away so that Neldorín could not see what he was doing and picked up a fallen acorn. He clutched it in one fist and presented both fists to Neldorín. "Choose."

Neldorín chose Legolas's right hand. Legolas opened it, and it was empty. He opened his left hand and tossed the acorn aside. "The first watch of the night is mine, then," he said. "Have you found anything good to eat?"

"Mushrooms and blackberries," Neldorín said. "And there are dandelions growing at the edge of the path as well. Their leaves will be bitter, though. And there are ferns growing by the riverbank."

Legolas contemplated the enchanted river. "I do not think we should eat anything that grows in the river's mud," he said. "We can make a salad of the mushrooms and berries and dandelion leaves. The berries will be sweet, and that will lessen the harshness of the leaves."

Neldorín laughed. "You sound like Galion planning a feast!"

"I spent enough time in the kitchens with him when I was little. I did learn something from him after all."

"Very well, my Lord Cook," Neldorín said. "You may prepare our evening meal. I will see to the horses."

Two days later, the two Elves stood at the edge of the forest and peered out across the open, shallow river valley. They could see the Greylin sparkling in the distance, and beyond that the bluish shadow of the Misty Mountains just on the horizon. "We will make for the river," Legolas said. "We should reach it by the day after tomorrow. That seems a simple thing." Neither Elf moved.

"Where will we sleep?" Neldorín wondered. "There are no trees to shelter us. The land between here and the river is all scrub."

"There will be trees by the river," Legolas said, trying to sound more certain than he felt. "It will be like the area near Lake Town, and we have both slept in the open there."

"But we will not reach the river until two days from now. It is that gap that worries me. There is nothing between us and the river to shield us from unfriendly eyes."

Legolas gazed out at the open country. "There are shrubs," he offered. "And the grass is long. I think that there must be animals who find shelter in that. We must do the same. And one of us will remain awake as guard in any event. I do not think that anything will harm us."

Neldorín looked sadly up at the tree next to him. "It will be different, at any rate."

Mindful of Luindil's instructions, the two Elves waited until nightfall, then emerged from the security of the forest into the exposed grassland of the river valley. The sky seemed enormous above them, filled with brilliant stars. After the initial shock of exposure, Legolas decided that there was something beautiful about the valley. The grass was long and soft, and it rippled in the little breezes that swept through.

"This is a country where our horses can run," he said. "What do you say to a good gallop?"

"It will get us across the plain and into the shelter of the river faster," Neldorín said. He leaned forward and clucked to his horse, and Legolas did the same. The horses needed no second urging to stretch their legs, and the two Elves rode swiftly across the plain under the sparkling sky.

As Legolas had guessed, the banks of the Greylin were lined with trees, and both he and Neldorín were glad to see them. They rested along the banks of the river, allowing their horses to graze. For themselves, they set fishing lines in the river and sat back to consider the rest of their journey.

"We have completed the first leg," Neldorín said. "What lies ahead now?"

"The river will guide us south to the Old Ford," Legolas replied. "We can sleep along its shores in the shelter of the trees, so that is good. And we will pass through the land of the Beornings."

"Men who can take the shapes of bears," Neldorín said. "I think that I should like to have another look at one, but I do not know if I am brave enough. I remember seeing Beorn their chief at the Battle of Five Armies, and he was terrifying in his wrath."

"Perhaps some of the terror came from the battle, and not from Beorn himself," Legolas suggested. "And in any event, there is no battle now, so any Beornings we see will not be nearly as fierce as that."

"I hope you are right. I have no wish to see an angry Bear-Man ever again. I think you have a bite on your line! Pull it in, for I am hungry."

The trip south along the river proved uneventful. Legolas and Neldorín were able to catch a fish almost every night, and thus spared their precious cakes of waybread. Neither Elf knew how long it would take to cross the Misty Mountains, but they suspected that the crossing would sorely deplete their food supplies. Legolas wondered if they should attempt to collect and save a supply of nuts and berries for the mountains, but Neldorín pointed out that they had no means of carrying the food any considerable distance.

In four days, they reached the Old Ford. It seemed that there had been a bridge in that place long ago. Stones that looked as though they might once have been cobbles littered the ground on either side of the ford and connected it to a well-worn road that ran towards Mirkwood.

"Do you see?" Legolas asked. "This is the Old Forest Road. It will lead us directly to Imladris."

Neldorín glanced towards the mountains, which loomed larger on the horizon, and smirked. "Directly to Imladris indeed, my Lord. A fine, beautiful, well-trodden road, with but the smallest of obstacles on it between us and our goal."

Legolas laughed. "That is the last time I will ever attempt to raise your spirits, Neldorín. Come. Let us cross the river. Every step we take now brings us closer to your smallest of obstacles and the House that lies beyond it."

As they neared the foothills of the mountain range, the terrain grew rougher. They did not cover as much ground in a day as they had while traveling along the river, and it took them four days before they came to the base of the first mountain. The sight of the range filled both Elves with dismay. The Misty Mountains were dizzyingly high, and seemed to stretch forever from the north to the south. Narrow, rocky trails wound up through the scrubby trees at what seemed an impossible angle.

"How will we ever cross?" Legolas breathed.

"I suppose that we should follow the trail," Neldorín offered. "Luindil did say that this was the High Pass, after all. I suppose that this is the easiest way we will find."

Legolas grimaced. "I would hate to see a difficult path, then. But it cannot be helped. We must cross the mountains." He urged his horse forward, and Neldorín followed.

They soon discovered that the horses could not negotiate the steep trail while bearing riders, so they dismounted and walked, leading their mounts. The going was slow and wearying. "At this rate, it will take us many days to cross," Legolas said. "The waybread is the only food we have left. We should eat of it only sparingly, for I do not know how long we will need to make it last."

Even as the words left his mouth, the air was filled with horrible shrieks. Legolas and Neldorín whirled around and saw Orcs boiling out of a cave higher up on the mountain. The Elves drew their weapons. Legolas's horse reared up in terror, lost its footing on the narrow trail, and tumbled down the hill. It screamed, a terrible sound that chilled Legolas's blood, but there was no time to mourn the animal, for the Orcs were bearing down hard upon them. The ground rumbled with their pounding footsteps.

"Can you shoot them?" Neldorín cried.

"I cannot aim," Legolas said. "They are so near that the ground shakes."

"They are not that near," Neldorín said. "Something else shakes the ground."

There was a screech from the Orc horde above them. Legolas tried vainly to find a fixed target, and cried out as he saw the first rocks rolling down the slope. Within seconds, it seemed that the entire side of the mountain was moving. "Run!" he called to Neldorín.

There was no time even for that. As the Elves turned to run, the ground swelled beneath their feet and they were falling out of control as the boulders crashed around them. Choking dust filled the air, and Legolas lost sight of both Neldorín and the Orcs. He managed to curl his arms around his head and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that the terrifying fall would be over soon.

At last, he slid to a halt. Around him, there was silence. Cautiously, Legolas opened his eyes and blinked back a wave of nausea and dizziness. His shoulder ached, and he feared that his arrow wound had been torn open again. Slowly, he turned onto his stomach and raised his head to look around. The broken bodies of Orcs lay all around him, and he could see the body of his horse lying not far away. A soft grunt and a string of weak cursing commanded Legolas's attention, and he pulled himself to his hands and knees and crawled over the debris to find Neldorín lying in a pile of scree, his right leg bent at an impossible angle.

"Legolas," Neldorín said raggedly. "I am glad to see you. Are you all right?"

"I hurt, but I will be fine. Your leg -- "

"It is broken," Neldorín gasped. "And there is something wrong with my ribs. I cannot sit up." Legolas ran his hands along Neldorín's sides as gently as he could, but Neldorín could not suppress a cry of pain.

"I think they are not broken," Legolas said, "but I am not certain of that. Even if they are whole, they are still bruised."

"You must help me to rise. We must move away from here before the surviving Orcs realize that we have not been killed by the rockslide."

Legolas sat back on his heels and looked around for any sign of their packs. "There is no place to go," he said. "The only shelter here is in the caves higher up the mountains, and even if you were in any shape to be moved there, they are infested with Orcs."

"We cannot stay here," Neldorín said, then bit his lip. A little blood trickled down his chin. Legolas tried to brush it away with his hand.

"You are injured enough. There is no need to shed any more of your blood." He began looking around and found Neldorín's bow, which had snapped in half. Gently, he moved Neldorín's broken leg into a more comfortable position. "I am no healer," he said. "I do not know how to set a bone. I will splint this for you." He looked around for material to tie the splint, and Neldorín pointed to his pack.

"I have an extra shirt," he said. Then he stiffened. "Look out!"

Legolas whirled around and saw three Orcs scrambling over the debris. He moved to place his body between Neldorín and the Orcs, and he drew his knife. Before he could strike, he heard a roaring sound. A great black bear charged up the hillside and batted two Orcs away with its great claws. It bit the third in the neck and shook it around as though it were a squirrel. The Orc's neck snapped, and the bear dropped it. It turned and focused its little eyes on the Elves. Legolas readied his knife to throw it, for he knew that he would have no chance if the bear decided to charge.

But the bear remained where it was. And then, before Legolas's astonished eyes, its shape began to blur and flow, and suddenly it had become an enormous hairy Man, dressed in a rough tunic of wool.

"You are Beorn," Legolas said slowly.

"No," the Man said. "Beorn was my father, but he is dead. Grimbeorn is my name. And you are Wood-elves, by the look of you, though you are very far from your forest."

"We are on our way over the mountains to deliver a message to Mithrandir." Legolas was struck by a sudden inspiration. "Have you seen him lately? Do you know where he is?"

"The wizard?" Grimbeorn laughed. "I have not seen him for several years, little one. Perhaps you will deliver my greetings to him if you do find him. But I do not think that is likely. Your companion lies helpless beside you." He smiled, showing a mouthful of extraordinarily white teeth, and took a step closer. Legolas raised his knife.

"You will not hurt him."

Grimbeorn stopped and inclined his head. "I see that you have heard all about the fierce Beornings," he said. "I admit that my father had no especial love for the Wood-elves who hunted in the forest. But I am not my father. I like Wood-elves much as I like the foxes who also hunt in the woods. You and your companion should come with me, for you are both wounded, and there is no other shelter."

Legolas lowered his knife. "What will you do?"

"I will feed you and care for your companion as best I can. When he is healthy, I will call one of my horses to take him where he wishes. You may stay until he is healed, if you wish."

Legolas knelt down by Neldorín's side. "I do not like the thought of us becoming separated here."

"I would never be able to cross the mountain," Neldorín said. "I will be well enough with Grimbeorn. He is right; there is no other shelter. You must go on. The message must reach Mithrandir."

Legolas nodded and turned to Grimbeorn. "I accept your offer," he said, "though I will not be able to stay so long. I must deliver my message."

"Well then," Grimbeorn said. "Let us go about doing what must be done. He whistled, and Neldorín's horse appeared, limping a little, accompanied by a strange horse. Grimbeorn knelt down beside Neldorín. "What is your name?"

"Neldorín. And my suspicious friend is Legolas."

Grimbeorn laughed his great rolling laugh. "You are certainly a polite Elf, Master Neldorín!" he said. "But these are perilous times, and I will forgive Legolas his suspicions. Instead, I will send him to recover as many of your belongings as he can find while I tend to this broken leg of yours. Do not fear," he added, when he saw Neldorín's dubious expression. "I have tended the broken legs of many a forest creature. An Elf will not be so different. Now, relax. This will be painful, but brief."

Grimbeorn carried Neldorín on his horse back across the valley to the river. Legolas followed, riding Neldorín's horse, for though he was distressed at the loss of so many days, he wished to see for himself that Neldorín would be safe before continuing on his journey. When they reached the great hall where Grimbeorn lived with his serving animals, Legolas allowed himself one night of rest.

Grimbeorn examined the supplies salvaged from the Elves' packs. Though filthy, their clothing was mostly unharmed, and one of the dogs drew water so that Legolas could wash out the spare shirts. The cakes of waybread had been crushed, however. Legolas bit back a cry of despair, but Grimbeorn shrugged.

"I will give you food enough for the rest of your journey," he said. "It is not far, and you are but one mouth to feed. And, for all that they are not the most interesting thing one could eat, my cakes will give you the strength you need." Legolas opened his mouth to protest, but Grimbeorn silenced him with a wave of his hand.

"Do not deny that you are in need," he said. "I have carried your companion before me for several days, and though I do not know much about Wood-elves, I do not think that their ribs ought to be quite as prominent as all that. I am a friend to the creatures of the woods, and I help them where I may. If you are worried about accepting a gift, you may carry a message to Mithrandir for me. Give him my greetings and tell him of the Orcs that now infest the Mountains. My people will return to the mountains one day, but I begin to understand that we may not be able to do so without the aid of our wizard friend."

Legolas nodded. "I will add your message to that of my King," he said, "and I thank you for your aid."

"There is a bed for you in the corner of the Hall," Grimbeorn said. "Go to sleep now, for you are hurt and exhausted. I will care for your companion, and when he is able to ride on his own, I will send him back to your King, and he will be my messenger of greeting."

Legolas bade Neldorín farewell and set out alone the next morning. He carried his own weapons, but rode Neldorín's horse. His clothes were clean in the bottom of his pack, and the top was filled with cakes. His heart was heavy as he crossed the Old Ford a second time and traveled back to the foothills of the Misty Mountains. The debris from the rockslide made it difficult to locate the trail, but it seemed that the Orcs had been frightened off by that event. Legolas managed to lead his horse around the fallen rocks and into the mountains without incident.

Crossing the Misty Mountains was the last stage of Legolas's journey, but it seemed to him the longest and the most difficult. For many nightmarish days, he wandered on foot through a jagged landscape of increasingly barren rock, leading the horse. The nights at the higher elevation were chill, and he huddled close to the horse for warmth. Since he had no companion to stand guard, he spent many nights awake, peering into the gloom for any sign of the Orcs whose presence he could smell every day, fighting off the sleep that his exhausted body craved. His head began to ache again, and there were times when he could hardly walk through the dizziness. He ate sparingly, and as Grimbeorn had promised, the cakes were just enough to give him strength to make the crossing.

Legolas was overjoyed when he reached the top of the mountains. Far below him, he could finally see a beautiful green valley that could only be Imladris. The knowledge that his destination was real and that it was at last in sight cheered his heart as he began the treacherous descent. He focused his last remaining strength and will on simply reaching the valley, and carefully did not think about how he would ever make the return journey.

Legolas shivered all over with relief as he rode through the valley. It radiated the gentle warmth of autumn's false summer, and the grass was lush and brilliantly green. The horse looked at it longingly, and Legolas patted its neck. "Not yet," he told it. "Our journey is not quite over. First we must reach the House of Elrond, and then I will turn you loose to eat this beautiful grass." The horse snorted, but continued on.

Cresting a low hill, Legolas finally caught sight of the Last Homely House. It seemed a palace to his eyes, an enormous, airy structure nestled against the side of a hill. Gardens and orchards sprawled around it, and animals grazed contentedly in wide pastures. Far off in the distance, Legolas could see the sparkle of a river. The House was much bigger than even the dwelling of the King in Lake Town, and it seemed to be full of people working merrily in the fields or flitting about at the great windows. It was large and fresh and clean, and Legolas was painfully conscious of how small and filthy he must appear riding along the pathway to the door.

A tall, strange Elf came to meet him in the front courtyard. Legolas dismounted and bowed low. "I am Legolas, son of Thranduil King of Mirkwood," he said. "I have come to leave a message for the wizard Mithrandir with Lord Elrond. I ask permission to enter."

The tall Elf smiled warmly. "Welcome to Imladris, son of Thranduil. You are welcome here for as long as you wish to stay. I am Erestor, a counselor in this House. We have met before, though I think you do not remember me. You were a very small child when last I traveled to Mirkwood. It was a long and difficult journey, as I recall. Come inside. You are in dire need of both bathing and feeding. We will care for your horse."

Erestor ushered Legolas inside and led him down long corridors hung with richly embroidered tapestries. "I am sorry that we are in such disarray at the moment. Some nights ago, a group of travelers arrived, and one was severely injured. Lord Elrond has been closeted with him for days now and will not be able to see you immediately. In the meantime, you may stay here and rest." He opened a door and showed Legolas into an elegantly appointed guest chamber.

Tall doors opened onto a balcony, and light curtains fluttered in the breeze. The bed was enormous, easily twice the size of Legolas's own bed at home, and covered with fat pillows and brightly colored quilts. A padded chair stood near a carved table. Legolas opened a large cupboard and found linens, towels and several items of clothing. Erestor drew back a curtain, revealing a bathing area. There was a washstand, and instead of the small wooden tub that Legolas expected, there was a pit sunken into the floor and lined with pottery. A corked pipe extended from the wall above it.

"You do not have such bathing facilities in Mirkwood, correct?" Erestor asked. Legolas shook his head, unable to speak. Erestor briskly collected a towel from the linen cupboard. "Then I will explain. The House is built over a hot spring, and those who built it devised ways to use pipes to bring the hot water to every bathing chamber and carry it away again. Simply cover the drainage hole at the bottom of the tub, then open this pipe to fill it. Replace the stopper when you have enough water, and uncover the drainage hole when you are finished."

"How much water is hot now?" Legolas asked, eyeing the deep pottery tub.

"It comes from the hot spring, so there is as much as you want," Erestor answered. "I guess that you have never had a bath this deep or hot."

Legolas shook his head. "In the winter, we heat water for our washstands, and sometimes for a tub bath. But there is never very much, and it grows cold quickly."

"Ah. In that case, I will give you a warning. Do not stay overlong in the bath. Though the water here is not hot enough to scald, it can be overpowering to one who is not accustomed to it. When you are finished, ask someone to show you to the kitchens, and I will see to it that you have something to eat. Is there anything else you require?"

"No. Thank you."

Erestor bowed and left Legolas alone. Legolas stripped off his travel-stained clothes and folded them neatly in a corner. Remembering Erestor's instructions, he covered the tub's drainage hole with a cork mat that he found on a shelf, then opened the pipe. Steaming water tumbled out far more forcefully than he had expected. It took a long time to fill the tub, but there did not seem to be any limit to the hot water. When it seemed full enough, Legolas closed the pipe and gingerly lowered himself into the water.

It was far warmer than any bath he had ever had. The hot water caressed and soothed his sore body, and he breathed the mineral-scented vapors. His shoulder ached, but the rest of his muscles relaxed quickly in the warmth. The heat also seemed to release something else inside of him, all of the fear and tension of his long journey far from home. To his surprise, Legolas found himself weeping in the hot bath.

When his tears finally slowed, he felt vaguely ashamed of himself, but it also seemed that a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Quickly, before the heat could do stranger things to his mind, Legolas scooped up a handful of soft soap and scrubbed the grime of the road from his body and his hair. When he finished his bath, he felt very warm and sensitive, almost as though he were a new baby.

The clothes he had brought with him had been crushed in his pack, so he laid them out carefully on the floor and pulled on a shirt and a pair of trousers from the cupboard. He had to belt the trousers tightly, but was pleased with the loose fit of the shirt that disguised some of the sharper angles of his shoulders. He felt pinched inside and set off in search of the kitchen.

He found Erestor in the corridor. Erestor looked him over and nodded approvingly. "You clean up quite well."

"I borrowed these clothes from the cupboard. I hope that you do not mind. My own --"

"Do not worry about it," Erestor laughed. "That is why we keep clothes in those clothes-presses. We will clean yours. In the meantime, what would you say to something to eat?"

"Oh, yes, please!"

"I thought so. Come to the kitchen." Erestor led Legolas through the house to a large, warm kitchen filled with the maddening scents of roasting meat and baking bread. He indicated a small table in the corner, and Legolas sat down. After a few moments, Erestor set a plate and cup before him. "There. Eat. You are skin and bones."

Legolas stared for a moment at the delicacies on the plate in front of him. Erestor had given him two slices of light wheat bread spread thickly with butter, several pieces of cheese, and a large mug of milk. Any one of those items would have been a special treat in Mirkwood, but here it seemed that they were commonplace enough to be given away all at once between regular mealtimes. Legolas attacked the food with as much dignity as he could manage. Erestor noted this and slipped an extra slice of buttered bread onto the plate. After Legolas had eaten everything that was put in front of him, he felt comfortably full and much more cheerful than he had when he first arrived.

"You seem happier now," Erestor said. "A hot bath and a little food never fail to work wonders on weary travelers. Let us go and discover if Lord Elrond is ready to receive you."

Elrond had just emerged from the injured traveler's chamber and had settled himself in his library. Erestor knocked twice and slipped inside to announce Legolas. A minute later, he returned.

"Lord Elrond will see you now." He bowed briefly and then walked away. Legolas supposed that the time had come to pay for the luxurious bath and food he had been given. He straightened his spine and entered the library.

Lord Elrond sat at a large table spread with notes and books. He was still in his shirtsleeves from tending to his wounded guest. His ageless face seemed both wise and compassionate, as if he knew every naughty thing Legolas had ever done and forgave him for it. To Legolas's surprise, Mithrandir stood beside him. It appeared that Luindil's guess about the wizard's likely haunts had been correct. Legolas would be able to deliver his message and learn his penance without delay.

He bowed deeply, grimacing a little as the movement sent a twinge of pain through his shoulder. Straightening, he looked into the concerned eyes of the Lord of Imladris.

"Welcome, son of Thranduil," Elrond said in a warm, deep voice. "Erestor told me that you have brought an important message from your Lord."

"I have," Legolas said. "Though the message is for Mithrandir. I had been charged to leave it with you until he should pass by this place. But Mithrandir is here, and that is most fortunate."

"Indeed," Mithrandir said. "I am honored that you made the journey here all on my account. In other circumstances, I would ask you to give your message right away, but I think that I will ask you to wait. I wish to give your news its due, and it is not yet the proper time for the telling of such tales."

"I will call a council in the near future," Elrond said, "though I do not yet know when that will be. I think, Legolas, that you should attend this council and deliver your news there."

The bottom seemed to drop out of Legolas's stomach, and he could feel an uncomfortable heat spreading across his nose and ears. He supposed that this was his punishment, to be made to announce his people's failure in public, to a council of strangers. His throat closed at the thought, and he nodded miserably. Mithrandir smiled at him.

"Come now, Legolas," he said. "I do not think that your news is as terrible as you believe it to be. There have been many unpleasant doings in the wide world lately, and your message alone will not be the worst that we will hear."

"That is small comfort."

"Yet comfort it must be," Elrond sighed. "In the meantime, you are among friends here. Stay and enjoy the comforts of my House. I am sure that you are exhausted from your journey, and the rest will do you good."

"Thank you." Legolas moved to bow once more, but flinched from the ache in his shoulder. Elrond was on his feet in an instant and moved around the table to Legolas.

"You are in pain," he said. "May I see?"

"The wound is not new," Legolas said, mortified at the fuss he had caused. "It has healed once before, and it will heal again."

"I am a healer in this House as well as its Lord," Elrond responded. "I have just come from tending one of my guests, and it is no trouble at all to tend to another." He pulled a chair out from the large table. "Straddle this. Can you remove your shirt?"

Legolas sat down on the chair, unlaced the shirt and managed to slide it down over his shoulders. In a moment, he felt Elrond's experienced hands manipulating the aching shoulder. "What caused this injury?" Elrond asked.

"It was an Orc arrow, several months past. I do not think it was poisoned. It healed well, but there was a rockslide in the mountains during my journey here. I fear that the rocks must have struck me harder than I had thought."

"Do you hurt anywhere else?"

"I was struck hard on my head when I first received the arrow-wound," Legolas said. "My head ached for a long time while I recovered. I had thought that past, but the headaches have returned since the rockslide."

"I see. Relax." Elrond placed on hand on Legolas's shoulder and one hand on his head. A gentle warmth spread from his touch, slowly driving the pain away. "I think that the newly healed muscle was torn again in this rockslide," Elrond said, "and that the shock of the rockslide also reawakened your head injury. You are fortunate, however; these injuries were tended skillfully the first time, though perhaps by a healer whose skills have not yet come into their full flower."

"Gilveril is not much older than I am," Legolas admitted. "But she is already one of our best healers."

"I should like to make her acquaintance one day," Elrond said. "She appears to have a gift for healing that will become especially powerful in time. How do you feel now?"

Legolas realized that his pain had vanished while he had been distracted answering Elrond's questions. "It does not hurt any more."

"Good. I have encouraged the torn flesh to mend itself. You may speed the process by resting until the council. Eat, sleep, and explore this House. Do only what seems pleasant to you."

Legolas recognized a dismissal when he heard one. He bowed graciously to Elrond. "Thank you, Lord," he said, and left the library.

Imladris proved to be a complicated place. Fortunately, Legolas had a good sense of direction and managed to find his way back to his guest chamber. From there, he contemplated Elrond's instructions and decided that the best course of action would be to explore the House and discover what pleasant things it offered.

He wandered the main building for an hour. There were many lovely rooms filled with books or works of art or curiosities, but Legolas did not know if these were public areas or if they belonged to someone specific. Once or twice, he would see another Elf in one of the marvelous rooms, but found that his throat closed and his stomach knotted at the prospect of talking to these strangers. He wished that he could find Erestor and ask him about the rooms full of books, but Erestor was nowhere to be seen.

At last, Legolas came upon a door that led outside into a small courtyard garden. The flowers in the carefully designed beds were just beginning to fade, and a tree shed its golden leaves over the stone paths. Legolas skirted a small reflecting pool and found a stone bench under the tree. He sat down and closed his eyes as a wave of homesickness crashed over him.

Footsteps on the stone path alerted him that he was not alone. He opened his eyes and saw a Man standing in front of him. With a startling pang of relief, he realized that the Man's face was familiar.

"You are Aragorn," he said.

"I am. And you are Legolas, son of Thranduil." Aragorn smiled. "I am flattered that you remember me. We met only briefly, and that was more than a year ago."

"You brought Gollum to us," Legolas said. "And that has proved to be memorable indeed."

"I sense a story behind that."

Legolas nodded. "Yes. There is a story. It is not one that I care to tell right now."

"That is fair enough." Aragorn sat down on the bench beside Legolas. "May I ask what brings you to Imladris? You are far from home indeed."

"I am." Legolas grimaced at the reminder. "I came to leave a message from my father for Mithrandir. Mithrandir is here, but he will not hear the message until a council that Lord Elrond intends to hold at some time in the future. And so I must tarry here in Imladris for a time."

"Well," Aragorn said, "you will be able to complete your task sooner than you think. I arrived several days ago with a party of Hobbits, one of whom was injured. Elrond worked long and hard to heal him of his injury, and I am told that he awoke this morning. The council will be held tomorrow, when he is strong enough to attend."

"A Hobbit?" Suddenly, Legolas was too curious to be homesick. "Do you mean that Bilbo Baggins was injured? Or is this a different Hobbit?"

"A relative of Bilbo's," Aragorn said. "How exactly they are related I am not certain. You may ask Bilbo, and if you can understand the answer, then you are far more clever than I. If Hobbits interest you, there are three more somewhere in the House. Truth to tell, I am surprised that you have not seen any of them yet; I am sure that Bilbo in particular would love to see an Elf from Mirkwood and hear all the news from that part of the world."

"I have not seen any Hobbits," Legolas said. He ducked his head, reminded of his immediate predicament. "I have barely seen anyone. Imladris is much larger than I had imagined it would be, and I do not know the place at all. Lord Elrond said that I should explore the grounds, but there is so much of it that I do not know where to begin."

"You did not ask someone? Any resident would be happy to show you around."

Legolas wondered how to explain to Aragorn why the prospect of approaching one of the tall, rich, well-fed Elves of Imladris daunted him. He had never believed that a place as wonderful as Imladris could possibly be real, but here it seemed that people lived in fantastic luxury as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. The prospect of a place where there were no Orcs or spiders, where an endless supply of hot water ran from the walls, and where no one ever had occasion to fear that there would not be enough food to last through a long, bitter winter was overwhelming to Legolas. He looked helplessly at Aragorn. "They are strangers," he offered.

"Ah." Aragorn said, and there was an odd expression on his face. Legolas thought that perhaps Aragorn had understood what he had tried to convey after all. Aragorn gave a warm, friendly smile. "I believe I can solve that problem. I am familiar with Imladris, and it seems that I am not a stranger to you. If you would like, I can be your guide."

"I would like that."

"Then I will show you Imladris," Aragorn said. "Is there anything in particular that you would like to see first?"

"I do not know," Legolas said. "There is so much here. I would like to know if I am allowed to look at the books and beautiful things, and I would like to see the valley and the gardens, and my father told me that this is a land where apple trees flourish. And I wish to learn what has become of my horse. He was eager to eat the grass when we first arrived in the valley."

Aragorn laughed. "He will be cared for well. In fact, he is likely becoming friends with all of the other horses in the stables and the pony that the Hobbits brought with them. Let us go visit the horses, and then I will show you some of the gardens and orchards, for it is a beautiful day, and we should not waste it."

Legolas smiled. The sunshine already seemed warmer now that he had familiar company. Aragorn led him to the stables, and Legolas saw that his horse had the run of a large box lined deeply with straw. It was eating its way through a manger full of fragrant hay and seemed quite pleased with its surroundings. Assured that the horse was in good hands, Legolas patted its neck and left the stables, eager to see what other delights the valley offered.

Aragorn showed him the gardens where the last of the summer's crop was just being harvested. The wheat had been cut several weeks earlier, but the stubble-filled fields seemed enormous, and Legolas realized why wheat bread was an everyday food in Imladris. Further away from the main House were pastures where sheep and cows grazed contentedly, and houses where flocks of large, fat birds waddled and pecked at the ground. "Those are chickens," Aragorn said. "Their meat is tender and of a very different flavor than the wild birds of the woods. I think you will like it."

In the distance, Legolas could see the woods that ringed the valley, and he heard the rushing of a river. "This is a beautiful country," Legolas said. "I think I would like to ride through it and see it all."

"Perhaps we will have time to do that, if you choose to tarry here for a while after the council," Aragorn said. "In the meantime, we should return to the House. I will show it to you and introduce you to some of the residents there, so they will no longer be strangers to you. Tonight there will be a great feast, and we will have to prepare for that."

Legolas tried valiantly to imagine what would constitute a feast in this bountiful valley, but found that he could not. He supposed that he would find out soon enough, though. He took one more look around the landscape and then walked back to the House with Aragorn, eager to see more of the wonders of Imladris.

"And this is the Hall of Fire," Aragorn said. He opened one of a set of large double doors, and Legolas looked into a large hall of dark wood. Carved pillars supported the ceiling, and a single long hearth occupied one wall. A fire burned in the hearth, just enough to illuminate the nearest carvings and send shadows flickering through the corners.

"It is normally quiet and empty," Aragorn went on, "but after the feast tonight, Lord Elrond will likely open it for singing and telling of tales."

"I think I will like that," Legolas said. "I have always been fond of stories." That thought reminded him of a question he had meant to ask. "Are there books here that anyone might read? I do not mean to invade Lord Elrond's private library, but there are so many rooms full of books here. Do you think anyone would mind if I wished to look at them?"

"Not at all," Aragorn said with a smile. "The books in the rooms without doors are free for anyone to read. I think that you will be most interested in the second library in the east wing, for those books are written in Sindarin. The ones in the third library are written in the Common Tongue."

"Good. I can read both of those languages, although I find reading in the Common Tongue to be more difficult."

"Do not fear. There is no shortage of stories in Sindarin."

Legolas laughed. "There is no shortage of anything here. You told me as much when last we met, but this is beyond anything I could have imagined."

"And you have not seen the half of it yet. Have you met any of the inhabitants?"

"I have met one called Erestor," Legolas said. "He showed me to a bedchamber and gave me food."

"Good," Aragorn said. "You need it. The journey from Mirkwood cannot have been easy."

"It was not. But we began to ration our food long before I set out. The trading has grown poor." Legolas shook his head. "I do not wish to think about that right now, not in such a lovely place as this. I will think about it later, perhaps. What else is there to see?"

Aragorn smiled. "There are Hobbits here who would be pleased to meet you. Shall we satisfy their curiosity about Wood-elves?"

"You may do that," Legolas said. "Meanwhile, I will satisfy my curiosity about Hobbits."

"Excellent. Our roads lie together, then."

Legolas followed Aragorn to one of the many small terraces that extended from the House. It was occupied by four Hobbits. Legolas recognized Bilbo Baggins, though he had aged much since he had been in Mirkwood. Bilbo and a younger companion sat on a bench leafing through a large red book, while two more Hobbits lounged at their feet with mugs in their hands. All four looked up, and Bilbo's face split into a wide grin.

"Dúnadan," he said to Aragorn. "I had wondered when you might find time to pop by and greet an old friend." He turned to Legolas and bowed low. "Good afternoon, Master Wood-elf! You must forgive me; your face looks familiar, but I am growing old, and I find that my memory for names is not what it once was."

Legolas smiled. "I do not think that you ever knew my name. I am Legolas."

"He is King Thranduil's son," Aragorn added. Bilbo laughed and clapped his hands together.

"I knew it! I knew you looked familiar. There's Elves and there's Elves, you see. I met quite a few on my travels, and I'm sure I don't remember each one, as I was not at my best at that time. But I remember the Elvenking, that I do, and bless me if you don't have his nose. How is he these days? Still as noble as ever?"

"He fares as well as can be expected," Legolas said. "He remembers you fondly, and when I return home, I will tell him that I have seen you."

"And send my best greetings to him when you do," Bilbo said. "But where have my manners gone? Here I am, prattling away, and I haven't even introduced you to my friends yet! Forget my own head one day, I will." He indicated one of the two Hobbits lounging at his feet. "This is Merry Brandybuck, a cousin of mine from Bucklebury. This is Pippin Took, another cousin from Whitwell. And this is Sam Gamgee."

"Is he also a cousin?" Legolas asked.

"Sam is a good and faithful friend," Bilbo said. "He has been fascinated by Elves since he was a lad. Sam, this is Legolas of Mirkwood. I told you all about my travels in Mirkwood."

"That you did, Mr. Bilbo," Sam said. He set down the book, hopped to his feet, then nearly tripped over them bowing to Legolas. "'Tis an honor to meet you, Mr. Legolas, sir." He flushed bright red but could not take his eyes away from Legolas. Legolas gave a shy smile, unaccustomed to being the object of such scrutiny.

"I will leave you to become acquainted," Aragorn said. "There is someone here I must find."

"She was going to gather herbs today," Bilbo told him. "Though I don't know if she meant in the gardens or in the woods. I didn't think to ask, you see."

"Then I shall have to go and seek her," Aragorn said. He gave a small bow and left. The four Hobbits turned to Legolas with looks of frank curiosity on their faces. Equally fascinated, Legolas knelt down and sat back on his heels in front of the Hobbits.

"Are you really an Elf prince?" Pippin asked.

Legolas nodded. "My father is the King."

"Fancy that," Pippin said. "We've met plenty of noble Elves so far on this trip, but I don't believe we've come across a proper prince yet."

"There was Glorfindel," Merry reminded him. "Didn't Gandalf explain to us about how he was a prince of the Elder Days?"

"Well, yes," Pippin conceded. "But he didn't say exactly how Glorfindel was a prince. Maybe it means something different to be a prince of the Elder Days. But Legolas here is the son of a king and that's surely as proper a prince as you can get."

"Beg pardon, Mr. Pippin," Sam put in. "But if Mr. Legolas is a royal prince and all that, then we ought to show him a little more respect." He bowed to Legolas again, and Legolas suddenly wondered if his manners since arriving had been proper for Imladris.

"I do not know what the custom is here," he admitted. "Were we in my home in Mirkwood, you would bow to me only at the most formal of occasions, or if I were representing my father at the time."

"That doesn't seem fitting," Merry said. "If you're a prince, you ought to be treated like one. I always thought kings and princes liked to go around with a bit of pomp and style."

Legolas shrugged. "Perhaps that is the way of the Noldor," he said, "but we of the Silvan folk have never stood on such ceremony. Much of my time is spent as a member of my father's council."

"Well, that's hardly fair, now, is it?" Pippin said, with a little snort of indignation.

"I do not know," Legolas admitted. "But it is safer. Mirkwood is a perilous place, for Elves are not the only creatures who dwell there, and not all of the other inhabitants are friendly. If I am known as the son of the king, then my life is in greater danger than if I am known only as a Wood-elf who advises him."

Bilbo nodded. "That would explain much," he said. "All that time that I spent trapped in that cave of yours, and I never could discover if the Elvenking had any family. And there you must have been hiding in plain sight all along."

Legolas nodded and ducked his head as warmth prickled his nose. Bilbo turned to Sam.

"You see, Sam," he said, "It's just as I've told you. There's Elves and there's Elves. There's no call for you to be nervous. I guess Legolas here is just as shy of you as you are of him."

Sam blinked and stared at Legolas, as if Bilbo's remark had revealed to him a dimension he had never imagined before. Then he laughed. "Well," he said, "you ninnyhammer, Sam Gamgee! I don't suppose there's call for neither of us to be shy in this place. You're as far from your home as I am from mine, I guess, and this Rivendell is as strange to you as it is to me."

"Likely stranger," Legolas said. "I arrived only this morning, and I am told that you have been here several days already."

"I don't know as I've ever seen a place quite like it," Sam said. "It's big and it's cozy all at once, see? And everywhere you look, all the Elves you could ever hope to see. Begging your pardon, of course, Mr. Legolas, sir," he added, flushing red in the face.

Legolas sighed. "It is full of strangers."

"Well," Pippin broke in, "it's lucky for you, then, that you've met us. We're not strangers."

"Pippin!" Merry hissed. "That's silly."

"Perhaps," Bilbo chuckled. "But I think it is a lovely thought anyway. What do you think, Master Legolas? Are we strangers?"

Legolas considered the question for a moment, then relaxed and straightened on his heels. "No," he said, smiling more openly than he had before. "You are not strangers any more."

"In fact," Bilbo said, with a wink at Sam, "we might even go so far as to become friends."

Sam turned scarlet and hid his face in his hands. Legolas looked at the Hobbits and made the effort to release his reserve. "I think I would like that. I have never had Hobbits as friends before."

"Good," Merry said. "As my Da would say, you can never start younger."

Legolas spent the rest of the afternoon in the company of his new friends. As the shadows of evening lengthened, one of the Elves of Imladris appeared with news that the last Hobbit, Frodo, had risen, and that the feast in his honor would begin in an hour's time. The young Hobbits hurried off to greet their friends, and Bilbo excused himself to resume work on a song he had been composing. Legolas managed to find his way back to his chamber to prepare himself.

He discovered that the clothes he had brought with him had been cleaned and folded neatly on the large bed. He washed his face and hands, then stripped off the clothes he had borrowed from the clothes-press and pulled on his own trousers and the embroidered linen shirt which Thranduil had urged him to bring. Hastily, he ran a comb through his hair and decided that he was as presentable as he could be. With one last glance to ensure that he had left the room tidy, Legolas set out to find the feasting hall.

On his way, he passed a small contingent of Dwarves whose accents were of Erebor. Somehow cheered to discover even so tenuous a reminder of home in Imladris, Legolas bowed to them politely and allowed himself to be secretly amused by the stunned expressions on their coarse faces. He hurried away from them just as they regained their voices. "The stringiest looking Elf I've ever seen," one of them muttered. Legolas wondered if he should be insulted, but did not have time to dwell on the problem, as Erestor waved to him from the crowd milling about the entrance to the feasting hall.

"Legolas!" he called. "Come, you will sit by me tonight." Grateful, Legolas hurried to Erestor's side. "I understand that you have spent part of the day in Aragorn's company," Erestor went on, "but he will not be able to attend the feast tonight. The sons of Elrond have returned suddenly, and he has gone to take conference with them. I thought that you would appreciate seeing a familiar face anyway, so I hope that I will suffice."

"Thank you, Erestor. That is kind of you. It does ease my heart."

Erestor located their seats near the head of one of the side tables. The table was covered with a thick, dark red cloth and decorated with complex arrangements of flowers, mirrors, and candles. The trappings were finer than those of the Wood-elves' feasts, but they seemed to fit with the wealth and comfort of Imladris. Legolas very much wanted to pick up and examine the metal cutlery to see how it felt compared to the horn utensils he used at home, but he remembered his station as his father's representative and kept his hands in his lap. Erestor leaned over to murmur low in his ear.

"I have seen the style in which your people serve feasts," he said, "so I will warn you that we do things differently here. The food will not be brought to the table all at once; it will come in courses. Do not be alarmed if the first course seems meager. It is there mainly to heighten the appetite, and more substantial food will arrive in its own time."

Legolas nodded, but did not have time to say more, for Elrond rang a small bell, and the feast began.

After Elrond made a short speech of welcome to the guests and thanks to the Valar for their providence, serving Elves set trays full of miniature tarts on the table. The filling appeared to be a savory mixture of meat and sauce, spiced to give it an appetizing aroma. Legolas was familiar with such tarts, as Galion occasionally made them for informal meals. He nibbled experimentally at the crust and was surprised at the smooth flavor of the pastry. "What is in this?" he asked.

"I do not know," Erestor said. "I do not spend much time in the kitchens. It is pastry. Presumably it contains flour, water and butter, but that is all that I know."

Just as the guests finished their tarts, the waitstaff removed the empty trays, leaving those that still held extra tarts, and set tureens of fragrant onion soup on the tables. The soup was rich with butter, with a subtle tang of a spice that Legolas could not identify, and he ate it without spilling a single drop. The tarts and the soup seemed to be an excellent meal. Legolas considered taking another tart, since there did not seem to be any lack, but he noticed that Elrond had not. Not wishing to be rude, Legolas finished his soup and contented himself with making polite conversation with Erestor and Lindir, the Elf seated at his other side. Every now and then, he stole an admiring glance at the Lady Arwen, who seemed to glow in her silvery gray gown and jeweled cap.

The waitstaff appeared again, this time bearing dishes full of spiced nuts and trays of chopped and sliced fruit. Legolas appreciated the effort that had gone into the spiced nuts, but was overjoyed to see apple slices along with plums and pears on the fruit trays. He had loved apples ever since he could remember. Thranduil had occasionally teased him gently for his taste for such imported treats, but always managed to have at least a few apples in the delvings. Legolas helped himself to as many pieces as seemed proper and ate them with such delight that Erestor laughed and put more in front of him. "I see what it is that you like," he said. "You were very clever to arrive here just in time for the apple harvest. I will be sure to tell Lord Elrond to make sure that there is a basket of apples in your chamber at all times."

Legolas opened his mouth to reply, but fell silent with astonishment. The serving Elves had returned yet again. They brought platters of roast chickens, small game birds, fish, venison, beef, and mutton, all surrounded with crisply roasted potatoes. There were gravies and sauces, wobbly jellies, baskets full of light bread, and bowls of fresh garden vegetables dressed temptingly with herbs and oil. Legolas had thought that the feast was over; instead, it seemed that it had barely begun. He could do little more than stare dumbfounded at the sight of more food than he had ever before seen at one meal, even at the most lavish Yule feast in Mirkwood.

Erestor noticed his paralysis and quietly filled his plate with small portions of each dish on the table. "Do not worry," he said. "Eat as much as you wish."

"I cannot possibly eat all of this," Legolas objected. "I do not wish to waste food."

Erestor chuckled. "Eat your fill, and do not worry about that," he said. "There are five Hobbits in Imladris at the moment, after all. No food will be wasted, you may be sure of that."

Indeed, the Hobbits were eating and drinking merrily. One of them looked over, nodded at Legolas, and raised a cup in his general direction. Encouraged, Legolas returned the salute and turned his attention to the morsels on his plate. The food was delicious, but very rich, and Legolas ate slowly, listening as Erestor pointed out some of the more notable guests at the feast. Mithrandir sat near Lord Elrond, as did a strikingly handsome Elf who turned out to be none other than Glorfindel, of whom songs were sung even in Mirkwood. There were a few of Círdan's folk from the western shore, and one or two Men, though Aragorn was not among them. And, of course, seated at the other side table, there were the Dwarves, who seemed to be quite friendly with the Hobbits. Legolas feared that he was staring, but the event was dazzling in its richness and variety, and he wanted to remember every detail to recount to his father and Luindil when he returned home.

He was sure that the feast had reached its peak, when the waitstaff appeared for the fifth time. This course consisted of slices of light, dry cake topped with dollops of thick, almond-scented cream, decorated with candied rose petals. Legolas took a small bite and was startled at the sweetness. It was too much. The feast had become too overwhelming for him to comprehend. Legolas bowed his head and covered his eyes, as much to shut out the sight of the food as to keep from embarrassing himself by weeping.

Lindir made a small, concerned noise, and Erestor gently laid a hand on Legolas's arm. "Is the cake not to your taste?" he asked in a low voice.

"I do not know," Legolas said. "It is so sweet . . . I can barely taste it. It is too much. I cannot eat it."

"Then you do not have to eat it," Erestor said. "I think that you have been too long deprived of adequate nourishment, and it will take some time to accustom yourself to the abundance of this valley. Do not worry, Lord Elrond will not be insulted. He is a healer and is quite familiar with the effects of both injury and deprivation. I believe that there are more apples on the tray to your left, if you do not want cake; you seemed to enjoy them earlier."

Lindir placed a few slices on a saucer and passed it to Legolas. Gratefully, Legolas pushed the cake away. "You seem happier," Lindir said. "Now, Erestor and I have told you all the news from this side of the mountains. It is high time for you to return the favor. Tell us something of life in Mirkwood."

Elrond and Arwen signaled the end of the feast by rising and leading the company to the Hall of Fire, where there was to be singing and storytelling late into the night. Aragorn and Bilbo were there, and Bilbo chanted a song of his own invention about Eärendil and Elwing. Lindir called for a repetition when it was finished, but Bilbo declined politely, and the Elves moved on to other subjects.

"Sing us something from Mirkwood, Legolas," Elrond suggested. "Surely you know a song that we do not sing here."

Legolas thought for a moment, then stood and sang an old hymn to Elbereth that Thranduil had taught him when he was very small and that was sung at every festival of the Wood-elves.

"That is lovely," Arwen said when Legolas had finished. "I am familiar with the hymn, but I do not believe I have ever heard that melody before."

Legolas bowed. "It is a Silvan melody, Lady, so I am not surprised that you do not know it."

Arwen laughed. "Surprising or not, it is a state of affairs which must be remedied. Will you teach it to us?"

"Gladly."

The Elves of Imladris were quick to learn both the melody and a simple descant. After they had sung it through several times, Elrond declared it a worthy addition to his store of music. Then Lindir rose and began to chant a section of the Noldolantë. Legolas listened happily, and found that his shyness had vanished. He sang and made conversation with the residents of Imladris far into the night. At last, cheerful and at peace for the first time in many days, he excused himself and made his way back to his sleeping chamber. There, the large, soft bed waited to welcome him into deep, soothing dreams.

Legolas could barely keep his thoughts straight as he folded clothes and traveling supplies to pack for the journey home. What he had heard at Elrond's council that morning had shaken him. Even though Mithrandir seemed to have forgiven the Wood-elves their loss of Gollum, it appeared that far worse calamities loomed in the near future. Legolas had been stunned to hear both that the One Ring had been found, and that the muttering wretch he had helped to guard was bound up with it. Now he understood why the dark power that inhabited Dol Guldur had thought Gollum important enough to send a force of Orcs after him, and why his friends and comrades had died defending their home.

At that thought, Legolas let his tinderbox slip from his nerveless fingers onto the bed. A great war was coming, and it looked unlikely that anyone would escape it. It was bad enough that twelve Elves had died in the summer's attack, but it seemed that they would not be the last. A sudden knot of terror twisted inside Legolas, and in that instant, he wanted nothing more than to be at his father's side to defend their home against the coming assault. That fear spurred him into action, and he hastily shoved his clothes and supplies into his pack. If he hurried, he could be well on his way with several hours of daylight left for travel.

A knock at the door drew him out of his planning. "Come in," he called. The door opened, and Mithrandir entered. Legolas's nervousness turned to anger, but he refrained from saying something rude. Instead, he gazed sullenly at the floor, refusing to meet Mithrandir's eyes.

"You did well at the Council," Mithrandir said. "I had heard of the event prior to your arrival here, of course, but it was good that everyone heard it."

At this, Legolas's head snapped up. He balled his hands into fists and gritted his teeth. "You knew?" he spat. "You knew that Gollum had been taken from us before I arrived here?" He turned away from his old friend. "What am I saying? Of course you knew. This whole journey has been in vain. What else did you neglect to tell us? You knew that the Enemy was searching for Gollum?"

Mithrandir sighed. "I had my suspicions."

"Why did you not tell us?" Legolas cried. "We did as you asked. We treated Gollum with kindness; we permitted him to walk among the trees and take comfort from them. His guards were armed only enough to prevent him from running away. You did not tell us that Gollum's presence would attract a horde of attacking Orcs. Twelve of my comrades died that night because of what you did not tell us!" Legolas was shaking with fury now, and he tried desperately to bring himself under control.

A look of compassion flashed across Mithrandir's face, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am truly sorry for your losses, Legolas," he said. "It was never my intent that any of your folk should lose their lives."

"Then why did you not give us some warning of what you knew?"

"I am sorry," Mithrandir repeated. "I had hoped that Gollum would be so concealed in the forest with your folk that Sauron would not think to search for him there. And I did not tell your folk everything I suspected so that you could not give anything away under torture should the worst happen."

Legolas remembered Padathir, who had vanished without a trace, and shuddered at the thought of what might have become of him. "They gave up their lives, but your secret was safe."

"As I said, I did not intend for your care of Gollum to end in that manner. This is not the first mistake I have made, nor, I fear, will it be the last. I grieve for your losses."

Finally, Legolas raised his eyes to meet Mithrandir's. The wizard did indeed appear to be affected by the thought of the dead Elves. Legolas felt much of his anger drain away, and he sat heavily on the bed, his shoulders slumped.

"Are you quite finished?" Mithrandir asked. Legolas nodded. "I came to see you in part to thank you for your willingness to save the completion of your errand for the Council," Mithrandir went on. "I did not expect such a rebuke, but I suppose that I have earned it. I have also come to tell you that Lord Elrond wishes to speak with you in his library as soon as you are able to see him."

Legolas looked at his half-filled pack, then rose to his feet. "I can go to him now, if he wishes. There is not much left to pack, and I may still be on my way home today."

"We will see about that," Mithrandir said. Something about the tone of his voice struck Legolas as ominous, but he held his tongue as he followed Mithrandir out into the corridor.

Elrond was in the midst of writing out a message when Legolas and Mithrandir arrived, but he put the message to one side when he saw them. "Legolas," he said, "welcome. I am glad to see that you are still here. I feared that you had left already."

"I had planned to leave later today," Legolas said. "I am grateful for your hospitality, but my father must know what was revealed at your Council."

"I agree," Elrond said. "I am in the midst of dispatching messengers to distant parts to inform them of that which they must know and to seek news of the servants of the Enemy. I will not send the Ringbearer forth until I know which ways are being watched and which are not."

"Do you wish me to bear such a message to my father?" Legolas asked. "I can delay my departure until you have written it."

Elrond suddenly looked uncomfortable. His eyes met Mithrandir's, and a strange glance passed between them. Though not especially gifted with foresight, Legolas immediately became wary when he saw it. Elrond took a deep breath. "I had not intended for you to bear the message," he said. "I had intended to ask you to remain in Imladris for a while longer."

"I am honored," Legolas said carefully, "but I fear that I cannot accept such an invitation. The journey over the Misty Mountains is not an easy one in the best of circumstances, and from what I have heard, it will become more difficult the longer I tarry here. There is no need for you to waste a member of your household simply for a message when I must travel that route in any event."

"You are forgetting the return message," Elrond said. "One of my household can bear my message and any reply your father will make. But that is not the only reason that I would have you remain here. You have only just arrived, after all, and the journey here seems to have drained much of your strength. I would have you stay here and regain that strength before you set out."

"But the journey will grow no easier. And winter is coming. Crossing the mountains is difficult enough in autumn; I do not wish to attempt it alone in the winter."

Elrond's mouth quirked into an odd half-smile. "I do not intend to send you over the Misty Mountains alone," he said.

"And yet you would have me tarry here while you send others to bear a message to my father. I do not understand."

Mithrandir stepped forward. "You are not the only guest here whose journey leads over the Mountains," he said.

"The Dwarves?" Legolas asked. "You would have me escort them through the woods?" He did not especially care for the idea of spending so long in a company of Dwarves, but he supposed that their company would be better than none at all.

"The Ringbearer's journey will also take him into the Wild," Mithrandir said gently.

"Frodo cannot make his journey alone," Elrond said. "I said that I would send Sam along with him, but there must be a larger party. I had thought to include you in that group, Legolas."

For a moment, Legolas forgot how to breathe. "Why?" he choked out. "Why me? Glorfindel of Gondolin dwells here. You have no need for Thranduil's son."

"Do I not?" Elrond asked. "It is true that Glorfindel is one of the mightiest Elves in Middle-earth, but it is not might alone that will be required for this journey."

"What, then? What do you require of me?"

"You are well acquainted with a life of watchfulness," Elrond said. "Your eye is keen, and if Thranduil's folk are as I remember them, you are skilled in the use of the bow you carry. And you are strong and hardy, especially if you take time to rest here and recover from your exhaustion."

Legolas opened his mouth to respond to that when a horrible thought struck him. Perhaps he had been wrong, and Mithrandir had not forgiven the loss of Gollum after all. Perhaps this was the penance he wanted; Legolas would risk his life to pay for his people's failure. He glanced at Mithrandir, but the wizard's face remained impassive.

"My father needs me," Legolas said, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.

The lines of Elrond's face softened. "I am sure he does need you. It is not my intention to send you anywhere against your will. But know that, in this hour, I have as much need of you as does your father. I wish very much that you will agree to this."

"For Gollum," Legolas murmured.

"No," Mithrandir said gently. "This is no longer about Gollum. That is over and forgiven. If you would know, it was I who recommended to Elrond that you be chosen for this journey. You are strong and skilled with your weapons, but that description would fit any Elf in Imladris. You have an open and loving heart, Legolas; when I see you struggle past your shyness to befriend a guest in your halls or the most humble of Hobbits, I know that you have courage as well. I think that the Ringbearer will have as much need of your comfort as of your protection."

"You do not need to decide in this instant," Elrond said. "I will delay sending the messengers to Mirkwood until tomorrow, and if you decide against accompanying the Ringbearer, then I will honor your choice and send you home with them. But remember this. What is to come will not affect Mirkwood alone. It is possible that you may serve your home better by doing this than by returning there. The choice is yours to make."

"Thank you," Legolas said. "I will let you know my decision shortly." He bowed deeply to Elrond and Mithrandir and left the library.

The day was beautiful, the air crisp and cool. Legolas did not want to remain inside more than necessary, and he thought that the fresh air would help him think about his choice. He walked outside and made his way to a small grove of beech trees some distance from the House. Their brilliant autumn colors were fading, and their leaves were beginning to fall. Legolas sat down beneath the largest one and hugged his knees close to his chest.

He remembered Thranduil's parting words to him, an expression of love and a plea to come home again as soon as he was able. The journey seemed a desperate, foolish thing. It was far more likely that it would kill him than that it would succeed. And yet, a small, treacherous voice in the back of his mind pointed out that, if the Ringbearer's quest were not successful, nothing Legolas could do would save his home. And Elrond, renowned as one of the wisest people in the world, clearly thought that Legolas's presence was needed to ensure the Ringbearer's success.

Legolas thought about his grandmother. Every now and then, Thranduil would offer a bit of wisdom he had learned from his mother, who had faded long before Legolas was born. Sometimes Legolas wished that he had known his grandmother, for her words always seemed both wise and comforting at once. Thranduil had often spoken to Legolas about making choices, and he had passed on his mother's wisdom on the subject. "If you have been raised properly, your heart will know the right course of action before it beats ten times," she had said. "The difficulty lies in accepting what your heart tells you to do."

Legolas closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of thought so that he could hear the words of his heart. For a moment, there was silence in the grove and inside of him, and in that instant he knew what he would choose.

A moment later, the soft sound of feet crunching through the fallen leaves broke the stillness. Legolas opened his eyes and looked up to see one of the Hobbits, though he did not quite remember which one. The Hobbit jumped, startled as the Elf's gaze suddenly fixed on him.

"Oh! Beg pardon, Mr. Legolas, sir! I didn't mean to wake you. If I'd known you were sleeping, I'd have chosen another way."

"Sam?" Legolas guessed.

"Yes." Sam looked pleased that Legolas had remembered his name.

Legolas smiled a little. "You did not wake me, for I was not sleeping."

"Thinking, then? Old Mr. Bilbo used to do that. He'd stretch out in his garden back in the Shire and shut his eyes, but he wouldn't be sleeping. He said he was remembering his adventures and all the people he met on 'em. Are you remembering old adventures?"

"No. I am thinking about a new one." Sam looked puzzled, so Legolas elaborated. "Mithrandir -- you call him Gandalf, yes? I remember that Aragorn told me that. Gandalf and Lord Elrond have both expressed a desire for me to accompany the Ringbearer on his journey."

At this, Sam's face lit up. "Really? You'll come with us, then?"

"I do not know." Even as he said it, Legolas knew that that statement was rapidly becoming a lie. "Would it please you if I did?"

"Oh, yes! I hate to think of poor Mr. Frodo out there on his way to Mordor with no one but his Sam at his side. Gandalf said he'd come, too, but he . . . well, he's proved less than reliable lately. I'd feel a sight better if I knew Mr. Frodo had a mighty Elf warrior along to protect him."

Legolas laughed. "I must confess something to you. I am indeed an Elf, and I am a warrior when I must be, but I do not feel mighty at all. Lord Glorfindel is mighty. The prospect of marching into Mordor frightens me much more than I ought to admit."

At that, Sam suddenly looked stricken. "So you won't be coming with us after all?"

"I did not say that."

Sam was silent for a moment. He appeared to be pondering the wisdom of speaking his next thoughts aloud. "Well, beg pardon if I speak too strong, Mr. Legolas," he said at last, "but it seems that Lord Elrond's fixing to send at least one Elf along on this mad journey. Now, I'm not making out that I have a say in the matter, but if I had my druthers, I'd want to have you along with us."

This was a new thought, and Legolas considered it seriously. "Why me?" he asked. "You do not know me especially well. From what Aragorn has told me, you are more familiar with Lord Glorfindel."

"I don't know about that," Sam said. "It's true we met him before we met you, but I don't feel as though I really know him, if you take my meaning. Lord Glorfindel is great and glorious, but he seems awful far off, like a figure from a story of the olden days."

"There is good reason for that. He did valiant deeds in the Elder Days, of which songs are still sung."

"That's all well and good. But, meaning no disrespect, mind you, sometimes I think that Lord Glorfindel is too great and mighty for us Hobbits. Leastaways, I don't know about Mr. Frodo or the others, but I feel as small as a little mouse next to him."

"Do I not make you feel the same way?" Legolas asked. "Though I am not as tall as Lord Glorfindel, I am still much taller than you are."

Sam smiled. "You're sitting down," he pointed out. "Not all the Elves here would sit down to talk to a Hobbit."

Legolas had no answer to that. He recognized Sam's intimidation; Imladris seemed to have the same effect on him. "You seem fascinated by Elves," he remarked. "And I cannot deny that I am rather curious about Hobbits. I have not met very many. You would prefer my company to Glorfindel's, then?"

"If it comes down to that, yes," Sam said. "I don't want to make out as how I know anything about it, but I guess that you could fight as well as Lord Glorfindel in a pinch, and you'd be a fine companion to have around. For Mr. Frodo's peace of mind, of course," he added hastily.

Suddenly, it seemed as though a great burden had been lifted from Legolas's shoulders. The fear had not lessened, but there was no longer any doubt in his mind as to what he would do. He turned to look directly at Sam.

"Thank you," he said. "I know what I must do, but I am afraid to do it. Your words give me courage."

"I didn't know Elves were ever afraid," Sam said. "I mean, the idea of having you along with us makes me feel braver. I never thought that old Sam Gamgee could do the same for a prince of the Elves."

"You encourage me, and I encourage you," Legolas said. "That might make us good companions for such a journey." He sat back against the tree trunk and allowed its welcoming strength to pour into him, giving him the courage to state his choice aloud to Elrond.

As the sun began to set in a haze of soft pink and golden light, Legolas walked slowly through the corridors of Imladris in search of its Lord. With each step, a small part of him cried out that it was not too late to change his mind, to run to the stables, fetch his horse and set out for home that very instant. But he knew that, in the end, he could not do that. Thranduil had taught him always to do what was right, and he could no more betray his father's teaching than he could abandon those who, it seemed, had come to place their trust in him.

He found Elrond in a comfortable chair on a porch, similar to the one where the Council had been held, but smaller and more screened by trees and shrubs. He knocked gently at the open doorway that led to the porch. Elrond turned around and smiled when he saw Legolas.

"Welcome," he said. "Come outside. Do you wish to join me? It is a lovely evening, and I fear that I have been remiss as a host. I have not yet had the opportunity to ask you about how Mirkwood fares these days. You may sit beside me and tell me the news from your father's realm."

"Perhaps another time," Legolas said, moving to sit on his heels at Elrond's feet. His mouth went dry, and he took a deep breath.

"Another time?" Elrond asked. "Does this mean that you intend to accept my invitation to stay in Imladris for a while longer?"

Legolas nodded, a quick, convulsive motion. "I came to tell you that I have made my choice." He clenched his hands on his knees to keep them from shaking. "Send your messengers to Mirkwood tomorrow, Lord Elrond. I will accompany the Ringbearer, as you have asked." He closed his eyes and breathed in and out. He had spoken his choice, and he could not take back his words now.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that Elrond was regarding him with an expression of mingled pleasure and concern. "Thank you, Legolas," he said gravely. "I am glad that you agree to do this willingly. I believe that your choice will greatly increase our chances of success, but I understand that it is a difficult thing for you. I do not wish to bind you against your will, so I will lay no obligation on you to make the entire journey. The first stage will take you over the Misty Mountains. You may continue to your home from there, should you so desire, and I would count your offer fulfilled."

"Thank you," Legolas said. "I will consider that." As he looked into Elrond's eyes, he saw that Elrond knew as well as he did that that statement was nothing more than polite fiction. Legolas had chosen to bind his fate to that of the Ringbearer, and he would not turn back on his word.

"Then I will send the messengers tomorrow at first light," Elrond said. "Is there anything else you would ask of me before I send them?"

"Yes," Legolas said. "Will you ask them to carry an extra message? I wish to write a letter to my father. He waits for me to come home, but. . . I will not," he finished lamely.

Elrond sighed. "I do not know if that is wise," he said. "This journey must remain secret, and I do not wish to risk having such a letter fall into unfriendly hands should the messenger be captured along the way. However," he added, seeing Legolas's stricken expression, "I am a father myself as well as a Lord. I have sent my own sons on perilous journeys, and I know how your father would treasure any message that you sent him. You may send your letter, but you must write it carefully. Say nothing directly about the purpose or destination of this quest, nothing that could betray the Ringbearer. I will ask to examine the letter when you have written it, and if I deem it safe, I will send it with the messengers tomorrow."

Legolas nodded. It was not enough, but it was more than he had hoped. "Thank you, Lord Elrond," he said. "By your leave, I will write my letter now."

"Erestor will give you pen, ink and paper," Elrond said. Legolas rose to his feet and bowed. Then he left the porch, already struggling to compose in his head what he feared would be his last farewell to his father.

The next morning dawned gray and rainy. Elrond had vetted Legolas's message to Thranduil the night before and pronounced it acceptable. Now Legolas handed it to one of the messengers who were setting off for Mirkwood. "Please deliver this to the King's hand," he said. "Take the Elf Path through Mirkwood; it is better defended from spiders and Orcs than is the Forest Road. And do not drink of the enchanted stream."

"I understand," the messenger said. "I thank you for the advice. Now we must be off." He strode out to where his companion was already mounted and ready to go, and swung up onto his horse's back. "Farewell, Lord Elrond!" he called. "We will return as soon as we may!" The two messengers galloped away down the path. Legolas watched them leave for Mirkwood without him, his arms wrapped around his body. He watched until they rounded a corner and vanished beyond sight, then turned to face Elrond, who stood beside him.

"This is hard for you," Elrond said, "but you are brave to do it. I am honored and grateful for the gift of your courage, Legolas."

Legolas nodded, not certain that he could speak.

"They will be gone for nearly two months, I should guess," Elrond went on. "I will not send the Ringbearer forth until my scouts return with news. In the meantime, you and the others will stay here as my guests. Rest, eat, and grow strong here, for you will need it on the road to come."

Legolas swallowed hard and found his voice. "Thank you, Lord Elrond. Imladris is indeed a pleasant place. It is everything I imagined, and more."

"Thank you. I have worked hard to make it so. Now, what would you like to do today?"

Legolas looked out at the rain. Riding and exploring the grounds would not be pleasant in this weather, and he doubted that his hunting skills were needed at the moment. Then an idea struck him. There was one thing that he had always wanted to do since he was very small. He had never been allowed to do it at home, as there had always been work that needed doing, but he was in Imladris now, and Elrond had all but ordered him to rest. He turned to the Lord of Imladris and smiled. "If you would permit me, Lord Elrond, I think that I wish to spend the day reading stories. There are so many here, and I find myself with unexpected leisure time."

Elrond nodded sagely. "I think that is an excellent plan. I recommend that you begin with the second library in the east wing. The couches there are large and soft, and the light is good, even on a wet day such as this one. Come, I will show you the way."

He showed Legolas to the library. Just as he had promised, there was a cushioned couch in addition to several small reading tables. Legolas selected a large book containing lays of old Beleriand and sat down on the couch.

"Read to your heart's content," Elrond said. "Someone will fetch you for lunch. I expect you to attend and eat. Then you may return to your stories." He lit a lamp with a coal from the fire and left Legolas to his book. Legolas curled up on the couch and promptly lost himself in tales of valor from the First Age.

November and December passed almost in a haze for Legolas. He was free to do as he pleased, and he chose to spend much time riding and hunting with Aragorn and his new acquaintance Boromir, or joining the Hobbits at their amusements. Bilbo frequently held court, and the other Hobbits never seemed to tire of his tales of adventure. Legolas found himself intrigued by Bilbo's descriptions of Mirkwood and the time he had spent in the delvings. He had never had the opportunity to consider his home from an outside perspective and Bilbo's observations fascinated him. Among other things, he learned how thirteen Dwarves and one Hobbit had managed to escape from beneath the noses of the Elves.

"I shall have to tell Menellir your tale," he said. "To this day, he and Galion turn bright red with disgrace whenever that incident is mentioned. Menellir has always maintained his innocence, but he has never been able to offer a convincing explanation of what happened."

"I always did feel badly for setting him up like that," Bilbo chuckled. "You may exonerate him when you return home."

"If I return home," Legolas murmured. Bilbo gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Don't despair yet," he said. "Where there's breath, there's hope, I always say. I returned home from my adventures, after all, and everyone was so sure that I had died that I returned in the middle of an auction of my property. Lost a set of lovely silver spoons to the Sackville-Bagginses, I did."

Bilbo also described for Legolas his encounter with Gollum, and how he had won the Ring by wit and guile. Legolas was only too familiar with Gollum's own treachery, and his admiration for Bilbo increased.

Legolas also found that he enjoyed spending time with Sam. Sam appeared to have adopted him as an Elf he could talk to without feeling too intimidated, and he was eager to hear tales of Elvish life in Mirkwood. He also had a taste for songs and poetry, and Legolas spent many wet days in the library with Sam. Sam could read a little of the Common Tongue, but he did not know any of the Elvish languages. Legolas would select a book of tales and read them to Sam, haltingly translating each line as he went. Sam soaked in the stories appreciatively, and Legolas was glad of the chance to practice speaking in the Common Tongue in preparation for the upcoming journey.

As Aragorn had promised, food was plentiful in Imladris, and Elrond and Mithrandir encouraged Legolas to eat as much as he wanted. Months of short rations in Mirkwood had dulled Legolas's appetite, but he managed to eat most of what his host set in front of him, and gradually, he found his appetite returning. When he looked in the mirror, he was pleased to see the hollows in his face disappearing and the angles in his joints softening a little.

Pleasant as life in Imladris was, Legolas was always conscious that it was a temporary pleasure. Members of Elrond's household measured him and the other chosen members of what was rapidly becoming known as the Company for new, warm clothes to take along on their journey. When December came, the cooks began to set aside packages of dried and wrapped food, and Legolas began to see rough camp blankets sitting on linen chests. Elrond and Mithrandir conferred often behind closed doors.

Legolas guessed that the scouts would return near Yule, and that the Quest would begin within a few days of their return. As the days grew shorter, the weight of his doom seemed to grow heavier upon his shoulders. He knew that the others were feeling something similar. Aragorn had grown quieter and more contemplative, and had taken to spending more time in private conversation with the Lady Arwen. Boromir and Gimli the Dwarf were becoming restive, and Sam had taken to fussing more over Frodo's welfare. Legolas spent as much time as he could in the beech grove, soaking in the song of trees that were healthy and at peace.

"Garrisons," King Thranduil said, looking over the map of Mirkwood spread out on the council table before him. "I think that we must transform the southern guardposts into something approximating full garrisons."

"Our situation is dire indeed, then," Menellir sighed. "I do not know that we have the resources to do that. Building materials we have in plenty; we can certainly fortify the posts. But I do not think that we can supply such garrisons, especially as they are likely to suffer considerable damage in the event of attack."

"Then let us at least begin by staffing them with healers and healing supplies," Thranduil said. "The worst problem for the guards in the south appears to be an increase in skirmishes with Orcs and spiders. If the wounded can be healed without the need to transport them back --" A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in."

The door opened, and Luindil appeared. He sketched a hasty bow to his King. "Forgive my intrusion," he said, "but this is urgent. Two messengers have just arrived from Imladris, and they ask to speak to the King immediately."

"From Imladris?" Thranduil was immediately interested. It had been over two months since Legolas had left, and he ought to have returned by now. Thranduil hoped that the messengers would have an explanation for this. "I am on my way. Menellir, I must apologize for breaking off this discussion. I assure you, we will resume it later."

"Of course, my Lord. I understand completely."

"Good. In the meantime, discover what healers and supplies might be sent south."

"Yes, my Lord. I will have the figures for you shortly."

"Thank you." Thranduil turned to Luindil. "Where are they?"

"They are in the Great Hall." Luindil's face was grave. "Legolas is not with them."

Thranduil put on what he hoped was an optimistic smile. "Then we will have to ask them how he fares." He followed Luindil down the corridor. Luindil threw open the doors to the Great Hall.

"King Thranduil of Mirkwood!" he announced. Thranduil strode regally into the Great Hall and seated himself on his carved wooden throne as two strange Elves sank to their knees. He acknowledged them with a nod.

"Rise and present yourselves," he commanded. The Elves rose to their feet and approached the throne. One held what looked like a letter in his hand.

"I bear greetings from Lord Elrond of Imladris to King Thranduil of Mirkwood," he said formally. "I am commanded to bear two messages to the King. The first is from Lord Elrond, and I am commanded to speak it aloud."

"Say it, then."

The messenger began to recite. He told the tale of a council that Elrond had held, on short notice and in the utmost secrecy. It seemed that strange and dark tidings had come out of that council. The One Ring had been found. Sauron himself knew of its existence and was massing his forces to find it and seize it for himself. War was coming to Middle-earth, and it did not seem that there was any way that this fate could be avoided.

Thranduil listened calmly to this news, which distressed him but did not surprise him. He had long suspected that the Last Alliance had not ended the Enemy's power completely, and now his suspicions were confirmed. Thranduil's heart sank at the thought of another war on the scale of the Last Alliance, but in an odd way, he felt relieved as well. The war of attrition his people had waged for the past Age of the World had worn them down and brutalized them for far too long. Now, things would change. Whether for good or ill, Thranduil could not yet guess, but no matter what happened, the slow bleeding of his people would cease. If that was the case, then so be it. If the Enemy wanted war, then the Wood-elves would give him a war, and if they were not victorious, then at least they would take as many of their foes as possible down with them.

"Thank you for informing me of this," Thranduil said. "I will inform my closest counselors and send a reply to Lord Elrond as soon as I may. I offer you Mirkwood's hospitality while you wait. What else do you have to tell me?"

The messenger exchanged a glance with his companion and offered up the letter he bore. "I bear this from your son," he said. "I believe it is of a . . . personal nature."

Thranduil willed his hands not to shake as he reached for the letter. If nothing else, its existence proved that Legolas had reached Imladris alive, something that Thranduil had wondered about ever since Neldorín had returned, limping, with the tale of how he and Legolas had become separated at the house of Grimbeorn. Quickly, Thranduil broke the seal on the letter and began to read. For one horrible moment, his heart stopped.

Luindil, standing in his accustomed place next to the throne, saw Thranduil's face turn gray and heard the King's gasp. "What is wrong, my Lord?" he asked.

Thranduil waved vaguely in the direction of the messengers from Imladris. "Send them away," he choked out. "Give them food, beds, whatever they need."

"King Thranduil --" one of the messengers began. Thranduil glared at him.

"I have received your messages. I will call you when I have composed a reply. You are dismissed."

Before they could protest, Luindil herded them to a side exit from the Great Hall. He located a page and instructed her to find meals and bedchambers for the messengers and inform him of the arrangements later. He returned to the Great Hall to find Thranduil sitting limply on his throne, Legolas's letter dangling from nerveless fingers. A strange expression, one of immense pride and shattering terror mixed, was upon his face. Luindil approached him cautiously.

"What has happened?" he asked. "Is Legolas well?"

"He will not return from his errand," Thranduil said. He offered the letter to Luindil. "Read it."

Luindil took the letter and glanced over it. The careful script was indeed Legolas's. Reassured that the King's son had indeed been well enough to write, he read the message.

Luindil read the letter twice, then looked up at Thranduil, shock coursing through his body. Thranduil's eyes glittered, and Luindil was suddenly aware of how hollow the sockets had become. He placed a hand on Thranduil's shoulder, and Thranduil gripped it.

"He has so much courage," Thranduil murmured. "I only wish that I could tell him how proud I am to be his father. Are the messengers still here?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then I will send that message back to Imladris. It will have to suffice." Thranduil shuddered and blinked hard several times. "I fear that I will not rest easily until my son comes home to me again," he said.

Luindil nodded. "Likely you will soon have other fears to occupy your mind," he said. "War is coming. Even were he close by your side, Legolas would not be safe. Perhaps his fortune will be kinder than ours, on whatever road he must travel."

Thranduil closed his eyes. "Elbereth keep him safe through what is to come," he said softly.

The lengthening shadows filled the bedchamber as Legolas looked around one last time to make sure he had not forgotten anything. All of Elrond's messengers had returned, bearing news from distant lands. The Sword of Elendil had been forged anew, and Merry and Pippin had been chosen to bring the Company's numbers to nine. All the preparations for their journey were complete. Tonight, four days after Yule, they would depart.

Imladris seemed uncharacteristically quiet. Even as the Company's departure time drew near, Elrond had maintained the usual good cheer of his House. Its residents had continued to gather in the Hall of Fire in the evenings to tell tales and sing songs, and they had celebrated Yule in high spirits.

There had been another grand feast, which Legolas had enjoyed much more than the first, now that he was prepared for its scale. Although he did not expect Elrond's Noldor-influenced house to keep the tradition of the Masque, he was pleasantly surprised to learn that the inhabitants did sing and dance during the Longest Night, after their own fashion. Indeed, after many fashions, for the guests at that Yule celebration represented most of the Free Peoples of the world. Gimli and his father Glóin had sung Dwarvish carols from Erebor, and the Hobbits had danced and made merry. Boromir had told tales of Yule celebrations in Minas Tirith, where all shared in the light of the new Yule log. Legolas had even been so bold as to pick up a frame drum and request that Lindir follow him as he played a Silvan dance rhythm and sang the accompaniment.

Lindir's harp did not have the same driving tone as a fiddle, but he played it well, and he was skilled enough to improvise around the unfamiliar rhythm. Legolas had enjoyed the blended music they made, as did the rest of the guests. Many swayed in their seats, and even the Dwarves' feet were tapping along with the music. Arwen was the first to rise. She pulled Aragorn to his feet and began to dance with him, making up the steps as she went along. Soon, everyone in the Hall of Fire was dancing, the music and laugher ringing somewhat defiantly into the night.

But the celebration was over now, and the time for farewells and perilous deeds had come. Legolas had packed all of his things and stood dressed in the thick, warm, new clothes that Elrond had provided for him. He had tidied the bedchamber, and it was once again as lovely and inviting as it had been when Erestor had first opened the door. He drew his new fur-lined cloak around his shoulders, and as he clasped it, his hand brushed against the little wooden leaf which hung from a leather thong at his throat.

Thranduil had sent it to him along with his messages to Elrond. His message to Legolas had been brief and loving, and Legolas read in the wooden charm all that Thranduil could not say in words. The wood was oak, for strength, but the form was a beech leaf, for love. It was a small piece of his home that Legolas could carry with him wherever his journey took him, resting just below his collarbone, above his heart. When he had tied the charm around his neck, his apprehension had not vanished, but it seemed to become smaller, something that he could control.

He fastened his cloak, picked up his pack and left the bedchamber. He hurried through the silent corridors and out into the front courtyard. Boromir stood still and quiet, while Gimli stamped his feet restively. Sam fussed with the pack pony, while Merry and Pippin huddled close to each other in soft conversation. Aragorn sat on a bench with his head bowed. Frodo waited on the doorstep with Bilbo. Time seemed to stand still as they waited for Mithrandir; it seemed that they had already left Imladris, though they had not yet begun to travel.

After a few moments, Mithrandir appeared with Elrond. Aragorn rose to his feet, and the Company gathered together. Elrond spoke brief words of farewell, and others of his household echoed him. The words washed through Legolas's mind like water. Perhaps they would have meaning for him later, but he could not comprehend them now. At last, Elrond stopped speaking. Mithrandir and Aragorn turned, and the Company filed out behind them. Legolas, as the rearguard, was the last to leave. He touched his wooden leaf charm briefly, then squared his shoulders and marched forward to meet the fate of the world.

END

Many thanks to all who have read and enjoyed this story. It's been a real treat to read everyone's comments, and I appreciated hearing all the different points of view.

I have always been interested in Legolas's speech at the Council of Elrond concerning Gollum's escape. He implies that all of Gollum's guards were killed or captured, but seems to know many details about what happened that night. In particular, he claims knowledge of what the guards were thinking before the attack. This suggests to me that he was a member of that patrol. Only someone who was there could have known what the guards were thinking, and he doesn't suggest that anyone else was able to pass the information on. And thus was a story born.

Elrond's feast is based on recipes in The Williamsburg Art of Cookery, a 1938 compilation of 18^th and 19^th century recipes popular on Virginia plantations. I suspect that it's long out of print, but if you see it (or something like it) at a used bookstore or flea market, do take a look. Old cookbooks turn out to be surprisingly good reads.

It's been a lot of fun doing this story. I'll see you again next time!